by Nillu Nasser
He worshipped her then, as a man worships his wife, exploring her body until they were skin to skin, mouth to mouth, hot breath and damp skin, listening to the sound of her breathing as he pleasured her. They were no longer estranged but entwined, as if they would never part.
She healed him.
He sought to burn each touch and feeling into the reel of his memories. Their joining rung out with the clarity of a bell on a mountain-top church.
Afterwards, Jaya fell asleep almost immediately, her eyelids fanning her cheeks. Their bodies moulded together, two tarnished spoons cupped together perfectly. Akash cherished the warmth of Jaya’s body, drank in her scent, the rhythm of her breath, the widow’s peak at her forehead, every imperfection, and knew this was where he belonged.
Chapter 45
They woke in the morning in a tangle of limbs as the heat of the sun grew over Bombay. Jaya cast a glance at her husband and smiled. A year had passed since they renewed their vows in the rose garden, but the sight of him in their bed would never get old.
“Morning,” she said, barely opening her mouth to speak, aware of breath soured by the curry they had cooked and devoured for dinner the night before.
“Hi,” said Akash, pulling her into the crook of his bony arm. His musty scent comforted her. However much she fed him, his body refused to reach a healthy weight, as if it was incapable of breaking the mould of his previous life as a homeless man.
She rose reluctantly to dress, pulling the light covers off him as Akash pretended to pout at her. His eyes consumed her with abandonment, elevating her to the level of goddess. There could be no doubt he wanted her.
She swatted him with her pillow, giving thanks for this happiness she never thought could be hers so late in life. “Get up, lazy. Arjun is expecting us. We’ll be late for Leela’s party if we don’t hurry up.”
Akash rolled out of bed and retrieved his shirt from where it lay folded on a chair. She watched him button it, pulling it over the curve of his back. He filled the empty spaces in her she’d thought she would carry to her grave. Their rented flat with its old walls, a stone’s throw away from her sister’s apartment, had become her haven. Akash, too, had found sanctuary here, though he had become used to living under the open sky. Together, they had carved out a small piece of it above their garden. Even with their broken past, they had somehow made a masterpiece of it all.
The twelve months since they’d been reconciled had flown by. Jaya was thankful for every misstep that had made her the woman she had become. Finally, a warrior, even on the days when the separation from her parents weighed heavily, though it felt good to be free from their moods and needs. Forgiveness lay within her reach, and one day soon, she would make that journey. Just not today: today belonged to her new family.
“Now look who’s taking forever?” teased Akash. “Stop day dreaming, wife. I know how long it takes you to rim those beautiful eyes with kohl.”
She threw him a scathing glance and checked the time before fleeing to the bathroom, his laugh ringing in her ears.
Forty-five minutes later they arrived at Arjun’s rose-adorned bungalow, gift in hand to celebrate Leela’s second birthday. The stone-clad building loomed against the sky. The guards called through their arrival. They approached as a pair, and Jaya knew the comfort of not being alone in a culture where being one was not enough.
Once, the thought of visiting Soraya’s former home would have struck her as odd given the enmity she had borne the other woman for much of her life, but not anymore. The past year had eased her nerves about visiting this palace of high walls, which held so much history for them all. It would have been easy to be envious of the biological relationship Akash shared with his son, to allow her soul to be devoured by cobwebs of insufficiency, but in truth, this family gifted her with so much more than she had bargained for. Over time, she had begun to accompany Akash with eagerness to visit his son, buoyed by the open welcome she received and aided by both her easy friendship with Muna and her fondness for the child.
Today, excitement leaked out of every pore, as if she were an untightened faucet. A child’s birthday was special, magical even, and Jaya cherished every interaction with children. They arrived at the door and Akash lowered the box he had been carrying onto the ground. It rocked at their feet and they heard a muffled meow.
“I hope she likes the present.” His voice tingled at her ear.
“How can she not? Every child dreams of having their own kitten.”
“You don’t think she’s too young?” He had been an absent father for so long that even now he second-guessed his decisions.
She squeezed his arm. “Stop worrying. Arjun wouldn’t have said yes if he thought she was.”
Arjun opened the door with a creak, a young man suited in solemnity, as ever, with his father’s lips and his mother’s haughtiness. His face broke into a smile when he saw her and Jaya reciprocated. In some ways, this man was more comfortable with her than his own father.
Arjun extended a hand to his father and kissed Jaya’s cheek. “Leela’s going to be so excited to see you. Her friends will be here this afternoon but all she could talk about this morning is the big present Dadabapa had promised her.” A mewling sound erupted from the box. Arjun laughed. “Is that it?”
“You sure this is okay, beta?” said Akash, scooping the box into his arms.
“I’d wager she’ll remember this birthday! Come, we’d better get that box open.”
They took off their shoes and padded after him in their socked feet. Arjun led the way into the now familiar bowels of the house, along a twisty corridor and into a bright kitchen.
“Ah, there she is, my gorgeous granddaughter,” said Akash, handing the box to Arjun before sweeping a giggling Leela in his arms.
“Dada!” said the little girl, her cheeks rosy with pleasure.
