 
**FINDING ARUN**

**Marisha Pink**

ISBN 978 0 9926283 2 1

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Published by Not By The Book 2013

Copyright © Marisha Pink 2013

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Marisha Pink asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This publication is a work of fiction. All names and characters are a product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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_For Mum and Dad, who always help me find my way._

_For Aji, who can always be found in my heart._
_'Go confidently in the direction of your dreams._

_Live the life you've imagined.'_

Henry David Thoreau

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**PART ONE**

**AARON**
**ONE**

****

THE warmth of the sun's rays gently caressed Aaron's eyelids through the window and even with his eyes closed he could see the hazy yellow and orange hue of the morning. For a split second the new day glowed with promise, but as he lay in his bed and blinked his eyes open, the now familiar stinging sensation brought with it the pain of realisation: she was gone.

He closed his eyes once more while a sinking feeling swept over him and the crushing heaviness in his chest became almost unbearable. He swallowed hard, willing himself not to cry, but silent tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and began to roll stealthily down his cheeks. He breathed a deep sigh, desperate to steel himself against the oppressive pain. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before and no matter how many times he replayed the events in his mind nothing would change. She was gone and he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye.

Brushing the tears from his face Aaron propped himself up on his elbows to survey the room. He hadn't been there for months, yet in the short time since he'd returned home it had become difficult to coax him from the only room in which he felt truly at ease. The bedroom provided his only escape from the scores of visitors who had descended upon the house to pay their respects to his late mother. Unable to recall ever meeting most of them before, he neither wanted nor welcomed their intrusion, and with his mother gone even the faces that he did recognise seemed alien to him now.

Aaron had always felt uncomfortable in social situations and those involving his mother's affluent and ever-expanding circle of friends were amongst the worst. He was well-mannered, impeccably groomed and boasted an intellect far beyond his nineteen years, yet these things were never enough to disguise one simple truth: he would always be the brown kid in the white room. Over the years her various acquaintances had each been careful to feign indifference to, and even unawareness of, the discord between the colour of his skin and that of his adoptive mother's. For her part, she had loved and raised him as her own, fiercely challenging anyone who so much as threatened to look at him the wrong way, but inside he knew the truth. He would always be different and nothing he could say, or do, would ever gain him genuine acceptance into her world.

With his only ally gone Aaron felt awkward and alone, and despite his best efforts he found the conversations with mourners an increasingly tedious inconvenience. It wasn't that their condolences were insincere, but without his mother's mediating presence the exchanges quickly turned to idle chatter, uncomfortable silence, or a curious mixture of both. There was no longer a need for either of them to tolerate one another, yet each visitor persisted in their half-hearted attempts at conversation, trying and failing to forge a meaningful connection with him. Eventually he would tire of the charade and, finding any excuse to extract himself from the strained interactions, swiftly retreat to the safety of his room, certain that nobody was actually missing him.

In the confines of his room it was almost possible to pretend that nothing had happened. To pretend that his mother hadn't fallen sick and that he hadn't really left London to volunteer in Namibia all those months ago. He hadn't wanted to leave her, but she had been insistent that he continue with his plans, assuring him that she would make a full recovery. As a doctor herself he'd had no reason to doubt her, but the other doctors had reassured him too; expensive doctors who were adamant that they had 'caught it early' and that it was 'amenable to surgery'. Except that they hadn't, and it wasn't, and seemingly overnight her condition had transformed from fixable to fatal. Everything had happened so fast that it was almost a blur in his mind. For days he had tried desperately to get home, hitching rides with strangers and sleeping on airport floors, all the while praying that a flight would become available. But by the time he had arrived home it was already too late.

He sat up fully in bed pulling the duvet towards his chin to keep in the warmth. Over a week had passed since his mother's burial and with visitor numbers showing a steady decline in recent days, he was hopeful that today he would finally be able to move about the house without being accosted. Aunt Ruby, his father's sister, was the only one who remained, having flown in from Australia to assist when his mother's condition had initially deteriorated, but she could hardly be described as a guest. She had made herself at home, instantly taking charge of running their large Georgian house, and without her intervention Aaron was certain that his father would have fallen apart completely.

Of the little extended family that they had, Aunt Ruby was the only relative that Aaron both liked and trusted. As a child, each time his mother had been called overseas to present her research at a conference, Aaron had been packed off to Australia to stay with Aunt Ruby for a few weeks. Over the years they had grown very close and though Aaron's visits had become less frequent with age, their relationship was still much stronger than the one that he shared with her brother.

Aaron couldn't recall ever being close to his adoptive father and it had quickly dawned on him that the expensive trips to Aunt Ruby were simply a way to relieve his father from having to engage with him whilst his mother was away. His father's role had always seemed perfunctory; there was minimal interaction, none of the love or warmth that one might expect to receive from a parent, and in a telling act of detachment the old man insisted that Aaron call him by his first name. It baffled Aaron how his father and Aunt Ruby could have developed such contrasting characters, but never more than in the last week had he been grateful for their differences, and for the buffer that Aunt Ruby provided between them.

He swung his long limbs out of the bed and rose unsteadily to his feet, carefully stooping to avoid knocking his head on the exposed wooden beams that zigzagged across the ceiling. At nearly six feet tall he would have made an impressive figure, if it weren't for his lanky, boyish physique, which often fooled people into thinking that he was much younger than he was. He picked his way cautiously across the room avoiding the piles of clothes, plates and luggage strewn haphazardly across the floor, and on safely reaching the other side, rounded the corner into the en-suite bathroom.

Catching sight of himself in the small vanity mirror he was somewhat startled by his appearance. His once neatly groomed, coffee-coloured hair was now an unkempt, overgrown mess that stretched in every direction imaginable about his tanned face. Two dark halos encircled his warm hazel eyes, a testament to the grief and suffering he had experienced in the past week, and an army of protruding hairs threatening to turn themselves into a full beard had laid claim to his jaw. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water rhythmically over his cheeks, the coolness at once inviting against the stinging heat of his bronzed, tear-stained face, and immediately he felt his mood begin to lift. He patted his face dry and, returning to the bedroom, scoured the rubble until he found a crumpled white T-shirt and a faded pair of grey tracksuit bottoms, which he deftly slipped into as he made his way towards the door.

Padding barefoot down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, Aaron was conscious of the silence that echoed throughout the house. After the hustle and bustle of the past week the silence suddenly seemed eerie and unsettling, yet he wondered hopefully whether he might be alone. At the foot of the stairs he turned the corner towards the large open kitchen and much to his dismay found his father seated at the heavy oak dining table with the daily newspaper spread before him. Arthur Rutherford was a simple and pragmatic man, who liked the status quo and didn't believe in unnecessary fuss. An antique dealer by trade, he preferred to work with things rather than people, and had shied away from most displays of human emotion until a chance meeting with Catherine, Aaron's adoptive mother, had turned his world upside down.

Catherine had got under his skin, the way that she did with nearly everyone she encountered, and even stern and serious Arthur had been powerless to resist her charms. On the surface they had seemed an unlikely match, but as a young doctor Catherine's obvious passion and drive to help others had touched something within him, and he had opened up to her, sharing a softer side that few others ever saw. His life had been devoted to making her happy and though the casual observer might have thought him bland and uninspiring compared to his outspoken and charismatic other half, she had always made sure that he knew just how important his love and support were to her successes.

Aaron paused uncertainly on the threshold of the kitchen, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot until at last Arthur glanced up and acknowledged his presence. It was the first time that they had been completely alone together since his return and now the awful truth of their loss seemed to stretch between them like some unfillable chasm. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity to Aaron, Arthur's steely grey eyes like bottomless pits of sorrow steadily pouring their sadness into his soul. They may not have been close, but they shared a mutual respect for one another and the places that they had each held in Catherine's heart, and there in the silence of the kitchen no words were necessary for each to know and empathise with the other's pain.

Unable to stand the tension any longer, Aaron was first to break the silence.

'Good morning, Arthur.'

'Good morning, Aaron. Are you hungry?'

'Not really, no.'

'You must eat; you need to keep your strength up. I think Aunt Ruby has left you a plate in the fridge. Take a seat and I'll warm it up for you.'

Aaron did as instructed and slipped into Arthur's vacant seat while the old man stood to rummage around the fridge. He flicked lazily through the pages of the open newspaper until a closer inspection of one article caused him to flip quickly back to the front page in confusion. The newspaper was dated 8th April 2012; the day of his mother's death.

'Arthur, you do realise that newspaper is over two weeks old?'

Arthur sighed.

'I know. I just thought that I would catch up on what's happened since... since...'

His voice trailed off, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging in mid-air. Aaron didn't know what to say, but a few moments later Arthur regained his composure.

'We need to make a start on sorting through your mother's things. Most of it can go to charity; it's what she would have wanted. Are you able to help me out today?'

'Of course,' Aaron answered, swallowing hard in an attempt to suppress the tears he felt bubbling just below the surface.

He knew that his mother's belongings would have to be cleared away eventually – as two grown men they had no use for the majority of her possessions – but knowing it and actually doing it were two wholly different things and Aaron couldn't help feeling that this act had an unwelcome air of finality about it. Still, he didn't want Arthur to see him cry, it would only make them both uncomfortable.
**TWO**

****

THE door to Catherine's study loomed ominously ahead when Aaron reached the top of the second floor staircase. At Arthur's suggestion he was to focus his clearing efforts there in case he found material useful for the medical degree he would be commencing at Oxford University in October. Dr Catherine Rutherford had spent decades building up an enviable collection of books, journals and unusual case studies from her work around the world, and the contents of the study had been her pride and joy. Anything that Aaron did not want or need was to be donated to the university where she had occasionally lectured until the illness had forced her to stop.

Aaron's pulse quickened when he approached the door, the palms of his hands soft and clammy from the sweat of apprehension. He had been inside the study countless times, yet without her there, and without her permission, he felt like an intruder trespassing on her very soul. Her life's work lay within its walls and logic told him that each item held at least an intrinsic value, or else his mother would never have kept it. The very thought of giving, or worse throwing, away her belongings felt like waving goodbye to small pieces of his mother herself. It was a responsibility that he would have preferred not to shoulder, but categorically he knew that the room could not stay as it was. Neither he nor his father wished to use it – it was too painful somehow – but left untouched the many shelves of books and files would simply gather dust and they both knew that she would not have wanted her efforts to go to waste.

Drawing a deep breath, Aaron turned the polished bronze knob and gently pushed back the door. Stepping inside, he was at once struck by how small the room felt. Floor to ceiling bookcases lined all but a single wall, creating the foreboding sense that someone was standing over him. To his left, a small sash window permitted a soft stream of light to enter the room, but the mountain of paper that littered the executive desk positioned beneath it restricted his view of the garden below. He stared into the small space before him, his right hand still clasped firmly around the doorknob for support. As a child the room had always seemed much larger, infinite even. The bookcases had towered over him from their great height and he had barely been able to see over the desk. He had passed entire afternoons sprawled on the circular red rug at the centre of the room, playing contentedly with his toys whilst his mother busily worked at putting the world to rights. Now he virtually matched the bookcases in height and at best he would be able to sit cross-legged on the faded red rug. Time seemed to have moved on, almost without him realising, and looking despairingly around the room he heard himself sigh, uncertain how or where to begin.

Tentatively approaching the nearest bookcase, he lightly stroked his index finger across a row of thick spines, clearing a line through the thin layer of dust that had already accumulated there. Kumar and Clark's Clinical Medicine, Gray's Anatomy for Students and Rang and Dale's Pharmacology; all titles he recognised from the recommended reading list that the admissions tutor had sent to him. He pulled the heavy volumes off the shelf one by one and stacked them in a neat pile at his feet. Continuing along the shelf he paused to inspect each title in turn, trying to recall if it too appeared on the list, and slowly the pile began to grow. Aside from the odd book that piqued his interest, he placed everything else neatly into the sturdy cardboard carriers that Arthur, ever the pragmatist, had left for him to use.

By mid-morning he had cleared one whole bookcase and made a respectable start on a second. The pile of books he intended to keep now constituted three short stacks that easily reached to his knees, and the countless cardboard carriers had assembled themselves into a small brown fort surrounding him on all sides. Methodical in his approach, Aaron had become entirely absorbed in his task, the concentration and physicality of it providing a welcome distraction from the emotional fragility he felt whenever he allowed his mind to wander back to his mother. When he reached the third bookcase, a cursory glance at the gold carriage clock that adorned its top shelf alerted him to the fact that it was lunchtime. Ordinarily his stomach would have been crying out for food by this time, but his appetite had severely diminished since the loss of his mother and, still full from breakfast, he decided simply to take a short break.

The third bookcase was crammed full of box files, which his mother's erratic, doctoral scrawl informed him contained archives of niche medical journals. Pulling the box labelled 'Journal of Tropical Pediatrics 88–89' from the top shelf for company, Aaron lowered himself cross-legged onto the rug, exhausted from the graft of the morning. He leant back against the dense cardboard fort and clicked the box file open to reveal around a dozen faded journal issues, each one as illegible as the next. The sun had obviously gotten to them long before filing and Aaron wondered why his mother had deliberately kept texts that she would not be able to read. A former specialist in paediatric medicine, it was possible that the journals contained her own article submissions, or that collectively they were of some financial value, but whatever the reason his mother had never done anything in her life without just cause and he was certain of a logical explanation.

He held the February 1988 issue up towards the light and peered closely at the front cover, squinting while he tried to make out the faded images. A thin slip of rough, off-white paper fell from between the pages and drifted slowly through the air before finally coming to rest in his lap. He glanced down at it in surprise; the ends were somewhat dog-eared and both sides were covered in a large and unfamiliar inky black scrawl. Instantly intrigued, he set the journal to one side and, lifting the scruffy piece of paper from his lap, began to read in earnest.

_P.O. Box No. 21, Puri H.O._

_Baliapanda Road_

_Puri – 752 001 (Orissa)_

_India_

_05/03/12_

__

_To Dear Catherineben,_

_I am hoping this letter is meeting with you in the very best of healths. And for your husband also I am wishing it._

_I am very sorry for writing again but it is a very much long time that I am not hearing of you. Am I saying something too bad for you? I am so much hoping that it is not something I am saying wrong for upsetting you. Maybe you are not receiving my last letters? I don't know how these things are working in UK exactly but we are not such problems having before._

_I am sad very much in my heart for not hearing of you. Always before you are writing and giving pictures of Arun and like this I am knowing that my boy is okay. I am smiling all the days when your letter is coming, but now is only very much worrying for something bad happening with Arun._

_I am praying to God every day for bringing me some news of my boy. My pujari is telling me to being patient and I am in my heart knowing that God is doing only what is best for me, and for Arun, and for you, even I am not understanding his ways._

_I am thinking how very much busy you are being with your important doctor work. You are having very much a kind heart and I am thinking maybe now is more important you are helping people like you did helping me and so much time not having for writing maybe?_

_I am promising I am trying to being patient Catherineben, but now is so long for waiting and I am scary for the time is not enough. I am with all my heart asking you again and I am praying to God for making this one thing for you important also. I am staying everydays sick in my bed now, not even to the mandir I am going, and the doctor cannot anymore helping me._

_Hanara and Lakshin are giving me the care and for this I am knowing already I am very much lucky. To having here two children is a blessing truly, but it is in my heart always the one who is missing. I am knowing it is not much time more for me in this world Catherineben and I am wishing for see my dear son Arun only once time more._

_I am understanding that this is not in our agreement and for this I am really very much sorry again. You are so much giving to me and my family and it is not for not thanking you and certainly not for making a trouble in your life. Only it is to seeing with my own eyes the man my boy is becoming. To be knowing surely that he is happy in his life from my choices so that peacefully I am resting when the time is coming._

_After this I will not anymore asking for you Catherineben, this is my really promise._

__

_I am waiting for hearing from you very soon._

__

_With very best wishes,_

_Your friend Kalpana_
**THREE**

****

AARON stared in disbelief at the paper in his hands, his pulse quickening as the colour began to drain from his cheeks. His mouth tasted as though he had been sucking on coins and his throat was rapidly closing in on itself. A million questions raced through his mind, too quickly for him to make sense of any of them. Shaking, he read the letter again, and then a third time, and then a fourth, but still he found himself unable to process the words. Nothing seemed to make sense and it was only on the fifth reading that his mind stood still long enough to focus on a single phrase: 'Maybe you are not receiving my last letters?'

In that split second Aaron knew the real reason his mother had kept the faded journals and his stomach did a quick somersault. Pulling the box file closer towards him, he held each issue up in turn and gave it a gentle shake. His suspicions were instantly confirmed when the movement yielded a small flutter of letters from between the pages, each scrawled in an inky black lettering identical to that which covered the first note he had found. The faded red rug no longer visible beneath him, Aaron felt tears prick his eyes for the second time that day. Paralysed amongst the sea of letters, tears coursed down his cheeks, slowly at first, but soon picking up speed, until his vision became so blurred that he was looking at, but could no longer see, the letters that lay all around him. He gasped desperately for breath between the violent sobs that rocked his body, yet the string of questions continued their relentless tirade and before long his upset and confusion had transformed into an irrepressible rage.

Like a man possessed he struggled to his feet and, defiantly wiping away his tears, attacked the third bookcase with new vigour. Box file after box file was wrenched mercilessly from the shelves, the journals inside shaken violently, finally forced to give up their secret hoards. Each shelf was stripped bare, its former contents sent crashing to the floor in a flurry of perfectly preserved notes, until nothing remained but a thick blanket of dust outlining where the box files used to stand. Collapsing breathlessly back into the fort, Aaron sat back against the stacked carriers, panting with exhaustion from the sudden surge of activity. The manic outburst had helped to quash his rapidly rising anger, providing a vent for the intense frustration he felt, but now all about him lay more letters and ultimately more questions.

A soft knock at the door startled him and he looked up in panic, half- expecting Aunt Ruby to come barging in.

'Aaron, is everything all right in there?' came Arthur's concerned voice from the other side of the door.

'Yeah, it's... it's fine,' he lied, his heart beating furiously inside his chest.

'What was all that banging?'

'Oh, I... I just knocked a stack of books over, that's all. Everything's fine.'

A brief and awkward silence followed while Arthur appeared to contemplate Aaron's excuse, but it seemed to satisfy his concern because he quickly changed the subject.

'Aunt Ruby's not back yet. I don't know where she's got to, but I'm starving and I can't wait any longer. I'm going to order a pizza or something for lunch; do you want anything?'

Food was the farthest thing from Aaron's mind after what he had just discovered and he wasn't ready to face Arthur yet either, not until he had more information.

'No thanks, Arthur. I'm still full from breakfast.'

'Okay. I'm sure there'll be a few slices left over if you change your mind later.'

