The Unlikely Adventures of the Shergill Sisters

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

  The line of women outside the bathhouse hummed with excitement. In front of Rajni was a teenage girl with a long rope of hair that hung to the base of her spine. Handing her belongings over to the girl next to her, she pulled her hair into a bulging bun and pinned it in place. Rajni touched her own short hair, which ended at the nape of her neck. The line inched forward at a much more peaceful pace than the line back at the temple.

  “I’ll be glad to have a dip in the water,” Jezmeen commented, fanning herself.

  “We don’t have to take all our clothes off, right?” Shirina asked as they made it through the threshold. There were several bare bottoms here and Rajni felt just as alarmed as her little sister sounded.

  “I don’t think so,” Rajni said. An attendant was sitting on a low wooden stool next to the pool’s edge and ushering women in. Some were stripped down to their underwear and others were wearing light cotton tunics that reached their knees.

  “Screw it, I’m getting naked,” Jezmeen declared. She set her belongings down on a bench and peeled her clothes off. Instinctively, Rajni looked away but she noticed how other women were drawn to Jezmeen’s body art and her long limbs as she hopped into the pool and strode through the water. Two large orange carps shot off like fireworks as they saw her approaching.

  Shirina kept her clothes on and found herself a corner and lowered herself down the stairs into the water. Rajni took in a deep breath and did the same. The water lapped at her feet and rose up as she descended, making her tunic billow about her like a tent. She pressed it down and waited for the weight to render it limp against her thighs.

  The water was still, despite the women wading through it. Some would call this a miracle, Rajni thought, recalling everything she’d read and heard about these restorative baths in the lead-up to this trip. Mum had told her all kinds of stories that day as well, repeating that she wanted to go to the Golden Temple. A bath in the sarovar would take all her pain away, she insisted. “Mum, Anil’s going to bring his speakers later,” Rajni had said stupidly, knowing the futility of her response. Here her mother was, asking for a spiritual experience, and all Rajni could offer up was better sound quality on her electronic prayer program. All her life, Mum had told her stories of men and women who bathed in the water and had their health restored—eyesight miraculously regained, tumors dissolved, wombs suddenly fertile and hospitable to new life. But it was just water, Rajni would argue, the pragmatist in her unable to see anything beyond this argument.

  “Rajni, listen to me,” Mum had said urgently, her features contorted with pain. Here we go, Rajni thought, knowing that she was in for another lecture about miracles, about things that happened without rhyme or reason. But what Mum said instead surprised her.

  “You’ll help me, right?” Mum asked. “You’ll make sure I don’t suffer?”

  “Of course,” Rajni said. Mum’s expression was wide with trust. Her skinny fingers dug into Rajni’s palms and brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching Mum whittle away, pain and suffering slowly dissolving her dignity. Rajni didn’t realize what a heavy responsibility she had accepted, though, until she began helping Mum research options over the next few days. We can’t do this, she thought, looking at those websites. Not like this.

  What a relief it was then, to arrive at the hospital one day to find that Mum had a letter written. She had this pilgrimage planned. She had a jewelry pouch tucked in her drawer and as she unzipped it to show her daughters the pills she had stashed away inside, Rajni was still nodding, still promising to do anything.

  Chapter Ten

  Our fifth Guru, Guru Arjan Dev Ji, said that bathing in the sacred waters of the sarovar washes away all of our sins. Water rids people of diseases, nourishes our bodies, and brings clarity to our thoughts and actions. Your body’s immersion in the nectar of immortality will bring eternal strength and fulfillment to your spirit.

  Jezmeen cupped the water into her hands and raised them over her head. The water poured down her face, pooling at the shelf of her collarbone. It smelled like summer rain; earthy and fresh. She really felt as if she could stay here all day—if not for the spiritual release, then the refreshment of being out of the heat. With her eyes closed and the echoing women’s voices fading into a singular din in the background, she thought there was something quite peaceful and otherworldly about this bath.

