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Yes, the best thing for everyone is if I stick to the plan. I will forget about the boys who are gone. I will forget about the boys who are still here.
But most of all, I will forget about the girl.
20
The third Test’s a race.
One
mile to the finish.
One
chance to show
the stamina
that’s thought to produce
heirs girls.
Thirty-two boys stand.
Solid glaciers in a line. The sun
burning
their resolve. Daring them to stay
afloat.
We girls watch from our boxes
like orchids in a greenhouse.
Sheltered
from the past.
Blinded
to the future.
Our focus is on the present—
a wood that’s
solid.
strong.
We don’t see the veneer
that will soon
p
e
e
l.
to Reveal
a truth rotted to the core.
The boys, equally as blind,
take their positions
on the track.
Knees bent.
Chins up.
Fingers pressed into hot gravel.
When the gun lets out a
CRACK,
they burst from their line.
Whips of pressure
sear
into hordes of desperate flesh.
Five doesn’t burst.
He meanders instead.
He’s slow enough
to stay behind.
Fast enough
to play the game.
Halfway around,
my third boy finds a
ho le.
He sprints ahead.
Takes a lead.
Takes a risk;
a risk too big.
My cousin leaves the pack,
a pretty boy by his side. They
push hard.
push ahead.
push my third boy off the track.
He’s on the ground.
A little bit hurt?
Maybe.
A lot more stunned.
To the others, he’s a pylon
flattened
by a wheel.
Something to
ignore.
avoid.
leave lying in its rightful place.
When Five reaches my third boy,
he stops on the track.
He extends
a hand.
Gets nothing but warm
a i r
in return.
My third boy struggles to his feet
as if to say, I’m all right,
but when he tries to take a step,
his face contorts with pain.
Five takes his arm and
wraps it around his own shoulders.
He bears his weight.
Drags him forward.
Helps him do
what can’t be done.
They’re limp turtles as they continue,
far behind the pack of hares.
Pack of wolves is more like it.
And the rabbit?
That’s me.
One lap in, they stop
within earshot of my box.
The third boy motions to the pack,
then says to Five,
“I don’t stand a chance,
but you—you must not lose
because of me. These Tests
are important.”
Five kind of shrugs
as if to say he
doesn’t agree.
doesn’t care.
doesn’t want me?
My third boy shakes his head,
his cheeks turning pink.
“If you won’t do it for yourself,
do it for me or for that kid.
We’d both be running our hearts out
if that first boy hadn’t stopped us.”
That’s all it takes.
The match is lit.
Five’s fumes ignited.
His goal reset.
Although half a lap behind,
he takes off in a blaze,
his speed like the sun
in the cloudless sky.
Dropping her fan to her lap,
Nani lets out a gasp.
“That boy will never make it.
He shouldn’t bother.
The Tests are done.
The winner clear.”
I say, “Never say never,”
then I’m on my feet.
Matching her strength.
But my focus?
An unmatching boy.
The end of the second lap,
my cousin’s way out front. He’s
drenched in sweat.
drenched in confidence.
drenched in the belief he’s running alone.
He
can’t see behind him.
can’t see what we can.
can’t see Five pushing past
the front of the pack.
Nani jumps up,
her knuckles white
on the box’s edge.
And while she manages to maintain a smile,
her “Never”
starts to m
e
l
t.
Half a lap to go,
Five catches up.
He turns his head to my cousin.
Leaves him to answer
to his dust.
He races to the finish.
Arrives with the win sealed in his hand.
But before he steps over the line,
he sets it free,
like a dove.
He gives a grand flourish
as he steps to the side.
as he motions After you.
Gives my cousin his victory.
He even
waits for others.
waits till they all cross the line. Even
waits for my third boy
to find
not a disqualification
but still an end.
Nani starts to clap.
She believes my cousin has won.
Five more rocks gives him fifteen.
No other stands a chance.
Burning her seal on my shoulder,
she says, “You may not like it,
but you will learn.
He’s a good boy.”
And in a whisper she adds,
“His blood has girls.”
I break the seal as I pull away.
Say, “The Tests aren’t done.”
And with a stare that matches her marble,
I make sure she knows:
Neither am I.
She grabs Mummy by the arm.
Says, “You must talk to her, Nalini.
Tell her it’s better
to marry a rich boy.
Tell her why you chose
to do the same.”
Mummy mouths, “Chose?”
as Papa turns away.
He drops his gaze to the ground,
his shame
exposed—
a crown of thorns.
She reaches for him
as if she’ll say,
It’s all wrong.
as if she’ll say
she accepted his emerald ring because
she loved him.
loves him still.
But her hand goes limp
when she turns back to me,
cementing Nani’s claim
that I was born from
Coercion
and
Obligation.
As the first girl gives her rocks,
Mummy pulls me into a hug.
She runs her hand
down my braid.
Fina
lly offers some quiet advice.
“I know you think I don’t understand,
but like you, I
had a choice at your age.
“Your mota masi presented me with two suitors:
One a bit older and one near death.
Both weighted with cash.
The older one said all the right things.
Showed your nani-ji the respect
she thought she deserved.
“As for the other one,”
Mummy adds with a grin,
“he was flashy and independent,
and he had more opinions
than she would have liked.
“Although I liked him better,
and knew he would make
a better husband for me,
truth be told,
I picked him to spite her.
For that, she has
never
forgiven me.
“You are not like me or your didi.
You never choose the best for yourself.