Aaron listened while Arthur's heavy footsteps backed away from the study door and made their way downstairs. When he could no longer hear them, he breathed a deep sigh of relief and, gingerly mopping his brow, turned his attention back to the chaos that lay before him. The sheer number of letters was overwhelming, perhaps ten or even twenty years of correspondence; a lifetime's worth. He reached for the nearest one and began to read compulsively. Entirely engrossed, he consumed letter after letter, pausing only to reflect on the things that he had read and what they might mean. However, far from offering any explanation, each reading only served to add to his confusion and to raise more questions about his biological mother and the nature of her relationship with the only mother that he had ever known.

The Rutherfords had always maintained that Aaron's real mother had passed away shortly after his birth. Entrusted into Catherine's care during her residency in India, the dying woman had quickly developed a strong bond with the young doctor and, with no trustworthy next of kin, begged her to take care of Aaron once she was gone. The childless Catherine had been so touched by the woman's plight and resolute faith in her parenting abilities that she had felt compelled to accept. Now it seemed that not only was this story fabricated, but that his birth mother was very much alive, had regularly corresponded with Catherine over the years and even had other children.

With each letter that he read Aaron's reality became more and more twisted, until he was no longer certain of anything that he had believed to be true about his life with the Rutherfords. It was hard to take it all in at once, but something inside was pushing him, daring him, to keep reading and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the page. He pressed on, desperate to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle, but the task was complicated by the absence of Catherine's responses to each letter, and by the fact that his frenzied attack on the bookcase had disturbed any chronological order that Kalpana's letters might have been stored in.

Straining to read the last lines of the umpteenth letter, Aaron became aware that he was sitting in near darkness. He glanced up at the window, surprised to find that the sun had already set and that the faint glow by which he had been reading was cast entirely by the lights that adorned the garden below. He had been locked away for hours and so absorbed in his quest for the truth that time had slipped by almost imperceptibly. He felt drained, physically, mentally and most of all emotionally. His head was swimming with everything that he had read; yet for all his efforts he was no closer to understanding the true circumstances surrounding his adoption. He desperately wanted to put the letters back where he had found them, to close the door to the study and to crawl back in to bed and pretend that the day had never happened, but he knew that there could be no simple return to the life that he had always known.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a low growl originating from deep within his belly, as he registered the feeling of hunger for the first time in over a week. Breakfast felt like an age ago and though he usually wished to avoid the awkwardness of their one-on-one exchanges, he knew that a second mealtime conversation with Arthur was now an unavoidable necessity. Arthur was the only one who might be able to explain the truth about what he had found and, despite the evidence to the contrary, he still clung to the hope that there was a perfectly logical and rational explanation as to why his parents had lied to him.

Tucking a few of the letters into his tracksuit bottom pocket, Aaron gently eased himself to a standing position and surveyed the room once more. It was reminiscent of a city street after a bomb blast and even the neat towers of books that he wanted to keep had been toppled during his frenetic attack on the bookcase. He edged carefully around the rubble and stepping out into the hallway pulled the door shut firmly behind him, relieved to be free of the suffocating confines of the room. His lungs were immediately filled with the aromatic scent of roast chicken, causing his stomach to gurgle appreciatively in anticipation. The scent grew stronger as he made his way down the stairs, and rounding the corner to the kitchen he found Aunt Ruby busily preparing dinner at the counter, whilst his father remained hunched over the newspaper as though he hadn't moved all day. Hearing his footsteps, they both looked up in unison and Aunt Ruby smiled warmly in welcome.

'Hello, dear. How are you?'

'Hello, Aunt Ruby. I'm, um, I'm okay... okay, I guess.'

'Are you hungry? You must be hungry; Arthur told me that you didn't have any lunch. Dinner will be ready in just a tick.'

Aaron smiled meekly at his aunt and moved to seat himself opposite Arthur, who, making no attempt to acknowledge his son's presence at the table, had already turned his attention back to the newspaper. Aaron cleared his throat loudly, causing Arthur to look up at him somewhat irritably.

'Is everything cleared in the study?'

'No, not quite.'

'Not quite? You've been up there all day,' Arthur shrieked.

'I started... but then I found something,' Aaron retorted sharply, immediately annoyed by Arthur's response. If anyone was going to feel surprised or disappointed, it would be him.

'I see. What was it then? This thing that you found,' replied Arthur sarcastically, the disinterest in his voice barely disguised as he returned to the article he was reading.

'Letters from Kalpana.'

Arthur visibly stiffened at Aaron's words and slowly raised his head until his eyes met his son's. His face was pale and strained, and his lips barely moved beyond a whisper when he spoke.

'What did you just say?'

Aaron remained mute, allowing the words to settle over them whilst he searched Arthur's face for signs of guilt or regret. The men stared at each other intently, another one of their silent exchanges, and it was only Aunt Ruby's sudden presence between them that broke their gaze. Both father and son had momentarily forgotten that she was even in the room.

'I think I'd better leave you both to it,' she murmured softly, slowly unfastening the apron strings from around her sizeable waist. She placed the apron onto the table in a crumpled heap and, casting Arthur a sympathetic look, politely excused herself from the kitchen.
**FOUR**

****

'WELL?' Aaron asked curtly, breaking the silence between them once he was certain that Aunt Ruby was out of earshot.

'I don't know what to tell you.'

'How about the truth?'

'I didn't know that there were letters.'

'But you knew that my birth mother was alive?'

'No. I mean, yes, sort of... I only found out about a week ago.'

'How could you have only found out about a week ago? She's been writing letters to Mum for years,' Aaron cried incredulously.

He was doing his level best to remain calm, but he could feel the anger bubbling away again just below the surface. He stared at Arthur, silently imploring him to make sense of the whole sorry situation. He had come to him expecting answers, but Arthur was doing little to reassure him that the whole episode was simply a big misunderstanding.

'I told you, I didn't know about the letters,' Arthur protested feebly, mounting his only defence.

'What _do_ you know then?'

Arthur stared silently into his lap, nervously twisting his fingers, unable to meet his son's accusatory gaze. There was an air of self-pity that hung about him like a bad smell and the way in which the old man appeared to be wrestling with his conscience made Aaron doubt the sincerity of his words. Aaron waited for an answer and Arthur, seeming reluctant, quietly began to explain.

'Catherine... your mother... she wasn't a well woman towards the end. Her illness sort of... took over. There wasn't anything that we could do... to help her, I mean. She was in a lot of pain; you know she didn't get out of bed most days... too weak to really.'

Aaron looked quizzically at his father, wondering where he was going with his story, but Arthur paid him no mind as he searched for the right words to describe the events that had taken place.

'There were a lot of pills: pink ones, white ones... I still don't know what half of them were for. Some of them made her a bit... crazy, a bit loopy when she took them. She would see things that weren't really there and sometimes she would say things, all these things that didn't make any sense, not really.'

'Things like what?'

'She talked about places that we'd been together, only I'd never been to them before. And about people, all these people that I'd never even heard of...' Arthur answered, his voice trailing off.

The memory of Catherine's final weeks seemed almost too much for him to bear and he gripped the table as a wave of sadness appeared to sweep over him. By the end, the woman that he had so loved and adored was barely recognisable and it obviously pained him to remember her that way, yet Aaron's eyes were still firmly fixed on him, pregnant with expectation.

'At night she had these awful fits; you should have seen them. All feverish and sweaty like she was having a bad dream or something. She called out names, but I couldn't always make them out. She talked about you... a lot... and then there was this Kalpana. Every night she seemed to mention Kalpana, but I didn't even know if it was a man or a woman. Sometimes she would cry out "Remember it's for lucky"; I never understood what that meant either. Her doctor said that it was nothing to worry about, that the pills were causing her to experience vivid dreams, but Kalpana was the only name I could consistently make out... so I asked her about it one day.'

'And?' Aaron asked, exhaling audibly.

He had been listening to Arthur's story so intently that he had unconsciously been holding his breath. Now his chest felt tight and his stomach churned with nerves while he waited for Arthur's response. Arthur drew in a deep breath and let out a long sigh before answering.

'She said that she would tell me when you got home... that she would tell us both... together.'

Aaron felt his emotions stir involuntarily inside, painfully reminded once more that he hadn't made it home before his mother had died. He forced his eyes shut in a desperate bid to prevent the tears from overflowing and broke his gaze with Arthur for the first time since their conversation had begun. The world seemed to be mocking him; not content with robbing him of a final chance to see his mother, it had simultaneously deprived her of a last opportunity to tell him the truth. Worse still, it had left him to contend with Arthur instead.

Uncharacteristically, Arthur reached across the table and tenderly patted his son's forearm in a gesture of comfort. Stunned, but nonetheless appreciative of Arthur's action, Aaron reopened his eyes and nodded silently, signalling for him to continue with his story.

'On the day that she... died... I was sitting with her in our bedroom. She was in and out of sleep and the words that she was calling out made even less sense than usual. She kept asking for you and I kept telling her that you would be here soon, but I don't think she believed me. She was insistent that God was deliberately keeping you away, that he was punishing her because she had punished Kalpana. It didn't make any sense to me, of course. I asked her about it again and I wasn't expecting her to tell me, but then... well then she told me that Kalpana was the name of your birth mother. Silly, I know, but I had never thought to ask before.'

'Okay,' said Aaron slowly, finally finding his voice, 'but that still doesn't explain why you both told me that she died after I was born?'

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat, seeming unsure exactly how to proceed.

'I thought she had died after you were born too,' he began quietly, 'that's what Catherine told me. I never met your birth mother, Aaron; Catherine was the one that knew her. I didn't even meet you until she brought you home from India.'

Arthur paused, as though trying to gauge his son's reaction, but Aaron tried to refrain from passing judgement until Arthur had finished his story.

'I thought it was the pills talking again, so I just tried to comfort her, to calm her down a little bit so she wouldn't get quite so worked up... but she wouldn't let it go. We went on like that for a few hours until finally she looked me dead in the eye and said, "You don't understand, Kalpana wants to see Aaron and I won't let her". Well of course then I thought that she had really lost it. I mean, how can a dead woman want to see you? It just doesn't make any sense.'

'Didn't she tell you about the letters?' Aaron enquired sceptically, fishing a fistful from his pocket and placing them ceremoniously on the table. Arthur's mouth fell open in surprise and it was enough to answer Aaron's question.

'I... no... I... I thought that maybe she was confusing the past with the present. You know, remembering when you were born. She became very close to your birth mother and I know that she always felt bad that she couldn't do more to save her... well, at least that's how it had always seemed. I assumed it was just... guilt. The more I tried to reason with her, the more irrational she became. She started shouting at me and at Aunt Ruby too.'

'Aunt Ruby was there too?'

'Yes, she came upstairs when she heard the shouting. We both tried to explain that Kalpana was gone and that she wasn't being punished for anything, but even with two of us there she wouldn't listen. So we left her for a while, you know, to calm down. It was horrible seeing her get herself into such a state and she was already so sick. I was worried that any more stress would push her over the edge.'

Arthur whispered the last sentence and it hung inescapably in the air between them. There was a brief silence while Aaron struggled to digest the details of the tale, but Arthur drew in a deep breath and continued, seeming determined to finish.

'About an hour or so before she died, I went back upstairs to check on her. She wouldn't look at me at first and we sat in silence for a while, but eventually she started to talk. She was convinced that you weren't coming home. I told her that you weren't far away, but she looked... defeated. She started to squeeze my hand, gently you understand because she was quite weak, and then she began to apologise. She apologised to me and to you, for lying to us and for not being the person that we thought she was. She said that she just wanted us to be happy.'

Tears had welled up in Arthur's eyes, and though it was the first time Aaron had ever seen him cry, he had little sympathy for the old man.

'I didn't understand what she was talking about. I told her that we were happy, that we both loved her very much and that she didn't have to be sorry for anything,' cried Arthur, now weeping openly. 'She asked me to make her a promise. Of course I agreed, you know that I would have done anything for your mother.'

'What did she make you promise?' demanded Aaron.

'You have to understand, Aaron. She had been saying so many utterly ridiculous things, it was difficult to know if she was speaking the truth or if she even meant the things that she was saying.'

'What did she make you promise?' Aaron repeated, growing increasingly impatient.

'She... she made me promise to tell you that Kalpana was alive. That Kalpana was alive and that she wanted to see you... and that she was sorry. Sorry for lying to you.'

Aaron felt his blood begin to boil again.

'Why didn't you tell me this as soon as I got home?' he hissed through gritted teeth, trying hard to maintain his composure.

Arthur lowered his head.

'Because... because I still didn't believe her.'
**FIVE**

****

'HERE you go mate, get that down you.'

'Thanks,' mumbled Aaron sleepily.

It was the fourth night in a row that he had slept on Jez's sofa, and the fourth morning in a row that Jez had woken him with an over-stewed cup of tea. Ordinarily he might have complained, but since his friend had put him up without asking any questions, Aaron felt obliged to politely accept the lukewarm drinks without comment. Following Arthur's shameful confession in the kitchen, Aaron had stormed out and headed straight for Jez's house. He was furious at his father's deliberate disregard for his mother's dying wishes, a trait that, ironically, it seemed he'd picked up from Catherine herself. He couldn't stand the thought of spending another moment in Arthur's company and he knew that the old man would never think to look for him there. He wasn't sure that Arthur even knew where Jez lived.

The two boys were old friends who had schooled together until Jez had eschewed the idea of A levels and swapped degree prospects for DJ'ing and drug taking. It was a decision that had seen him promptly cast out of the village's elitist social circles and rendered his mother the subject of idle gossip and pitying looks. Aaron's parents had tried to discourage their friendship, fearful of the influence that Jez might have on their son, but Aaron had always admired Jez's determination to carve out his own path in life and as a consequence they had remained good friends.

'So?' said Jez, lighting up a cigarette as he joined Aaron on the sofa.

'What?'

'Are you gonna tell me what's going on?'

'I was hoping we could just skip over that,' replied Aaron glumly, drawing a deep sigh. He pulled himself into a sitting position and curled the duvet around his shoulders for warmth, 'it's kind of difficult to explain.'

'Look, mate,' said Jez, clouds of smoke billowing from his nostrils, 'I'm not being funny, 'cause I know that you're going through a bit of a rough time with your mum and stuff, but you've been acting proper weird these last few days.'

Aaron instantly stiffened at Jez's words, momentarily astonished to discover that he knew about Kalpana, before realising that she wasn't the mother he was referring to.

'You don't have to tell me anything. In fact, I'd just as soon as not know what's wrong, but my mum will be back tomorrow and you know what she's like. She'll be asking all sorts of questions; can't even get her to stay out of my own bloody business, never mind keeping her nose out of yours.'

Despite himself, Aaron felt his lips form a faint smile. It was the first time he'd smiled in days and it felt good.

'It's my mum,' he said finally.

'Yeah, I guessed as much.'

'No, I mean my birth mum. She's alive.'

'Flipping hell, are you being serious?' exclaimed Jez, springing from the sofa with such energy that he knocked over the now cold cup of tea.

Aaron was silently grateful.

'I wish I was joking.'

'How do you know?'

'She's been writing letters to my mum for years and Mum's been writing back. I found the letters when I was clearing out her study. Turns out that she didn't die after I was born at all.'

'That is messed up, mate.'

'It's more than messed up,' replied Aaron bitterly.

'Why the hell did they tell you she was dead then? I don't get it.'

'Not a clue. Apparently Arthur didn't know that she was alive either. He says that Mum only told him the day that she died; claims he didn't know about the letters.'

'Surely he must have known _something_? You can't keep something that huge a secret.'

'Apparently you can,' retorted Aaron sarcastically.

'What did the letters say?'

'They were mostly just updates, but she seemed ... I don't know, just really, really grateful to my mum, like she owed her whole life to her or something. She talked a lot about what she had been doing; I think she runs some sort of shop. Oh, and apparently I also have a brother and a sister. She talked about them quite a bit too, especially the boy. It sounded as though he was recovering from something in some of the earlier letters, an accident maybe, but she seemed really quite proud of his achievements.'

'Did she ask about you at all?'

'Oh, all the time. She was always asking after me; asking how I looked and what I liked to do, about how I was doing at school, those sorts of things. A few times she thanked Mum for sending her photographs too; she obviously still cared about what happened to me.'

'Does she know that you thought she was dead all this time?'

'That's the thing, I don't know. It's odd that she would ask so much about me, and that Mum would tell her everything so freely, but that she's never asked to see me, except for in the most recent letters. She mentioned some kind of agreement, so maybe she did know? She also said she's sick, really sick by the sound of things; maybe that's why she's suddenly changed her mind?'

'This is mental, mate, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna go and see her?'

'I thought about it, but I just don't know if I want to go through all of that again.'

'Go through all of what?' queried Jez.

'Getting to know someone, getting close to them, only to lose them. It was hard enough with Mum.'

'How can you say that? We're not talking about just anyone, Aaron, this is your mum. The woman that gave birth to you!'

'But that's just it, Jez, she's not my mum, is she? We buried my mum last week. Right now I don't even know this woman. I never thought that I'd get a chance to meet her and I was okay with that. Now suddenly she's here and she's sick; what's the point in going to meet her if she's not going to be around for much longer anyway? I think it might be easier just to leave things as they are.'

Jez looked at Aaron disapprovingly.

'What are you so afraid of?' he challenged.

'I'm not afraid of anything, I just –'

'Just do it, mate,' interrupted Jez, 'otherwise, you'll always be wondering, trust me. If I ever found out where my dad was, I'd be straight over there. In fact, this woman can probably tell you about your real dad too.'

'But maybe there's a reason that Mum didn't tell me about her? Maybe she's dangerous?'

'If she was dangerous, why would your mum have been writing to her?' Jez answered coolly, raising his pierced eyebrow.

'No, I don't think so. It's too far anyhow.'

'Whereabouts is she?'

'India.'

'INDIA,' exclaimed Jez loudly, this time spilling his own cup of tea over the arm of the sofa.

'Where were you expecting her to be?'

'I don't know. I mean, I know that you're Indian, obviously, but I didn't realise that you were, well you know, a proper Indian from India.'

Aaron couldn't stop himself as a slow smile spread across his face and a laugh burst forth from his lips.

'Don't laugh, mate, I'm being serious,' grumbled Jez irritably.

'Why are you so surprised?'

'Well, because let's be honest, it's another world over there, isn't it? Those Indians are different, backwards, not like the ones that are born here. But you're not like them.'

'Oh really? And what exactly are _they_ like then?' answered Aaron bemusedly.

Anyone else might have been offended by Jez's comments, but Aaron knew that they were born more out of ignorance than malice.

'Well they're a bit, you know, like that family that lives at the end of my street, the one that moved in last year. Perfectly nice, but a bit... simple. All funny clothes and greasy hair. I swear there are at least fifteen people living in there; not one of them speaks English and they all stink of frying.'

Aaron laughed harder at this ridiculous portrait of a 'proper Indian from India', but Jez continued on unabated.