  Next to her, a woman had rolled the cuffs of her white salwar up to her knees and was wading through the water with a toddler’s legs anchored around her hips. She chanted into the little girl’s ears and crouched to scoop up some water to toss on her small feet. “This is God’s water,” the woman said, loose strands of her fringe falling over her eyes. “Its holiness will protect you.” The toddler kicked and squealed with delight.

  Jezmeen had read those tales of lepers’ wounds disappearing upon contact with this miracle water. Of course, some measure of exaggeration had gone into creating those stories. Wasn’t it more convenient for the story that the lepers were cured instantaneously rather than a gradual process over weeks and months? When children were told those stories, could they really be trusted to listen patiently while the leper noticed tiny improvements in his scarring or strength gaining in his muscles? No. She bent at the waist and took another handful of water. As it cascaded over her shoulders, she became certain that the point of the spiritual bath was to start a slow progression of healing.

  When she opened her eyes and blinked away the droplets, she noticed a large orange carp near her feet. It was impossible to know if this was the same one that she saw when she entered the water, but it seemed to be aware of her. It hovered at her feet, still and watching. Jezmeen stared back at it, wondering if some divine intervention had brought this fish to her. She recalled the Arowana’s glossy eyes, its mouth moving as if speaking an ancient language.

  “Go tell your friends I’m working on being better,” Jezmeen said to the carp. A middle-aged woman nearby looked at her in confusion and then also nodded at the fish. Jezmeen swayed her foot gently to create ripples so the fish would swim away. Watching it leave, Jezmeen felt sorry, more sorry than she had been when the Arowana had died, and she didn’t know why. The pressure of tears built in her throat. Being in this pool for purification made her think about Mum sitting in her hospital bed, holding the edges of that letter in her frail hands as she read it out. Cleanse yourself of all burdens, she had said, holding her daughters’ attention. Did the room tense up then? Jezmeen remembered thinking that she was the only one of her two sisters who really had burdens—every rejection and every passing year slimming her chances of a breakthrough.

  Once Mum had got through her explanation of the itinerary, she paused and began to whisper. Rajni, Jezmeen, and Shirina huddled closer to Mum. There was something else she wanted her daughters to help her with. Her voice was so full of hope that she didn’t seem to even notice how horrified Jezmeen was when she explained the pills.

  “I’ve been storing them for a while now,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’ll take them all at once tomorrow morning. I’m telling you because I think you should know, but also because I need you to keep a lookout for nurses. I don’t know their schedules well enough to know when somebody will pop in to do a test or bring a meal. If somebody is coming, you need to distract them.”

  “What you’re asking us to do is illegal,” Jezmeen said, looking to Rajni and Shirina. “Right?” Shirina nodded in agreement. “There must be another way,” she said, but Jezmeen heard the uncertainty in her voice. Rajni, probably knowing that Shirina would give in to Mum’s requests eventually, took them both out of the room to discuss it.

  Back in the present, a commotion erupted behind Jezmeen and shook her out of her thoughts. She heard a sharp gasp and turned to see Shirina sitting on the edge of the pool with her legs splayed before her. A stout elderly woman with rosy cheeks crouched next to her. “Shirina,” Jezmeen said, wading through the water. “Are you okay?”

  The woman’s
expression was etched with concern. She took Shirina by the elbow and gently helped her up. Then she said something to Shirina—it looked like a question or a comment, but it seemed to startle her. Shirina shook her head and turned her back to the woman.

  “I’m fine,” Shirina said. “I just—I slipped.”

  Jezmeen glanced at the rosy-cheeked woman. Now she appeared confused. She stared at Jezmeen for a few moments and then returned to her family, two little girls wearing matching swimsuits and long tracksuit leggings.

  “What did that lady say to you?” Jezmeen asked.

  “Oh, you know,” Shirina said. “Just to be careful. I’m fine, though. A fall on your bum hurts a lot more when you’re an adult, doesn’t it?”

