RAGNI VOL 1 eBOOK

VOLUME 1 By Amarjit Singh

Amarjit Singh’s first best-selling novel, Mitti Dee Khushboo (Smell of the Earth), followed two young lovers as they struggled to come and stay together in Punjab, India. His depiction of the authentic culture of this rural northern state of India had readers falling in love with the characters and the beautiful details of the countryside. Now, the author has returned with Ragni, an epic love story filled with suspense, anticipation, and non-stop twists and turns as we embark on the journey to complete a love story that has taken many centuries and lives to fulfill. The history, landscape, and spiritualism of India and other cultures and countries are all skillfully woven through this tale of supernatural wisdom, reincarnation, and ultimately, the absolute power of love. - Amarjit Singh [email protected] www.ragni.org ©2021 by Amarjit Singh All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced without written permission from the author, Amarjit Singh. Ragni is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the au- thor’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life histor- ical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author is fully responsible for the book content and Smith Printing is responsible for the printing of the book only. Library of Congress Number: TXU1-807-833 ISBN: 978-1-949565-47-8 Printed in the U.S.A. by Smith Printing, LLC Ramsey, MN 55303 (800) 416-9099 • www.smithprinting.com

CHAPTER 1 I t was like steam rising from the ground, hovering, making sure the darkness of the evening would disappear, but knowing it would again have to hide in the coolness of the earth when the new sun would arise. And when the first of the brilliant golden rays of morning broke the red skies that chased the deep blue evening, the fog then rested delicately on the blades of grass, retiring until the next daily cycle. The sparrows began singing to each other, picking up their chatty conversations from the day before, and the parrots, showing more reserved dignity, preened themselves and inched gingerly along the branches of their homes. On the ground, the peacocks unfurled their kaleidoscopic capes and strolled languidly atop the mounds beside the path as if they were the royal guard for the holy ground surrounding the temple overlooking the village on the river at the path’s end. Down this ancient path, new feet walked. The young girl, Ragni, and her aunt, Rajinder carried flowers to place in front of the Holy Book marking Aunt Rajinder’s first wedding anniversary. It was also an opportunity for Rajinder to pray for her husband to change certain habits of which she disapproved. He was acting better at home, she thought, but he was going out and getting drunk more, and she hoped her prayers would give him the strength needed to overcome the evils of the bottle forever. The fields on the nearby roadway were bursting with their boughs of cotton on straggly bushes. The harvest had just begun a few days earlier, and 1

when the branches were barren, a new crop would be planted, and graceful sheaves of wheat would take the place of the cotton. Ragni and Rajinder approached the temple through the fields, a taller figure and a smaller one moving along the white tops. As they came to the temple’s entrance, it was as if they went into an obedient trance, the temple commanding a reverence in its presence. First, the two knelt and touched their foreheads to the cool, polished floor in front of the altar of the Holy Book, as others had done countless times before. Next, they threw the rupees to the Holy Book. Pinging and echoing like drops of rain filled the cavernous stillness. While Rajinder began the soft drone of her prayer for her husband, she glanced sideways to her niece. Ragni was taking in her surroundings wide-eyed and mouth-ajar, matching the temple descriptions from her memories given to her by her elders to what she was now seeing for the first time. Off to the right side of the two worshippers, the priest watched the lines on Ragni’s forehead deepen with her intense concentration. With his attention more focused on Ragni’s countenance, he began his ritual reading selection of the month from the Holy Book in a drone of his own. After completing this task, he stood and recited the prayer from the Guru Granth Sahib (the Holy Book of the Sikh religion) in the same monotonous tone. He then dispensed Karah (a sweet pastry used in religious ceremonies) to his two parishioners. Turning to Rajinder, he asked, “Bibi Ji, who is the young one? I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting her before this day.” “She is the daughter of my sister-in-law. Her name is Ragni,” the aunt replied. “Where does she call her home, Bibi Ji?” the priest inquired. By this time, Rajinder sensed the priest’s interest in the girl was more than a cursory one, and she began to grow curious as to his intentions. At that moment, the priest realized this was the daughter of a highly ranked police officer, the only member of this family who resided in Jalandhar. 2

“Is she not then the daughter of the family of the superintendent of police?” he questioned. “Yes, yes, you are correct,” Rajinder responded, surprised at the priest’s ability to place the girl’s family. The priest continued his questions in more rapid succession. “Has the girl had her Akashic Records (records of one’s past lifetimes), the records of her past lives read yet?” “Not that I am aware of,” Rajinder replied. “Perhaps her mother has done this, but she has not informed me. Of myself, I have never heard of such strange records.” The priest continued, “When her parents come to our village, ask them if such a reading has been prepared. If so, have they brought it to me so that I may study it?” Rajinder’s curiosity finally overcame her, and she questioned the priest, “Baba Ji, why are you so interested in the past of my niece?” “I have studied auras for many years and can read a person’s past and future in a glance of their face, but could not help noticing the aura surround- ing your niece. I cannot read it easily, so bright is the light emitted from it … and pure in spirit,” the priest answered. In the rear of the temple, Ragni was oblivious to the conversation at the front. The morning trip was catching up to her, and she was close to slumber, leaning her back against the wall. “Baba Ji . . . I—this is strange—what you tell me is strange,” Rajinder replied, slightly flustered. The priest was now studying the girl at the rear of the temple. His brow crinkled with the thought of her as he closed the Guru Granth Sahib. His right hand slowly stroked his long, white beard as though this would help his thoughts become more crystalline. 3

“My child, there are many things in the world that are strange. The passing of a soul from one entity to another is considered by many in our religion to be odd, but I find it not so difficult to comprehend.” Life is an ongoing process of creation. The decision you make today is often not your choice tomorrow. Yet here is the secret of all the masters: Keep choosing the same thing. Do this over and over until you become conscious of your reality. For some, this takes years. You can tell you are on the way when you see the space close between willing and experiencing. When you make up your mind about something, you set the Universe in motion. A process begins of which you are only just now beginning to understand. These universal forces are God. “You speak of reincarnation, do you not?” Rajinder asked. “Baba Ji, I have heard much talk of reincarnation, but it is, in fact, something I know very little of. Please tell me more of this.” “Bibi Ji, in order to understand and believe, you must accept the fact that the soul never dies; it only changes the place in which it resides.” Rajinder was a woman of much education and considered herself fairly intelligent and worldly. For this reason, she always had a skeptical view of the old beliefs of her religion that did not have a direct bearing on her physical life and well-being, especially the acceptance of reincarnation. However, after hearing the old priest speak with such conviction on the matter, she felt doubts stirring deep within. Nodding and thanking the old priest, she started to leave. Slightly disturbed, Rajinder went to the rear of the temple, touching Ragni gently on her arm to arouse her from her light sleep. The fair-collared, slender girl rubbed her eyes and stood up. As the two left the temple, Rajinder heard 4

the birds singing to each other once again as if leaving the temple allowed life to resume as normal. To the east, the sun had moved slowly across the sky, its brilliant gold ray’s filtered red by the last vestiges of the fog, which still clung to the air near the temple. Through the mist, Rajinder could see that the field to the left of the road was being harvested today. The stuttering pops of an engine broke up the morning stillness and drowned out the birds’ conversations, and within seconds a tractor came into view. The two continued on the path when Rajinder sensed something not quite right. It was the tractor—it didn’t seem to be traveling in any kind of set course, and the droning speed remained steady, too steady as if it were unattended. She stopped on the path to study the moving machine when it became apparent it was heading straight for one of the electric utility poles that ran through the middle of the field. There was going to be a collision in seconds. “You there! You on the tractor, be careful!” she shouted, but no one answered. “Look out for the pole!” she yelled again, more urgently. Seemingly from out of nowhere, a figure came bounding through the cotton plants sprinting toward the tractor. At the last minute, he leaped aboard, turning the wheel and avoiding a collision with the pole. Now in control, the tractor turned toward the road and approached Rajinder and Ragni. A young man driving the tractor stopped it at the edge of the road and hopped off. Rajinder noticed a smaller child still sitting in the driver’s seat, and she then knew what had happened. The younger child was trying to drive the tractor and had lost control of it, forcing the older boy to chase it down. The older boy approached the aunt and her niece and said, “Thank you so much for calling out. My young brother is too mischievous for his own good sometimes. If you had not called out, I would not have heard, and he would have wrapped the tractor around that pole by now.” Rajinder answered, “Thank God, not me. If it were not for Him, I would not have been traveling on this road this morning.” 5

