Karma by Cathy Ostlere Page A

pink shell.
    She puts it to her mouth and makes a sound.
    It sings my name across the sand.
    Maya , I call to her.
    It’s what I always shout when I have this dream.

November 14–21, 1984

Train station
    Shit.
    Don’t be late, Sandeep, Parvati insisted. She might run.
    Run? To where? There’s nothing but desert and Pakistan west of here.
    And who wants to go to Pakistan?
    But shit. I am late.
    I take the steps two at a time.
    Dodging porters balancing suitcases on their heads. Squeezing between a family walking seven across like a line of protesters.
    Slow down, you little asshole! a man shouts after I leapfrog off his smallest child’s head.
    Sorry! Thank you! I call over my shoulder. Amma insists I be deferential. ( You’re a shepherd boy, after all. )
    Now where would she be in this dung-odoured, sweat-stained sea of questionable humanity?
    Maya hates crowds Parvati said. Kicks at people if they get too close. Well, good for her. Some people deserve a good kicking.
    I run through the carriages. Third class smells like piss. Second class like wet goat. (Strangely comforting.) An AC sleeper? Would Parvati be so extravagant?
    I swing open the doors of every compartment. Empty.
    Empty.
    Empty.
    And then I see her.
    Blue jeans. T-shirt.
    Huddled next to a window.
    A bag on her lap.
    A face still as stone.
    It’s just a girl, I tell myself. (Disguised as a boy.)
    I’m good with girls.
    But my stomach lurches.
    And my heart rate is definitely increasing.
    (Even skipping.)
    Her face is perfect.
    A long slender nose. Soft curled eyelashes.
    Skin polished like dark wood.
    She is named well. Goddess of Illusion.
    Maya looks like a statue.

Listening
    Hello, Maya.
    Silence.
    I am Sandeep. (Smile.) Parvati’s brother?
    Silence.
    I am very pleased to meet you. (Deep bow.)
    Kuch nahin! (Not even a flicker of an eyelash.)
    I am deeply honoured to come to your aid, Maya. Honoured indeed to accompany you to the humble home of the Patel family. (That should do it.)
    She turns toward me. Her gaze settles on my face. There is no expression, no emotion. Yet when her dark eyes find mine, I am suddenly dizzy. Like I’m slipping under a black wave soft as silk.
    I have never seen, never known such sadness.
    Where is my voice?

Chai! Chai!
    The repeated staccato sound bursts into the car like automatic gunfire.
    Chai! Chai! Chai! Chai!
    An apparition in the shape of a small boy appears holding a clay cup in two hands.
    Chai?
    Not waiting for an answer, he pours mud-coloured liquid from a dented metal pot.
    I raise my hand to stop him, but Maya is quicker. She hits the boy’s arm without blinking. Tea spills across his chest.
    Aiii aiii hot chai hot chai!
    IT wasN’T thaT hOT! I shout. (Why is my voice cracking like a twelve-year-old’s?) Get out of HEre! NoW! NOw!
    The boy lands a sharp kick to my shin, then runs. ShIT! My leg throbs. A hammer against bone.
    I hop up and down to shake off the pain. We should go now, Maya, I whisper.
    But she’s already moving. Backpack in hand. Sliding down the narrow hallway.
    (Why did Parvati send an idiot boy for me?)
    What? Did she just say that?
    Great. Now my ears aren’t working either.

Smoke
    Ushering Maya through the train station is like directing smoke. This way. Left. Here. No. Not there. Over here. Yes. Just follow me. But stay close.
    Don’t touch her, Amma had said. She meant SEX, of course, but even tapping Maya on the arm to guide her along the crowded platform seems questionable. If I reach for her will she run? Or dissipate?
    People are stepping back to let Maya pass. I hear the voices whisper. Who’s that? You mean what’s that? Someone laughs.
    She’s as tall as a man. Her hair sticks up in ragged spikes. Her thin body could be a boy’s, but the face is definitely a woman’s. A mouth that curves up in spite of the sadness.
    Is it a he or a she?
    Maya doesn’t flinch. She ignores them