'You think that I'm joking, but I'm not. Last year my mate Raj went to visit his family in Delhi. He said it was the worst holiday he'd ever been on. He had to share a room with two of his brothers _and_ three of his cousins, all of them just on a mattress on the floor. They didn't have proper showers or toilets; he had to go in a hole round the back of the house and wash himself from a bucket. And that's not even the worst of it, he –'

'Enough, enough,' cried Aaron, gasping between breaths and holding his hand up to silence his friend. He had almost been reduced to tears and now he was doubled over in hysterics, struggling to catch his breath.

Jez lit up another cigarette and puffed on it sulkily, seeming insulted that he was not being taken seriously, but despite his ignorance his assertions had struck a chord with his friend.

When Aaron's laughter subsided it gave way to a comfortable and contemplative silence in which he found himself questioning everything once more. He was certain that India and 'proper Indians' were not as Jez had described them to be, but he couldn't accurately picture them. He knew little about his birthplace, except for the fact that it was the very reason he never quite fitted in, in London, and far from holding any attachments to it, he had come to resent it. The Rutherfords had never taken him back and his mother had never seemed particularly keen to talk about or to visit the place. If anything, she had actively discouraged it, a fact that seemed to make more sense in light of his recent findings.

And then there was Kalpana. What did he really know about her, except for what she had written in her letters? Was she tall or short, fat or thin? Did they look alike? Would he recognise her? He had often wondered about his biological mother, imagining what kind of person she had been and what kind of mother she would have made, but Catherine had always been reluctant to discuss her and he had stupidly believed that it was because the memories of what had transpired in India were too painful to relive. Instead he'd made do with the little bits of information that he could glean from anecdotal conversations and over the years he had learnt to dismiss the more inquisitive thoughts just as quickly as they had arrived.

But things were different now. Now he had an opportunity to learn the answers to all of those questions and more. His mother's deceit and Arthur's secrecy could not be reversed, but Kalpana was still alive and he could, if he wanted, fulfil her wish to see him. Yet something was holding him back, a feeling deep in his gut, a relic of former beliefs and allegiances. For all the thinking that he had done over the past few days, Aaron still couldn't fathom why his mother would have kept something so important from him and, if he were to be believed, from Arthur. In spite of everything that he had unearthed, he remained convinced that she must have had a legitimate reason for acting in the way that she had. A reason he was sure that she would have shared with him, if only he'd made it home in time. Catherine Rutherford had loved him with every bone in her body and she would have done whatever was necessary to protect him, even if that meant keeping him in the dark on occasion. There was something about Kalpana that he didn't know, Aaron was sure of it, and it was that something that made him reluctant to go in search of her.
**SIX**

****

LEAVING Jez to his daily rituals, Aaron departed the house for the first time since he had arrived. He walked with purpose through the streets, a baseball cap pulled low over his face and his chin firmly tucked into his jacket collar, in an attempt to conceal the coarse beard that he was still yet to find the time to shave. He knew where he was headed and rounding the corner he spied a small petrol station that he was sure would serve his needs. Approaching the forecourt he saw them: pink, yellow, red, white and every colour in between. He groaned at the thought of having to engage in decision making at such an early hour, but then a tangerine flash caught his eye, the last remaining bunch of orange lilies, and he knew exactly what to do.

He lifted the bunch of flowers from the bucket and, shaking off the drops of water that had collected along the stem, brought the flowers to his nose, allowing the familiar scent to fill his nostrils. His mind was immediately pulled back to his youth when his mother had scolded him for playing ball inside, fearing that he would knock over one of the many vases of orange lilies that she had routinely filled their house with. He smiled a wistful, nostalgic smile as he reminisced about happier times and momentarily forgot his current woes. This was how he wanted to remember her, just as he had always known her, and not as the lying, deceitful portrait that anger had painted in his mind.

Returning to the present, he fished in his pockets for loose coins and, after paying the cashier through the small window of the petrol station, set off on his way once more. He continued along the quiet leafy streets past several sets of traffic lights until the roads became narrow lanes that twisted through the countryside, and the houses were larger and spaced further apart. An old stone church loomed into view and on arriving at its crumbling façade, Aaron walked alongside the moss-covered walls until he reached a small plot of land at the rear. The cemetery was tiny, but well kept, the grounds neatly manicured and the graveside flowers constantly refreshed by those left behind. He followed the paved path to a row of cherry trees at the back of the plot, where a shiny new headstone formed of pink granite bore an inscription that it pained him to read:

DR CATHERINE RUTHERFORD

1955–2012

BELOVED WIFE, MOTHER AND FRIEND

FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS

Tired from the long walk, Aaron seated himself at the foot of the grave, oblivious to the dampness that was seeping through his trousers from the dewy lawn. He stared impassively at the headstone, silently mouthing the carefully carved words. They were true; his mother was beloved and she would forever be in his heart despite everything that he had discovered in the past few days. But now there were new words too; hateful, spiteful words, that sprung to mind whenever he allowed himself to think about her for more than just a second.

Aaron had never felt so lonely or confused in his life. He was grateful to Jez for listening to his woes, but the simple truth was that he had no-one else to turn to. He had few friends, even fewer that he trusted, and his only confidant lay six feet below the ground on which he was sitting. He had learnt to be comfortable in his own company and could usually resolve the challenges that he faced on his own, but knowing that his mother was there if he needed her had provided a source of comfort that he had unwittingly come to rely upon. He was in desperate need of someone to talk to; someone to guide him through the myriad emotions that he felt and to help him decide what to do about Kalpana, but there was no-one.

He arranged the lilies carefully beside the headstone, brushing his fingers lightly over the engraving before sitting back against his heels. In the stillness of the cemetery he mulled over the same thoughts, again and again, with no reprieve. The love and loyalty he felt towards his mother's memory sharply contrasted with his newfound resentment, and it made for a strange feeling that he was exhausted trying to comprehend.

'Why aren't you here?' he eventually cried out, his voice shaky and uncertain.

The headstone maintained its silence.

'I need you, Mum. I'm sorry that I didn't make it home in time, but you should have waited... just a little bit longer... I was almost there. We could have talked... properly. I would have believed you, I promise.'

Tears of frustration gathered in his eyes and he began to weep openly, the words on the headstone becoming nothing more than a pink blur. He buried his face in his hands, muffling the sobs and sniffles that had become an undesirable daily ritual until he felt a warmth on the back of his neck.

'I believed her,' said a soft, reassuring feminine voice.

Aaron had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Aunt Ruby tiptoe into the cemetery behind him. In her hands she held a small bouquet of orange lilies identical to the bunch that Aaron had brought, and she smiled softly at him when he turned to face her.

'Where have you been, dear? We've been worried sick about you,' she said reproachfully.

Aaron wordlessly shrugged his shoulders and stared guiltily at the ground. He didn't care what Arthur thought, but he hadn't meant to worry Aunt Ruby.

'Mind if I sit?'

Aunt Ruby took Aaron's continued silence as a sign of indifference and lowered herself down beside him, arranging the pleats of her long skirt neatly over her chubby legs. Aaron turned back to face the headstone and the pair sat together in silence, sharing in the peace and serenity of the cemetery as the sun cast its rays over them from between the trees.

After a time, Aunt Ruby reached forward and added the flowers that she had brought alongside Aaron's.

'There we go. She would have loved these, Aaron.'

'I know.'

'I've put a few bunches in the house too, to remind us of her. Your father finds it comforting.'

Aaron remained mute. Aunt Ruby was trying her hardest to engage him in conversation, but hadn't seemed to grasp that Arthur, his thoughts and feelings, were not topics that Aaron was sympathetic to.

'Why don't you come home, dear? He is sorry you know. I'm sure that finding out about Kalpana like that must have been a terrible shock for you, but it's hit him hard too. He didn't think that he and Catherine kept any secrets from one another.'

'Apparently it's a family trait,' retorted Aaron bitterly.

'That's not very fair now dear, is it?'

' _Fair_? What's not fair is that I didn't get to see my mum before she died. What's not fair is that my birth mum is alive and nobody thought to tell me. You all knew, I don't care if you only just found out, you all knew and you didn't tell me. That's what's not fair.'

Aunt Ruby sighed in exasperation.

'Aaron, your father didn't lie to you on purpose; you know that he didn't. He didn't believe what your mother had said to him and there was no reason to until you showed him the letters.'

'But you said that you did believe her,' Aaron continued stubbornly.

'I did, Aaron, but that's beside the point.'

'Is it? If you believed her, then why didn't he? They've been married for over thirty years!'

'Because love is blind, Aaron. Sometimes it stops us from seeing things as they really are; stops us from seeing things that we don't want to see.'

'I don't understand.'

'Your mother was special; she touched so many lives and she was quite a catch when she was younger. She could have had anyone that she wanted and your father always felt lucky, maybe even grateful, that she chose to spend her life with him. When you love someone that much it's hard to watch them waste away before your eyes, to watch them become a mere shadow of the person that they used to be. Arthur would never admit it, but he was struggling to cope with it all. That's the reason that I decided to come and help.'

'I still don't get it,' interjected Aaron huffily, noticing for the first time that both Arthur and Aunt Ruby shared a familial knack for long-winded storytelling.

Aunt Ruby ignored him and continued.

'To Arthur, Catherine was like a superhero. She was invincible and for her to get sick simply didn't fit within his ideologies. He had held her up on a pedestal so high, for such a long time, that he was deliberately ignorant of her imperfections; but I understand that your mother was human. She had her flaws and like the rest of us she made mistakes. I believed her, but unfortunately for Arthur, believing what she was saying, believing that it was anything more than hallucinations brought on by her medication, would have meant conceding that she wasn't the person that he had always believed her to be. It would have meant accepting that she had kept something significant from him for all these years and that perhaps he didn't know her quite as well as he had thought. I think it was just too much for him, too big on top of everything else. Do you see?'

Aaron weighed Aunt Ruby's words carefully in his mind. Her argument was logical, but was it enough to justify Arthur's actions? Enough to justify why she had believed his mother, when Arthur hadn't, and enough to warrant forgiving him for failing to keep the promise that he had made to his mother on her deathbed?

'You can't blame him for everything, Aaron,' said Aunt Ruby after a while, as though reading his mind. 'I know that you and Arthur aren't close, but you can't keep using him as a scapegoat for everything that you're feeling. Your mother has to take some responsibility too.'

Aaron let out a long sigh; he knew that she was right. If it had not been for his mother's actions and secrecy in the first place, then they wouldn't be having this conversation at all.

'Can I ask you something?' he said finally, deftly drawing a line under their debate.

'Of course, dear. Anything, anything at all.'

'Do you think that I should go and see Kalpana?'

'I think that you should do whatever your heart tells you to do, Aaron.'

'But do you think that's what she would've wanted? Do you think that's the reason that she wanted to tell me about her? Or do you think she was just... scared? Just feeling guilty right before she died?'

'Catherine would have supported whatever decision you made,' answered Aunt Ruby tactfully.

'I don't know where she is. I mean, I know she's in India, but I don't know where exactly.'

'I know somebody who might know,' answered Aunt Ruby, cocking her head to one side and playfully elbowing her nephew in the ribs.

Aaron smiled sarcastically in defeat. He would have to go home eventually and although he didn't much like the idea of facing Arthur, he liked the idea of facing a barrage of questions from Jez's mother even less.

'Okay, I'll come home.'

Aunt Ruby wrapped her arms around her nephew in an embrace laden with relief.

'Everything's going to be all right you know, Aaron. You'll see... I promise.'
**SEVEN**

****

AARON hung back in the driveway whilst Aunt Ruby fumbled with her key in the door. He was still hesitant about returning home; so much had occurred there in recent weeks that it no longer felt like the safe haven that it used to and he genuinely feared what might happen once he set foot inside. Oblivious to his reluctance, Aunt Ruby quickly ushered him through the open door and towards the kitchen, leaving him little time to examine his anxieties any further. She had spent much of the journey home remarking upon how much weight Aaron had lost and seemed determined to feed him until he was no longer able to stand. His appetite had not yet returned, but he was too mentally exhausted to argue and proceeded towards the kitchen, bracing himself for a confrontation with Arthur.

The daily newspaper lay open on the kitchen table adjacent to a half-filled mug of coffee as he had expected, but to his surprise Arthur was nowhere to be found. He instantly relaxed at this happy discovery and taking a seat at the table, tried to tune out Aunt Ruby's incessant chatter while she rattled around the kitchen preparing brunch. He was halfway through his meal when Arthur finally reappeared, hovering in the kitchen doorway, uncertain of the reception that he would receive. Dark circles had formed around his eyes, evidence of the little sleep that he had been able to manage since Aaron's departure, and there was a ghostly grey pallor about his skin. Aaron paused, his fork dramatically suspended in mid-air, and Arthur seemed to search his son's face for signs of forgiveness, but it quickly became apparent that Aaron was giving nothing away.

Aunt Ruby took charge and ushered Arthur into the seat opposite Aaron. She returned to the counter to prepare a plate for her brother and left Arthur staring hard at his son. Aaron resumed his meal, rhythmically lifting forkfuls of food into his mouth with great concentration to distract himself from the intensity of Arthur's gaze. He swallowed the final mouthful and pushed his plate into the centre of the table, just when Aunt Ruby was setting Arthur's own plate down in front of him.

The old man looked from his son to his sister and back again, seeming panicked that Aaron was going to leave the table, but Aaron did not move. He met his father's gaze, this time noting how distressed and dishevelled the old man appeared, compared to when he had left him a few days prior. He still bore a huge amount of resentment towards him, but the truth was that, more than anything else, he pitied Arthur. Arthur would have to live with what he had done and his act of betrayal would forever remain a blemish on his otherwise flawless dedication to his late wife.

Aaron's eyes softened as he continued to regard the fragile man sat across from him; it was hard to remain stony-faced in light of this realisation and it wasn't his natural demeanour.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine.'

'Where have you been?'

'I went to Jez's.'

Arthur winced visibly, unable to hide his disdain.

'You should have called. I called everyone that I could think of; I was so worried.'

'I didn't really feel like speaking to you.'

'Well then you could have texted.'

'You don't know how to text, Arthur.'

'I do too.'

'I just needed to be on my own for a bit.'

Arthur was silently contemplative for a few moments before beginning the conversation that neither of them wanted to have, but both knew was necessary.

'I'm sorry that I didn't tell you what your mother asked me to,' he blurted out before he could change his mind.

'I know that you are,' whispered Aaron quietly.

He glanced conspiratorially at Aunt Ruby who, having seated herself between them for mediation, smiled back at him encouragingly.

'I'm sorry that she lied to you too, to both of us, but I'm sure that she had her reasons.'

Aaron sighed, carefully considering Arthur's words. They were full of the same optimistic rationale that he himself had been battling with; was Aunt Ruby right? Had love unknowingly blinded and deceived both of them into thinking that Catherine was infallible? Aaron remained sceptical despite the growing evidence, but he found a certain solace in the knowledge that he was not alone in his thinking and the ongoing respect for Catherine forged an invisible bridge between him and Arthur once more.

'After you left, I went up to the study. When you said that you had found letters... I didn't realise that there were so many. I can't believe that they were in touch all these years, it's mad. I mean, your mother, and a woman in India, who would have thought? I know that she loved the time that she spent out there and of course she had her friends, because you know your mother always was one for socialising, but it still amazes me that –'

'Arthur,' interrupted Aaron brusquely, recognising that his father was slipping off into senseless ramblings.

'Sorry,' mumbled Arthur apologetically.

Aaron glanced at Aunt Ruby, silently seeking approval to broach the subject that he really wanted to discuss and she smiled back at him, nodding supportively.

'Arthur, I'm thinking of going to India to see Kalpana.'

Arthur's face dropped instantly and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Aunt Ruby shot her brother a look of warning.

'You... but... you... why?'

'Why not?'

Arthur looked mildly insulted.

'Well... because. Because it's not exactly... I mean, I understand that you... I know it was a shock to find out about her, but... don't you think that you're being a little ridiculous?' Arthur stammered.

'Why am I being ridiculous exactly?' replied Aaron, cocking his head to one side mockingly. He wasn't sure why Arthur was so surprised, but his choice of words irritated him.

'Because! You don't even know the woman, Aaron.'

'Isn't that the point?'

Arthur looked to Aunt Ruby, seeming to silently plead for her to intervene, but she closed her eyes and shook her head, refusing to enter the discussion. Arthur turned his attention back to Aaron, the exasperation evident in his face.

'Aaron, I know you're upset about losing your mother, but finding this, this woman, it's not going to change anything. It's not going to bring her back. She can't replace her.'

'I know that.'

'Then why do you want to go and see her?' he whined, seemingly convinced that there could be no other reason for considering such a trip.

'Because, I can. I couldn't before, but now I can and I'm curious, Arthur. I want to know what she's like. I want to know why she gave me up for adoption, why she couldn't keep me.'

'Well isn't that obvious? She didn't want you!'

'ARTHUR,' shrieked Aunt Ruby, but it was too late.

The words hit Aaron like a bullet to the chest and he felt winded by their harshness.

'Oh God. Aaron, I... Aaron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Of course I didn't.'

He looked to Aunt Ruby for help, but she simply returned a look of contempt and reached across to squeeze Aaron's arm reassuringly. The trio sat in silence, the stark reality of Arthur's insensitive words weighing down upon them. Aaron stared at the floor drawing deep breaths in an attempt to quash the rising anger he felt. This was not how he had envisaged the conversation unfolding.

'Aaron, please, say something,' Arthur begged.

'Is that really what you think?' he said quietly, not looking up from the floor.

'N-yes, yes it is, but only because I can't see any other reason. Catherine would never have taken you away from your birth mother otherwise.'

'But if she didn't want me, then why would she have stayed in touch with Mum all these years? Why would she have asked about me and asked to see me?'

'I don't know, Aaron. I don't know this woman, but I do know Catherine and she would only have lied to protect you. She said so herself, remember? She just wanted you to be happy. There must be something that we don't know.'

'Isn't that reason enough to go and see Kalpana? She does know, she's the only one that knows.'

'Aaron, I know you think that she's going to have all the answers, but you might not like what you find. Sometimes I think it's better to let sleeping dogs lie.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that you've had a fantastic life with your mother and I. We've given you everything that anyone could ever possibly want or ask for. You've attended good schools, you've travelled and now you have your place at Oxford. What I'm saying is, at the end of the day, does it really matter why? And whatever the reason, maybe it was for the best. You already have a mother; she was a wonderful, loving, caring woman and I know that it's hard with her gone, but you have such a bright future ahead of you. Why risk spoiling it by going after someone who was happy to live without you for nineteen years?'

Aaron sighed heavily; everything that Arthur had said was true. Meeting Kalpana might not be the happy reunion that he was imagining in his head. She might not want, or be able, to answer his questions, but after all the years of wondering, all the years of never fitting in to the world in which he lived because of the world from which he'd come, the prospect of meeting his birth mother was simply too great to ignore.

'It's a risk that I have to take,' he said finally.

Arthur looked helplessly at Aunt Ruby, but she only raised her eyebrow signalling for him to be cautious with his response.