“Happy birthday, beti,” said Jaya, placing a kiss on the girl’s cheek.
Muna rushed to greet them, a vision in green chiffon. Not a line marred her face. “I’m so glad you came. Didn’t Janghir Saheb mind?”
Akash leaned into her embrace, his arms still full of the child. “Oh, you know what he’s like. Family first, always.”
The smell of burnt onions and chilli hung in the air, burning Jaya’s eyes. She blinked rapidly and opened her arms to hug the younger woman. “It smells delicious.”
Muna laughed. “No, it doesn’t, but we eat the restaurant food all the time. I wanted to do something special for Leela’s birthday.” She indicated the disarray on the worktops. “Please excuse the mess.” Steam rose from a bowl of crispy okra curry alongside pickled aubergines and diced potatoes. The pungent scent of cumin and mustard seeds filled Jaya’s nostrils.
“You must have been working since dawn,” said Akash. His voice trembled and Jaya reached across to press his hand. He would never take the warmth of family life for granted. Seeing the world through his eyes gave her a new appreciation.
Akash set Leela back on the floor. He locked his eyes on Jaya’s, perhaps for permission, she wasn’t sure. She nodded, an imperceptible movement. “Are you ready for your present, little one?” He guided her gently to the box, tipping it onto its side. Out spilled the kitten, a fluffy ball of grey with a white bib.
Leela squealed and the kitten darted away, startled. Everyone laughed in delight, watching them interact, a game of to and fro between two tiny beings, before Muna excused herself.
“Food’s nearly ready. Just a few more rotis to go,” said Muna.
“Come. I’ll help you,” said Jaya. She rolled up the sleeves of the salwar kameez and tied the scarf in a knot at her hip to keep it out of the way. Then she approached the griddle already on the burner. She rolled out the roti and placed the powdery dough on the heat, working with nimble fingers while Muna cleared the disarray in the kitchen, pausing only to butter the finished rotis. Behind them, the men supervised Leela, sometimes encouraging, sometimes chiding as she learnt to play with the kitten. The gr
iddle hissed and the stack of bread grew, and Jaya gave thanks for the little joys that had become part of her life.
After the party ended and the last of the children and their parents had gone home, Akash and Jaya took their leave, refusing Arjun’s offer of a lift. They wandered past the outhouse in the gardens on the way out. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had found Soraya and received a beating at Arjun’s hands, like it had happened in a parallel universe. Akash only had to close his eyes to relive it. But with the pain came the wheels of change which had reunited him with Jaya. He didn’t want to close his eyes again; they were firmly trained on the present.
He kneaded Jaya’s hand as they walked, lost in his thoughts, in the promise of the fulfilling relationships he had finally built with his wife, son and granddaughter. It was inconceivable to him that he had escaped his poor choices, that the gods were smiling on him.
“I’d forgotten my husband is such a dreamer,” said Jaya. Happiness shone from her flushed cheeks.
“Sorry.” His eyes rested on her face, the hair that escaped its bonds, the crinkles at the corners of her mouth, her delicate jaw and arched brows. “How was that for you?”
“Wonderful,” said Jaya, squeezing his hand.
A cow herd had wandered into the road ahead, a mass of dirty white and tan. Traffic stalled to a halt behind the herd as even the most impatient Bombay drivers waited, to let the sacred animals pass. Akash placed his hand on the hollow of Jaya’s lower back to guide her across the street, still lost in his dreams.
Too late did he see two boys on a motorcycle careening towards them. They scooted past the herd, helmetless, tyres kicking up dust, parcels teetering in the passenger’s arms.
Time slowed and Akash stood frozen as the motorcycle swerved, travelling too fast to brake, realising he was shielded by Jaya’s body.
Instinct kicked in. Akash pushed his wife with all his might.
Her face twisted in horror. She fell onto the road.
The motorcycle skidded, crashed into him, sending its riders up into an unholy trajectory.
Akash’s legs crunched and he flew through the air as though in slow motion, his hand stretched out towards his wife. He landed in a heap, heard his bones fragment, old bones that had been worn down by the wrong nourishment, the elements, the years of drifting, the lack of love. Not even the bright sun of Jaya’s love could make up for the years of neglect. Coldness enfolded him, bleak and black. Akash placed his hand on his head, and his fingers found the matted warmth of his bloodied cranium. He worried about Janghir Saheb’s keys. Were they still in his pocket? He called out to Jaya, his thoughts disjointed. What did he need to say to her?
“Jaya?”
A flurry of footsteps. She entered his field of vision. He blinked, frustrated he couldn’t see clearly. She blurred, like an under-exposed photograph. She leant closer, and he could smell the coconut lotion she used on her skin. Her breathing was raspy like she had been running. Her posture looked defeated, shrunken shoulders, a retreat into her core.
“I’m here.” Her voice comforted him like a blanket on a cool night, enveloping him with love.
The shadows next to her confused him. They grew taller, found their forms. He recognised them and his heart sang. They had always shared his happiness. Of course they would be here today.
“You’re here,” said Akash. Tariq and Soraya nodded, expressions gentle, not joyous like he would have expected.