Ragni, fascinated with the younger boy, had gone over to the tractor to talk to him. “What is your name?” The young boy replied, “Kanwar.” “They say you are a naughty boy. Are you?” she questioned. “No!” he shouted defiantly, his coal-black eyes flashing, showing a grin of brilliant white teeth. “Then why do you think they say this about you?” she inquired quietly. “I don’t know,” the young boy responded softly, shrugging his shoulders. “You must like driving the tractor,” Ragni said. “Very much,” he answered, “but no one seems to think I can do it.” Pausing in thought for a moment, Ragni then asked, “Do you like to fly airplanes?” “I would like to very much! They say I am too young for that …but one day I will! ” he told her eagerly. At this point, Rajinder joined the two children and interjected, “I have one you can fly! One of my friends from the USA bought it as a gift a while ago.” “Where is it?” Kanwar asked excitedly. “May I see it?” Troubled, Ragni declared, “I don’t like airplanes.” A look of surprise came over Rajinder’s face, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” she asked. “I thought I would give you this airplane for your fifth birthday because I thought you would like it.” Kanwar broke in, “May I please see it sometime?” Rajinder forgot her disappointment at Ragni’s displeasure with her gift and smiled at the boy, “Come to my house, and I will teach you how to fly it. You can fly it without ever having to leave the ground. It is a remote control plane, and you can make it fly loops or go straight. You can land it and do other tricks, just like a real plane.” 6

“I will be there!” Kanwar excitedly replied. After giving Kanwar directions to her house, Rajinder said to Ragni, “Come, little one. It is time for us to head home.” Smiling at the young boy, Ragni told him, “Come to our house tonight, Kanwar. I will be waiting for you! ” Rajinder placed her arm around Ragni and said to the elder brother, Jaswant, “We must leave now, but we will see you again.” “Thank you again, and may God be with you!” Jaswant called as the two left. Rajinder and Ragni started down the road, and Ragni turned to wave at the boys. They smiled and returned the wave and then went back to the fields and resumed their harvesting. The boys’ father had died several years ago, and the main duties of tending the farm fell heavily on Jaswant’s shoulders. At fourteen years old, the weight of the responsibilities of farming and raising seven-year-old Kanwar was wearying. Jaswant was trying to better himself by taking first-year classes at the local school, but there never seemed to be enough hours for his studies and his duties. Sufficient sleep was a luxury that seemed constantly out of his reach. The rest of the day passed peacefully, and in the cool of the evening, Ragni waited expectantly for her new friend. As the sun closed out the day in the west, a sinking feeling came over her that either Kanwar had forgotten or something had happened to him. Ragni counted the minutes while Rajinder began to worry about her heavy mood swing—just hours before, Ragni seemed so happy. Maybe there was something she could do. Calling the maid, Smitti, Rajinder told her, “My niece is fretting that the young boy Kanwar has not come yet. Would you please go to his residence 7

and find out if there is a problem preventing his coming, or if it may have just slipped his mind that he was expected this evening? You know how forgetful young boys are sometimes.” Smitti proceeded to the young boy’s house, but as she came closer, she noticed a group of children playing in his front yard. She called out to him, “Kanwar, don’t you want to learn to fly that airplane?” Spinning around, he looked at who had shouted to him, and when he didn’t recognize the person or the voice, he asked, “Who told you about that?” “Ragni is very unhappy that you have not come to the house,” Smitti answered. Putting his hand to his mouth in embarrassment, Kanwar said, “Oh, no! I forgot all about that. I’m coming right now!” and he and Smitti walked toward Rajinder’s home. Ragni was moping and looking out the second-story window with her chin rested on her folded arms when she noticed Smitti and Kanwar hurrying up the walkway to her house. Lighting up at this sight, she tossed her long, braided hair over her shoulder and raced down to meet them in the yard. Trying to hide the fact that she was so happy that he came, after all, she asked in a mock scolding manner, “Why didn’t you come when you were invited?” Scraping the ground with his foot in embarrassment, Kanwar replied, “I forgot. My friends came to play, and the time passed too quickly. I’m sorry.” Then he took Ragni’s arm, and the two children walked to the house. Hearing the children’s voices, Rajinder took a quick peek and then went to the closet to get the plane. She brought the box out onto the kitchen table, attached the wires to the control box, and inserted the batteries. The two children watched and waited patiently. When it was ready, Rajinder carried the plane to the yard with the two children close at her heels. Guiding the plane through basic maneuvers, she 8

explained how to operate it, brought it in for a landing, and turned the controls over to Kanwar. “Are you ready to give it a try?” Rajinder asked him. Kanwar eagerly nodded. He took the control box from her and readied the plane on the ground, anxious for take-off. In a matter of moments, Kanwar had mastered the controls and giggled gleefully as he adroitly flew the plane high above the yard in graceful, swooping patterns. Ragni watched the plane in silence as it circled above her head. The expression on her face grew more intense by the moment as if her whole world consisted of the buzzing of the engine, the boy’s laughter, and the flying plane. Several minutes went by before Rajinder noticed Ragni’s hypnotic silence. Something was wrong; Ragni was no longer following the flight of the plane. Her head was upturned, but her face had a vacant stare. She started swaying back and forth on her heels, and a look of great pain washed over her face. Her teeth clenched, and her fists balled so tightly that her knuckles went white. Shaking in convulsions, she collapsed to the ground, the look of agony intensifying, while the rest of her small body continued to tremble. Rajinder ran to her aid. “Ragni! Ragni! What is wrong, my dear?” Rajinder cried out as she cradled the young girl in her arms. Panicking, she screamed for Smitti, “Get the doctor from the hospital! Quickly! Run! ” In a matter of minutes, Smitti returned with the doctor. Kneeling beside Rajinder, the doctor checked Ragni’s pulse and heartbeat. Reaching deftly into his bag, he removed a syringe, injecting a mild sedative into Ragni’s arm. As the young girl went limp from her intense fit, the doctor took her in his arms and carried her into the house. In a soothing voice, he explained to Rajinder, “There is no real cause for alarm that I can see. It appears that Ragni merely became overly excited and went into a state of hyperventilation, which caused her to collapse. Keep her in 9

bed, and when she comes to give her some warm milk. The sedative will wear off in a few minutes, and after that, you may give her a couple of aspirin. She will be fine in the morning. If there are any further problems, just call me.” Rajinder sighed with relief. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you for coming so quickly. I was so worried.” “Think nothing of it—she should be fine. But remember, if there are any further problems, don’t hesitate to call me,” he told her as he left. Ragni had been in bed no more than a few minutes when she started regaining her senses. She looked about with a slightly confused expression, but once she recognized the familiar surroundings of her room, she relaxed. Rajinder, Smitti, and Kanwar stood by her bed. Seeing her recovering, Rajinder sat on the corner of her bed and asked, “You became a little too excited out there. What was it that caused this?” “I . . . I’m not sure,” Ragni replied, becoming a bit confused again, trying to remember what had happened. Her eyes became slightly glazed again as she turned to Kanwar and asked, “Did you like flying the plane?” “Yes! It was terrific!” Kanwar replied enthusiastically. Ragni was looking over Kanwar’s head; her eyes transfixed in a ghostly stare. “Do you want to fly it again?” Ragni asked him in an unearthly, quiet voice. Slightly troubled, Kanwar knitted his brows and answered, “Yes …of course I do.” Rajinder sat more erect on the edge of the bed. Something was going wrong again. Ragni’s breathing became heavier, and the intense glare in her vacuous eyes started the others worriedly glancing at one another. Rajinder made a move to touch Ragni’s forehead to try and calm her down, when 10

Ragni suddenly threw the covers off the bed and shrieked violently, “No! You will not fly the plane again! No! No! No!” and she ran out of the room, out of the house, and into the yard before the others could recover from their shock. Gathering their senses, they followed Ragni out of the house, where they found her charging toward the toy plane on the ground. In a screaming fit, she grabbed the plane and hurled it against the house, shattering it into a thousand pieces, the toy pilot flying several feet from the rest of the broken parts of the plane. Panting and staring at her hands with a wide-eyed, crazed look, Ragni looked at herself and then to the others still standing at the front of the house, watching in disbelief at what had just happened. Running frantically toward Kanwar, Ragni grabbed for his arm crying and shouting something unintelligible. Kanwar, a terrified expression upon his face, broke away from her grasp and dashed out of the yard toward his own house. Sobbing hysterically and bending over half limp, Ragni turned to watch Kanwar running away. Then, making gurgling noises, she pawed for something to hold her up, stumbled, and collapsed. 11