'I'll tell you what,' he began dejectedly, 'why don't you write to her first? Tell her that you'd like to make a visit and see what she says? You don't want to rush something like this; I'm sure it will be quite an event for the both of you.'

'There isn't time, Arthur, she's said that she's sick. That letter was written at the start of March and April is practically over already; a letter will take too long, if it even gets there at all.'

'Nonsense. I can send it as priority mail from the office. It will get there in no time.'

Aaron wasn't sure why, but he didn't trust Arthur, not with something this big.

'I think it's better if I just go. What if she's too sick to reply to a letter now? She said that she can't get out of bed anymore. I don't want it to be like, like –'

'Like your mother,' Arthur finished, 'it's okay, I get it. When I get back to the office next week, I'll talk with Sarah about clearing a few weeks in my diary and ask her to look into some flight options for us. We should be able to manage something around July; it's normally a bit quieter then with everyone taking time off for the school holidays.'

'We?' Aaron blurted out before he could stop himself.

This time it was him who received the look of warning from Aunt Ruby.

'Well yes, you can't possibly go alone, Aaron. Anything could happen.'

'I... I think July is too far away, Arthur,' he responded diplomatically.

It was true, July was too long to wait, but moreover Aaron wasn't sure why Arthur wanted to come with him at all and the mere thought of it made him uncomfortable. Arthur had never played the doting father and his latest over-protective protestations didn't add up. The trip would be momentous enough without also having to contend with the particulars of their relationship and Aaron didn't want anything to detract from the purpose of his visit.

'Well it would be a push, but I'll see if the schedule allows anything earlier...'

'Arthur...'

'Of course it will be tricky at such short notice...'

'Arthur, listen I –'

'And with all the time I've had off recently because of things with your mother, well –'

'Arthur,' interjected Aunt Ruby forcefully, halting her brother's spiralling ramblings.

She squeezed his arm reassuringly and then turned to Aaron, motioning for him to continue.

'Arthur I was thinking of going in the next few weeks, as soon as I can get a visa really ... and I think it would be best if I went on my own.'

Arthur's face fell and suddenly he looked small and pitiful all at once. The three of them remained silent and nobody knew where to look, least of all Aaron. There was nothing more to say and he quickly resented the growing feelings of guilt gathering in his body as a result of Arthur's odd reaction. The old man usually cared little about what he was doing and even less about where he was doing it. His sudden interest in Aaron's affairs was unnerving and though Aaron couldn't put his finger on it, it was clear that something inside Arthur had shifted since Catherine had died.

'Okay, if that's what you really want,' he mumbled eventually. 'How long do you think you'll be gone for?'

'I have no idea, a few weeks at least. It might take a while to find her; the address on the letters is only a post office box address.'

'Perhaps you need to spend a little more time researching here then?' enthused Arthur, badly disguising his delight at the prospect of a delay in the proceedings.

'Don't you have the adoption papers, Arthur? Wouldn't they have that sort of information on?' enquired Aunt Ruby innocently.

'I've never seen any,' he responded, seemingly irked by his sister's question, 'if anything, Catherine would have filed them away in her study, but I've cleared it out completely now and I didn't find anything.'

Aaron regarded his father suspiciously, the idea that he might be concealing something a fleeting thought in his mind.

'What about the refuge? They must keep records of all the people that stay there. I'll bet they have a copy of the papers,' Aunt Ruby ventured.

'Do you know the address of the refuge?' Aaron asked hopefully.

Arthur looked absent-mindedly around the room, blatantly pretending not to have heard the question.

'Arthur,' said Aunt Ruby curtly, administering her brother with yet another disapproving look.

'Yes? Sorry, I was miles away,' he said.

'Aaron is asking if you have the address of the refuge where Catherine worked?'

'Yes, I do... somewhere.'

Aunt Ruby grimaced at him reproachfully while Aaron looked on expectantly.

'It's in a place called Puri,' Arthur sighed petulantly, glaring at his sister like a sulky teenager forced to do something that he didn't want to. 'It's the same city that the letters were sent from; somewhere on the east coast.'

'Well,' said Aaron, the excitement building in his body, 'I guess that's where I should start then.'
**EIGHT**

****

AARON tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time. In part this was due to the fear of sleeping through his alarm and missing his flight, but for the most part his restlessness could be attributed to nervous excitement. His whole body tingled with an electricity borne out of anticipation for the journey that he was about to undertake but, stealing a glance at the clock, he sighed deeply at the realisation that it was only three o'clock in the morning. There was still at least an hour before he would need to get up and though the past few weeks had flown by in a flurry of activity, time now seemed to be moving painstakingly slowly. Between making the necessary travel arrangements, packing and constantly reassuring Arthur that he would only be gone for a short spell, he'd barely had the time to dwell on the enormity of what he was about to do. Yet there in the darkness of his bedroom, it suddenly felt like he had all the time in the world.

It was hard to imagine being in a place that he knew virtually nothing about. He had read enough to know that India would be nothing like London, but the conflicting accounts of tourists and natives had painted a unique picture in his mind, such that he no longer had any expectations at all. There were those that had loved its frenetic pace and searing heat, captivated by the myriad flavours and cultural traditions, and those that had been unimpressed by the overcrowded bazaars and filthy streets, frustrated by the ubiquitous poverty and bureaucracy. It was perhaps fitting that such a precarious reunion should be set against such an unpredictable backdrop, and though he was unsure where he might find Kalpana along such a vast spectrum, the uncertainty filled him with fear and excitement in equal measure.

It was impossible to know how he would feel when he saw her, or indeed to guess at how she would feel when she saw him. Would she recognise him from the pictures that his mother had sent? Would she be surprised that he had come at all, after her letters had gone unanswered for so long? And what would she make of the news of Catherine's death? It was clear that they had enjoyed a lifelong friendship, to say nothing of the fact that for years Kalpana had vicariously experienced motherhood through her friend. He wondered too whether she would be shocked to learn that he had believed her to be dead, or whether that was a condition of the mysterious 'agreement' that she had referred to in her letter. There was so much that Aaron wanted to ask her and he hoped that it would not be too much for her to handle in her sickly state. Whatever was wrong with her sounded serious and the irony of another mother being unable to get out of bed and wishing to see him was not lost on him.

He checked the clock beside the bed once more; it was past four o'clock and at last time to get up. He wasn't quite ready to face full illumination, so he switched on the bedside lamp above his head, allowing his eyes the time to adjust. In the shadows of the dimly lit room, he rolled out of bed and began to dress himself in a tracksuit and T-shirt, not too dissimilar from that which he had gone to bed in. He would be inappropriately attired for the weather that awaited him regardless of what he opted to wear, but the chilly May morning made warm clothes non-negotiable and he wanted to ensure that he would be as comfortable as possible during the long flight.

He perched on the end of the bed and flicked through his travel wallet, double-checking for his boarding pass and passport, the sound of his mother's voice reeling off a pre-travel checklist in his head. She had always been present when he was preparing to travel, alerting him to things that he wasn't seasoned enough to consider himself, and though it felt strange that she was not physically there, it comforted him to know that she was still somewhere in his subconscious. Once he was satisfied that he had everything that he needed, he clicked the padlocks on his backpack into place and eased the straps over his shoulders. Despite Arthur's many reservations, travelling with his backpack in Africa had been so easy and flexible that the prospect of dragging a suitcase through the busy streets of India whilst he tried to locate his birth mother was a distinctly unappealing thought. He grabbed the smaller rucksack, now containing his travel wallet, and, glancing around the room one last time, clicked the bedside lamp off and began to make his way towards the ground floor of the house.

He was met at the foot of the stairs by a half-conscious Arthur and an excitable Aunt Ruby who, dressed in an unflattering blue nightgown, hadn't wanted to miss the opportunity to wish Aaron well one last time.

'All set?' yawned Arthur, lazily rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Aaron nodded enthusiastically in response.

'Look after yourself, won't you dear? And make sure to call when you arrive. And let us know how you get on with finding Kalpana. And don't forget to take the malaria tablets. And remember not to drink the –'

'For God's sake Ruby, it's too early for this,' interrupted Arthur irritably.

She scowled at him and reached forward, pulling Aaron into a tight embrace. Aaron stooped to accept it and returned her affections with a gentle squeeze of his own.

'I'm really going to miss you, dear.'

'I'm going to miss you too, Aunt Ruby.'

Arthur rolled his eyes impatiently.

'Right, let's go,' he barked, opening the front door and stalking across the expansive drive towards his Land Rover.

As the engine roared to life, the white beam of the headlights passed through the open front door, lighting Aunt Ruby's tear-stained face.

'Oh Aunt Ruby, don't cry,' Aaron soothed, taking her in his arms once more. 'I'll only be gone for a little while, and remember my next big trip is to come and visit you in Australia,' he offered reassuringly.

Unable to speak, Aunt Ruby merely nodded between her sniffles and, releasing herself from his grip, shooed him out of the door before her emotions engulfed her so fully that she wouldn't be able to let him leave.

Aaron waved goodbye to his weeping aunt and marched purposefully towards the waiting car. He slung his bags across the back seat and slammed the door shut, before clambering into the front beside Arthur. He fastened his seat belt while the old man reversed out of the driveway, and when the car swung out onto the road, Aunt Ruby and the house slowly disappeared from view. Soon they were winding their way along the dark suburban roads at high speed, the dulcet tones of The Moody Blues' 'Nights in White Satin' playing softly over the rhythmic chugging of the engine. Arthur was silent, pretending to concentrate on navigating the twisting lanes whilst Aaron stared impassively out of the window, unable to see anything through the darkness. The car began to pick up pace and when they turned onto the motorway the sun was just starting to rise in the distance.

'Looks like it's going to be a nice day,' said Arthur, clearing his throat but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

Aaron turned to face forwards, nodding in agreement, but unsure what else he could add. It wasn't the most scintillating of conversations, but he knew that Arthur would not be at ease discussing what was really on his mind and right now he could think of nothing else. He felt so anxious that he thought he might be sick and the speeding car was doing little to calm the butterflies that filled his stomach. Arthur opened his mouth to say something further, but quickly changed his mind and instead reached for the stereo to crank the volume higher. The pair continued to travel along in silence, the fields lining the roadside slipping by in a hazy green blur, and one by one the junction numbers steadily crept towards a climax. Signs for Heathrow Airport started to appear more frequently and before Aaron knew it they had reached the drop-off point outside Terminal 3.

Leaving the engine running and without saying a word, Arthur quickly dismounted and began to wrestle the backpack out of the rear passenger door. Aaron climbed down from the car and walked round to the driver's side to relieve him of the bag, but Arthur retained a firm grip on the straps. Travellers rushed all about them, zealously loading their suitcases onto trolleys and wheeling them off towards the terminal building, but the pair stood across from one another immobilised by their awkwardness. Arthur looked everywhere but at Aaron, struggling to find the words to express himself, and Aaron wondered how long he would be forced to stand there before he could prise the bag from his father's fingers without seeming ungrateful or impatient.

Seeming to sense that he was running out of time, Arthur cleared his throat and began to speak.

'You... you will come back soon, won't you?'

'Yes, Arthur. I've already told you about a million times that I will,' responded Aaron, somewhat exasperated by the question.

Arthur looked pensively at his son for a moment and then suddenly lurched forward, flinging his arms around Aaron's neck in an action indistinct from the one that he had chastised his sister for earlier that morning. He hugged Aaron long and hard before quickly withdrawing and retreating to the safety of the car. He kept his head hung low while he fastened his seat belt, refusing to meet Aaron's astonished gaze, and within seconds the Land Rover was speeding away from the terminal building.

Aaron stood rooted to the spot, bewildered by Arthur's odd impromptu farewell. Often detached and unemotional, yet seeming to care deep down, the old man's behaviour had become increasingly unpredictable and erratic since Catherine's death, particularly when it came to Aaron. It was a concern that he had shared with Aunt Ruby out of an old sense of duty, but in truth it was something that he was glad to escape from. It was awkward and unfamiliar, and he had neither the time, inclination, nor patience to try to comprehend the inner workings of Arthur's mind.

He shrugged the odd episode aside and realised to his delight that he was alone once more. He picked up his backpack and, slinging it over his shoulders, started confidently towards the terminal building, a nostalgic smile plastered across his face. Less than four months before he had stood in the very same spot, full of enthusiasm for his African adventure and committed to helping orphans find the loving families that many thought they could never have. Now he was focused on only one thing; helping himself to find the family that he'd never known he could have, and that, he mused, was a very different kind of adventure indeed.
**NINE**

****

SETTLING himself into his seat, Aaron couldn't help but to stare in awe at the other passengers boarding the early Jet Airways flight to Mumbai. He had never been surrounded by so many people of the same colour, his colour, and far from feeling out of place, for once he felt that he could actually blend in. Oblivious to his fascination, passengers were leisurely tucking their belongings into the overhead compartments, strapping in excited children and confused elderly family members, and requesting everything from extra pillows to different seats.

All about him loud conversations in tongue-twisting dialects were taking place, while the cabin crew desperately tried to usher the crowd into their seats so that the plane could depart. Men on opposite sides of the aircraft shouted across to one another, gesticulating wildly in what Aaron initially perceived to be aggression, until both fell about laughing jovially and he realised how crucial an understanding of the language and culture was going to be. There was a palpable buzz on-board the flight and the energy fed into Aaron's own excitement, rendering him even more impatient to arrive at his final destination.

When the plane finally eased into the sky, Aaron felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. The restless night, the early start and the exchanges with Arthur and Aunt Ruby had exhausted him and, though he tried to fight it, within minutes he had drifted off into a deep sleep. He remained that way for the duration of the flight, stirring only when the attendant shook him awake for drinks, meals and snacks, his sleep consumed with vivid dreams of Catherine that he struggled to recall on awakening. He was a young boy and then a young man, but Catherine never seemed to age at all, remaining just as she had looked before he had left for Africa. In so many of the dreams she seemed close enough for him to touch her, but whenever he reached out she was always just beyond his grasp. The dreams left him feeling disorientated and physically pained on awakening and by the time the pilot announced that they were coming in to land at Mumbai's Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport, Aaron was grateful of the opportunity to escape the confines of the aircraft.

The plane descended rapidly and Aaron felt his ears painfully begin to pop from the changing pressure. Wincing, he covered them with his hands and wriggled his jaw in an attempt to initiate a yawn.

'Tumhare kaan dard kar rahe hain?' said the elderly woman sitting across the aisle to his right, a genuine look of concern on her face.

'I'm sorry?' replied Aaron, utterly confused.

'Main pooch rahi hoon agar tumhare kaan dard kar rahe hain?' she said again, this time nodding and smiling at him.

'She's asking if your ears are hurting?' intervened the gentleman to his left.

He was a middle-aged, dark-skinned Indian man with a large belly that his shirt buttons were struggling to contain.

'Oh, right,' said Aaron, turning to nod in answer to the elderly woman's question.

'I take it you don't speak Hindi?' the gentleman chuckled good-naturedly.

'No, not exactly.'

'I'm Prakash,' he said, extending his hand courteously.

'Aaron,' he replied, accepting Prakash's sweaty palm.

'So, what brings you to India? First time?'

'Yes, it's my first time. I'm here to... visit family,' he explained. The words sounded strange coming out of Aaron's mouth, but Prakash seemed to accept them without question. 'And you?'

'Business trip. Trying to finalise a huge construction deal. Can't say too much about it though; all very hush hush.'

By the time the plane touched down on the tarmac, Aaron had become entirely engrossed in his conversation with Prakash, listening intently while the well-groomed man offered him tips on surviving his time in India. It was refreshing to hear someone talk positively, yet frankly, about his native country, and a relief to enjoy a conversation whose topics did not include his mother, Arthur or Kalpana. There was a long delay whilst the plane taxied to the terminal building and waited for a stand to be made available, but once the seat belt sign had been switched off, the on-board chaos that had typified their departure quickly resumed.

It was a full hour before Aaron and Prakash were able to disembark from the plane and after a prolonged, yet agreeable conversation, they were finally forced to part ways inside the terminal building. Mumbai was Prakash's final destination, whereas Aaron was in transit to Bhubaneswar, from where he would be able to catch a train on to Puri. The two men shook hands amicably, feeling more like old friends than strangers, and in a gesture of kindness Prakash offered Aaron his business card in case he ran into any troubles during his visit. Grateful to have at least one local contact, Aaron eagerly accepted it and when Prakash disappeared in the direction of passport control, he found himself alone once more.

He had been so caught up in the conversation that he hadn't taken stock of where he was. Though he had not yet stepped outside of the airport, after weeks of planning he was finally in India and the thought filled him with a small sense of triumph. He followed the signs for passengers in transit and seemed to tour the whole airport complex before finally encountering a huge crowd of people, all vying for the attention of a single airline attendant. A formal queue seemed to be absent with people pushing and shoving their way to the front of the small airline stand, desperate to have their documents checked and to progress through security.

Aaron politely joined what he thought was the back of the queue, but he was quick to realise that this strategy put him at a disadvantage. Passenger after passenger simply entered the fray wherever they could squeeze in and he found himself being forced further and further back towards the direction from which he'd come. He was hugely agitated by the disorganisation, but the agitation soon turned to anxiety when a cursory glance at his watch revealed that there were only two hours remaining before his next flight was due to depart. He had no idea what gate he needed to be at or what lay beyond the airline stand, to say nothing of the fact that it would take him at least an hour to reach the front of the ever-expanding crowd. Grudgingly he decided that he would have to be a little more ruthless, and a little less British, with his queuing strategy and surreptitiously he began to inch forward through the swarm.

Despite his best efforts, it was still almost an hour before he reached the desk. Friends and family members had appeared out of nowhere, joining their travelling companions ahead of him in the throng. Families with small children and wheelchair-bound passengers had been fast-tracked through, and a further three flights had landed adding their passenger haul to the commotion. It was a lot to contend with when he simply wanted to change planes, but there was nothing he could do to expedite the proceedings. When he finally reached the front of the congregation, the diminutive airline assistant issued him with a security tag, informed him of the gate number from which his plane would be departing and promptly sent him on his way without so much as blinking. Her efficiency was astounding and it left Aaron mystified as to why he'd had to queue for so long. He began to relax, feeling less panicked about catching his next flight, but the feeling was short-lived when he caught sight of the baggage scanners and metal detectors, and a second, equally dense, queue for security.

It took a further forty minutes for Aaron to pass through security. By the time he had done so the plane had reached its final call for boarding, forcing him to pull his clothes and shoes back on whilst simultaneously hurrying across the concourse towards the gate. Despite sleeping during the previous flight, the whole process of changing planes was so bothersome that Aaron dropped exhaustedly into his seat and instantly dozed off again. A little over two hours later, the same diminutive attendant that had managed his chaotic transit in Mumbai roused him from his sleep and in a thick Indian accent politely requested that he return his seat to the upright position. Sleepily he did as instructed and when he lifted the blind beside his seat, he was at once struck by the beauty of what lay beyond the window.

