Published in:
Floating Worlds: Oriental Fantasies, 1996
Mina followed the rituals, but her heart was heavy as she wove wreaths with ink-stained fingers. Her book was going well, but since Suresh's death had left her a wealthy widow a year previously, she had cared little for it. She had been alone in the big empty house since the death of her husband last year; the marriage had been arranged, and while she had been fond of him, he had not been the great love of her life. Her eyes went often to a small photo on the windowsill, of a young woman in a green sari. It had been over 20 years since she'd last seen Raji, and her letters had all gone unanswered. Until today.
The handwriting on the grey envelope would have been enough, its smooth curves a reminder not only of their school days together, but of the gentle curves of Raji's body. Mina remembered when she first saw those curves clearly -- they had gone to bathe under a waterfall, amidst a crowd of other schoolgirls, and the pounding torrent had plastered the thin chiffon sari to Raji's dark skin, so that she was almost naked to Mina's gaze. Raji had felt her stare, and blushed, but made no move to cover herself or turn away. It was then that Mina had started to fall in love.
The handwriting would have been enough, but the paper also held Raji's scent -- somehow, despite travelling the miles between war-torn Jaffna in the north, by train and truck and noisome bullock cart. It was a miracle it had arrived at all -- so much mail was lost in the hand to hand passage across guerilla and government lines. Yet the scent lingered, so that if Mina closed her eyes she could pretend she was in the girls' school again, slipping into Raji's bed while the other girls kept a complicit silence. Cupping Raji's firm breasts in her two small hands, sliding a thigh between hers, pressing hard and firm against her hips. Rubbing gently, silently in the night, till the juices flowed, sweet as mango.
She opened the envelope and drew out the letter with trembling fingers. It tore, a jagged slash across the short yellow paper. "My husband has divorced me. I need you." I need you. Twenty years ago, those words would have exalted Mina. She had made plans when the first words were whispered of Raji's soon-to-be arranged marriage -- letters to a cousin in the States, and saving up money from those first story sales. Mina's brother was sympathetic to their plight, and had promised to loan her money when they were ready to flee. But Raji never asked -- she married the stranger instead.
Bereft of her love, Mina had had little strength or desire to resist her own parents' wishes. She had agreed to their plans, and married a kind man, who indulged her in her desire to write.
'I need you.' If the words had been spoken fifteen or ten years ago, Mina would have abandoned husband and house. Even five years ago, an impassioned letter would have been sent in response, at the very least.
But twenty years had passed since Raji had given in to family pressure, and married the rich doctor with the immense dowry. His money had taken care of her family's needs for years, and she had promised Mina undying and unquenchable love, and pled with Mina to understand, tears flowing down those lovely cheeks. Mina had tried to understand, but now, after twenty years, she was tired of understanding. Twenty years of unanswered letters, until now, when Raji's husband had probably left her for a younger woman, she finally needed Mina.
Was it not too much to ask? Mina crumpled the letter in her small hand, then held it over the goddess' flame. As it burned, she murmured a prayer in her heart, that Raji be suitably rewarded for the long years of abandonment and betrayal. She had no heart to keep the holy vigil, and when the last wisps were gone, she blew out the lamp, lay down fully dressed, and went to sleep.
Light blossomed across the night, as the people of the city placed rows of lighted candles along the roofs of their houses. Sweets were shared along with laughter and conversation, as each household celebrated their own interpretation of the holiday. Colombo seemed aflame in light, and the joyful noise rose through the streets. In Mina's home, a light grew as well, a gentle radiance slowly rising, until with a burst of flame, the extinguished lamp relit itself.
Mina slept on, but her dreams were troubled. A woman with the form of a goddess lay beside her on a sandy beach, posing questions she could not refuse to answer. "What was Raji like?" "How does she kiss?" "What duty is due a friend?" And finally, "Do you love her?" The goddess lay still after asking the questions, her dark eyes holding Mina's captive while her arms held Mina's body. Mina tried to resist, to hold silent, to dive into her anger and remain there. But everywhere she went, there too was the goddess. When she called up an image of Raji walking away, the goddess superimposed one of Raji lying naked beneath her, and then one of the two of them laughing, heads together, hands clasped.
Anger, despair, frustration were swiftly dealt with, and still the goddess stared at her, as if asking, 'What else?' Finally, the fear came swelling up, bubbling black and ugly in Mina's heart. "I am old!" she cried. "My eyes sit in nests of wrinkles, my hair is streaked with grey. Breasts that were once a firm handful now are soft and overflowing, and I drape my sari to hide the folds of fat across my stomach. What if she doesn't want me? What if she doesn't like me? What if she doesn't love me anymore?"
The goddess laughed, then answered, scolding gently. "Coward! Look at your love more deeply -- do justice to her and yourself. What are you true fears -- What if she does love you? Are you still brave enough to run away together? What would your family say?!" A stillness fell on the beach then, and the waves seemed to hang motionless in midair, waiting for Mina's answer.
She kept silent a long time, afraid to open her eyes and see the answer, written in the sand. Finally, the weight of the goddess' regard grew unbearable, and Mina opened her dream eyes, and, astonished, found her answer. "I don't know," she said, as the joy welled up inside her. "I don't know -- but I can find out. I am not entirely afraid -- I can at least face her and see what is left after twenty long years."
"Of course you can," the goddess answered, laughing once more. "A poor worshipper you would be, otherwise." She disappeared then, leaving Mina alone on the broad black sand beach. In the distance, a lone figure in a green sari was approaching, her long ebony hair whipping about her in the wind.
Mina awoke hours later; Diwali was over. The city was quiet, recuperating, and the lamps had been blown out across Colombo. When she returned the lamp to its cupboard, a yellow piece of paper fluttered out from beneath it. The letter, whole again. Mina folded it small, tucked it in her blouse, next to her heart, and began to pack for her journey.
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M.A. Mohanraj
May 17, 1996