CHAPTER 2 T he final golden glow of the sunset faded, melting into the deeper blue of night, creating a timeless backdrop for the stars. Soon, the nearly full moon revealed itself like a new prince on the horizon, glowing and becoming more magnificent the higher it rose. A soft, busy click-clacking could be heard coming from Rajinder’s room as she sat quietly knitting by the lone lamp near her bedside. But it was not the sweater she was thinking about. Her thoughts were reeling back to the events earlier in the day with the priest in the temple. “The lines on the girl’s forehead are the clearest indication I have ever seen of purity in spirit,” he had said, but what did he mean? Rajinder always sensed something special in Ragni’s aura, but until now, she had never given it much credence. The incident with the airplane now brought all these musings to the front of her mind. She thought back to the things that happened with the airplane once again. “Do you enjoy flying the plane?” The intensity of Ragni’s tone haunted Rajinder. “Would you like to fly it again?” When Kanwar had replied, “Yes, of course,” Ragni had flown into a rage, screaming hysterically and attacking the plane, shrieking, “No! You will not fly the plane again! No! No! ” Troubled and clearly shaken even as she relived the memory, Rajinder wondered how one so young could have feelings so strong. She thought back 12

to when Ragni was questioning Kanwar about being late for his play date with her. Her attitude and whole countenance were like that of a person much older than Ragni’s five years. Staring straight ahead, Rajinder gradually slowed the knitting needles to a complete stop. Setting aside her work, she rose from her chair. Just thinking about the day had her so preoccupied she knew she wasn’t going to be able to do anything more until she checked on Ragni to make sure she was all right. As she quietly entered Ragni’s room, she sensed something amiss, and twinges of fear and apprehension prickled the back of her spine. The bed was empty. The cold, tingling fear crept up her back and reached the nape of her neck. Switching on the light, she looked about Ragni’s room and then hastily searched the rest of the lower level of the house. Ragni was clearly gone. “Smitti! Smitti! Come here!” she shouted. “Here I am, Bibi Ji. What’s wrong?” Smitti answered her face awash with concern. “Ragni is not in her bed. She’s gone! I can’t find her; please, help me look!” Rajinder said, the tension mounting in her voice. “I saw a shadow going up the stairs not too long ago. Let’s go to the upper level and see if that was her,” Smitti suggested. The two women went up to search, but again, there was no sign of the child. Once on the higher floor, they decided to climb up to the roof. Rajinder remembered a few times when she and Ragni had gone up there to view the stars. Once through the opening of the roof, Rajinder could see the still silhouette of her niece against the parapet surrounding the roof. In a silent gaze, Ragni was looking toward Kanwar’s home. Smitti remained closer to the opening to the roof while Rajinder, relieved now that she had found Ragni, walked toward 13

her, trying to regain some sort of composure. Lightly touching her shoulder, Rajinder said, “My dear, what are you doing on the roof in the middle of the night?” “Looking at the moon,” the young girl whispered dreamily. Rajinder looked at the moon high above their heads and then to where Ragni was staring and grew slightly troubled again. “But the moon is above you, not out where you are looking …” her voice drifted off. “Perhaps it is the same moon,” the girl murmured in a quiet, eerie voice. What did she mean? Rather than betray her consternation, Rajinder chose to remain silent and look over to where Ragni was transfixed. Rajinder then discreetly glanced back toward Smitti, nodding that she had things in control and signaling that Smitti could retire once again. A few silent moments passed before Ragni finally broke it by saying, “Why is the moon so lovely? Is it nature, or just the manner in which we see it?” the girl questioned her aunt. Surprised by the depth of her inquiry, Rajinder stumbled for an answer. “It has always been beautiful and will always be so,” she replied. The child persisted, “Are the stars gods?” “No …not gods …but perhaps reflections of gods …” Rajinder proposed, unsure of her own answer. “Auntie, why is the sky so blue? Is that the way of nature also?” asked Ragni. “Yes, child, it is the way of nature.” “Auntie, what is nature?” she pressed. “Who gave birth to people? And what does birth mean?” 14

Rajinder drew a long breath and exhaled slowly as she moved to the parapet next to Ragni. Relaxing and partaking in her niece’s magical mood, she placed her arm around Ragni and focused on the evening horizon. “Birth is like a flower that blooms on this earth with the help of two loving souls. You and Kanwar are the blossoms that spring from the hearts of two loving beings, your parents.” “Is Kanwar a flower?” the girl asked. A smile came over Rajinder’s face. This sounded more like the child she was used to. “Yes …yes, why not?” she replied, gazing lovingly at her niece. Since the two had been on the rooftop, the breeze had picked up, and the moon had risen higher, increasing in brightness until it eclipsed the village lights. “What is the difference between the moon and a flower?” the girl reverted to her dreamier voice. “The moon gives you light at night, and the flowers pass their fragrance to the air in the day,” her aunt replied. “Which is the best, the moonlight or the smell of the flowers?” Ragni questioned. “Which one do you like the best, little one?” her aunt returned, softly stroking the child’s hair. “The flower!” Ragni’s answer was quick and intense. “Why don’t you like the moon?” Rajinder asked, examining the little girl, curious at the sudden conviction in her voice. “Oh, I like the moon too, but not as much as the flower,” Ragni countered firmly. 15

Rajinder softly inquired, hoping her questioning would not intimi- date the girl. “Because the moon does not have the fragrance of the flower,” Ragni told her. In the distance, Rajinder could hear the din of the tractor sputtering into the cattle shed, signaling the return of her husband from town. “Come, child; your uncle has returned home. Let’s go in,” she guided the child away from the roof ’s edge and back down to the main level of the house. After tucking Ragni back in bed, Rajinder went to the kitchen to place her husband’s supper on the table. She could tell by the uncertain manner in which he negotiated the entrance of the house that he had already had some liquor with his friends in the village. In a disapproving silence, she served him his meal. Eating quietly and perhaps a little sheepishly, he ate as quickly as he could then went to check the barn and cattle shed to see if the animals were properly fed by the farm workers. When he was gone, Rajinder cleared the table while Smitti finished washing the evening’s dishes; the women had eaten earlier. When they were through with their last evening chores, they retired to their bedrooms. Rajinder sat on the edge of her bed, still too troubled over her niece. A girl so young having such deep feelings for Kanwar didn’t seem right. How could it have happened so suddenly? She was still just a child. The breeze through the curtained windows carried a warm fragrance of flowers into her room, once again reminding her of the things Ragni had said about Kanwar. Pacing the room, she finally decided to check up on her again. Ragni’s door was open, and she was lying on the bed with an open book in front of her, but it was obvious that the book wasn’t the cause of the intense concentration on her face. She glanced up suddenly and asked her aunt, “Mami Ji, (maternal aunt) if birth is like a flower, what is love?” 16

Rajinder entered the open door, explaining, “Love is a sweet melody that joins two souls together.” “Auntie, sometimes when I dream, I hear sweet music and can smell the fragrance of flowers,” Ragni softly told her, resting her head on her folded arms. Rajinder was amazed and perhaps a little shocked at the depth of the feeling and sincerity coming from Ragni. She stared at the child, now breathing softly and rhythmically in sleep. As she went to cover her, she noticed a piece of paper lying on the bed next to her. She picked it up to move it and was amazed to find a perfect colored pencil sketch of Kanwar on it. Ragni had drawn the features of the boy with an eerie realism and had even captured the color and hue of the clothes he was wearing that day. Rajinder put the sketch into Ragni’s suitcase at the foot of the bed, covered her with a light blanket, and kissed her forehead softly. The next morning, Kanwar came to the house to play. Smitti greeted him and sent him to the second floor where Ragni was playing. As he entered her room, Ragni smiled and immediately picked up a pencil and paper and began to draw him. Approaching her and seeing what she was doing, he asked, “Who is that?” A few more strokes of the pencil, and she responded, “It’s you!” “Why are you drawing a picture of me?” Without looking up, she replied aloofly, “Because I like to.” Kanwar grinned impishly and said, “If you like me so much, why wouldn’t you let me fly the plane again?” Still drawing and not looking up, she answered, “I was frightened by the noise of the plane.” “Why?” Kanwar asked more seriously. “I really don’t know why …” she said, putting down her pencil and look- ing pensive. 17

“Where is the plane now?” he asked. “Out in the yard. It’s all broken up in a thousand pieces,” she tersely told him. Kanwar went down to the yard without another word and began gather- ing up the pieces of the plane scattered across the grass. Ragni followed him out. When she saw what he was doing, her face turned pale, and she started to tremble. “Kanwar, please don’t do that!” Ragni screamed fearfully. Kanwar stopped halfway, stooped as he was picking up one of the pieces, and looked at her with his mouth open. “Why not?” he shouted, for lack of anything better to say. “I won’t speak to you again if you don’t stop right now!” Ragni announced forcefully. Kanwar couldn’t understand why she was so angry with him, but he didn’t want to press the matter, so he backed off. “Okay! Okay! I won’t fly it!” he told her hastily, trying to cool her off. Ragni quickly grabbed the pieces from him, ran to the house, and climbed the stairs to the upper story. She went to the room in the rear and tossed the pieces out the window into the drain outside. As soon as the last of them rattled down the drainpipe, she relaxed as if she’d accomplished some sort of mission and had a great weight lifted from her shoulders. It was like a gray shroud in the form of the little toy plane had been raised over her head. Now that it was gone, she could return once more to the happy life of her childhood. Ragni turned to find Kanwar standing behind her, looking sad and bewildered. Going to him, she began to tickle him, and in an instant, the two were laughing and playing gaily. “Can you come to see me tomorrow after school?” she asked him when they were out of breath from laughing and playing. 18

