Even in the special slippers, walking on the ground was like walking on the coals. I was sweating so badly as we walked that I was sure the fever was coming back. Instead of the shortcut through the village, we took the main road. Some people we passed stopped and stared; others spat on the ground and turned their backs to us. But because of Rupal’s command, nobody talked to us or asked where we were going. Maybe they were hoping we were leaving the village forever.
A truck slowed down, and a strange man asked if we wanted a lift, but we looked straight ahead and kept walking, too scared to reply. Walking. Walking. I felt every step I took, cried out with every stone my foot touched. I felt the fire of the earth under my feet. I didn’t care. Soon, I could not feel anything but my heart. It banged thum-thum-thum like a tabla; and after a while, it was the only thing I heard. The birds in the trees fell silent. The cars going by disappeared. Even Radha’s voice drifted away. All I was hearing was my heart song. It was singing Abdul’s name. It was reminding me that with every step I took, I was closer to turning my heart over to his care.
I walked for a long time on feet that were burnt black. Just when they were so numb that I wondered if I should crawl on my knees, we reached Birwad.
When we got there, Radha refused to enter. “This is where we part, Didi,” she said through her tears.
Even for me, Radha would not enter a Muslim village. That was when my heart stopped singing. What had I imagined? That after marriage, Radha would visit me and my husband. That Abdul and I would return to seek Govind’s forgiveness and that slowly, Govind would come to see Abdul’s honorable character and give us his blessings. I saw us all sitting together, my old family and my new, in the home that I had built. I imagined Abdul teasing and joking with my sister who was now his sister. Not this. Never this. Not that my Radha, my sister who I had raised like my child, would already be turning into stone, a polite stranger. Love and fear. At this moment, they were holding hands and becoming one.
“Sister,” I said, “you will not come in with me?”
She shook her head. “No, Didi.” Her eyes shone with tears. “It is hard enough living in our village,” she said. “But if they find out I entered this place.” She shuddered. “Govind will cut my throat.”
Now, only now, did I understand what she had risked. What danger I had put her in. I stared at her in silence. Then, I folded my hands as if I was in the temple and she was a deity. “In a million lifetimes,” I said, “I cannot repay my debt.”
She pulled down my folded hands and fell into my arms. “Didi,” she sobbed. “Didi, you take care of yourself. God be with you.” And then, just when I was thinking this was good, we could stay like this this forever, she pulled out of my arms and ran down the road from which we had come.
I watched her for as long as I could. “Radha!” I called, wanting to see her delicate face one more time, but she did not turn around. I watched until she became a dot, smaller than the stones at my feet. I watched until she disappeared into my past and became a sacred memory.
I turned around to face whatever awaited me, even while thinking that I had made a terrible mistake, that if my feet were not so damaged, maybe I could walk back to my village.
There was a commotion in the distance. I looked up to see Abdul running toward me, calling my name, running zigzag, his arms opened wide, like the protective wings of a giant bird. A big smile on his face that called me home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Smita stared at the tall iron gates of Mohan’s family home. She had not expected the house behind the gates to be this stunning, couldn’t have imagined the lovely stucco walls, the red tiled roof, or the lush front yard with the flowering bushes. This looked like a house in Beverly Hills, rather than in small-town India.
“Namaste, seth,” the old watchman said as he hurried toward the car. “To what do we owe this honor?” He peered in, his gray eyes appraising Smita.
“Ho, Ramdas,” Mohan said. “What news? How have you been?”
The old man grinned as he straightened. “Theek hu, seth,” he said. “Thanks to God.”
Mohan nodded. “And the wife and children?”
“Everybody is well, by the grace of God.” Ramdas bent and looked into the car again. “And who is this young memsahib?”
“Ah, this . . .” Even without looking at him, Smita knew Mohan was flushing. “This is my friend. Smita is her name. She has some work nearby. And so I offered her our home. Just for a few days. Until Monday or so.”