“Sorry. I didn’t know someone was here,” he said.
“I’m here,” she said.
He looked away, again at the view and the amassing clouds.
“A nice spot to read,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
There was a nearly empty bowl and a spoon on the table. She must have skipped the morning meal and had her breakfast at the hut when it opened. In an effort to have something to say, he almost mentioned her skipping breakfast in favor of fruit, but realized that would be strange and demand the explanation he was suddenly at a loss to provide.
“Good book?” he asked instead.
She set the book on the table and looked up at him, either exasperated or indifferent—he couldn’t trust himself to know.
“That’s what everyone says. And, yes, it is. It’s also long. I’ve been reading it for ages now.”
“Would you mind if I joined you?”
She paused, then sat up on the bench.
“Feel free.” She was even more striking in this light. “You’re an American?”
“Yes. From California.”
“I think you might be the first American I’ve come across here.”
He could see their relation now—Birendra’s and hers—in the nose and mouth. That face he’d come to love, the reason he was here. He felt himself relax some.
“I was getting that impression,” he said. “I guess it is pretty far for us to come. So I’m the token American.”
“And I’m the token Indian,” she said, raising her eyebrow sardonically. “In India, no less.”
That she made a joke seemed a good sign. He felt a sudden relief for Ramesh. Perhaps she was proving more resilient than he’d given her credit for.
“Will you excuse me? I’m just going to get a juice. I’m a little low on blood sugar. Would you like one? Can I get you something? Anything?”
He was being awkward, but she smiled politely.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Would you mind if I came back and joined you?”
She regarded him, curious now. He’d already asked that. She simply extended her hand again in a welcoming gesture.
Staring at the handwritten list of fruit bowls and juices on offer, he contemplated telling the woman at the counter what he was about to do. She was watching him with a wry smile, probably wondering why it was so difficult for him to choose from among the four fruits that hadn’t been crossed out. Why he kept looking back to make sure Nayana wasn’t leaving.
“It’s complicated,” he said, and she laughed.
“Why is it complicated?”
It was a good question. There were answers, of course: because of Nayana’s grief; her sister’s death; Edward’s fear that his own sister was never going to forgive him for what he was about to do; that she might hate him if it somehow led to her losing Birendra; the fact that he couldn’t honestly say what had driven him to come all this way, despite knowing this possibility, and that this scared him most of all. But there was also the simple fact of Birendra, and now he had to walk over, sit down, and tell Nayana who he was.
XXXVI
The sun escaped from behind a mass of clouds and was once again warm on Nayana’s face, the day’s humidity building. Wet air lay like a blanket of quiet over the valley now. Some of the clouds had that dark backdrop, a promise they might break open. She would like it to rain again, to really rain as it did during the monsoon season. A reminder of times past. The table rocked slightly. She’d forgotten for a moment that the American was coming back with a juice. Something intrigued her about this man. His behavior was a bit odd, but he seemed harmless enough.
“You sure you don’t mind?” he asked yet again.
“Not at all.”
He was staring so intensely at her that she felt she might blush. She looked away, closing her book.
“So I actually have something—” He interrupted himself, looking back into the hut. Then he took a deep breath. It was all rather odd, as though he were preparing for some kind of performance. And then he spoke again, and he didn’t stop. “My name is Edward. I know your name is Nayana. And I know about your sister.” If she weren’t seated on a bench, she would have backed away. “I don’t want to upset you, but I’ve actually come here to find you. I was in London. I met your husband there and the rest of your family.” Did Ramesh send an American to find her? “I have to tell you about your nephew. About Birendra. He is safe and well and living with my sister, in California. She adopted him late in December. I’m sorry to tell you like this. I’m sure this must come as a huge shock. I didn’t mean for it to come out like this, but I wasn’t sure how to tell you anything after all that you’ve been through.” She could feel herself floating away again. “Nayana? Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
She wasn’t able to process everything he’d said, but one note repeated in her mind. This man knew about her sister. This man knew who Aditi was. And Ram. And Birendra. After so much silence, after retreating so far, first to India, then to this place, and finally giving up on her search for Birendra. After all this, there was someone she could talk to again, someone who knew. For once she had no desire to hide.
“I think I’ve known for months now,” she said. “Known and not known. I’ve been ignoring the signs, letting my own problems in London distract me from my fear that something really was wrong when I didn’t hear from my sister for more than a month. I kept telling myself I was scared of my sister’s judgment, but I knew better, that she was better than that, too good, too loving.” He said he had met Ramesh. What exactly did he know? Was she, in his mind, the heartless woman who walked out on a loving husband? Who carried another man’s child? She looked for evidence in his face but found only compassion, and this made her look away again, with shame. “I just didn’t know it was this I had been scared of, or I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t let myself even imagine it. I still can’t.” She wasn’t done punishing herself; she shouldn’t let a stranger comfort her. And yet, looking at him, she felt relief, at least for her nephew. “But Birendra? You say he’s okay?”
“He is, yes. And again, I’m just so sorry, Nayana.” Was he tearing up? “Just know that Birendra is doing well. He’s in school. He speaks of you so fondly. He’s safe.”