Delicate porcelain clouds, scattered in an otherwise uninterrupted sky, quickly gave way to a verdant carpet of dense forest that stretched beyond the horizon. The lush greenery became interspersed with narrow winding rivers and murky brown lakes, until thin dry spines clawed their way into the landscape turning it into a sea of dusty terracotta coloured plots. High-rises and highways drifted into view as they swooped down over the city, superseded by smaller settlements of minute blue-roofed houses. Two sprawling bus depots claimed a vast expanse of land, their vehicles akin to multicoloured children's toys embroiled in a traffic jam, and they were eclipsed only by waterlogged paddies when the black tarmac of the runway rose abruptly from the ground to meet the wheels of the plane.

The plane touched down softly and, as it taxied along the runway to its stand, a series of announcements, first in Hindi and then in an unintelligible English, came over the tannoy. Aaron could not understand either broadcast, but before the plane had come to a complete standstill, the other passengers were rising from their seats, retrieving their belongings and excitedly chattering amongst themselves while they prepared to leave the plane. He drew in a deep breath to settle the butterflies that had returned to his stomach and reached down to retrieve his rucksack from beneath the seat in front of him. Learning from his earlier experience, he jostled his way into the line of passengers waiting to exit the plane, gripping the straps of his bag tightly as the excitement and anticipation rapidly built in his chest.

Though it was only a few minutes, it felt like hours before the line finally began to advance and, bracing himself for the unknown, Aaron marched defiantly towards the door of the aircraft. Nearing the exit he felt the temperature dramatically escalate, his T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms both beginning to stick uncomfortably against his skin. Small beads of sweat collected along his brow and when he stepped over the threshold onto the airstairs, an impenetrable wall of heat greeted him. The bright sunshine beat down on his face, blinding his vision and making him sweat more and more profusely. The air tasted thick with moisture and a strong, spicy, musty odour invaded his nostrils without warning. It was an attack on the senses of the greatest magnitude and the whirring hubbub of his fellow passengers seemed to fade into the background whilst his mind and body struggled to adjust. He paused briefly, attempting to take it all in, but the sensory overload was too great and as he disembarked from the plane, the parting words of the diminutive flight attendant were very nearly lost on him.

'Welcome to India, sir.'
**TEN**

****

DESPITE his experience of changing planes in Mumbai, nothing could have prepared Aaron for the pandemonium that ensued when he tried to escape the clutches of Biju Patnaik Airport. The queues were long and disorderly, the crowds hot and bothered in equal measure, and the staff slow and inefficient. To make matters worse the terminal building appeared to be undergoing significant expansion works, which only served to add to the noise and dirt already being whipped around the concourse by the powerful ceiling fans. Aaron was agitated and fatigued by the whole ordeal and having already been subjected to extensive security checks in Mumbai, he simply couldn't fathom what remained for officials to inspect.

He was severely dehydrated and desperately needed a drink, but a quick glance around the concourse revealed no trace of a water fountain. His face dripped with sweat as the bodies packed tightly around him further compounded the heat already trapped by the thick tracksuit bottoms that he had stupidly worn for comfort. He was certain that his body was beginning to emit an unpleasant odour, but it was nothing compared to the pungent fragrances emanating from those closest to him, the smell a telltale sign of the lack of antiperspirant use. The queue inched forward and Aaron shuffled along hopefully, but after only a few paces things had ground to a halt again. He sighed loudly with exasperation, causing a few passengers to cast disapproving looks in his direction, but Aaron no longer cared. He had been travelling for almost twenty-four hours and all he could think about was getting out into the city, not least because he still faced a train journey before he would finally arrive in Puri.

When he eventually stepped out into the morning heat of Bhubaneswar a few hours later, there was barely time to take in the surroundings before taxi and rickshaw drivers trapped him in a tight, impenetrable circle. The men shouted over each other, gesticulating wildly as they vied for his attention and his business, all equally desperate to secure his custom in their questionable-looking vehicles. They called out ridiculous-sounding fares to unfamiliar places, trying to second-guess where Aaron was headed, and though their rivalry seemed amicable enough, it was difficult to gauge whom to trust. In their holey shirts and faded slacks, brown skin blistering in the early morning heat, it was evident that each driver's enthusiasm was merely the start of a long day of hustling unsuspecting arrivals in order to make ends meet. One overzealous driver even tried to wrestle the backpack directly from Aaron's shoulders and, though it unnerved him at first, ultimately he had to laugh at the chaos apparently inherent in every Indian activity.

After a little bartering and pitting the men against one another, Aaron was able to agree a reasonable fare with a stumpy, honest-looking driver, who quickly relieved him of his bags and shuffled off towards the car before Aaron could change his mind. Aaron had to move fast to avoid losing sight of the small man in the crowds and, grateful to escape the mayhem, he began to push his way past the throng of now disinterested drivers. By the time he reached the battered silver saloon car, the driver had already thrown his bags into the rear compartment and started up the engine. Aaron slipped deftly into the back and, despite almost burning his forearms on the scorching leather seats, the cooling blasts from the air-conditioning came as a welcome relief.

'First time coming in India?' asked the driver brightly, expertly guiding the taxi through the crowd to join the long line of cars waiting to exit the airport compound.

'Yes, yes it is.'

'Where coming from you?'

'From London, England.'

'Ho, ho, London,' exclaimed the driver, slapping the steering wheel enthusiastically. 'When I see you first, I think so you are coming from India! Then after only I am seeing your bags and I think you are coming from outside.'

His intonation and broken English reminded Aaron of Kalpana's letters.

'I do come from India, my mother lives in Puri,' he responded, a little more defensively than he had intended to.

At that moment it dawned on him that technically it was not his first time in India at all and he wondered distractedly whether the first time counted if he himself couldn't recall it.

'You are speaking Oriya?'

'Speaking what?'

'Oriya. It is our language, isn't it?'

'Oh, I see. No, not speaking Oriya,' answered Aaron, suddenly feeling slightly ashamed.

'Speaking Hindi only?'

'No, not speaking Hindi either.'

'You are taking a train for reaching in Puri?'

'Yes, I'm taking the train to Puri.'

'Is a long way going in Puri. How much it is costing you the ticket?'

'I don't know,' Aaron replied brusquely, exhausted by the incessant questioning.

He couldn't understand the driver's apparent fascination with his life; taxi drivers in London were rarely interested in anything that he had to say. The small driver either failed to notice or chose to ignore the irritation in Aaron's voice, and continued on with his inquisition undeterred. Aaron did his best to respond succinctly, yet politely, until the disturbing antics beyond his window completely drew his attention away.

The taxi had lurched forward into the heavy morning traffic and was now stopping and starting abruptly, forced to allow other vehicles to merge onto the road from all directions. Impatient drivers sounded long horn blasts and leant out of their windows, perilously close to the passing traffic, in a bid to gain right of way. Battered old cars mingled with shiny new ones, and whole families swept by on motorcycles, blissfully indifferent to the chaos that Aaron was so acutely aware of. The driver weaved in and out of the traffic as though on autopilot, focused more on his line of questioning than on the road itself, and Aaron felt a growing sense of unease, convinced that the man's prolonged glances at him through the rear-view mirror would eventually result in a collision. He scrambled around in search of a seat belt, but there was none to be found and, helpless, he settled for wedging himself between the back of the driver's seat and his own, tightly gripping the inside of the door for added security.

When they reached the railway station, Aaron let out a grateful sigh of relief and quickly clambered out of the car, thankful to have arrived unscathed. His heart had been thumping furiously throughout the entire crazy ride and having counted no less than seven near-collisions in the space of only ten minutes, he had eventually resorted to closing his eyes in order to make it through the journey. While the tiny driver ceremoniously removed his bags from the rear compartment, Aaron stood on the kerb, struggling to breathe in the thick, musty air as the sun beat down on him fiercely from above. He was certain that the temperature had climbed several degrees since he had exited the airport and his lips tasted salty from the rivers of sweat that had dripped down his face.

The driver closed the rear compartment and looked up at Aaron expectantly, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the sun with his hand. Aaron dealt out the one hundred rupees that they had agreed upon, but the driver's palm remained outstretched as he smiled conspiratorially, cocking his head to one side.

'Sir?'

'Yes?'

'You are having something small for me please, sir?'

Aaron stared down at the driver blankly.

'I just paid you. One hundred rupees, like we agreed.'

'Yes sir, but you are having some tip maybe for me?'

Aaron wanted to laugh in the driver's face, but despite his cheekiness, Aaron had to admire the boldness of his approach. He placed a few small denomination notes into the driver's hand and after thanking and blessing him, the small man hopped back into the car and drove away, leaving Aaron alone again.

Bhubaneswar railway station was small and bustling, its yellow façade shining in the sunlight when Aaron passed through the arches into the ticket foyer. All about him was a whirlwind of activity, but when he queued to enquire about the next train to Puri, he felt the pace around him begin to slow, all eyes fixing curiously upon him. The strangers openly stared, unashamedly drinking him in and loudly discussing their observances in a dialect that was completely alien to him. Younger women sat in tight clusters, whispering and giggling while they stole shy glances in his direction, and the men appeared to be sizing him up, unsure whether or not he posed a threat to them.

Aaron found himself staring straight back, equally enthralled by their unfamiliar choice of clothing and suddenly aware of his distinctly western dress. The women wore beautiful, deeply coloured, richly patterned cloths, draped gracefully over their lithe bodies, and their necks and arms were adorned with sparkling jewellery that clinked together, creating a sweet jingling sound, when they moved. A few men wore loose-fitting shirts and jeans, but most wore lightweight tunics, trousers, and even the odd skirt, in pale colours far better suited to the heat than Aaron's own heavy clothing. In his fatigue and haste to escape the airport, he had not truly looked at the people of Orissa. He had deliberately avoided eye contact so as not to have to engage in unnecessary conversations, but now he was transfixed. The people were unlike any that he had previously encountered and strangely he found himself able to imagine his mother with more clarity than he had ever been able to achieve before.

'Hello, thank you, where going?' bellowed the cashier, waking him from his trance.

Aaron returned to the present and, relieved to discover that the cashier spoke English, began to negotiate his ticket purchase. Compared to the transportation escapades that he had experienced so far, Aaron was able to procure a ticket on the next train to Puri with relative ease and surprisingly little expenditure. Thanking the cashier for making the transaction so painless, he proceeded quickly to platform two as instructed, where the Dhauli Express, the train that would carry him to his birthplace, was already approaching the platform.

Beginning to adjust to the Indian way of doing things, on arriving at platform two, Aaron was unsurprised to find it crowded with people standing, sitting and laying wherever they felt the inclination. It seemed that everyone in Bhubaneswar was at the station that morning, whether they were making a journey or not. Passengers huddled around the information boards attempting to locate their carriage numbers, whilst porters in crimson shirts skirted by, oversized luggage balanced precariously on their heads. Narrowly avoiding a collision with one such porter, Aaron jumped onto one of the second class carriages and squeezed past the disembarking passengers in search of a seat, careful to avoid clobbering them with his backpack.

He walked relentlessly up and down the four cramped carriages, but no seats were available and with reservations not possible for his class of travel, reluctantly he was forced to stand. Towering over his fellow passengers, standing only served to draw more attention to Aaron and he noted that people were freely staring at him again in wide-eyed fascination. Yet they were unlike those that he had observed inside the station, appearing less well-to-do and more plainly clothed. Feeling a little embarrassed, he smiled nervously at those that caught his eye; a gesture that quickly seemed to work to his advantage. Before long a young gentleman had returned his smile and sidled up so closely to his neighbour that he may as well have been in her lap. He patted the space that he had cleared beside him on the bench-style seating and wordlessly encouraged Aaron to sit down.

It was a tight fit with six of them on the bench, and in the stifling heat of the carriage the skin on their knees became bound to one another by the sticky dampness of their sweat. Yet Aaron was grateful for the opportunity to rest his legs and relieved that he would not have to stand in the stuffy carriage for the entire two-hour journey to Puri. He tucked his backpack neatly beneath the seat and nodded appreciatively at the young gentleman, who rather eerily was still grinning inanely at him. Conversely, the woman seated to his right barely acknowledged his presence, before turning her attention to the window, where it appeared that her entire family had congregated to see her off.

They swarmed around the open window, busily chattering away and offering her gifts of bananas and sweets for the journey, much to the envy of the other passengers seated around her. Aaron settled back against the hard plastic seating and watched with interest while the family members continued to bestow gifts upon the woman. He wasn't able to understand anything that they were saying, but a tearful, elderly-looking lady at the centre of the furore seemed particularly concerned for the woman's welfare in a manner reminiscent of Aunt Ruby just before he had left London.

A few moments later the train jolted to life and commenced its journey to Puri, the waves and shouts of those left behind on the platform slowly fading into the distance. Two conductors dressed smartly in navy-blue blazers appeared and asked to see their tickets, which caused a lot of commotion as passengers rifled through their many bags and pockets in order to locate their ticket stubs. All the fussing irritated Aaron, but the conductors waited calmly, leaving him amazed by their ability to remain cool, despite their heavy clothing and the heat. He had barely tucked the thin slip back into his travel wallet, before the smiling young gentleman who had procured his seat started to question him in much the same way that the taxi driver had earlier that day.

Where did he come from and where was he going, the young man wanted to know. What did he do for a job and how much money did he make? Was he married and did he have children? The barrage of questions was relentless and their personal nature felt somewhat intrusive to Aaron, not least because their conversation had attracted a captive audience in the carriage. He did his best to answer each question as vaguely as possible, but this only served to fuel the young gentleman's curiosity and it wasn't long before Aaron's patience had worn thin. He understood that they were intrigued by the presence of a foreigner, but he was too hot and exhausted to care, and quickly beginning to wish that he had stayed at home after all.

The young man's questions were punctuated by the loud cries of neatly uniformed Indian Railways vendors sweeping through the aisles selling water, tea and a host of delicacies that Aaron was unable to identify. Fluffy white balls accompanied by dark runny sauces, aromatic bread and potato mixtures garnished with bright green herbs and a strange collection of multicoloured chutneys all went swinging by. Aaron was hungry and though his stomach's interest was piqued by the array of unfamiliar foods, his head remained wary of the hygiene standards that might have been used during their preparation. However the passengers seated around him were less hesitant and everyone, including the woman who had enough food from her family to feed the entire train, appeared to be tucking into something.

The myriad smells quickly intermingled with the sweaty scent of the train's passengers, until a strong, spicy, stench perfumed the entire carriage causing Aaron to gag involuntarily. He covered his nose and mouth with his hands and willed the feeling of nausea to subside, entirely overwhelmed by the multitude of aromas. After a few minutes, the vendors passed into the next carriage and when the stench eased, Aaron found himself able to breathe openly again. The uniformed vendors were quickly replaced by unofficial vendors in tattier clothes who loudly proffered everything from cashew nuts and fruit, to toys, games and magazines. Still hungry, Aaron determined that packaged food was a safer option and a few rupees later he was greedily shoving handfuls of cashew nuts into his hungry mouth.

The train was now hurtling along the tracks at speed, treating him to his first sights of rural Indian life. Women in brightly coloured saris could be seen working the rice paddies or sidling down terracotta dirt paths balancing water pots on their heads and babies on their backs. Farmers tended lovingly to their fields beneath the baking sun, whilst water buffalo bathed coolly in ponds using their tails to swat away feasting flies. Uniformed schoolboys raced excitedly alongside the train on their bicycles and gaggles of girls waved shyly at the people passing them by. It was a whole other world and, transfixed, Aaron felt the buzz of excitement growing in his veins. Life seemed simplistic, yet wholly satisfying for the people beyond the train. They had nothing compared to what he had back home, but as they went about their morning rituals there was a contentment evident that was rarely found in the miserable faces of London's busy urbanites.

Inside the train, the procession continued with a catwalk of beggars competing for change and food scraps, in a battle to demonstrate who was the worst off. A scrawny, elderly man with both his lower limbs missing shuffled through the aisle on his hands and torso, occasionally stopping to massage his stomach for added emphasis. A blind man with a terrible voice burst into religious song and gently bumped his way along the aisle, hands outstretched to receive whatever was offered. Rag-clothed children pleaded pitifully with their eyes and mumbled incomprehensibly while they stroked the arms of fellow passengers, trying to rouse their sympathy. And then came the more unusual characters. Transgender men, cloaked in acid-coloured saris and heavily caked in make-up, stalked haughtily through the carriage clapping loudly and demanding money, followed by a wild-haired man aggressively waving a silver tray in passengers' faces whilst yelling unintelligibly.

Aaron didn't know where to look or what to say. He had never experienced such an abject display of poverty and he couldn't decide whether making a donation would help or simply encourage the string of desperate behaviours he had just witnessed. His fellow passengers appeared to be ignoring the spectacle and even the smiling young gentleman, who had so kindly made space for Aaron to sit down, was violently shooing away the beggars' advances. It might have been his imagination, but as each beggar inched closer he got the distinct feeling that they were specifically directing their pleas at him, as though being foreign obligated him to donate the most. He couldn't bear the dismal looks in their eyes and feeling slightly ashamed, he stared at his feet, pretending to fiddle with the straps of his backpack, until the parade passed into the next carriage.

More questions, food vendors and beggars later, the train finally began to slow its pace on the approach to Puri. When it pulled into the station it was greeted by yet another huge crowd lining the length of the platform. Eager to be reunited, people could be seen craning their necks in search of their loved ones and jostling one another to get closer to the arriving train. Retrieving his backpack from beneath the seat, Aaron braced himself for the mass exodus and stood to join the long queue of passengers waiting to disembark the train. There was a lot of commotion coming from the stretch of platform immediately outside of the carriage window and out of the corner of his eye Aaron spied someone frantically jumping up and down, trying to gain his attention. He leant towards the window for a closer inspection, much to the annoyance of the woman beside him, who was now being greeted by a crowd twice the size of the one that had seen her off in Bhubaneswar. A small, impeccably dressed man was pointing and waving something animatedly at him from deep within the crowd, but he couldn't make out what it was. By the time he finally stepped off the train, the small man had wrestled his way to the front of the crowd and, beaming up at him, proudly presented a small white placard bearing the words:

MAYFAIR BEACH RESORT HOTEL

MR RUTHERFORD, AARON
**ELEVEN**

****

'YOU really shouldn't have.'

'It's no trouble at all.'

'I would have been fine staying somewhere simple; this is too much.'

'Simple is not the same as secure. It's important to make sure that you are safe out there, especially since you refused to take the phone that I gave you.'

'It's a nice phone; I didn't want it to get damaged or stolen.'

'And I don't want you to get damaged, or worse. At least this way I know exactly where you are and how to reach you. I'm told the Mayfair has a very good reputation.'

Aaron sighed to himself; it was pointless to argue.

'Thank you, Arthur.'

'You're welcome. Now, make sure you look after yourself and don't forget to call every few days.'

'I won't.'

There was an awkward silence at the other end of the phone.

'Bye then.'