  That rush of words and the forced smile didn’t hide Shirina’s embarrassment. Jezmeen wondered for a moment what it would be like to be her little sister, so prim and perfect that a fall in a bathhouse would be the humiliation of a lifetime. Have you read my Wikipedia entry? she wondered. “Don’t worry about it,” Jezmeen said. “Nobody saw.” They gathered their belongings and stepped out of the bathhouse gingerly together. But as they passed the woman and her two daughters, her stare lingered on Shirina. It was more curious than unfriendly, but Shirina seemed to make it a point not to look back.

  The hot tiled floor stung Jezmeen’s feet. She spotted Rajni sitting on a bench, squinting against the glare of the sun. “What happened?” Jezmeen asked. “You were in there for all of five minutes.”

  Rajni shrugged. “I didn’t feel like staying.”

  “Why not?” Jezmeen asked.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about Mum.”

  A trickle of water made its way down Jezmeen’s forehead. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “I thought the bath would make me feel better,” she said. “That was the whole point.”

  “Do you feel better?”

  Jezmeen nodded. “I feel like something changed in there. I don’t think I believe the water has miraculous healing properties, but . . . I don’t know. Haven’t you ever taken a bath to forget a stressful day? That’s how it was for me.”

  “Jezmeen, this isn’t as simple as forgetting a bad night out.”

  Jezmeen felt a flash of anger at Mum for putting them in this situation. They wouldn’t be in India if not for her—they’d have nothing on their consciences. Jezmeen wouldn’t be having those recurring dreams. The sequence of events in Jezmeen’s life played out in reverse, as if a tape was swallowing them back. If Mum hadn’t written that letter, none of this would have happened.

  They sat together in silence for a while, watching the worshippers fall into line and emerge from the dark bathhouse into the bright white temple grounds. “Where did Shirina go?” Jezmeen asked.

  “She’s around. She went looking for her in-laws’ tribute,” Rajni said. “They made a donation to the temple recently and there’s an engraved dedication to them. She said she promised Sehaj she’d take a picture.”

  “How big a donation?” Jezmeen asked. On their way in, they had passed all manner of tributes, names of prominent families engraved into the grand marble walls.

  Rajni raised an eyebrow. “A big one.”

  So Shirina wouldn’t have trouble finding her in-laws’ plaque, then. The significant donations took up more wall space and attracted their own followers. Earlier, Jezmeen had seen a murmuring crowd standing around a towering tribute from a prominent Sikh hedge-fund manager from New York.

  “They’ve got lots of money to spend, haven’t they?” Jezmeen asked.

  “They certainly didn’t spare any expense on those wedding celebrations.”

  Jezmeen remembered feeling overwhelmed by all of Shirina’s in-laws and their glittery outfits, and by how many of them had taken the not-small decision to fly all the way from Australia for the wedding. They wore their success in brand-name shoes and designer suits. The only person who stood out was Shirina’s mother-in-law. Her clothes, though tasteful, were simple to reflect her widow’s status. Sehaj’s father had died when he was a teenager. Jezmeen imagined this was something they had in common when they first began chatting online.

  Is it the money? Jezmeen had wondered when Shirina announced she was engaged to Sehaj. She had never known her sister to be a gold digger but who wouldn’t be impressed with all that Sehaj’s family had to offer, especially after growing up in that old semidetached house with taps that sputtered and a hole in the fence big enough for the neighbors’ incontinent German shepherd to visit their yard to relieve himself? Jezmeen too had spent her childhood imagining a glamorous life, but her fantasies were of stardom. The whole world will know my name, she promised herself, shaking away her fears of insignificance.

  Rajni was fiddling with her phone. “I really wish this thing would work,” she grumbled, shaking the phone as if this would make it function properly. “The FindMe app keeps showing Shirina in the same spot as we are.”

  “Maybe her phone is off,” Jezmeen suggested.

  “I really don’t want to lose one of my sisters in Punjab,” Rajni said, frowning at her phone.

  “Relax,” Jezmeen said. “It’s the Golden Temple. Only good things happen here.”

  “Right,” Rajni said with a sigh. She stared at her phone as if she was willing it to start ringing.