She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then pulled the envelope from her book and placed it between them.
“She wrote me on the last day of Diwali. My sister. Do you know the holiday?” He shook his head. He hadn’t even touched his juice. She gestured toward it, and he raised the glass to his lips. His hand was shaking. She averted her eyes, back to the envelope. “It’s sometimes called the festival of lights. There are usually five days of celebration, and the last was always important to our family because it tells the story of twins, Yama and his sister, Yami. Yama brings gifts to his sister, and she lights his path with lanterns and guides him home with her songs. According to the myth, Yama is liberated of all his sins by visiting his sister on this day. This is what I was doing—trying to do—by coming back to India, back to my sister. I wanted her to wash me clean. But she was already gone.”
“I’m not sure you can escape your past,” he said. “Not that I haven’t tried.”
“No, you’ve got it wrong. I don’t want to escape my past, I wanted to return to it. But it is gone. All of it.” A small group of guests was leaving the hut. It was almost time for the afternoon lecture. “When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday, just before dinner.”
“Well, there are lectures in the afternoons. Mostly stories from ancient Indian scriptures. The other day, the man referred to Yama as the Lord of Death.”
She covered her mouth, afraid she might burst into tears, afraid she would not be able to stop.
“It’s none of my business, of course, but I could see how much Ramesh loves you. And Raj. They all seemed extremely concerned for you. And I know Birendra loves you. He’s not gone at all. Actually, I think
he’s still waiting for you.”
There was no use holding it. She was crying again. It had been a few days since she’d last stopped. It felt good, like proximity to Adi.
“How did you ever manage to find me, Edward?”
There was a sudden shift in the light above them. Clouds had filled the sky, blotting out the sun. He took the last sip of his juice, then looked right at her as though he wasn’t sure where to begin.
“As I said, I was in London. I only ever planned to look you up and arrange a meeting.” She wanted to offer some excuse but said nothing, so he carried on. “I met Raj first, then Ramesh, and he told me about the letter from the neighbors.” She acknowledged that she knew about it with a nod. Mrs. Nair had told her all about her nephew writing that letter, and it had taken every ounce of Nayana’s strength not to scold the old woman harshly for such abysmal judgment. “Ramesh gave me the address where your sister lived in Varkala. I thought I’d send a telegram, but what could I say? I knew that you’d already arrived. I couldn’t imagine the shock. I suddenly decided to come, to be here, and to tell you about Birendra in person. I also wanted to know where your nephew came from. Our nephew.” He stopped and watched her, as though he wanted her permission to claim Birendra. She didn’t know if she was ready to give it. “He’s become very special to me. He is special.” She nodded and wiped her face, having finally ceased crying. The lights went off in the hut. They were alone now. “I managed to make it to Varkala. But you were already gone. I had heard about the neighbors, the Nairs, from Birendra, but I didn’t know which house was theirs. Mrs. Nair found me in front of the house. It was all a bit comical, really. We were both desperate to be understood, but the only word we had in common was Birendra. Fortunately, that and a little sign language sufficed. She took me to the cliff, to her cousin Benji’s shop. The man who sold the stuffed animals your sister made.” Nayana nodded again.
“Benji has been kind. He basically dragged me here. We first met at Srikant’s funeral.”
“Was that Birendra’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Srikant.” He repeated the name, as though it were a character in some story. Of course Srikant was very real to her, but she could see how it must feel for this man, who’d come to a place he probably thought he’d only ever imagine, like visiting the setting of a novel that had always stayed with you. Except that these were the names and places from her nephew’s story, and her story. Perhaps that’s what she saw in him. It was becoming his story now as well. His eyes went glassy. She felt herself go rigid as a defense, for fear she might again fall to blubbering. “Sorry. It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?”
It was. Too much to make sense of but such a comfort to try. Even though she didn’t know this man. It was like what he’d said about Mrs. Nair: they, too, had that one word, that one person, in common.
“I did my best when I arrived to find out what happened to Birendra. I went to the police, to the orphanage. They wouldn’t even talk to me. My heart was broken. It is broken. And so I gave up. I even went to collect the money we’d wired my sister from London for Birendra’s school. All I knew was that he was in America. I thought, how will I ever find him?”
Nayana looked at Edward for understanding, perhaps forgiveness. She found sympathy.
“I’ve been thinking that the farther away from home we get, the easier it is to love,” he said, but he was immediately shaking his head as if the thought hadn’t translated from his mind into words. She knew something about this. “I think I mean that expectations can make it harder to love, and the closer you get to home, the more you expect from those around you, and vice versa.”
“That wasn’t true of Aditi,” Nayana said.
“Yes,” he said. He seemed to be reconsidering. “Maybe it isn’t true after all. Maybe it’s just an excuse.”
There was a story there, she thought, but she wasn’t ready to hear it, and he didn’t seem ready to tell. They sat in silence and in darkness until a tap on the parasol made them both look up. Then another. Gradually a random percussion became the steady beat of heavy rain. Nayana smiled. Still raining on her after all these years. But now she welcomed the reminder of those she’d lost.