“Help is coming, Akash! Arjun will know what to do. Don’t leave me.” Jaya sounded like she was crying but he couldn’t work out why.
“But I’ll never leave you.” His words came out jumbled. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. He loved her. No Bollywood fanfare or pity for life’s knocks, just all-encompassing love. He tried to caress her face, but his hand did not obey his command. He needed a rest. He closed his eyes.
“Akash, Akash, please! Look at me! Stay with me.”
She sounded desperate, his Jaya. He wanted to tell her about Tariq and Soraya holding his hands. How loved he felt. She buried her head in his chest and it hurt, like a little bird landing on a broken branch. He wished he could be stronger for her. She was so strong, his Jaya. He needed to tell her how proud he was, but Tariq and Soraya, they didn’t want to wait. He had to go.
“I’ll always find my way back to you,” he said, and he believed it.
He was so cold. His eyelids fluttered shut, and his final thought escaped him, leaving a ghost of a smile on his dead lips.
But... don’t stop here. Please keep reading for more, including a BOOK CLUB GUIDE, an INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR, and not one but two SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEWS:
HIDDEN COLOURS by Nillu Nasser
and
YOURS TO KEEP OR THROW ASIDE by E.D. Martin.
Book Club Guide
1. What are the main themes of the novel?
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2. Who is your favourite major/minor character?
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3. Which symbols are used in the novel and what do they represent?
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4. Which character did you relate to the most and why?
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5. Which character did you most hate?
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6. Which familial/romantic/platonic relationships are the most nourishing in the novel?
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7. What role do religion and culture play in the story?
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8. What motivates Akash to get his life in order?
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9. How did the structure of the book affect the story?
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10. Which character did you relate to the most and why?
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11. Could the story have taken place anywhere?
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12. How does Jaya learn to cope with her trauma?
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13. Was Akash wrong to sleep with the older Soraya as they said their goodbye?
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14. What was your favourite moment in the book? Your least favourite?
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15. How do the characters grow in the course of the novel?
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16. At what point does Jaya make a breakthrough in achieving happiness?
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17. At what point in the novel is Akash truly selfless for the first time?
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18. How did you feel about the ending?
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19. Would Akash and Jaya’s relationship have survived into old age?
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20. What surprised you the most when you were reading this book?
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21. If Jaya and Akash had each chosen different love interests, then how might the story have ended?
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22. How do you imagine the story continues for Arjun?
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23. Did the novel challenge your perspective in any way?
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Please keep reading for....
Interview with the Author
Q. Which book have you read has most influenced your life?
A. There are too many that have left their mark to choose only one. Some books are like friends, and I get cross if people borrow them and don’t bring them back. Ones that have changed me include: The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, Book of Lilith by P.K. Tyler, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, The Kiterunner by Khaled Hosseini, American Gods by Neil Gaiman, We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver, and poetry by Simon Armitage and Carol Ann Duffy. I’m going to kick myself later, as there are so many more, amongst them books for children. Have you read Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls?
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Q. If you could spend time with a character from this book, whom would it be? And what would you
do during that day?
A. A night with Soraya at her restaurant—without Arjun—would be great. I’d have so many questions for her. But for me it has to be a toss up between Inspector Fortes and Firoz. Fortes doesn’t get a lot of page space but how does woman like her hold her own in the Indian police force? She must be formidable, but she hasn’t lost her empathy or her sense of humour. Then there’s Firoz. Firoz is a balm. He’s fun and non-judgmental and so at ease with himself. What a joy. We’d drink chai, he’d show me the yoga moves I need to get the cricks out of my back, and we’d laugh until the stars came up over his atelier.
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Q. What does your writing day look like?
A. I try hard to stick to a writing routine. For me that means rushing about like a whirlwind as soon as I wake and getting the kids to school. Then it’s me and the baby. I make a cup of tea, put some music on and work in the living room while the baby plays or naps nearby. I’ve learnt to make use of every minute. Right now, he needs me close. Soon, I’ll be able to use my desk in the office at the bottom of our garden again. It’s filled with inherited furniture: my father’s heavy oak desk with its crumbling varnished surface, and the worn burnt leather sofas I grew up with. I ‘ve hung up canvasses of Zadie Smith holding a copy of On Beauty, and another of Twiggy. Strong, creative women to surround myself with. I try not to get swept into social media but the news is my real vice. I write until the kids are home from school, and tend to be fairly relaxed about squeezing in another writing window when the kids are home. Some ideas and moods need capturing immediately or they escape me.
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Q. Does a big ego help or hurt writers?
A. I was born in London but am of Indian heritage. There’s this thing that shy Indian women sometimes do in Bollywood movies: they hide behind the fabric of their sari. Sometimes, that part of my identity is strong. I don’t enjoy the limelight. But I trust in who I am and what I can do. I think that’s important. In all walks of life, not just writing, self-doubt is a game-killer. Does Soraya arguably achieve more than Jaya because she is self-assured? Jaya learns eventually that self-love is what she needs to transform her life. On the flipside, an exaggerated sense of self-importance blinds you to your flaws. Like most things, balance is key.