“Sure. What’s going on?” he replied. “I am leaving the village tomorrow,” Ragni replied, suddenly growing quiet and blue. “Where are you going?” “I received a letter from my mother today, and my school will be opening in a few days,” she answered. “Where will you go to school?” Kanwar asked, now sharing her somber mood. He had not known Ragni very long, but already feelings for her were beginning to stir in his heart. “I am attending the Sanawer School,” she replied. “How far is that from here?” “It is many miles from here, but I will come back to visit my aunt when I have a holiday,” she promised. “When will you get a holiday?” he asked eagerly. “I won’t know until I get to the school,” she said sadly. The two children stood silently, staring at the ground for a few moments, both at a loss for words. Then in a small voice, Ragni repeated, “Will you come to see me tomorrow?” “Of course I will,” Kanwar replied softly. The rest of the day, they played all the games children have played for ages, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. At the end of the day, Kanwar said, “The sun is almost gone from the sky, and I must leave, or my mother will worry. I will come and see you tomorrow.” Ragni’s eyes followed him from the window of her upper-story room until he disappeared from her sight. Downstairs in the kitchen, she found Rajinder by the oven preparing the evening meal. “Auntie, may we go for a walk?” she asked. 19

Rajinder closed the oven with a potholder and looked at her niece. “But Ragni, the sun has gone down, and it is too dark to go now. We will go tomorrow evening, okay?” Rajinder told her, setting the potholder on the oven top and reaching for a ladle to stir the soup. “Please, Auntie, may we please go now?” the child implored. Rajinder set the ladle down and peered into the child’s eyes. Realizing it would mean much to her for some reason, she agreed. “Okay. But only for a short walk.” Then turning to the servant, she called, “Smitti, can you please come here?” “What is it, Bibi Ji?” answered Smitti. “My niece is persistent tonight and wants to go for a short walk. Will you please accompany us?” Rajinder asked the servant girl. “Yes, of course,” she answered. The two women put the finishing touches on dinner, turning off the oven and covering the soup to keep it hot. The three of them left the yard and stepped out under a star-scattered night sky dominated by the slow-rising yellow-orange globe that was the moon. All was quiet around the house except for the occasional barking of a dog farther down the road in the village. They ended up walking the path to the temple. As they approached the holy ground, they turned and started along the river, heading back to the village. The moon, high enough now, reflected a thousand white pools in the river, like white, rippling diamonds. A mango tree along the riverbank was outlined by the rays of the moon, rising just above it, some of its yellow rays streaming through the branches. The three of them came up to the tree and rested beneath it. A few yards to their right, a small flame pot burned, marking the spot of a grave. Apparently, someone had just lit it a few minutes before, the flames casting shadows that danced among the mounds. 20

As they sat under the tree, Ragni asked her aunt, “Where is the flame coming from?” “It is marking a grave, which belongs to a Muslim Fakir. When the Fakir died, he was buried here, Ragni,” her aunt explained. “Why do we use graves?” the child questioned. Rajinder became slightly uncomfortable again with the kind of questions her young niece was posing to her. “A grave is where we put people when they die,” she answered finally. “But what happens when a person dies?” Ragni persisted. With this question, Smitti shot an alarmed look toward Rajinder. The tone of the girl’s voice as she asked this last question frightened Smitti, and she found herself quietly calling on God for protection. “When the soul leaves the body, the person dies,” answered Rajinder. “Does the soul ever die?” “No, the priest at the temple told me a person’s soul never dies; it only changes bodies,” Rajinder answered. “How do you explain death” Ragni interrupted her. Grasping for something to change the topic and unable to answer her question, she asked Ragni, “Don’t you think the moonlight shining through the leaves of the mango tree is one of the prettiest things you have ever seen?” A few long, thin strips of clouds were moving in front of the moon. Ragni looked up at them and asked playfully, “What are those pieces in the sky?” Laughing and glad that her niece was back to being more like a child, Rajinder told her, “Those are clouds, of course.” “I wish I could play behind them,” Ragni giggled. 21

“Oh dear, those clouds are too high up to touch them, let alone to play with them,” Rajinder said with a laugh. “Come, it is time we returned home.” Rajinder took Ragni’s hand, and the three of them headed back to the village. Once in the safe confines of the village, Rajinder felt the tension and anxiety of earlier moments slip away. As they closed the gate to the yard behind them, Rajinder’s husband was just entering the house from the back. Smitti and Rajinder finished the final preparations for supper, and the group sat together to eat. Even Rajinder’s husband was sober for once, more than likely because he didn’t stop at his friends’ before coming home. After eating, Rajinder said to her husband, “We received a letter from Ragni’s mother today.” “What does my sister have to say?” he asked his wife. “She tells me Ragni’s school is preparing to open, and she wants us to bring Ragni back.” “This is my busiest time in the fields; I don’t know if I can get away. Why don’t you take Ragni to Jullundur by bus, and I will pick you up when you return?” he suggested. “Fine, I think I’ll stay a couple of days if you don’t mind. Smitti can take care of your dinner. I don’t get to visit with my sister-in-law enough, and this will be a good chance for both of us to catch up on news,” Rajinder replied. Early the next morning, Ragni arose and prepared for her return home. Rajinder had bought her a new dress, and wearing it, along with all the new changes to come, made her feel as if she were undertaking a new chapter in her life. With Smitti’s help, she finished packing her suitcase, and then she and her aunt boarded the wagon that would take them to the bus station. As the two boarded the horse wagon, Rajinder took notice of the melancholy look on Ragni’s face. Then she realized she was probably sad to 22

be leaving her new friend, Kanwar. As the wagon approached the school Kanwar attended, Rajinder said to the coachman, “Please, stop here. Would you be so kind as to go into the school playground and ask that boy there, Kanwar, to come over here?” The coachman stopped and started toward the playground. At that moment, Kanwar, who was on the playground, noticed the wagon and who was in it and began to run toward them. He met the coachman, who escorted him to the wagon. When Kanwar reached the wagon, he looked up and saw Ragni staring back at him with tears in her eyes. He clasped her hand with his, and said, “Ragni, don’t be so sad. Why are you so sad?” “Because you are the moon and the flowers,” she said, her voice breaking with sadness. Kanwar frowned a bit, unable to understand what she meant. He thought she was just upset because she was leaving. “I will come to see you the first holiday I get from school,” Ragni promised amid her tears. Her long slender face framed by her shiny ebony hair against her smooth light skin set off her large, deep eyes. Rajinder nodded to the coachman to signal him to move, her own face filled with sadness for her niece. As they pulled slowly away, Kanwar ran beside them, holding on to her hand as long as he could until he could no longer keep up. The sadness in Ragni’s eyes mirrored that in his own as he watched the wagon take away his friend. On the wagon, Rajinder pulled her niece closer to herself, trying to comfort her sobbing. She felt the girl’s intense emotions and wondered again what could cause one so young to have feelings such as these. Back at the school, Kanwar watched the wagon until it disappeared over the horizon before turning away. 23

A week later, early in the morning Rajinder went to the temple for prayers. Her mind was ringing with the question asked by her niece. She asked the priest the same question. The priest looked at her, smiled, and moved his hand through his long beard as he replied, “You want to know the death’s secrets?” “You cannot find these secrets unless you seek them in the heart of life. The bat who files at night is blind unto the day and cannot unveil the mystery of light. Open your heart to the body of life, and you will see the spirit of death. As the river and ocean are one, so are life and death one. Like seeds under the ice and snow of winter, your heart dreams of summer. Trust the dreams of your heart, for in them is hidden the gates of heaven. When you meet death, you stand alone in the wind and melt into the sun. Only when you drink from the lake of silence shall your heart sing. Only when the earth claims your body, you shall dance.” Rajinder’s heart was at peace. She looked at the priest, his eyes were closed, and he was in the deep in thought. 24