'Bye,' finished Aaron, the dialling tone sounding before he had replaced the receiver on its base.

He sat back on the king-sized bed and looked around the immaculately presented room; Arthur clearly had more money than sense. The hotel was far more luxurious than he needed or deserved, and he dreaded to think how much the nightly rate must be. The thinly veiled look of surprise on the receptionist's face when he had checked in was enough for him to know that hot, sweaty backpackers were not their usual clientele. Still, if it kept Arthur's mind at ease and meant that he wouldn't harangue Aaron on a daily basis – the real reason that Aaron had rejected the mobile phone – then perhaps it was for the best. And if nothing else, the air-conditioning and comfortable bed were welcome benefits after the hours of travelling that he had endured.

It was early afternoon in Puri and though physically Aaron's body demanded rest from him, mentally he was too excited to sleep. He took a long, cold shower, in part to freshen up and in part to distract himself from the growing anticipation in the pit of his stomach. After the unexpected events of the previous few weeks he had finally arrived in Puri, his birthplace and the home of his biological mother. It was a long shot, but the day could yet yield their first meeting in nineteen years and Aaron was conscious of making the right impression, whatever that was. He opened up his backpack and, already sweating profusely from the heat, held up various items of clothing in front of the mirror, agonising over what to wear. After much deliberation, he settled on a loose-fitting, white cotton shirt and a smart pair of stone-coloured shorts, a compromise between his desire to appear well-groomed and the need to keep cool.

For several minutes he fished around in the top compartment of his backpack, until he found the neatly folded notepaper on which Arthur had written the address of the refuge. He tucked it protectively into the top pocket of his shirt and continued to rummage through his effects in search of the small selection of Kalpana's letters that he had brought with him. He had reread them several times since his initial discovery and there were so many more questions that he now had for her, but his real reason for bringing them was fear. Fear that Kalpana wouldn't recognise him, fear that she wouldn't believe that he was anything more than an imposter, and fear that she might reject him now that he was finally there. The letters were present as much for evidence of his identity as for reassuring himself that Kalpana wished to see him. Rationally he knew that she had expressed that desire, but every now and then the niggling doubts would overwhelm him to the extent that he would question whether the whole saga was a huge misunderstanding.

Eventually he found Kalpana's letters clustered in a small brown envelope nestled between his boxer shorts. He carefully stowed them in the back pocket of his shorts and stood to consult himself in the mirror one last time. He looked anxious and haggard, but more like himself than he had in weeks, having finally paid a visit to the barber before leaving London. He smoothed out the creases in his shirt and when there was nothing left to pick at, he drew a deep breath, swiped the key card off the dresser and marched with purpose towards the lobby of the hotel, allowing the door to his room to slam shut behind him.

The corridors were strangely quiet as he made his way towards the elevator, but when the doors opened onto the ground floor it was an entirely different story. The lobby buzzed with tourists and well-to-do nationals, no doubt there to enjoy the many sights and beaches of Puri, and there was a sociable ambience with guests greeting one another as though they were old friends. But Aaron didn't have time for socialising and focused only on the task ahead; he tuned them all out and strode across the lobby to the concierge desk by the front door. He was pleased to note a return to orderly queue formation, while he waited patiently in line to speak with the man on duty, and when he reached the front of the queue, the concierge greeted him warmly before asking how he might be of assistance. Aaron reached into his shirt pocket and withdrawing the piece of paper, flashed the refuge address, explaining that he needed a taxi to take him there. The concierge's eyes widened instantly in surprise.

'You are ... volunteering here, sir?' he enquired.

'No, no, nothing like that. I'm meeting someone.'

'Someone is working here, sir?'

'Something like that, yes,' Aaron answered, not wishing to give too much away.

The concierge was silent while he stared down at the address in Aaron's hands.

'Are you _sure_ you are having a right place, sir?'

'Yes, certain, why?' Aaron replied confidently, though he could feel his optimism waning.

'This is... this is not a very good place, sir,' the concierge responded gravely.

'What do you mean?'

'It is not really a nice neighbourhood, sir. It is a very quiet place, not many people are there and not a very good safe place for tourists. Better to take a taxi to one of our very many excellent restaurants, or to the beach, for meeting your someone, sir.'

Aaron mulled over the concierge's words. The location sounded like the kind of place you would expect to find a refuge, if not exactly like the kind of place that had caused Arthur to book him into the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel. The description, coupled with the concierge's pained expression did little to reassure him that he was going to find what he was looking for, but with no other lines of enquiry to pursue he didn't have much choice.

'I appreciate your concern, but really, I'd just like a taxi please.'

'As you wish it, sir.'

The concierge set about hailing a taxi and within a few minutes Aaron was being packed into the rear of a smart saloon car, whilst the concierge barked instructions at the driver through the lowered passenger window. The driver turned to regard Aaron as though he were insane before hollering back at the concierge just as loudly and Aaron guessed that he had just been notified of their destination. After a long-winded exchange, the concierge withdrew his face from the window and lightly tapped the roof of the car, signalling to the driver that he could depart. However, unlike Aaron's first taxi ride in India this driver made no attempt at conversation, merely regarding Aaron suspiciously through the rear-view mirror with a distinctly annoyed expression plastered across his face.

The silence suited Aaron, who was relieved to finally be able to enjoy a journey without an onslaught of questions. The taxi sped along the city streets and he gazed impassively out of the window, his mind awash with the same thoughts and fears about reuniting with his mother that he had been grappling with for weeks. It wasn't until the cityscape dramatically started to change that his reverie was abruptly interrupted and he began to take notice of the rapidly deteriorating surroundings. The people were becoming scarcer, the streets eerily still in their absence, and the buildings more dilapidated and run down, some merely empty shells, the relics of former businesses and homes. The roads turned to bumpy, unfinished, pothole-filled thoroughfares, where the dusty, unevenly paved sidewalks were lined with piles of garbage attracting a multitude of stray dogs. It could easily have been a different city altogether and Aaron was quickly realising why both the concierge and the driver had been so reluctant to help him get there.

He stared dumbstruck out of the window when the taxi slowly drew to a stop outside what looked to be a disused concrete building. The driver turned to face him, his left hand outstretched greedily, whilst his right pointed fervently at the meter. Aaron looked uncertainly from the driver to the building and back again, and unconsciously shook his head; this could not be the place that he was looking for. The driver continued to regard him impatiently, his hand still outstretched and an increasingly irritable look on his face.

'Are-you-sure-this-is-it?' Aaron mouthed slowly, pulling the address from his pocket and pointing between the piece of paper and the building in an attempt to facilitate an understanding of his question.

'Ha,' replied the driver, nodding his head emphatically.

'Are-you-sure?'

'Ha! Looking here,' answered the driver, pointing to a faded bronze plaque that was clinging desperately to the crumbling walls. Aaron peered over the driver's shoulder and following his finger saw that 'RACHNA HARI WOMEN'S REFUGE' was embossed on the plaque beneath a thick layer of dust.

He felt his heart sink. They were in the right place, but the streets were deserted and the building seemed lifeless. At first Aaron wasn't sure how to proceed, but then he had an idea.

'Can-you-wait-here?' he asked the driver, simulating a stay motion with his hands for effect.

'No stay.'

'I-want-to-have-a-look-but-I-will-come-back,' he tried again, miming his words in a desperate bid to be understood.

'No stay,' repeated the driver, shaking his head and smiling toothlessly, his few remaining teeth stained a dark yellowish-brown colour from smoking too much.

Aaron sighed hopelessly, exasperated by the language barrier and by the driver's reluctance to help him.

'I-can-pay-you-more-if-you-will-stay,' he begged, pulling his wallet from his pocket and gesticulating at the rising fare meter.

'No stay. You pay now!' screeched the driver, who had obviously run out of patience.

Aaron didn't know what to do. Should he get out of the taxi and risk not being able to get back to the hotel, or would it be safer to simply turn around and go home? He knew that it was foolish, but having come all that way and with Rachna Hari being his only lead on locating his birth mother, he simply couldn't bring himself to leave.

Scowling, he fished in his wallet for the correct fare and no sooner had he stepped out of the taxi than the driver sped off without a backward glance. Alone on the dusty roadside, he looked up despairingly at the gloomy grey building. It was not quite how he had imagined the refuge and in his mind his arrival had played out very differently. Where were all the smiley-faced, snotty-nosed children that should be running up to greet him, excited by the sight of a stranger? All the women, humbled to have clean clothes on their backs and food in their bellies, though their eyes spoke of untold suffering? And the overworked, but hugely satisfied, aid workers that would recall both of his mothers with great fondness, amazed at how well he had turned out? It was all wrong and as he stood in the shadow of the building, shielding himself from the blistering heat, he felt defeated.

He peered helplessly through the ground-floor windows into the emptiness, but there was nothing and no-one. He moved around to the side of the building, peeking into each of the windows in turn, desperately searching for anything that might help him in his quest, but it was futile. There were no clues and no sign of what used to be, the building seemingly abandoned without a trace. When he had circumnavigated the building three times, and only once every fibre in his body was satisfied that there were no hidden clues to be found, he dropped down miserably onto the broken pavement beneath the faded plaque. His head in his hands, he felt his heart sink further and further, crushed as it dawned on him that he was out of luck. Pig-headedly, he had come all that way only for his one big lead to wind up at a dead end. Arthur was right; he should have written to Kalpana to find out exactly where she was first. He had wasted so much time and now, even if he wrote to her from Puri, who knew how long it would be before she received the letter and was able to respond? And what would he do while he waited? He couldn't go anywhere; he would have to wait in Puri.

Wallowing deeply in self-pity by the roadside, Aaron was so self-absorbed that he didn't notice a short, balding man approaching, until a shiny pair of black shoes came into view between his knees. Startled, the hairs on the back of his neck instantly pricked up with fear and he raised his head sharply, certain that he was about to be robbed, or worse. But the short man peered down kindly at him, both surprised and intrigued to have encountered another human being in the otherwise desolate part of town.

'Can I help you?' he asked, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.

Aaron smiled up at the man gratefully, a spark of hope involuntarily igniting within him.

'I hope so.'
**TWELVE**

****

'ARE you lost?'

'Um, sort of. I was looking for the Rachna Hari Women's Refuge. Have you heard of it?'

'Yes, actually I know it quite well.'

'It was supposed to be here, in this building,' muttered Aaron glumly, motioning at the concrete mass behind him.

'It was here. For a very long time, in fact.'

'Let me guess, it closed down, right?'

'Quite the opposite actually. The refuge was recently gifted rather large, and, might I add, much improved, premises. It has simply moved to a new location.'

Aaron's eyes instantly lit up.

'Do you know where I can find it?'

'May I ask first, why you are seeking it?' the stranger countered, dabbing at the glistening beads of sweat on his shiny bald head.

'I'm looking for information about someone who stayed there once, a relative of mine,' he answered honestly.

There was something about the shiny-shoed stranger that told Aaron that he could trust him. Conversely, the gentleman appeared to be critically assessing Aaron's motive in his head in an attempt to determine whether his search was genuine or not.

'So, do you know where I can find it?' Aaron repeated cautiously, when the stranger had still not responded a few moments later.

'I do know, yes.'

'Is it nearby? Could a taxi take me there?' he fired excitedly, his body filling with a renewed sense of hope.

'No, I'm afraid not,' muttered the stranger, shaking his head unhelpfully.

Aaron's face fell at once.

'But I do know someone who could take you there,' he added mischievously.

A perplexed look crossed Aaron's face, and as if on cue, the gentleman extended his hand in explanation.

'I'm Manoj Rama, Director of the Rachna Hari Women's Refuge.'

Aaron couldn't believe his luck and, dusting the dirt from his shorts, he leapt up to shake Manoj's hand. He was several feet taller than the refuge director and though he towered over him imposingly, the tiny man had an aura about him that instantly commanded respect. Introducing himself, he searched Manoj's eyes for a spark of recognition at the Rutherford name, but the refuge director remained nonplussed, enquiring instead about the relative that Aaron was seeking information on. Aaron delivered a brief synopsis of his mother's friendship with Kalpana, his birth, adoption and transfer to England, and of his mother's recent passing, explaining that he now wished to be reunited with his biological mother. It was close enough to the truth and, not wanting to complicate matters any more than necessary, he deliberately omitted details of Kalpana's letters and his mother's deceit.

Manoj listened intently to the young man's story without judgement or interruption, and by the end of it he seemed to accept that Aaron's quest was genuine. He looked up at the young man kindly, his eyes soft and full of empathy.

'That is quite a remarkable story, Mr Rutherford.'

'Aaron. Please, call me Aaron,' he quickly corrected. 'Mr Rutherford makes me sound like my father.'

'Very well, Aaron. And tell me, what does your father make of your decision to search for your birth mother?'

Aaron looked away and shifted uncomfortably on the spot, unsure how to answer.

'He... he understands.'

Manoj seemed to sense that he had ventured into awkward territory and raised his hands, partly in apology and partly to signal that Aaron need not elaborate on his answer.

'Well, you are welcome to accompany me to the refuge, Aaron, but I'm afraid that record keeping back then was not quite what it is today. In fact, before I came from Delhi and took charge a few years ago, things were in a terrible state. It's possible that we have some information, but there is a good chance that it is incomplete and I have to say that a forwarding address seems very unlikely indeed.'

'Unlikely, but not impossible, right?'

'Nothing is impossible, Aaron,' replied Manoj with a small wink.

He motioned for Aaron to follow him to where a large motorcycle was parked and, with a renewed sense of hope, Aaron trundled down the street taking one step for every two of Manoj's. He clambered awkwardly onto the back of the motorcycle, struggling to tuck his long limbs in alongside Manoj's small frame and greatly concerned by the absence of a helmet for either of them. Yet there was little time to give it further thought when the engine sputtered to life in a thick plume of swirling black smoke and with Aaron perched precariously on the back, his arms wrapped tightly around Manoj's waist, the pair sped off towards the new refuge.

Aaron had no idea what awaited him at the new refuge, but feeling instinctively that he was supposed to meet Manoj, he mentally congratulated himself for having made the correct decision in getting out of the taxi. When they passed from the deserted streets back into civilisation, he felt himself relax a little and, releasing his grip on Manoj's waist, began to enjoy the feeling of the wind rushing past his face. Manoj manoeuvred the motorcycle effortlessly through the city traffic in a more or less linear fashion, until a sharp right turn saw them ascending a gentle incline along a quiet dirt track. The path was lined with leafy green trees and rice paddies and as they approached the brow of the hill, a large white colonial-style house, surrounded by an imposing metal gate, loomed on the horizon. Aaron gasped when it was fully in view, quickly understanding Manoj's earlier comment about the improved premises. Such a beautiful house was the last thing that you would expect to find at the end of the long dirt track and once again Aaron was silently thankful for his encounter with Manoj, acknowledging that he would never have found the building on his own.

When they drew closer, a uniformed security guard swung open the heavy gate and tipped his hat cordially at Manoj allowing them to pass through to the courtyard beyond. Briefly easing the motorcycle to a standstill so that Aaron could jump off, Manoj continued on past the house to park at the rear, momentarily leaving Aaron alone. The house was a magnificent sight to behold and quite an upgrade from the old refuge. A short flight of steps rose to meet the double-fronted entrance where two brilliant white storeys, constructed of intricately laid brick with large arched windows and faux balconies, were crowned by a delicate stone balustrade. Aaron stood silently, gazing up at the building in awe and he couldn't help but wonder who might be crazy enough to give such a house away.

Manoj reappeared bearing two glasses of lime soda. He handed one to Aaron and, mopping the sweat from his brow with his free hand, ushered the young man inside the house. It was dark and cool, and as they passed through the wide corridors, the occasional open door revealed glimpses of small children and babies being tended to by predominantly foreign workers. Save for a few muffled infantile cries, the house was surprisingly quiet and Aaron found himself wondering where all the women were.

Seeming to read his mind, Manoj quietly began to educate Aaron on the inner workings of the refuge as they leisurely ascended a sweeping staircase to the upper floors of the house.

'Rachna Hari has been around since the mid-fifties. It was originally set up by a Christian missionary, but we have long since dispensed with any religious affiliations. The women in our care come from all over Orissa state, although it is not unusual for us to receive those who have travelled from much farther away. Back when we were in the old building, the women would usually find their way to us and we were able to reach out to the others that we happened upon. Now, I fear, being up here in this house we shall have to be much more proactive in our approach, else no-one will know of our existence.'

'Why didn't you stay in the old building then? Or at least keep an office there?'

'You saw what the surroundings were like, Aaron. Anybody with any sense had already gone; there was nothing to stay for. Why stay in a place as downtrodden and destitute as the very lives that these women are trying to escape from?'

Aaron immediately regretted the question, realising how foolish it was, but then another occurred to him. He had never given much thought to the circumstances that might have brought Kalpana to Rachna Hari in the first place, thinking only about why she had been unable to keep him.

'What sort of things are they trying to escape from?'

'Well, some have been abandoned by their families for one reason or another, many have lost their husbands or their homes, and unfortunately many of the women that find their way to us are victims of untold physical and mental abuses.'

Aaron's jaw dropped open and his mind went into overdrive imagining the events that could have lead Kalpana to seek refuge at Rachna Hari. Had she been abandoned, or worse, abused? Where were her family and husband? His parents had always made out that Aaron's biological father was never in the picture, but what if this too had been a lie? Obviously unaware of Aaron's mental wrestle with his thoughts, Manoj continued on.

'We provide a safe haven, a place for these women to rebuild their lives and regain their dignity. Our staff work tirelessly to ensure that they are physically and mentally fit first, and then we help them to build up basic skills so that they can support themselves when they return to the outside world. In addition, we provide basic schooling for the children, so that they do not fall behind in their lessons, and we teach everyone who passes through our doors to speak English, something which we have found to be very useful for gaining better employment in the city,' he finished proudly, as they reached the second floor.

They crossed the landing in a few short strides and Manoj pushed back the heavy doors to reveal a large room at the back of the house, in a state not unlike his mother's study had been after Aaron had found Kalpana's letters. Brown paper folders, crammed with loose sheets of paper, were piled precariously high amongst boxes and bags full of yet more files, papers, books and other assorted paraphernalia. A team of two men and three women were attempting to make sense of the clutter, with a third man quietly seated in the corner, meticulously transferring information from one of the folders onto a rustic looking computer. Aaron was unsure whether to enter the room or to stay out of the way when Manoj flashed him an 'I-told-you-so' look.

Upon hearing the pair enter, the workers instantly froze, seemingly panicked by the presence of the refuge director. Manoj shouted some brief instructions in a strange tongue and the team quickly assembled around him, visibly relaxing at the sound of his words. The refuge director continued to address the small congregation, gesturing at Aaron intermittently, and just when Aaron thought he made out Kalpana's name, Manoj turned to face him instead.

'Do you know what Kalpana's last name was?'

'No, I don't.'

'What year were you born?'

'1993.'

'And what was your adoptive mother's name again?'

'Catherine. Dr Catherine Rutherford.'