“Not long after college,” he said, “my girlfriend got pregnant. My ex-girlfriend, I should say.” He spoke as though he were surprising himself with his own recollection. “That child would have been a little younger than Birendra is now.”
“You lost it?” she asked.
“No. We made a choice we believed was for the best. I mean it was. But how can you know, right? We assume that what’s actually come to pass is what’s right for us, but we never know. There’s no going back. I guess that’s what I was trying to say earlier.”
They were both on the edge of their seats. This close attention was the only way to express such gratitude, perhaps. She would have said the words, except he seemed to already know, to feel the same. As if they could say anything they wanted to without being afraid of the big subjects. As if they’d found refuge from their very lives and could stay here as long as necessary, until they were ready to rejoin the world. After all, he’d come so far, and not without risk. For all he knew, she would try to take Birendra, but the more she sat with this kind man, the more impossible the thought seemed. Perhaps this was what she should do for Birendra; she should let him have this new life.
“Will you tell me about your sister? If you don’t mind. I’d like to know about Birendra’s new home.”
“My sister is very successful in her work as an interior designer.” He wasn’t pleased with this introduction, and he shook his head at it. “Maddy’s a good person,” he said. The way he looked at Nayana, he seemed to want to implant this fact in her mind. “She’s nine years older than I am, and she’s got a really big heart. She’s a lot of fun. A little eccentric.” Nayana shrugged off his embarrassed expression; she wasn’t in a position to judge. “Birendra is doing really well in school. He loves it, in fact. He’s got this plan to read every English book in the entire library. He’s at a French school—well, French and English. The Lycée Français in Los Angeles?”
Nayana’s hand rose to her mouth, and she began to cry again. He was confused by this, but she waved it away.
“I’m just happy,” she said through her tears. “Go on, please.”
“She’s not married. She’s single.” Nayana nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I, uh… should mention he goes by a nickname now.”
“A nickname?” she asked, stifling her tears. “What nickname?”
“Well, he goes by Bindi?” He cringed, saying it as a question. It didn’t make any sense.
“Bindi? But why?”
“So it is a name?”
”Yes. Well, Bindu, more commonly. A woman’s name.”
“I see. I was afraid it wasn’t a name at all,” he said. “Do you think he would know that?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “He would have said something, I suppose. Did he not?” Edward shook his head. “But what made her choose Bindi?”
“To be honest, I don’t know why.”
A wind blew the rain in a steady diagonal sheet now, but he didn’t seem to mind that he was getting soaked. Nayana touched his forearm and motioned that they should go into the hut.
“We’ve missed the lecture,” she said once they were inside.
“I’m okay with that,” he said.
They took a seat, both dripping onto the table. He was smiling at her. He seemed to have the same question in his mind. What now? What would happen now that Nayana had been found? Now that she had a way back to her nephew? She honestly couldn’t say. She hadn’t even gotten as far as thinking about the child she was carrying.
“I guess I need to contact my sister,” he said, suddenly quiet.
“I’d like to see my nephew,” she said, and again she stopped herself from saying more. From admitting how little she feared she had to offer him now.
“Of course you would,” he
said. “Of course.” His gaze fell to the puddle of water that was collecting at her wrist. “My sister,” he said, then he fell silent. Nayana swept the water over the table’s edge with a wet sleeve as Edward continued his thought. “She’s been misguided at times. But she loves him, and I can vouch for the depth of that love.” He seemed desperate to be believed, and he searched now for confirmation in Nayana’s eyes. “I suppose she just needs a little help sometimes. Maybe I need some help as well.”
If he was saying his sister was occasionally lost, Nayana thought she knew something about the feeling. As quickly as a flare of concern for her nephew sparked, another followed right behind it: Nayana didn’t know if she’d be any better. And there was this man, who seemed genuinely to care for Birendra, and who’d traveled halfway around the world to find her. She had to believe that meant something. She felt the words she’d been so afraid to admit finally spilling out.
“I’ve no idea what will come of it,” she said. “That is, what I can be for him right now. For anyone, actually.”
She hadn’t needed to clarify. Edward understood. Something had happened between them, a moment shared between two people equally at sea. A kindness they’d been able to show each other. An appreciation of one person’s struggle by another.
“I don’t think we ever know what we end up meaning in the lives of others—not for them, anyway,” he said. He might have wanted her to convince him of an answer, but she said nothing at all. “Perhaps Birendra needs all of us.”
Nayana wanted to believe this man, this unexpected uncle to her nephew. To believe that Birendra needed her, even as she was now. There was a part of her that wished Ramesh was going to be with her when she was reunited with her nephew, but she’d come this far; she knew she had to take the next step alone as well. One day Nayana and Birendra could visit London together, and she would introduce her nephew to Ramesh, regardless of how things turned out for Nayana and him. She wanted Birendra to know Ramesh’s love, so big, so pure. It was the first time Nayana had thought of the future with anything like clarity since she’d arrived in this place. She stood and reached for Edward’s arm now, then led him to the exit. They braced themselves for rain.
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