CHAPTER 3 T he thunder in the distant hills blended with the town commons’ bells striking their forlorn signal that it was now eight o’clock. The wind from the impending storm ran through the streets of the empty town to the outskirts, where it seemed to throw its weight against the windows and doors of the Sanawar School, rattling them as if trying to get in. Just as the storm seemed to blow through the town, it also chased the years. Ragni was now in the ninth grade, the winds of time being gracious and kind to the unfolding of her young womanhood. The principal and Mrs. Pailia, the dormitory supervisor, moved from one room to another, making one of their periodic checks. Midway through their inspection, they came to the room Ragni shared with her roommate. As they entered, Ragni was at her desk, sketching something on a pad of paper. The knock on the door and her roommate’s greeting to the two school officials made her hastily cover the drawing up with some school papers that she should have been working on. “How are you doing this evening, Ragni?” the principal asked cordially, moving to Ragni’s side and placing a hand on the backrest of her chair. “I am fine,” the girl answered somewhat guiltily, quickly glancing down to make sure that her telltale drawing was covered with her school papers. 25

“It looks like you’re studying hard tonight. That is good. Have you always been such a hard, serious worker? We like to think of our school as not only all work, but a time for children your age to have fun as well.” the principal chided, but underneath her joking, she was serious. She noticed Ragni never seemed as carefree as the other girls—not that there was anything particularly wrong with that. In fact, there was a maturity or even solemness to her demeanor that most children didn’t have, but in some indescribable way, it worried the principal a little. “I didn’t realize I appeared so serious to you,” Ragni replied evenly. The principal made eye contact with the young girl. Her many years of training and experience in psychiatry had taught her well how to read the actions and attitudes of her students, but she had never run into a case quite like this one—and it troubled her greatly. “Oh, not that there is anything wrong with being serious. It makes for a good student sometimes. By the way, how are your studies going this year?” the principal probed, trying to find some insight as to the child’s behavior without setting her on the defensive. “My studies are going well. It seems to be a little easier this year than last,” the girl replied. “Good, good. . . . How about the service in the mess this year? We’ve been trying to add some different foods—you know, trying new things in an attempt to expose the students to some things perhaps they haven’t had yet. What do you think of it so far?” the principal asked smiling, trying to get the conversation on a more informal basis in the hopes Ragni would open up a little. “The food is fine. I like most of it,” Ragni said, returning the smile. “How about the living arrangements this year? Do you like your room and this dorm?” the principal asked, running out of small talk.

“Yes, the room is fine. I like living here just fine,” the girl said, her expression still carefully neutral. After a brief uncomfortable silence, the principal took her hand off the back of Ragni’s chair and took a deep breath. “Well, then, I guess I had better let you return to your studies. Have a pleasant evening, Ragni, and if there is ever a time you wish to speak to me about anything at all, please know that my door is always open. Okay?” she told her sincerely. “Yes, thank you,” Ragni said, and the principal and supervisor left the room to continue with their informal inspection. All the girls liked the principal and always seemed to try their best to please her, so the rest of the inspection went rather quickly. The brief encounter with Ragni was the only thing that troubled the principal, and she couldn’t get it off her mind. When they left that wing of the dormitory, the principal turned to the supervisor and said, “Please keep a watch on Ragni. There is something about that child’s manner that worries me. Children that age should be having fun, and it seems like this child has none in her life. If you find out why this is so, I’d be very grateful.” “Yes, I have also noticed this about the child. I’ll keep an eye open for her and let you know if I see anything that will help,” the supervisor replied as they went their separate ways for the night. The next day the principal was busy in her office going through her daily mail when a thought occurred to her. Setting aside what she was doing, she rang for her assistant. “Can you please have the ninth-grade tutor come into my office?” she requested. The assistant left, and, within a few minutes, Sushma, the ninth-grade tutor, knocked on the open door to signal her arrival to the principal. 27

“Yes, come in, come in, Sushma,” she invited. “What can I do for you, Ma’am?” Sushma asked. “As the ninth-grade tutor, you have the records of the contests held this year, don’t you? Could you please bring me these records as well as the pictures of the winners for the school magazine?” she asked the tutor. “Yes, of course. I can get them from my office right now,” Sushma replied as she left the office. About half an hour later, she returned with a thick folder of the information the principal requested. The principal rifled through the folder, read the list of the award winners, and saw Ragni’s name appear many times—first in painting, then in poetry, music, drama, and overall studies—quite an achievement for any student. “Thank you, Sushma. I have what I need,” she said, confirming a hunch she had about Ragni. “You’re welcome, Ma’am. If you need me for anything else, please let me know,” Sushma told the principal before leaving. The principal picked up the phone and dialed the number of Mrs. Pailia, the supervisor of the dorm in which Ragni resided. When the supervisor answered, the principal told her, “I’ve been going through the award’s list for this period, and Ragni seems to have done very well. As you know, I like to have all the most talented students have their own private room when it is possible. Can you arrange this?” “Yes, ma’am. I have an unoccupied room I can transfer her to this afternoon,” Mrs. Pailia answered. That evening, after the transfer had been completed, Mrs. Pailia made her nightly rounds of the dorm, stopping to chat with the girls she came across. Her happy voice and friendly eyes endeared her to all the girls in the dorm. It seemed like she was always in a good mood and always had something good 28

to say about everyone. She made a point of being especially nice to Ragni, making sure she made a smooth transition to her new room. Remembering what the principal said about her, she kept a close watch on her. In the morning, Mrs. Pailia went to the principal’s office. “Come in, Mrs. Pailia,” she said, rising to greet the supervisor. “How are things in the ninth-grade dorm?” “Good, for the most part good,” and the two of them talked about general matters of the school. Near the end of the conversations, the principal asked, “Mrs. Pailia, have you anything to report on the child, Ragni? For some reason, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind lately.” Mrs. Pailia’s face grew thoughtful for a moment. “Yes …as a matter of fact, something rather strange happened just last night. To tell you the truth, it was the main reason I came to talk to you today. “Shortly after the big clock in the commons began to strike midnight, I was awakened by my dog, Micki, who always sleeps at the foot of my bed. I thought at first it was just an animal outside, but Micki persisted in growling, so I got up out of bed to look out the window to see what was disturbing him. Micki stood up and seemed anxious to go outside and see what was out there, so I put on a robe and slippers and went out of my cottage for a better look. As I opened the door, the chilly night air blew in and caught me by surprise, it was so cold. I braced myself and went out. All I could hear was the clattering of the iron plate on the shed next to my building. We walked down the path a ways, and on the horizon, silhouetted by the moonlight, I could see a tall, slender figure beginning its ascent up the hill in front of the dorm. We followed and watched. The figure would move very quickly and then appear to stop and listen for something in the night. I tried matching my steps with those of the figure ahead, stopping when it stopped and moving as it moved. When I got closer, I saw that it had stopped in a clearing where the moonlight was shining. Micki and I moved into the shadows of a large tree and watched. I had to constantly shush Micki so the figure wouldn’t hear his growling. 29

“The figure then moved farther into the night, still climbing toward the top of the hill where an old abandoned castle is. It went on through the broken gateway and into the main courtyard. From the outside of the gate, I could watch. The figure was that of a young woman or a girl. She was searching for something in the ruins of an ancient fountain as if she had lost something there and was now trying to find it again. She would pick up each brick and look under it, searching. After a few minutes of this, she then began examining the statues carved in the old walls, running her fingers over each one of them. I still couldn’t make out her face, as it was not light enough, and she was wearing a heavy winter coat.” “What happened next?” the principal asked, as Mrs. Pailia now had a faraway look in her eyes, remembering the strange events of the night before. “Well, the girl tuned suddenly and began to leave. It seemed like she was angered or impatient over something—like she couldn’t find what she was looking for. She went to a heap of rocks that had fallen from the outer wall of the castle some years ago and sat down on top of them. She pulled out a small guitar from under her coat and began playing a tune on it. So haunting—I had never heard such a poignant song before …so sad …I am sure it was not a current song. It sounded as if it might be a song from very ancient times. Then she began to sing as well. The sweetness of her singing and the sadness of the song brought tears to my eyes. I felt, in that moment, that the person I was watching was not a girl at all but a being out of time, for her eyes were staring unblinkingly at the moon as if she were in a trance. “Little snowflakes began to fall lightly almost as though the stars were delicately dropping flowers on the tall figure.” Mrs. Pailia stopped once more, lost in the memory of what she had seen. “Did you recognize her?” the principal asked eagerly. Mrs. Pailia continued, “At this point, Micki barked, and the girl stopped playing and looked around to see who else was there. I approached her and asked, ‘Who are you?’ She answered, ‘It is Ragni.’ I asked her what she was 30

doing in this remote place at this time of night, and she said that she was singing a song to the moon. Her voice remained soft, with a strangely musical quality to it. Not wanting to frighten her, I decided to humor her and asked her if she had finished her song to the moon. She replied that she had, but that she was not happy with it. When I asked why, she said, ‘Because there is no fragrance of flowers here.’” “I told her then that there were many flowers in the dorm that had wonderful fragrances, but she said there was no moonlight in those flowers. I asked where she would find flowers that had both fragrance and moonlight, and she said she didn’t know, but she was sure they were far away. At this point, she arose and walked slowly back to the dorm, staring straight ahead, totally oblivious to myself and Micki. I followed a few paces behind and watched her enter her dorm. When I was sure she was back safely in her room, I went to my cottage and sat for many hours, thinking about the strangeness of this night and the things the girl had said and done. I have no idea what she was talking about, and it really disturbed me. I stayed up until five o’clock this morning, trying to make sense of it all. That is why I had to see you right away.” The principal nodded slowly and understandingly. “Thank you, Mrs. Pailia,” she said quietly. “Is there anything more I can do?” Mrs. Pailia asked. “Not at the moment that I can think of,” the principal told her. “You have done all you can, for now; thank you again.” The supervisor then left the principal alone to ponder the strange goings-on. At the end of the day, the principal cleared off her desk and left the administration building. When she arrived at her bungalow, she called her chauffeur and said, “Please go to the ninth-grade dorm and find the student by the name of Ragni. She is in room ten on the second floor. When you locate her, please tell her I wish to speak with her at my home, and that you will drive her here.” 31