Manoj returned his attention to the team of workers and continued to bark instructions, with Aaron still only able to pick out his mothers' names clearly. Manoj clapped his hands together twice and the team sprung to life again, abandoning their previous efforts to concentrate on the new task issued to them by the refuge director.

'Come,' said Manoj, making for the door and motioning over his shoulder for Aaron to follow him.

He led Aaron back down the grandiose staircase and along a small passageway that opened out onto a vast stone terrace at the rear of the house. At its centre was an old scruffy-looking, plastic table and chair set beneath a fading lemon parasol, but the stunning view beyond the terrace was what captured Aaron's attention. Gently swaying palms and boundless rice paddies gave way to the sprawling city of Puri below, its flawless sand beach curling along the bay and disappearing beneath the glittering ocean upon which the sun was now setting. Aaron sat down in slow-motion, still gazing in awe at the burnt orange sky, while a young Indian girl with thickly braided hair fussed over the table, pouring two steaming cups of chai from a steel pan. The sweet, spicy aromas of cinnamon and clove gently fanned Aaron's nostrils, bringing him back to the present and, reaching for the cup, he began to take small sips of the milky mixture whilst he and Manoj wordlessly watched the sun descend into the sea.

Aaron had no idea how long they had been sitting there, but it was dark and the city lights were twinkling prettily in the distance by the time one of the young men from upstairs crept quietly onto the terrace and laid a tattered brown folder on the table before Manoj. Manoj thanked him in what Aaron now knew to be Oriya and the young man retreated backwards into the house, repeatedly bowing as he went.

'Well, what do you know?' Manoj uttered in surprise, lifting the folder off the table for a closer inspection.

It was bare, save for a small white label covered with curling foreign characters, scrawled in faded blue ink.

'Dash.'

'I'm sorry, what?' said Aaron, his heart beginning to thump furiously in his chest at the sight of the folder. He was unable to control his nerves, his breathing rapidly becoming ragged and uneven with anticipation.

'Dash; that was your mother's last name,' Manoj replied, as though it were obvious what he had meant.

He flipped the folder open and quickly caught the loose leaves of paper that fell from within it, in his lap. Aaron waited patiently while Manoj sifted through the pages, desperately trying to prevent his hope from escalating too far, lest he should find himself cruelly disappointed. Every now and again Manoj would pause to inspect a page in more depth and each time Aaron felt his heart leap into his throat, his mouth dry with the taste of expectation. The silent wait was excruciating and Manoj appeared to be moving deliberately slowly, much to Aaron's frustration. Almost twenty minutes later, Manoj finally sat back comfortably in his chair and met Aaron's watchful gaze.

'Well, it seems that this is indeed the woman that you described to me.'

Aaron felt his heart soar.

'A Ms Kalpana Dash arrived at Rachna Hari in the autumn of 1992,' began Manoj, reading from the folder. 'She was cared for by a small team, including a Dr Catherine Rutherford, who appears to have signed several of her health evaluations, though there is no mention of a pregnancy anywhere.'

'Wow,' whispered Aaron, letting out a long breath, completely overwhelmed by his good fortune.

'In addition there does not seem to be any adoption paperwork, however it does say here that she arrived with two children, one boy and one girl.'

'My brother and sister!' exclaimed Aaron loudly, unable to prevent the words from escaping his lips.

Manoj smiled at him benevolently, 'Yes, Aaron, so it would seem. Ms Dash then left Rachna Hari in January of 1993 and by some small administrative miracle, there is in fact a forwarding address, which, if I'm not mistaken, is in a small town not too far from the centre of Puri.'

Manoj placed the folder on the table and sat back in his chair with a satisfied grin, seeming decidedly pleased with himself and the efficiency of his staff. But Aaron's face was frozen, his eyes fixed upon the place in Manoj's lap where the folder had been, while he unconsciously gripped the sides of the plastic chair.

'Is something wrong, Aaron?' Manoj asked, leaning forward again, the concern evident in his voice.

'That's... that's impossible,' Aaron murmured.

'I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I don't follow.'

'She... she can't have left in January.'

'Why ever not?' replied Manoj.

'Because my birthday is in March.'
**THIRTEEN**

****

STANDING on the steps of the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, Aaron waved goodbye to Manoj and thanked him again for his help. He promised to let him know how everything turned out and then watched the refuge director speed away until the rear lights of his motorcycle were nothing more than specks in the darkness that had fallen on Puri. Once they had disappeared completely, he turned to make his way into the hotel, exhausted from the day's events and grateful to escape the oppressive heat that had somehow persisted despite the setting of the sun. Passing through the double-fronted entrance, he was met by the same concierge who had assisted him that afternoon. The concierge recognised him instantly and greeted him like a somewhat relieved old friend.

'Very good evening, sir. You are okay; I was starting to think that you are not coming back from this bad place.'

Aaron chuckled to himself; it was sweet of the concierge to care and he appreciated the warmth and concern that all of the people he had encountered had shown him during his short time in Puri.

'You were right, it wasn't a very nice place, but I'm back now.'

'Very good, sir. Did you meet with your acquaintance?'

'Sort of.'

The concierge regarded Aaron with a look of confusion, but wisely chose not to press him any further and waved him towards the elevator.

Reaching his room, Aaron flopped down onto the king-sized bed and stared at the ceiling, blinking into the darkness. The day had not turned out at all as expected and every time that he thought he was getting closer to meeting Kalpana, something seemed to crop up to render the situation even more complex than it already was. He was aware that it was no small feat to have encountered Manoj when he did and for the refuge director's team to have found a forwarding address for Kalpana, but it was the other information that Manoj had shared with him that he couldn't quite get his head around.

It was impossible for Kalpana to have left Rachna Hari before he was born, but it was there in her records and Manoj had been unable to think of any reason why it might be incorrect. It was only a matter of a few short months, which raised the possibility that his mother had gotten his birthday wrong, but this too seemed unlikely. And then there was another explanation. An explanation that Aaron wanted to reject as soon as it entered his mind, but couldn't on the strength of all that had occurred in recent weeks. If the paperwork was correct, then not only was Aaron born and adopted after Kalpana had left the refuge, but his mother had deliberately lied about this fact.

It pained him to accept that his mother might not be the woman that they had all believed her to be, but it hurt even more to think that he may not yet have uncovered all of her secrets and lies. There was already a sharp, stinging pain behind his eyes, a manifestation of the stress, fatigue and heat that he had been subjected to all day, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. He reached across the bed for the remote and turned on the fan above his head in an attempt to unwind. He watched the blades continually rotate, and feeling strangely soothed by their rhythmic hum, it wasn't long before his eyelids were kissing each other and sleep had washed over him.

Disorientated on awakening the following morning, Aaron tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was still fully clothed from the day before and sprawled across the large expanse of the bed, the side of his cheek stuck to the back of his palm by a small dribble of saliva that had escaped from his mouth during the night. He sat up slowly against the headboard, squinting at the light that streamed through the open curtains and wiped the moisture from around his mouth. There was an overwhelming feeling of lethargy and though he had slept soundly through the night, he felt as though he could sleep for a million more years. Suddenly recalling the previous day's events, he reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out the slip of paper onto which Manoj had transcribed Kalpana's forwarding address. He twirled it absent-mindedly between his fingers so that the early morning light bounced off the page, while he debated what to do.

If she still lived there, Kalpana's home was not too far from the centre of town; a small and predominantly self-contained village that Manoj had assured him he would have much less trouble securing a taxi or rickshaw to, than he had to Rachna Hari. If she didn't live there, it would be another dead end and another wasted day. He looked at the piece of paper longingly, wishing that he could glimpse the future to know whether this place would at last hold the answers to his questions. He had been lucky so far, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that this good fortune could last forever. Yet he had also endured a number of shocks and surprises in recent months and a small part of him maintained that the universe still owed him a favour or two before they would be even.

After an unexpectedly tasty breakfast of large thin pancakes that were lightly browned and filled with a delicious mixture of spiced onions and potatoes, Aaron felt much more awake and ready to face the day ahead. He made his way to the lobby where the smiling concierge from the day before greeted him brightly.

'Good morning, sir. Where we are going today?'

'Good morning. I'd like to go here today please,' Aaron replied, flashing him the slip of paper.

The concierge regarded Aaron curiously, again surprised by his choice of destination.

'Always going in strange places, sir. This is a small village only; not very many things to see here. You are meeting someone again?'

'Yes, I'm meeting someone again.'

'As you wish it, sir,' pronounced the concierge, beaming jovially before exiting the lobby and deftly hailing another taxi.

Moments later, Aaron was speeding along the city streets enjoying the coolness of the air-conditioned taxi from the comfort and safety of a back seat with seat belts. An unaccompanied, high-pitched female voice rang out loudly in song from the taxi stereo and before long it was joined by a male voice, a raft of honky tonk instruments that Aaron didn't recognise and heavy percussion. He had no idea what the pair were singing about, but the melody was catchy and he soon found himself humming and tapping along. The taxi driver grinned at him approvingly in the rear-view mirror and cranked the volume higher as the city streets turned from crowded, noisy thoroughfares to dusty terracotta paths meandering through the Indian countryside.

The taxi delved deeper and deeper into rural India and each time they drove through a village, butterflies filled Aaron's stomach, while he wondered anxiously whether they had reached their final destination. The butterflies subsided when they simply swept past the clusters of clay houses, but with every passing village Aaron held his breath a little tighter and longer. He counted six separate villages before the taxi finally slowed to a steady crawl and the driver wound down his window to peer into the open doorways of the houses, no longer able to see through the thick layer of terracotta dust that blanketed the car.

Eventually they happened upon an elderly woman who was almost bent double, advancing painfully slowly along the road with the aid of a walking stick. A dull orange sari hung loosely about her thin frame and her few remaining strands of greyed hair were pulled back from her sagging face into a straggly ponytail. Aaron felt his stomach lurch at the sight of her and his heart began to thump furiously in his chest. The driver called out to her and, acknowledging his summons, she slowly began to inch her way towards the car. He spoke with her in the tongue-twisting dialect that Aaron could not understand and she peered inquisitively past his head into the back of the taxi to stare at Aaron with coffee-coloured eyes and a toothless smile. Aaron smiled back, unsure exactly what was happening and desperate to know whether this was the woman that he had been so frantically searching for.

The toothless woman continued to gaze down at him silently, but after a few long minutes, she turned her attention back to the driver, croaked something unintelligible at him and pointed a long, bony finger towards the end of the dirt track. The driver nodded his thanks and when the old woman had stepped far enough away from the car, he put it into gear, allowing it to roll leisurely down the gentle incline in the direction that she had indicated. Aaron was a wreck in the back seat; they had obviously reached the correct village and any moment now he would be reunited with his biological mother. His hands and brow were clammy with anticipation, and the thick heat that seeped through the open taxi window was only making it worse. He breathed deeply, desperate to calm his growing nerves, but the dry terracotta earth being kicked up by the taxi's wheels quickly filled his nose and mouth until the taste and smell made him feel sick to his stomach. Groaning, he lay back against the seat and closed his eyes, allowing the gentle motion of the slow moving vehicle to soothe him until it finally came to rest and he realised with fear and excitement that they had arrived.

At the end of the path was a well-kept clay house that was slightly larger than most of the others that they had passed. A veranda was wrapped around the front of the house and a small shop constructed from rusting pieces of corrugated iron was attached to the side. An assortment of sweets and small household items dangled from the shop's roof, but the goods were partially obscured by a young man, not much older than Aaron, who was busy tending to the rear wheels of a battered old rickshaw. He wore faded blue fisherman pants that he had rolled up to his knees, but his chest was bare and his bronzed skin glistened with sweat in the sunlight.

The young man looked up when he heard the taxi approaching and tossed his head back to lift the crop of floppy coffee-coloured hair that crowned it from his face. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm, leaving a greasy black streak across his forehead, and dusted his hands off on the sides of his pants. Intrigued by the presence of an official Puri taxi in his village, he drew himself up fully into a standing position and picked his way across the yard to where the taxi had stopped. Aaron didn't notice the young man peering through his window at first; he was distractedly fishing in his pockets for enough rupees to pay the driver. But when he turned to open the door, he locked eyes with the young man and it was like staring into a mirror.

The young man stepped back from the window to allow Aaron to exit the car, never breaking his gaze, and the pair stood by the roadside, surveying each other in awe. Aaron blinked repeatedly in disbelief at the likeness that they shared, but the image before him remained the same. He guessed that they were about the same age and evenly matched in height, boasting the same lanky, adolescent-like frame. They shared the same delicate features: the warm hazel eyes, strong nose and crop of coffee-coloured hair, but the young man's mouth was less full than Aaron's, his lips just two thin lines marred by a faint fleshy scar that contrasted against his bronzed skin. They continued to stare at each other in amazement, both fascinated by having clapped eyes on their doppelganger. Finally breaking his gaze and remembering his manners, Aaron was the first to speak.

'Hi.'

'Hello,' the young man nodded, his gaze unbroken.

'Do you... do you speak English?' he asked nervously, though he had no idea why because the young man had quite obviously understood his greeting.

'Yes.'

'I'm... I'm looking for Kalpana. Kalpana Dash?'

The young man's face instantly fell and he looked visibly saddened when he broke off his gaze. He stared intensely at the floor, twisting his fingers sombrely around the folds of the pants that hung at his knees. At once Aaron felt uneasy and the sick feeling began to creep back into his stomach. He didn't know what to say or where to look, and though it was obvious that the young man knew of Kalpana, the abrupt shift from wide-eyed wonderment to deep-seated melancholy unsettled him.

'Who are you?' the young man asked after a while, looking up at Aaron mournfully through his floppy hair.

'My name is Aaron, Aaron Rutherford. I...'

But Aaron didn't get the opportunity to finish. The young man's mood shifted rapidly once more and his face unexpectedly lit up with recognition. His eyes were wild with excitement and an enormous, toothy grin spread across his dimpled cheeks, stretching his lips into even tauter lines. Overcome with elation, he turned to shout into the house behind him.

'HANARA! HANARA COME QUICKLY OUTSIDE!'
**FOURTEEN**

****

CONFUSED by the sudden uplift in the excitable young man's mood, Aaron stared past him to where a petite young woman in a navy sari flecked with tiny gold squares had appeared in the doorway to the house. She looked hot and bothered, seemingly agitated at being called away from whatever it was that she had been doing inside. Like the young man, she too bore a striking facial resemblance to Aaron, but the black stud in her nose and the thick mass of long raven hair that fell dramatically about her face gave her a much sterner and more serious appearance. She remained in the doorway, hand on hip and head cocked to one side, glaring at the young man expectantly.

Unfazed by her hostility, the smiling young man gestured towards Aaron animatedly.

'Hanara, look,' he cried, 'it is Aaron. He has come to us finally.'

Hanara turned her attention to Aaron and on catching sight of him fully, her face immediately softened and her jaw dropped open in disbelief. She stood gaping, open-mouthed, for several minutes, her lips unable to form words and denying her the power of speech.

'Can you believe it, Hanara? I told you he would come. I told you so!' the young man boasted, looking to Aaron again with shiny eyes of admiration.

Aaron looked from Hanara to the young man and back again, uncertain how to behave. He recognised the girl's name from the letters that he had found; Hanara was his sister and since the smiling young man so closely resembled them both, there was no doubt in his mind that this was his brother.

'Are you... are you Lakshin?' he asked tentatively.

'Yes, I –'

'What do you want?' snapped Hanara sharply, suddenly finding her voice.

She was small, but both hands were now menacingly on her hips while she scowled at Aaron unpleasantly from the doorway.

'Hanara!' shouted the young man reproachfully, before turning to face Aaron once more. 'I am Lakshin, yes, but everybody is calling me Lucky... and this is Hanara. We are Kalpana's children, your brother and sister. Oh Aaron it is so wonderful to be meeting you finally; we are waiting such a very long time indeed,' he beamed, extending his hand warmly in welcome.

Aaron shook Lucky's hand weakly, allowing the words to sink in. Things were slowly starting to make sense, but one big question remained unanswered.

'It's nice to meet you both. I really had no idea that I had a brother or a sister until very recently. I... I know that you have both been taking care of Kalpana; that's right, isn't it?'

A dark look crossed Lucky's face once more and he looked to his sister for assistance while he searched for the right words.

'We were taking care of her, yes. But the thing is –'

'She's dead,' interrupted Hanara abruptly.

'HANARA,' cried Lucky, but it was too late.

The shock of the unexpected news sent Aaron staggering back several paces and he clutched at his neck, desperately gasping for air as his throat closed in on itself. The blood drained away from his face and, wounded by the acidity of Hanara's harsh tongue, a searing pain tore across his abdomen; _he was too late_. Lucky immediately raced to his brother's side. He wrapped his hands reassuringly around Aaron's forearm and peered into his face sympathetically. Aaron stared numbly into the soft hazel eyes that were so like his own, wishing and willing Hanara's statement not to be true, but Lucky closed his eyes and nodded silently, confirming Aaron's worst fears.

The trio remained sombre and silent in the rapidly escalating heat of the day. Aaron was too shocked to speak and Hanara's cruel tongue had been silenced by admonishing looks from Lucky, who himself could not find the words to console his brother for losing something that he had never really had. They stayed that way for some time, and only once Aaron's breathing started to regulate itself once more, did he have the wherewithal to process the hailstorm of thoughts thundering through his mind. He had come all that way and been fortunate enough to find his way to Kalpana's house, but for the second time in as many months he was too late, and the irony of the situation was not lost on him.

He released himself from Lucky's grip and sat down in the middle of the path, burying his head in his hands in defeat. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the way that the universe ruthlessly mocked his every effort to salvage what little he could of a normal family life. Lucky stared down at him, apparently unsure of what he could say or do to alleviate the situation, but Hanara only picked at the dirt beneath her fingernails absent-mindedly, seemingly disinterested in the whole sorry episode.

'When... when did she die?' croaked Aaron at last, blinking up at Lucky with sad eyes.

'About six weeks ago.'

Aaron felt a sharp stab of pain across his chest.

'What happened? I mean, I know that she was sick, but what exactly happened?'

'Why don't you come inside the house? Hanara will make us all chai and we can talk about everything properly.'

'Hanara will not make us all chai,' cried his sister incredulously from the doorway.

'Hanara,' Lucky warned firmly.

'No, Lucky! He has no business being here.'

'Hanara!'

'I mean it,' she shouted back, before turning to Aaron to continue with her tirade. 'You have come to find Kalpana, isn't it? Well, Kalpana isn't here, so really there is no need for you to be staying longer, is there?'

'HANARA THAT'S ENOUGH,' screeched Lucky, silencing his sister in one forcefully delivered sentence that left her sulking and pouting like a petulant child. 'I'm so sorry, Aaron. Please, don't listen to a word she is saying. Mata-ji was always wishing it that you would come back home; she would have been so happy to see you. You are our family, isn't it? Of course she would want us to welcome you,' he insisted, emphasising the last few words for Hanara's benefit.

