Karma (22 page)

I feel my tears welling, but I stop them. They are a weakness now. There are times for crying, and this isn't one of them. This isn't tragic. This isn't sad. This isn't about loss. This is about saying who I am.

December 11–15, 1984

Waiting

The reunion with my father is one of relief, but little joy. We tell our sad stories. We relive our fears. But we are angry and in pain. Every subject is an argument.

You made a promise there would be no arranged marriage!

I promised nothing of the sort!

We refuse to see eye to eye.

After everything you've seen

I thought you'd be proud of your Sikh heritage.

You think I'm not proud?

Then how can you love a Hindu?

We defend our new beliefs.

I won't make the same mistake I did with your mother.

Which one?

Hindus and Sikhs should not be together. Nothing good can happen from such a union.

You are wrong, Bapu.

I am good.

Sandeep

I am not allowed to say his name.

I am not allowed to leave the hotel room alone. I am not allowed to stand by the window.

I am not allowed to use the phone.

But my father cannot stop me from imagining.

He will come.

Even if he has to look for me in all the lonely places of the world. Cities. Deserts. Prairie fields. School hallways.

He will find me.

And I will wait.

For his voice to call my name.

For Sandeep is like the wind. No one will be able to stop him.

We are Sikh

The arguments are loudest in the morning. We are refreshed. Ready to do battle again.

Khalistan will become a reality, Jiva. God has seen our suffering and will help us.

You said that would never happen.

It will now. Sikh soldiers will gather and be as one. So now is the time for you to renounce your

Hindu blood.

That's crazy, Bapu.

I am not crazy!

Well, your thinking is! One can't wipe away one's heritage with the sweep of a hand. You wouldn't accept that for yourself. You kept your hair long in Canada. You wore the turban. So you wouldn't disappear.

Your blood, Jiva, is the blood of murderers. And since I am your only parent, I will now say what you are!

Or what? You'll bring out your big knife?

Do not make me angrier!

There's more? Besides my heart, and the memory of my mother's love, what else will you burn with your hatred?

Any Hindu that comes near you.

Is that what you told Sandeep? Is that why he left and hasn't come back?

I told him the truth, Jiva.

You threatened his life! Unwilling to see his kindness and sacrifice as separate from his family's religion!

Jiva, I am grateful to God for bringing the boy to us. I recognize that through his actions, he has paid a penance for the crime of his people. But he is still a Hindu and cannot be in control of his emotions.

So, no Hindu can ever be trusted again? Even those who helped the Sikhs during the riots? Putting themselves in danger?

No.

What about your oldest friend, Kiran.

There can be no exceptions.

And me, of course.

You must be cleansed of your nature, Jiva.

But you are still a child. There is time.

I used to be a child. When I lived in Elsinore. But now I am an old, old woman. I have seen things no child should see. I have seen adults make a hell of this world.

Hell

I can't take much more.

My father's bitter anger.

My absence from Sandeep.

But what are my choices?

Run again? Where?

Refuse to talk until Bapu comes to his senses?

Or go back to Canada with a vengeful father?

Is this to be my future?

Like the unhappiness of my mother?

To love your family but hate your life?

What did you think was going to happen,
Sandeep's eyes had questioned.

I expected benevolence.

My father and I were spared.

We would be grateful for life.

We would choose peace.

I expected to be with you, Sandeep.

Pain

When Bapu returns from the gurudwara he is even more fervent. He grabs my hands. Holds them tight between his.

So much suffering, Jiva. And for what?

So we can forget? Pretend it didn't happen? Go on as before with nothing changed?

You're hurting my hands, Bapu.

My anger is calling me to action! I cannot stand by and do nothing.

What? What will you do?

Why must we Sikhs turn the other cheek? Guru Gobind Singh Ji
quoted Shaikh Sadi, “It is right to use force as a last resort when all other peaceful means fail.”

And have all other peaceful means failed?

It is God who will tell us what do.

And then we will unleash the Hindus' own Kali! The black goddess of righteous battle! Her coiled tongue on fire!

You are talking madness, Bapu!

Vengeance can't bring back the dead. Vengeance is a hunger that
can never be satiated!

But the shame, Jiva. That's what we've been left with. Shame is an anger that dares not act.

A sign

I notice the first one on the top stair.

The blossom is crushed. A dozen pairs of feet have dirtied the original colour.

The second one is on the bottom step. Kicked against the riser. Already wilting.

A third one is outside the main doors of the hotel. Still fresh. Perhaps fallen from a garland.

A fourth is on the pathway. A fifth on the main road. A sixth is at the chai wallah's stall. A seventh at the bus stop. An eighth, a ninth, a street, an alley, then a dozen more strewn about the temple courtyard.

No one else would notice them. The frilled marigold heads. They're just part of the general litter of Delhi. But I see them everywhere. A carpet of deep orange laid out for my feet to walk on.

He knows where I go. Where I walk, where I sleep, where I eat, and pray. He knows every step I take without him.

He hasn't abandoned me! He hasn't forgotten! Sandeep adorns me with his offering every day.

Sleep

Sleep is a good thing.

It separates my father and me.

We cannot bear any more of each other's truths.

But even in sleep, anger doesn't abandon him. His face twists. Emotions throb under the scarred skin.

I have never been afraid of him before.

In spite of his height, his deep voice, his belief in himself. But this small dark man curled on the bed makes me shudder.

His faith, so gentle in his life in Elsinore, has grown back ten times stronger. A hundred times heavier. The enormous weight of duty pressing down on his bones.