The old chauffeur left immediately. Upon arriving at the dorm, he knocked on Ragni’s door. After explaining the situation, Ragni asked, “Why does the principal wish to see me?” “I don’t know. I was only asked to fetch you,” the old man explained, shrugging his bony shoulders. Ragni straightened her long hair, smoothed her dress, and followed him to the car, where she climbed into the back seat as he held the door open for her. When the car arrived at the bungalow, Ragni crossed the dry lawn and stepped onto the low porch where the principal was sitting in a wicker lounge chair. “Come sit by me, dear,” the principal said, gesturing to the chair next to hers. While Ragni slowly took her seat, a servant girl appeared from inside the house with a tray of cookies and tea. “Ragni, I would like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind,” the principal said, smiling and trying to be as non-threatening as she could. “If you wish, Ma’am,” Ragni said, biting into one of the crunchy cookies. “My dear, why did you go into the hills and into the old castle last night? Weren’t you afraid to be there all by yourself in the dark? What did you hope to find in that old ruined castle?” the principal asked. Ragni munched the biscuit in a slow, mechanical manner and stared blankly into space. She remained silent. “Oh, child, please don’t hesitate to talk to me. I only want to help. If there’s anything at all I can do to help you,” the principal pleaded. Ragni gained some life in her eyes and stopped chewing completely. The principal leaned closer to the girl and took her hand gently in her own. After another silence, the girl finally began to speak. 32

“Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I have a dream. It’s always the same dream. I see a castle high in the hills surrounded by tall, thick walls. The gate to the castle is made of iron, and has many spikes at the top. There is a moat surrounding the castle walls, and under the moat is a system of tunnels that run to beyond the rivers in the hills. In the walls of these tunnels are buried the bodies of many of those who were killed within the castle. “There is also a young man in this dream. He stands a few yards beyond the gate, staring into the courtyard and at the statues beyond. His face and countenance are full of anger, and I know without his telling me that his parents were among those killed within the castle walls. As I look at him, his form disintegrates, and the distant sound of airplanes comes into my head. Louder and louder it gets until the noise is deafeningly painful. I cry out, and with this cry, I always awaken. “My first thoughts after awakening are to find that castle and the boy. In the past months, I have done much searching. I have uncovered many old deserted ruins of forgotten castles hidden deep within the forests. I have explored each one of these castles, looking for the one that is of my dreams. I have searched among the bricks for signs of the tunnels. I have looked amongst the walls, trying to find the statues. I will know them when I see them, for they are fearful statues. “I know the location where this castle lies. There is a waterfall and lily pads. I hear the song of the cuckoo and the sparrow. The full moon lights the background of the castle as clearly as if I were seeing it in the light of the noonday sun. I know I will find this place if I keep looking.” There was a silence as the principal absorbed the girl’s story. “How long have you been having this dream?” the principal finally asked. “It has been for about nine years now, Madam,” Ragni said, “and in those nine years, I know this young boy has grown with me. Sometimes, when I see him in my sleep, I feel such a great love for him; my heart can hardly bear it. 33

There are times when he looks at me with the same intensity, and I know he feels the same way toward me. The only time either of us is happy is when we are facing each other in the moonlight. “When I first started having this dream, he was a very young boy, as I was very young too. His clothing was that of a young boy—shorts and a T-shirt. But the last few times I have seen him in my dreams, his dress has changed to that of a young man—long pants and a crisp white shirt. It is as if he ages in the same manner as I. When he disappears, and the sound of the airplane comes, I fear greatly for him.” “You sound as if you have met this young man,” the principal said. “Have you?” “Yes, I have met him,” the girl replied softly. “Where did you meet him—and when?” the principal asked. “He lives in my aunt’s village. I first met him nine years ago.” “What is the young man’s name?” the principal inquired softly. Ragni’s eyes lowered as her face flushed. “His name is Kanwar,” she said shyly. Trying not to make the girl too self-conscious, the principal continued with her questions. “Did you have the dream before you met Kanwar?” “Yes, I had the dream several times before I met him.” “Does this boy look exactly like the young man in your dreams, or does he only resemble him?” The principal knew from her studies in the university that sometimes the mind would use the faces of those we know in our waking states to symbolize something within our subconscious. “He looks exactly like the boy in the dream,” the girl responded emphatically. 34

The principal nodded understandingly and put her hand to her chin in thought. Then she continued, “You were only in the first grade when you started having these dreams. Were these feelings you have spoken of as intense in the beginning as they are now?” “Yes, Madam,” the girl replied softly but with no hesitation in her voice. The principal continued, “What did you think the first time you met this boy, Kanwar? Were you surprised, and did you know who he was right away?” “I was astonished and delightfully surprised. I knew he was the boy in my dream, but I didn’t know his name,” she said. “Well, what about now? How do you feel about him now?” the principal asked. The girl grew pensive again. “I feel a great love toward Kanwar, and my thoughts are with him constantly. I don’t want to lose him from my life.” Again, the principal nodded knowingly. “Are there any differences at all between the person in your dream and Kanwar?” Ragni cocked her head and stared off into space as if comparing the images of the two men in her memory. “The boy in the dream has blue eyes and a mole on his right cheek that Kanwar does not have. At times, it seems as if Kanwar takes over the physical appearance of the man, and I see them both at the same time, only in one form. Sometimes I feel the boy in the dream is trying to confuse me,” her voice drifted off. “Do you have a picture of Kanwar?” the principal asked, bringing Ragni back to the present. Blinking, Ragni turned her attention to the principal and said, “I don’t have a photograph, but I have a sketch I made of him.” And she reached in 35

her purse. She pulled out a folded and yellowed piece of paper and handed it carefully to the principal. Taking care not to tear the fragile paper, the principal unfolded the paper to find a detailed drawing of a young boy, no more than seven years old. It was drawn so finely that it could have almost passed for a black and white photograph. “You drew this with your own hand?” the principal asked. She was genuinely impressed. “Yes, madam. I drew that after I had the dream the first time. This is a picture of the boy outside the castle as well as the way my friend Kanwar looks.” The principal thought hard about the situation. She had never encountered a girl like this—so talented, so haunted with such a strange dream, and so touched with emotions and feelings that normally did not reach a girl this young. Yet, there could be no denying her feelings. “Are you ever afraid when you have this dream?” she finally asked the young girl. “Never. Fear has never been a part of my dream—except when the sound of the airplanes comes. Yes…then the fear overpowers me. I feel faint, and my whole body trembles,” she said, shivering slightly at the mere thought of the sound of the airplanes. This part about the airplanes made absolutely no sense to the principal. In fact, hardly any of the girl’s dreams made any sense to her, but she felt compelled to give some sort of explanation to the girl. “My dear, there are many things within our minds that are difficult to understand and explain. At times, we will see some event in our everyday lives that, on the surface, doesn’t affect us, but in our subconscious, the memory recurs. It then sometimes manifests in instances such as you have described in your dream.” She said this, trying to the best of her ability to give a rational answer to the girl. But even as these words came from her mouth, she knew in her own heart that she didn’t believe them herself. There was no other 36

explanation she could give. She felt at once helpless and confused. Grasping for some small way she could help the girl, she asked, “Ragni, will you play that tune for me that you played on the hillside last night?” Ragni’s brow became knitted. “I—I’m sorry …I can’t play it today. The only time I can play the tune is when the feeling of love for Kanwar surrounds me like the light of the moon. The only time I have this feeling is on the nights following the dream. I cannot play it without that feeling.” She looked up apologetically to her principal. The principal nodded again. “I understand my dear.” She leaned closer to Ragni and kissed her forehead, smoothed the hair from her face, and gave her a warm hug. “My dear, please don’t hesitate to contact me if there is any problem. Remember, my door is always open—both at my office and here at my home. Promise me that you will keep in touch with me.” Rising, Ragni nodded and said, “Thank you, Madam. I do promise. Thank you for the tea and cookies.” As the young girl walked down the path toward the chauffeured car that would take her back to her dormitory, she could feel the kind eye of the principal following her. 37