Never expect anyone to give it.
“And so I don’t need to remind you
to play fair,
but today, with these Tests,
I do need to remind you
there’s no point in being fair
to others
if you’ve forgotten to be fair
to yourself.”
She lets go
as the director calls me forward
for my turn.
I take a step
but Nani stops me,
digging her nails into the sun
painted on my wrist.
“Your cousin won this Test.
That much is clear.
If you give your rocks to another,
you destroy what we’ve built
in Koyanagar.”
I pull away with a vision
of my sister’s baby—
the one who will never see life
if he’s a boy.
The one who may join those baby girls
in the graves of History.
I say, “I’m sorry, Nani-ji,
but you’ve done that
on your own.”
21
I move on to my three boys,
organized in a line.
Rules be damned,
I start
with second place first.
Handing two rocks to my third boy,
I say, “You knew you’d lost,
but still, you persevered.
That takes courage,
and in this life,
courage is gold.”
I expect him to look distraught—
to realize his three rocks
leave him no chance—
and yet his outlook remains solid
even as its foundation
crumbles to dust.
I go to Five next,
five rocks in my hand.
When I put them in his,
I use my fingers
to close his fist.
He takes his other hand,
shrouding mine
like a kantha quilt.
“No,” he whispers with a squeeze.
“Please don’t.”
I part my lips, the word “Why?”
dripping from my tongue.
I swallow it hard.
Feel an answer
thud
in my gut.
He’s like me.
Forced to be here.
Forced to pay for mistakes not his.
But losing—
dying?—
that would be his.
Something
he’d choose.
Something
he’d own.
I want to show him
another choice.
That he can be proud
without death.
That he can be proud
with me.
Removing my hand, I say,
“Trust me.
I will help you.
I promise.”
I move on to my cousin,
stopping a safe distance
from his tentacles.
He steps out of line.
Leans toward my cheek.
Says, “I knew you’d be mine.”
His finger brushes my neck.
I pull back with
a flinch.
a tightened jaw.
a clenched fist.
Test or no Tests,
I am not his.
I do
NOT
belong to anyone.
Only belong
to me.
When he holds out his palm,
I let drop a single rock. He
waits for the others.
waits for the victory
not his.
When I step away, he snaps,
“Sudasa, hold on.
I won that race fair and square.
You saw me cross that line.”
I want to explain the meaning of “fair.”
Want to scold him for saying my name.
For implying we’re more than
contestant
and
prize.
With a flash of my palms,
I let Papa’s Blake speak instead.
“Don’t you remember,
Contestant One?
‘The eye altering, alters all.’ ”
His love for poetry
becomes a sham
with sharp words and a frown.
“Which means what?”
I am without a plan,
but flash a grin nevertheless.
“Which means you see what you want,
and you want what you see,
and if I have anything
to say about it,
that will
never
be
me.”
22
In the carriage, Nani is silent,
and yet her anger is
loud.
It yells in her frown.
SCREAMS!
when she exhales too hard.
Surina gives me the kind of look
only an older sister can give.
The one that’s part
I know better
and all
I told you so.
When we pull up to our building,
Nani scurries past
Surina’s husband.
I half expect her to tip him
for holding the door.
Wouldn’t be his first bribe,
that’s for sure.
Papa remains in his seat,
even after Surina and Mummy
are gone.
His fingers are twisted on his lap,
brown and gnarled
like an old banyan tree.
He looks like he wants to
speak,
but like the tree,
his tongue has grown
knots.
I move to the seat by his side.
“Papa,” I say,
“do you think I should pick him?”
He continues to twist his fingers.
Raises his eyes.
Says, “Your nani-ji—”
I stomp the rules by yelling, “Nai!
I’m asking you.
Not her.
Tell me, do
you
think I should do
what Nani says?”
It takes him a moment
to free
the chains from his tongue;
to remember the time,
twelve years ago,
when he was allowed an opinion of his own.
When he speaks, he says,
“A man is measured
not by the answers he finds
but the questions he asks.
Find an answer
and you stand still.
Stop asking questions
and you die.”
>
Although full of poetic words,
his answer contains none
that tell me what to do.
So I ask him once again,
“Papa, who should I choose?”
With a shake of his head,
he says, “That’s an answer
I cannot bestow,
but if you look inside yourself,
I think you’ll find
you already know.”
I already know?
I already know?
I already
know I won’t marry my cousin.
know I don’t want to marry a stranger instead. I
know there’s a boy not so strange—
a boy named
Five?—
but he wants
freedom,
not the tether of a wedding ring.
I know I have no options.
At least none
my heart tells me to pick.
I need a different heart
to become my voice.
One that knows how to choose
between a rock
and a stone.
One like—
Asha.
Yes!
Asha.
She was in my place
two weeks ago. She was
forced to choose among five mangoes
when all she wanted was an orange.
She’ll tell me what to do.
Asha always knows
what to do.
Papa and I go inside.
I squirm in silence
as we wait for the lift
to return to the ground.
“Papa,” I say
with an apology in my voice,
“I need to see Asha.
It’s not—
What you said—
But I think—
She has been through this and—”
Papa shushes me
with a finger in front of his lips.
When the lift arrives,
he answers my request
by pressing
the button for her floor.
I thank him with a hug.
Wish custom hadn’t taught me knots.
Wish it had taught me
how
to say I love you.
Wish it had taught me
how
to say even more.
23
I get out on Asha’s floor.
Kick off my shoes.
I head