  “Do you use the FindMe app to track Anil’s movements as well?” Jezmeen asked. “He’s off at a pub somewhere and you know exactly when he’s leaving?”

  Rajni looked insulted. “I don’t keep track of my son’s movements,” she informed Jezmeen haughtily.

  “I was joking. Did I tell you I saw him recently?” Jezmeen asked. “In the mall?”

  Rajni’s face seized. Jezmeen could tell from the pinched look on her face that she was hiding something. “I think he was buying you a birthday gift. I thought it was quite sweet.” Quite unlike Anil, she thought, but she kept that observation to herself.

  “Oh yes,” Rajni said with a forced laugh. “Bless him. Such a thoughtful one, isn’t he?” She held up her phone and shook it once again. “Would you believe this useless thing?” she cried. “Now it’s saying that Shirina’s on some backstreet. Honestly.” She chucked the phone into her bag with more force than necessary, suggesting to Jezmeen that she did not want to discuss Anil’s thoughtfulness any further.

  Shirina alternated between cursing to herself and gulping in breaths of air as she power-walked toward the hotel. This narrow lane connected the two major streets and she needed all the shortcuts she could find. There was a dull ache in her belly, followed by a cramp, and in her panic, she couldn’t remember if it started before or after she had fallen. She was furious with herself for not recording the relevant information in her phone, choosing instead to keep it on the card that Sehaj had given her.

  Back in the hotel room, Shirina took a moment to sit on the edge of her bed and catch her breath. Room service had already come through and replaced her sheets—soaked in sweat, she was ashamed to think of it, but last night had been hot even with the air-conditioning on at full blast—and now there wasn’t a single wrinkle to be seen on the flat, white sheets. The bed was vast like the Golden Temple grounds, and there was that same sense of freshness, of starting over.

  She picked up the phone and pressed zero. “Yes, how can I help you?” asked the young man that she had seen manning the reception desk.

  “Madam Shirina, is it?” he asked. “Room 303?”

  “Yes—uh—” She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you could give me the number of a nearby hospital?”

  “Are you unwell, madam?”

  “Not—no, I think I might be injured. I’d just like to know where the nearest hospital is, just in case.”

  “Just one moment, madam.”

  Why didn’t she watch where she was going? Then she wouldn’t be in this situation now, this panic. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath and waited for the pain to return. There it was, a cramp that spread like fingers across her sides and radia
ted across her belly. She’d felt something like that before after a conversation with her mother-in-law and later, she realized that it was the beginning of a panic attack. Could that be it? Just a panic attack? No need to see a doctor, then, just take a few deep breaths and return to the temple as if nothing had happened.

  The young man’s voice returned to the phone. He recited a list of hospitals and their addresses. Shirina murmured the names back but she didn’t write anything down. A doctor who didn’t know her situation would ask too many questions and she couldn’t have that.

  Then again, it was better to be on the safe side. If the pain intensified and she was back at the temple, how would she explain herself to anyone? It was bad enough, what that woman said to her when she was helping her up, and the way she looked at her—suspicious, Shirina thought, although she knew that it could just as well have been concern. She wrote down the name of the last hospital the bellboy mentioned.

  “Madam, if it’s an emergency, we can arrange for transport to take you there right away,” he said.

  Tears stung her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she said, and then she hung up. She wanted to talk to Sehaj again but she couldn’t imagine what she’d say or what he could do to make her feel better. She got to her feet and paused, waiting for the pain, but it was absent. Maybe it was just a panic attack. Then she went to the safe where she’d kept her passport locked away after Rajni returned it this morning.

  She opened the passport case and realized with a jolt that the card was not in the little pocket where she’d kept it neatly folded in half. This was strange. She bent the cover of her passport to ease it out of the case and flipped the case over, shaking it over her lap. Nothing. Fishing through the slit pockets, she found a faded fast-food receipt stubbornly wedged into the leather, the Turkish writing with all its additional accents itemizing a bistro meal they had at the airport at the end of their honeymoon. She felt the pain again, this time tightening in her chest. It was definitely panic.