CHAPTER 4 I t was a cool day. The sky was clear. Clouds that wafted by during the course of the early morning were high and thin, easily discernible against the crisp blue background. She ran through the house chores in her mind, trying to mentally arrange them in order of importance, but this perhaps would be the most difficult thing she would have to do all day—finding some motivation and enthusiasm for doing them. First on her agenda would be watering the house plants—the large, sleepy palms by the windows, and then the potted roses on the porch. Sukhbans Kaur—short name Sukhi—had just turned forty years old, and now, more than she wanted to, she thought about this rather unpleasant fact, but it was one that could not be ignored. After all, her daughter Ragni was now in the ninth grade, and upon completion of the tenth grade, she would be attending college. It couldn’t have been that many years since she was in school herself, but the longer she lived, the faster the years seemed to speed by her—a fact she had heard many times from her elders but never quite understood or believed until now. She thought back to the day when she received her BA degree from Kanya Mahan Vidyalaya College in Jullundur. She remembered when she met Mohinder Partap Singh, an able and handsome police officer in the city. He was so stable, so mature, even more so than you would think for someone six 38

years her senior. She finished school, earned her four-year degree, and agreed to marry Mohinder; she had been twenty-one years old. Mohinder Partap Singh was steady, capable, intelligent, trustworthy, and, perhaps most important, he was popular among his associates. All of these factors contributed to his moving quickly through the ranks of his government posts. Just two years after his marriage to Sukhi, he was promoted to senior superintendent of police, no mean feat for one so young. Her life in the government official’s compound was an enviable one. Their two-story bungalow was neatly furnished, and there were more rooms than they would ever need. The servants, cook, gardener, and housemaid saw to it that Sukhi had ample time to cultivate the expected graces, such as throwing parties for the families of her husband’s associates and keeping the house a mini palace. They were isolated from the rest of the world here in the compound, each house guarded by armed state soldiers and a wrought iron spiked fence, with more armed guards at the gates. It was protected and prosperous, but at the same time, spiritless. Placing the watering can on the porch, she meandered into the living room and tried picturing the furniture in another layout. Maybe she could rearrange some things. There was the striking, multicolored Kashmiri rug that graced the spacious walkway to the living room. The great stuffed lion to the right seemed to dominate the room, and its face that appeared frozen in a snarl would always startle newcomers. Facing the lion on the left side of the room, the tall pendulum clock swung rhythmically as if it were keeping life in the compound orderly with its steady, hypnotic ticks. No, there was nothing to be done with the interior of the house. Things were fine as they were. Out in front, she could hear the gardener, Ramu, working his way around the hedges with the metallic hedge trimmer. She went out to the porch and offered a greeting. Waving, he called out to her and kept on with his clipping without missing a beat as if the sounds he was making were part of the sounds of the grounds, melding with the chirping of the birds above in the mango trees and the soft, warm breeze rustling through the leaves. 39

While on the porch, she saw the mailman, Mr. Dip Ram, heading from the house of her neighbor, P. S. Mathon, one of the other superintendents of police with whom Mohinder worked. She decided to wait for him to see if there the mail would present anything interesting. “Good morning, Mr. Dip Ram. Have you anything exciting for me today?” she asked him cordially. “Good morning, Mrs. Singh. Perhaps…here is a letter from the Sanawar School for you,” he said, passing her the envelope. “Oh, thank you—is that all?” she said, looking at the school’s official emblem on the envelope. “Yes, that’s it for today. Maybe tomorrow I can find more for you,” he said before moving on to the next house. Tearing the letter open as she walked slowly back into her house, she read the neatly set type. It was an invitation of some sort: Dear Parents, We are pleased to announce the Annual Awards Ceremony scheduled to take place in the Sanawar Auditorium, February 4th, at 2 pm. The program will begin with entertainment by the school orchestra, followed by poetry and comedy. Following a refreshment break, there will be student drama and, finally, the yearly Awards Ceremony. Housing accommodations will be provided on the school campus. We look forward to your presence There was a special handwritten note on the bottom of the letter that read: I am pleased to announce that your daughter Ragni has won several awards during the school year and also will be playing a guitar solo. She is also the main character in one of the three plays in the program. Sincerely, Sonia Parmar Principal, Sanawar School 42

After reading this, Sukhi felt a warm glow of satisfaction. In all her letters, Ragni never mentioned that she had won awards or was going to be starring in a play. The rest of the day’s chores seemed to go easier. The letter about Ragni had made all the years of cushioned life seem worth it now that her daughter was being recognized in this manner. By sheer force of numbers, the crickets cast a soothing blanket of monotonous sound in the evening’s darkness. Sukhi was sipping tea on the living room couch, watching television, and waiting, as she always seemed to be, for her husband to come home. The big clock struck ten o’clock, interrupting her program with a reminder of real life. “Shanti!” she called. A tall, thin, middle-aged servant shuffled into the living room from the kitchen. “Yes, Madam?” he answered sleepily. “Sahib still has not come home from work. Would you do me a favor and ask the security guard if he knows his whereabouts?” she said. “Right away, Madam,” he said, bowing before paddling out the front door in his bare feet. A few minutes later, he returned to the house. “Madam, I have talked to the security guard of the house. Sahib’s assistant called here. They are still in an important meeting in the government rest house, but they should be home shortly.” As Shanti was speaking, the headlights of Mohinder’s gray car swept across the living room as he pulled into the driveway. Once inside, Sukhi relieved her husband of his coat and tie. “My dear, so late! Have you had dinner yet?” she asked him. 43

“Yes, thank you. Mr. Mathon and I ate in town.” “What kept you so late?” “We were working on a case that took place two years ago. A gang of drug smugglers stopped by the border police in the western Punjab border was being searched and attempted a getaway. One of the police officers was killed in a shootout. We’re preparing to bring one of the captured gang leaders to trial.” Mohinder excused himself so he could change out of the rest of his working clothes and put on a robe. Shanti then brought out a cup of tea for Mohinder and Sukhi’s warmed- over dinner. “How was your day?” he asked his wife, sipping his tea as she finished the last of her dinner. She was waiting until they were settled for the evening before bringing out the letter from the school. Smiling in reply, she rose from the table and fetched the letter. Raising his eyebrows questioningly, she nodded for him to take it. After a moment of reading, he broke into a great smile. “Can you attend the ceremony?” she asked excitedly. After thinking a moment, his frown gave her his answer. “I won’t be able to attend. There is a court trial, and we are presenting a key witness but don’t let that stop you from attending. Why not have the chauffeur drive you? I can arrange another driver.” So, it was agreed that she would go alone to the awards ceremony. As the steel-colored car eased into the gravel driveway, Sukhi noticed something different about the school grounds. As she looked a little more carefully, she could see that all the buildings had gotten a new coat of white 44

paint, the lawns and shrubbery were all immaculately trimmed, and little white, green, and saffron-colored Indian national flags were placed all along the driveway. Instructing the chauffeur to pull in front of the administration building, she went in to register. Once inside, she was greeted by the principal, Mrs. Parmar, a tall, fair, handsome woman with kind eyes. “I am so glad you could come, Mrs. Singh,” she said warmly, clasping Sukhi’s hands with her own. “Mr. Singh could not make it due to some government business, but he asked me to send you his warmest regards,” she said. “And I wish to send him my warmest regards also. Come, let me show you where to register for your lodging accommodations. They will be the same as last year. We have the students doubling up with each other, so there are plenty of dorms available for the parents. There is also a place for your chauffeur.” After registering, Sukhi gave instructions for the chauffeur as to where she would be staying, so he could drop her bags off and then decided to take a walk on the grounds. She always did like where the school was located—high atop one of the hills, it commanded a 360-degree view of the whole surrounding area. The British had built the school over one hundred years ago and had done well in choosing the sight. To the north was the sprawling city of Sanawar, nestled amongst a series of valleys. To the east were more rolling hills, and to the west, a river showed itself intermittently amongst the dense, wooded areas. In the south were the ruins of an old abandoned stone castle, built upon a series of smaller hills, but now, mostly hidden by trees that had grown over the area. Glancing at her watch, she decided it was time to make her way to the auditorium for the start of the program. As she entered the auditorium, the student orchestra was tuning up. One of the girls handed her a program as she walked down the aisle and chose a seat as close to the center as possible, so she could see her daughter better. After excusing herself several times and scrunching past already seated parents, she sat in one of the single empty seats 45

