Karma by Cathy Ostlere Page B

utterly.
    It’s a kothi. A pretty boy !
    No! Here in Jaisalmer?
    And this is what Amma was afraid of: the gossips have begun their work.

Hot sun
    She refuses to get into a rickshaw. Marches past the long line of arm-waving, shouting drivers. Ignores their whining voices.
    But why no rickshaw?
    She swings her backpack over her shoulder and walks quickly.
    But it’s too far, I say. Really it is. The sun’s climbing. We’ll be pools of sweat if we walk.
    She turns onto the main road.
    Okay, so you’ve found the road. Great! But how do you know you’re going in the right direction?
    It’s a stupid question. The Golden Fort of Jaisalmer looms in front of our eyes. Where else is there to go?
    Well, at least put something over your face, I call after her.
    She stops. Pulls an orange sari from the backpack. Drapes it over her head and across her neck and shoulders. But instead of letting it hang down, she ties it under her chest in a big knot. Okay. THAT’S NOT GOOD. That’s going to attract a lot of unnecessary attention.
    Listen, Maya, why don’t you fix your sari properly and I’ll hold your backpack.
    I reach for the strap, but she hits my hand and clasps the bag to her chest. Her eyes narrow into small dark peas.
    Fine. I give up. Keep your ratty old bag. I’ve been trying to help but clearly you don’t want any. I get it. Okay?
    She doesn’t answer. (Why would she?) Instead she looks past my angry face toward the city. As if she knows exactly where she’s going.
    And I am just a bug under her feet.

Jaisalmer
    I was six when I first saw the great saffron fort. Leaning over the neck of a camel my hands reached for the enormous golden walls. I cried from the tug in my chest. As if the city was dragging me home.
    Inside the gates the streets hummed like a beehive. I’d never seen so many people before. I turned to Barindra and asked, But where are the goats?
    Everyone in town has heard this story. How a nomad’s son, wearing unbleached cotton, was the only survivor of a desert storm. How he learned to read and write, earning the top spot in every one of his classes. How he appreciated his salvation by being friendly to all his neighbours.
    It’s a heartwarming tale. Downright inspiring.
    Except for when the hero falls, failing to live up to his promise. To his myth.
    I watch Maya’s face as we follow the maze of narrow streets into the old city. Her eyes soften. And not a smile, exactly, but something bubbles beneath her skin. Like an underground stream dampening the earth.
    I’ve always been curious about water we cannot see. Running deep and silent, searching the place for where the earth will yield. Then a surfacing. A birth. Finally freed from the darkness.
    I wonder if Maya feels it too? This coming-in-fromthe-wilderness.
    (Damn this diary! My imagination is turning me into a romantic. The change in Maya’s face is from the reflective glow of the yellow stones. That’s it.)

Hari
    We’re almost home when I feel the blow on the back of my head. Hari. I spin around, grab his skinny shoulder, and hold him against the wall. I don’t have time for this. I’m already late because of you.
    That’s when I notice his eye. Already turning purple from my fist. Don’t worry, I had assured him after he chased me through the streets, finally catching me in front of Salim Singh’s haveli. Your sister’s still a virgin! The punch was my promise.
    Hari looks across my shoulder at Maya. What’s that orange thing standing behind you? Ah, your parents got you a real whore, Sandeep. So now you’ll leave my sister alone!
    I push Maya through the door. I’ll deal with him later.

Home
    There was no time to explain before Amma’s hand slapped my face so hard I cried out for a second time this morning.
    An hour and half to get home from the train station? What were you doing? Look at her! I told you, Sandeep, you