He sleeps with his knife.

Forgive me, God,
he whispers. For what? Are his sins still to come?

Will

I try to stay awake.

(He will find me.)

To hear the faint knock that I pray I will come.

tap tap

Soft, not waking Bapu.

I will slip into the hallway.

Into Sandeep's embrace.

His kiss.

His promise to return fulfilled.

In the morning.

In the light.

But I sleep against my will and don't hear the tapping on the door of my dreams.

Falling

The dream-sky is perfect black. The moon in shadow like a shy girl hiding behind her mother's skirt. Yet the atmosphere hums. Then pulses with light. The pilot strings the stars together with green ribbons.

Bapu sits beside me. But not quietly. His knees shake. The yellow turban on his lap begins to unwind. I pull at it looking for the end.
There is no end to faith, Jiva,
he says.
It burns throughout eternity.

I look out the window and see my mother standing on the wing. She is washing the dark hair of the sky. Mata's hands pour liquid stars over the silken strands. When her comb catches on one, she says,
It's just a snag. Nothing that can't be unknotted and made smooth.

Is that true I wonder? I turn to ask Bapu, but the words are blown out of my mouth by a great rush of air.

The plane is cut open to the sky. There are holes where windows and doors used to be. Unbuckled passengers sucked into cold air. And too much wind to scream. As we fall.

I look to my father.

He will save us somehow.

But his face is still. Like a mask.

And then I understand: the falling plane isn't an accident.

Bapu knew what would happen.

I shout at him:

Is this where your anger has brought us? Another slaughter of the innocents?

His lips move but only a whisper.

I lean in so I can hear what he's saying:
Where is your mercy? Where is your humanity?

When the plane hits the water the ocean ignites. I swim through the flames with the others. Our arms burn like molten ore but our bodies are freezing. We shout while we still can.

Help us! Save us from our misery!

Wake up

I wake in a sweat.

Mouth parched. Sucking for air.

I open my eyes too quick and I'm blinded by a light.

I open them again but slowly this time.

Something is flashing in the darkness.

An object lit by the moon.

I know the shape but my brain is slow to accept the truth.

It's a blade.

Pointing at my throat.

Wake up, Bapu,
I whisper.

The knife turns, glints.

Wake up, Bapu. Please.

I hear his sharp breath when he realizes where he is. He looks down at his hand. My face. His eyes fill with horror.

Then he leaps from the bed. The bathroom door slams.

He kicks at the walls like a trapped man.

The door

Someone is banging.

What's going on in there! Open up now!

I turn the lock. Open the door to the hallway.

Just a crack. Try to control my breathing.

Is he drunk?
asks a man.

No . . . .

Then what?

The hallway is crowded with men. Crumpled shirts.

Faces creased with sleep. They try to peer past me into the room.

There has been a death in the family,
I explain.
We are in mourning.

The men nod and lower their eyes. They retreat out of respect.

I am sorry,
says the man.
But I am the manager and I must inform you that you will pay for any damages.

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

If I hear another noise, I will be back. This is a
respectable hotel for respectable guests.

Yes, sir. That is why we came here.

I shut the door.

Fall to my knees.

I weep so hard I drown out my father's cries.

Goodness

Bapu?

I push the bathroom door open. He is sitting on the floor. The sink is pulled away from the wall. Shards of shattered mirror hang like icicles. The window is open. I hope the knife is lying in the alley below.

Bapu, I know what God wants you to do.

I do too, Jiva. He wants me to die before I hurt anyone else I love.

No, Bapu, that's not it. Do you remember what you taught me about Bhai Kanahya? The famous Sikh healer who carried water to every injured warrior on the battlefield? Even to his enemy?

I remember.

God wants you to be good
,
Bapu. Like Bhai Kanahya.

He wants you to relieve suffering.

Bapu's tears

Oh, Jiva, things aren't so simple.

Why not? What's more straightforward than kindness?

Before kindness there must be forgiveness. For oneself. For our sins and weaknesses.

What have you done, Bapu?

It's what I didn't do, Jiva. I didn't fight to protect my Sikh brothers. I didn't look hard enough for you. And my inaction with your mother killed her.

What do you mean?

I didn't say anything to anyone.

The trip was to be a surprise.

Leela would be so pleased with me. Bapu! What are you taking about?

Bapu! What are you taking about?

My surprise, Jiva! My surprise for your mother! Two months before she hung herself I
bought three airline tickets to Delhi! I never told her she'd be going home!

Oh, Bapu.

Don't you see, Jiva? I didn't ease your mother's suffering when I had the chance. I waited. I waited! And for
what? For the selfish pleasure of her gratitude. You are a
motherless child because of me. Where is the absolution for that?

The dead

This is what they try to tell us:

Everything can be forgiven.

Everyone.

December 16, 1984

Sari

I dress in a new sari from the Sari Emporium. Bapu said I could have any one I wanted. I chose pale blue. A silk from Banaras. Blue is Mata's favourite colour.

I gather the pleats at my waist. Drape the
pallu
over my shoulder and turn to look in the mirror. A silk river cascades down my back.

Do you want to know why a sari is so long, Maya?

I remember. The seamless fabric woven in one long warp. Up to nine metres. But tell me again, Mata.

To wrap a man and woman together on their wedding night. Hiding them from the world.

I hear my mother sing:

Tall, short, skinny, fat, rich or poor we fold and wrap.

Helen's voice, too:

Reincarnation. Another chance.

Everyone deserves a second chance, don't you think?