and opened the program. It was scheduled to start at 2 pm with the Indian National Anthem, followed by musical selections by the orchestra, poetry, music solos, comedy acts, and a guitar solo by Ragni. After an intermission, there would be a Punjabi folk dance, followed by three dramatic plays, the last of which starred Ragni. The program would conclude with the awards ceremony. The orchestra fell silent, and the audience quieted and straightened themselves in their chairs as the musical director walked out on stage to lead the Indian National Anthem. The program went smoothly; the participants were students selected by their teachers as the best in their classes. The guitar solo by Ragni was announced at the conclusion of the final comedy act. Adrenalin surged through Sukhi’s body, sending a nervous wave of cold heat up her spine. It was as if they had announced that she herself was going to perform next. Mixed feelings of pride and helplessness overcame her as she watched her daughter take the stage, cool and composed. She took her seat on the chair, the single spotlight accentuating her solitude. Had it really been that long since she had seen her daughter? She was no longer a child but a young woman, tall and slender and very beautiful. The light green satin gown, belted at the waist, revealing the loveliness of her figure, shimmered in the spotlight like an emerald pool reflecting moonlight. She wore a thin white headband, and her long, smooth dark hair was braided and hung down her back. As the tabla fingerdrum player began the introduction with soft, hollow percolating rhythms, Sukhi could see the concentration in her daughter’s deep black eyes—so intense, showing such purity and innocence. When she began to play, she played with all her heart, the music striking the inner tenderness of everyone in the auditorium, and as she played, the musician and the audience became one. The music had somehow woven an enchanting tapestry composed of listener and player. Entranced, Sukhi rode the sensuous music out of her bodily consciousness, out of the Universe, and back to a time when she was young—as young as Ragni. She gazed into her eyes and saw herself twenty-six years ago. Had she been that pure, that innocent? Where had the deepness in her own eyes gone? 46

The guitar solo ended, leaving a lingering silence in the great hall. It seemed an affront to break the mood by clapping, but social habit won out, and wild applause and cheering brought everyone back to their physical senses. Bowing graciously, Ragni exited the stage with the eyes of her mother following her in wonder. There was an hour intermission where soft drinks and pakora, a sort of small biscuit made of fried flour and spices were being served in the lobby. Sukhi made her way out, anxious to catch a glimpse of Ragni backstage. Behind the scenes, the students were rushing about, changing costumes and moving the props for the upcoming plays onto the stage. Sukhi made her way to the dressing rooms, where she hoped to find her daughter preparing for her part in the drama. Poking her head into several of the well-lit rooms amid the chaos of student players running in and out, she found Ragni putting on her costume. “Mama!” she cried, catching her reflection in the mirror. Spinning, she bounded across the room and squeezed her mother. “Ragni! Your guitar solo was astounding! And …and …you have grown so in these past few months; you have become so beautiful!” Sukhi said, holding her daughter at arm’s length so she could see the entirety of her. “Oh, mother! I’ll never be as beautiful as you! Did Papa come too?” she said excitedly. “No, Papa had to attend to an important case in town, but he sends you his love,” she explained. “I must let you attend to your preparations. I will look for you after the awards ceremony. Good luck, my dear.” They embraced once more, and Sukhi made her way out of the bustling backstage area. Seeing her daughter and hugging her was like inhaling a breath of fresh air from the crisp mountains. But at the same time, she was reeling from the kind of uncomfortable shock every mother expects and fears. She no longer knew who her daughter was. She was no longer the smiling and crying appendage with her mother’s attitudes but a young adult, trying in her own way to find out who she was. Dazed, she absentmindedly milled around the refreshment tables, sipping a soft drink and nibbling on some cookies. She 47

looked at the rest of the parents standing about the lobby area but didn’t see anyone she wanted to talk to. She finished her snacks and decided to wait the rest of the intermission out in her seat. Introduction of the PLAY The legend of the exquisitely beautiful Shakuntala and the mighty King Dushyant is a thrilling love story from the epic Mahabharata, which the great ancient poet Kālidāsa retold in his immortal play Abhijnanashakuntalam. While on a hunting trip, King Dushyant of the Puru dynasty meets the hermit-girl Shakuntala. They fall in love with each other and, in the absence of her father, Shakuntala weds the king in a ceremony of ‘Gandharva,’ a form of marriage by mutual consent with Mother Nature as the witness. When the time comes for Dushyant to return to his palace, he promises to send an envoy to escort her to his castle. As a symbolic gesture, he gives her a signet ring. One day when the hotheaded hermit Durvasa stops at her hut for hospitality, Shakuntala, lost in her love thoughts, fails to hear the guest’s calls. The temperamental sage turns back and curses her: “He whose thoughts have engrossed you would not remember you anymore.” Grief stricken, the girl falls to the ground, begging and crying for forgiveness, explaining to the hermit that she had not ignored him intentionally, but in her bliss she simply had not seen him. The angry hermit is touched. Although he cannot remove a curse already made, he agrees to change it. He tells her that the king’s memory for her will be restored if he receives his ring back, but that is the best he can do, but she is happy that she has a way to remove the curse. Days roll by and nobody from the palace comes to fetch her. Her father sends her to the royal court for their reunion, as she was pregnant with Dushyant’s child. En route, Shakuntala’s signet ring accidentally drops into the river; a fish swallows it and swims away. She hopes the king will remember her even without the ring. On the 48

plea of her companions, the enraged sage relents and adds a condition to his curse-statement: “He can only recall you upon producing some significant souvenir.” She makes her way on foot to the royal palace. When Shakuntala presents herself before the king, Dushyant, under the spell of the curse, fails to acknowledge her as his wife. Heart- broken, she pleads to the gods to vanquish her from the face of earth. Her wish is granted. The spell is broken when a fishererman finds the signet ring in the guts of a fish - the same ring that Shakuntala had lost on her way to the court. The king suffers from an intense feeling of guilt and injustice. Shakuntala forgives Dushyant and they are reunited happily. She gives birth to a male child. He is called Bharat, after whom India gets her name PLAY START As the lights were dimmed, the second half of the program started. Sukhi paid attention to her daughter’s role in the play, which was ready to start. The auditorium was full of students, faculty members, and parents. It was chilly due to the mountain breeze.         Finally, Ragni came out on stage. Her personance had undergone a complete transformation. She was no longer the young girl Sukhi met back- stage, nor the young girl who played the guitar with such grace and beauty. She had totally become the beautiful woman in the forest. As she played the love scenes, alarm shot through her mother’s heart as she was struck by her daughter’s intense emotional behavior. This love scene seemed too real. She was on the edge of her seat when the play reached the part where the girl met the hermit.         “Insolent one! You dare to ignore the great hermit, Darvasa? I shall make it so the memory of me shall burn in your heart forever!” the raging mendicant screamed with wide eyes at the young girl.          “Oh, dear hermit!! It was the blissful thoughts of my lover that blinded me from seeing you! Not insolence!” the surprised girl explained. 49

“By the gods, a curse upon the young king to forget your very existence! Never again shall he know your face, nor shall he remember the love he had bestowed upon you. From this day on, it will be in your heart that you lost your foolish manners over a young king and in each moment of your sorrow, you will remember that it was I, Darvasa, who was the one.” The young girl burst into tears. Every person in the auditorium felt the wrenching of her heart, as if they had suffered the same curse and they would never be recognized by their true love. The girl dropped to her knees, sobbing and pleading with the hermit (rishi), “No! No! Please, I beg of you, Darvasa! Please forgive me!! Have you never been touched by a love so great, you yourself seemed to cease to exist— that only your love was important in life? I did not ignore you out of a lack of respect. If there is a crime, it is only that I have been touched by the love of God through another being—touched so deeply, that it is only love that I saw, without concern for myself. I beg of you, in the name of God, remove this curse. I beg of you remove it, in the name of love … Her voice trailed off, and as her pleading faded away into the distance, she slid to the floor, clinging to the hermit’s (rishi’s) leg, until at last, she melted onto the floor in a still, limp pile. The boy playing the part of the hermit (rishi) gasped, frozen in his stance, looking at the girl on the floor, his mouth agape. The next lines would not come from his mouth, so awestruck was he with the reality of Ragni’s performance. It was also silent backstage as if they, too, had witnessed some incredible thing. This was not rehearsed. Although there were more lines before the end of the first act, on stage, there was only stillness and silence. Ragni did not move from the floor, and the boy playing the rishi just stood there, gaping at her in amazement. Finally, the director, sensing a crisis, ran to the curtain controls and hit the buttons to lower the curtain. As the actors were hidden by it, there was a rush to the stage. Ragni remained on the floor, unconscious. The director rushed to her and held her head in her arms, softly shaking her and calling her name. 50