Aaron was touched and surprised by Lucky's heartfelt words and they went some way to compensating for Hanara's hostility. He was family, even though he hadn't thought of himself that way until Lucky had verbalised it, and for the first time in his life he shared the same flesh and blood with not one, but two other people. He wasn't sure that this automatically granted him the right to enter their home, and he was certain that Arthur wouldn't have been quite so accommodating if a stranger had turned up outside their house in London claiming to be related to his mother, but it had to count for something.

He looked up at the house where Kalpana had lived, still half-hoping that everything would be as he had imagined it would be when they met for the first time. It was nothing more than an impossible dream now, yet an insatiable desire to venture inside began to burn in his chest and he knew that he would not be able to ignore it. He wanted to explore the place where his birth mother, his brother and his sister had lived without him for so long. He wanted to know, in detail, what had happened to Kalpana in her final days. And more than anything else, he wanted to understand how and why he had been the one that she had let go. Despite Hanara's frosty reception, Lucky's smiling enthusiasm was infectious, and it filled Aaron with a sense of warmth, hope and belonging that he had not felt since his adoptive mother had passed away.

'Okay, I'll come inside, just for a little bit.'

Hanara huffed loudly, throwing her head back in contempt, and in an overly dramatic whirl of raven tresses stalked bitterly back into the house.

Ignoring his sister's mock-distress, Lucky beamed down at Aaron and outstretched his hand to help pull him to his feet. When he was upright once more, Aaron dusted the dirt from his shorts and the pair walked the short distance across the yard towards the house. He didn't know what awaited him inside, but when they reached the veranda, Lucky snaked his arm around Aaron's shoulders protectively and the reassuring squeeze he received filled him with confidence.

'Welcome home, brother.'
**FIFTEEN**

****

INSIDE, Kalpana's house was dark and cramped. The front door opened directly onto the living quarters, where a compact arrangement of tattered rugs and cushions delineated a small seating area. A few low shelves, stacked with blackened pots and pans, and an ash-filled hearth clustered together in one corner to form a basic kitchen, whilst the far corner boasted an elaborate shrine that seemed out of place in such a simple home. A sizeable marble statue sat proudly beneath a gold-roofed, four-pillared canopy that was itself adorned with flowers, fruits, tea lights and slow burning incense. A concrete floor extended throughout the house, though, in places, portions had cracked off to reveal the powdery earth below, and to Aaron's left, a badly constructed clay wall was punctuated by two doorways, each leading to smaller rooms.

In the corner, despite her protestations, Hanara was busily preparing chai in a small pan over the hearth, the unmistakable aromas of cinnamon and clove overpowering the scent of burning incense that already filled the room. Taking his cue from Lucky, Aaron kicked off his flip-flops at the door and sat down cross-legged amongst the cushions and rugs to drink in the simplistic, yet homely, environs. He had had no idea what to expect of India, let alone of Kalpana's home, and it felt odd to think that he was finally sat in her house, even though she was no longer there. Yet somehow, despite the unbearable heat, the chaos of the airports and cities, and the mandatory insanity that seemed to govern all forms of transportation, he was glad that he had come, and he felt strangely at home sitting beside Lucky while they waited for Hanara to finish.

A few moments later, she guided a small tray onto the floor between them, carefully balancing the copper teapot and trio of cups so as not to spill any of the steaming mixture. Pretending to be concentrating hard, she expertly poured three level cups, all the while avoiding Aaron's watchful gaze. She placed one cup at Lucky's feet and then another at Aaron's, before claiming the final cup for herself and sitting back against a pile of cushions to stare into its milky depths.

'Thank you, Hanara,' Aaron offered tentatively.

Hanara grunted at him in response and he wasn't sure why, but he felt slightly afraid of the diminutive woman. Her sharp tongue and venomous words had left him in no doubt about her feelings towards him, yet he didn't know what he had, or indeed hadn't, done to yield such an emotional response.

'So, Aaron, I have many, many questions. But it is the same for you, I'm sure,' began Lucky, ignoring Hanara's continued insolence. He appeared eager to exchange life stories with his new brother and, leaving his chai untouched, his eyes were fixed expectantly on Aaron.

'Yes, yes I do,' replied Aaron taking a sip of his chai. 'I... well I guess that first I want to know what happened to Kalpana? I know that she was sick, but –'

'How did you know that she was sick?'

'Oh, because she said so in a letter that I found; one of many that she had written to my adoptive mother. Sorry, I should have explained. I –'

'You got the letter?' cried Lucky, surprise registering on his slim face.

'Yes, I... well no, not exactly. My mother got it, but I didn't know about it until recently. I have it here,' stammered Aaron, fishing in his pocket for the small collection of letters.

'We were so sure that they are not yet reaching you. Your mother used to write very often to tell us how... wait,' shrieked Lucky, suddenly jumping up and disappearing into one of the other rooms.

Hanara rolled her eyes at Aaron while he laid the letters on the floor in front of him, but obviously realising that she had let slip that she was listening to their conversation, she quickly resumed feigning interest in her cup of chai.

Lucky could be heard rummaging around for a few minutes, before re-emerging carrying a large, battered wooden box. He placed it into the circle between them and gently slid back the warped lid to reveal a handful of crumpled white papers and an assortment of sun-worn photographs. Aaron gasped, instantly recognising his childhood self staring up at him from within the box. He was five years old and dressed in the signature navy-blue uniform of the first preparatory school that he had attended. He reached forward and lifted the faded photograph from the box for a closer inspection. The boy in the picture seemed so innocent, so naïve and unaware that life could have turned out quite differently.

Lucky watched Aaron intently, seeming to seek confirmation that he had done the correct thing by bringing the box out, but Aaron remained poker-faced. He lifted image after image from the box, piecing together a photographic timeline of his life, until a picture of a young woman with two small children and a baby stopped him in his tracks.

'Is this... is this... her?' Aaron croaked.

Lucky peered over his brother's shoulder and nodded.

'Yes, this is Mata-ji and all of us, just after you were born. It's the only picture that we have.'

Aaron stared at the faded photograph for the longest time, drinking in the image of his birth mother. She was young, in her early twenties perhaps, and her almond-shaped, hazel eyes were full of an innocent optimism that shone back at him from the picture. She wasn't that tall and her hair was scraped back into a tight bun, accentuating the delicate features of her face. Lucky and Hanara were stood on either side of her, clinging fearfully to the folds of her sari, and in her arms she held a baby, swaddled so tightly that it was difficult to make out the face.

'She's beautiful,' whispered Aaron, so moved by the experience of seeing his birth mother for the first time that tears pooled in his eyes.

'She really was,' concurred Lucky softly.

When he had finished with the photographs, Aaron turned his attention to the crumpled white papers. Unfolding the first one revealed a neatly typed letter from his mother to Kalpana and it was hard not to feel resentful when he imagined her sitting in her study, secretly typing letters to Kalpana whilst he had played naïvely on the floor. He smoothed out the creases in the paper and began to read, but after only a few lines the tears that had already welled up in his eyes began to overflow onto his cheeks, forcing him to stop. Catherine had written exactly as she had talked and he could hear her voice, clearly reciting the lines word for word in his head, singing his praises when she proudly described his progress and achievements.

It was more than Aaron could bear, and not wanting to embarrass himself in front of his newly found siblings, he folded the letter neatly, tucked it back inside the box and slid the lid into position.

'Are you okay?' asked Lucky, now appearing concerned that it had been an error to retrieve the box.

'I'm fine... sorry,' he replied, wiping the tears away with the backs of his hands, 'it was just... strange to read, that's all.'

Lucky fished a hanky from his pocket and offered it to his brother compassionately.

'You still haven't told me what happened to Kalpana,' sniffed Aaron, gently dabbing at his cheeks and swiftly changing the subject.

'Are you sure that you want to talk about this now?' asked Lucky, still appearing to feel responsible for upsetting his brother.

'Yes, I'm sure... I need to know.'

'Okay, well, let me see... already you know it that Mata-ji was sick, isn't it?' began Lucky in a low, melancholy tone. 'The sickness started only after she went visiting in one of the holy sites in the north at the beginning of the year. When she came back, she had a very bad, very awful cough in her chest; even you could hear it from outside the house. Then she is having also a fever and in the night she was sweating so much that she was not sleeping well. Soon we noticed a little blood when she was coughing and she was not really eating, maybe half only of whatever Hanara was preparing for her each day.

'We took her to see the doctor, especially because she was losing a lot of weight, but he also wasn't sure what was wrong exactly. He gave her a few medicines to try, but these didn't help and every day she was getting weaker and weaker, until one day she asked Hanara to close our shop for her so that she could take a rest. This was the last day only that she worked in the shop; after this she was always too tired. She was having a difficulty breathing and a difficulty walking around, and after a few weeks she was staying all the days in her bed.

'We did our very best to look after her, really I promise you Aaron that we did. Every day we were praying and we called the doctor to the house even, but he said that we must take her to the hospital in the city only. I wanted to take her in my rickshaw, but she kept telling us that she didn't need to go; I think so she was worried about the cost. Hanara was trying to talk to her, but she was very stubborn sometimes and she didn't want to listen. So we just kept praying; praying for God to make her better only. And then one day... one day –'

'One day we woke up and she didn't,' finished Hanara stonily, her eyes watering with the threat of tears that seemed too afraid of her to fall.

Aaron bowed his head solemnly, taking in the moving story and trying to understand the strange, empty feeling that now possessed his body. The memory of their loss had silenced Hanara and Lucky, and though he wasn't sure whether he had a right to, Aaron shared in their pain. The sadness he felt unexpectedly bound him to them in a way that he hadn't imagined would be possible with Kalpana gone. Though he hadn't known her personally, or even been present to witness the suffering that she had endured in the final days of her life, he too felt that he had lost something irreplaceable. Worse still, the heaviness in his chest was resurrecting feelings about his adoptive mother's death, feelings that he thought he had laid to rest.

There were inescapable parallels between the end of his mother's life and the end of Kalpana's, though the first event magnified the greater injustices of the second. His mother had received the best care possible, with no expense spared, whilst Kalpana, worried about money, had deliberately eschewed the basic level of care that she was entitled to. It seemed so unfair to him, especially in light of everything that he had learned so far, but the more that he thought about it, the more he realised that even money couldn't guarantee anyone a happy ending. People, not things, were what counted and when it had mattered, both Hanara and Lucky had been there to support Kalpana, whilst Aaron had been there for nobody at all.

'What... what happened to our father?' croaked Aaron hoarsely, clearing his throat. 'Where was he while all this was going on?'

'He left us,' replied Lucky simply.

'When?'

'About seven or eight months before you were born.'

'Why did he leave? If you don't mind me asking,' Aaron continued, remembering his manners.

'I don't know. Mata-ji never wanted to say.'

'Do you know where he is?'

'Why do you care so much?' snapped Hanara.

'Hanara –'

'No, Lucky. He thinks that he can just show up here in his fancy clothes, with his fancy accent after all these years. Asking us all these questions, making us remember everything that has happened and making us all sad. He has no right,' she screamed violently.

'I... I didn't mean to –'

'Oh of course you didn't _mean_ to. Poor little Aaron, so young and so innocent, just looking for his Mata-ji, isn't it?' she continued sarcastically. 'You could have come back at any time, _any time_ , but you never tried to find us.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't know...'

'Sorry? You think sorry will make it all better? Even when she was asking you to come back you were too busy at your expensive schools and with your exotic holidays to care about us, isn't it?'

'Hanara, I think that's enough,' intervened Lucky.

'She asked you. She asked you to come and you didn't,' spat Hanara, pointing her finger threateningly at Aaron. 'All she wanted was to see your face again only. _Just once, Aaron_. Lucky and I, whatever we did, everything that we did, it was never enough to make up for missing her precious Aaron.'

'Hanara, stop this right now.'

'I WON'T,' she screamed, scrambling clumsily to her feet. She glared down at Aaron, her eyes glowing with a hatred, the likes of which he'd never seen before.

'You want to know what really happened, Aaron? I'll tell you. It wasn't a sickness that killed Mata-ji at all. If she had gone to the hospital then they could have saved her only, but do you know why she didn't go?'

Aaron felt a hard lump forming in his throat.

'It's because of you, in case you came back. She died waiting for you.'
**SIXTEEN**

****

THE house was mute in the wake of Hanara's violent verbal assault. Aaron and Lucky remained seated in the living quarters, immobilised by the harsh reality that her words had brought, whilst Hanara had quietly concealed herself behind the wall to her bedroom. The revelation hung ominously over them like a dark black cloud and Aaron could not escape the deprecating thoughts that raced through his mind, dragging him down, deeper and deeper, until he was replete with guilt. He was the reason that Kalpana had died, the reason that she had refused to attend the hospital, but he hadn't known that she was waiting until his accidental discovery. He racked his brains, wondering whether he ought to have done anything differently. Should he have asked more questions about her when growing up? Could he have come to India any sooner than he did? Would she have gone if he'd written to her, to let her know when he would be coming?

Should have, could have and would have; the three distant cousins of a fait accompli taunted and teased him relentlessly, until he was certain, no matter which angle he looked at it from, that Kalpana's death was his fault. He had lost a mother that he had never known, but worse still he had robbed Hanara and Lucky of the only mother that they had ever known.

'You mustn't believe what she said,' whispered Lucky gently, finally finding his voice again.

'I think she might be right.'

'Oh, Aaron, no, you must never think that. It was Mata-ji's wish only not to go to the hospital.'

'But if I had come sooner, then she would have gone.'

Lucky sighed loudly.

'Even if you had come last year it is no guarantee that she would have gone; she was a very stubborn woman. Believe me, she was really in a very bad health, Aaron. I think it was God's wish only to bring her peace.'

'It's just... I can't... I can't believe this is happening... again,' he replied, fighting back tears.

'What do you mean "again"?'

Aaron looked at his brother gravely, unsure whether to share the full extent of his thoughts for fear of judgement, but Lucky's thus far unwavering kindness and understanding had unwittingly created a bond that conferred an innate sense of trust between them.

'My mother, my adoptive mother,' Aaron began, immediately correcting himself, 'she also died... about six weeks ago.'

'Oh, Aaron,' breathed Lucky, his eyes wide with surprise, 'what happened?'

'She was sick too. I was away travelling and I... I didn't get back in time before she... you know.'

Lucky regarded Aaron with warmth and compassion in his eyes and unexpectedly lurched forward, pulling his brother into a tight embrace against his bare chest. Aaron was stiff at first, unfamiliar with the experience of men freely expressing their emotions, but he soon relaxed and allowed Lucky to comfort him in the way that he had always imagined family might in the wake of such news.

'I am so very sorry to hear this, Aaron,' he muttered sombrely, releasing his grip until he held Aaron at arm's length by the shoulders. 'She was a very lovely woman.'

'You remember her?'

'Of course. How is it I could forget the lady who gave me my smile?' he shrugged nostalgically, the crooked, signature smile spreading across his face once more.

'I... I don't understand.'

Lucky relinquished his grip on Aaron's shoulders and pointed to the faint, fleshy, pink scar above his top lip.

'Dr Cathy did this. Before, my lips were trapped in my mouth only, but she fixed it,' he finished brightly.

Aaron peered closely at Lucky's face, inspecting the relic of his brother's cleft lip surgery. It was strange to think that his mother had made such a physical and emotional impact on him, that he still remembered her after all these years.

'Did she do this for you at Rachna Hari?' he continued curiously. Though he had viewed it in a somewhat dilapidated state, he couldn't imagine the old Rachna Hari building ever being sterile enough, or sufficiently equipped, to handle such an operation.

'Oh no, we had left Rachna Hari a long time before that. We were staying in a big house in the hills only, a fancy house with painted shutters. Hanara and I could have had ten rooms each to ourselves, but Mata-ji wanted to keep us close by, so we stayed together all in one room. Dr Cathy did it there only, a little while after you were born.'

'Wait,' cried Aaron, desperate to piece together the fragments of the story surrounding his birth, 'are you saying that I wasn't born at Rachna Hari?'

'Of course you weren't born at Rachna Hari; didn't Dr Cathy tell you any of this?'

Aaron shook his head, feeling uncomfortable in the wake of Lucky's question. He couldn't bring himself to tell Lucky the awful truth about how he had discovered Kalpana's existence; it seemed too cruel to shatter his illusions about his mother's character and Aaron knew from personal experience how disheartening that felt.

'Dr Cathy looked after all of us at Rachna Hari, but she was not like the other doctors,' Lucky explained, 'she was more like a friend only. Always checking that we were okay and making sure that we didn't need anything. She used to give Hanara and I help with our English, even though she was not giving the proper lessons with the other teachers. Her and Mata-ji became very close; they were always talking together like women do. I think Dr Cathy gave Mata-ji a hope that everything would be okay again after Bapu-ji left.'

'Bapu-ji?'

'Our father.'

'Oh, I see. Is that why you went to Rachna Hari? Because Bapu-ji left?'

'I think so. I don't remember everything exactly; Hanara will be better for that because she is a bit older, isn't it? I can remember being in Rachna Hari and afterwards moving to the big house with Dr Cathy only. Sometime after that you were born and then maybe a small time after that, Dr Cathy fixed my smile. We stayed together for a while, all five of us in the big house, and then we left to come here.'

'So I lived here for a while too?' Aaron asked, looking around the room with a newfound affinity for the place.

'No, no, you stayed with Dr Cathy. Mata-ji told us that she was going to adopt you, so that you could go to a proper fancy school in England, and one day become a doctor too. Are you a doctor now?' asked Lucky excitedly.

'No, no, I'm not... not yet.'

'But you are going to be, yes?'

'I am going to start studying to become a doctor in October, yes.'

Lucky's eyes lit up brightly once more.

'You are so very fortunate to have this opportunity, Aaron. Mata-ji would have been so proud to know that you will become someone so respectable.'

But Aaron had to wonder whether he had really been fortunate at all. Was fortune being torn away from your real family and home, denied the chance to know them both? Was fortune having all of the things that money could buy, but little of what it could not? And was fortune growing up in a world where nobody truly accepted you for who and what you were, except for the deceitful woman that you had called your mother? He swallowed hard, struggling to digest the new information that Lucky had given him. He knew that it was ugly, but he felt bitter and inexplicably jealous of Lucky and Hanara. How could Kalpana have thought that a life with her, a life good enough for his brother and sister, was so bad that he would be better off with strangers? He didn't dispute that becoming a doctor was a huge accomplishment, but he wasn't convinced that the ends justified the means either.

With such limited knowledge of Kalpana's character and life, it was difficult to judge her for the decisions that she had made, but there was someone else whose actions did not tally up for Aaron. There was simply no way that the great Dr Catherine Rutherford, revered so highly by everyone from Lucky to her peers, could have believed that the best place for a newborn baby was millions of miles away from his real family in a foreign place. Even if Aaron were to trust that her intentions had been honourable, the secrecy and lies, and her denial of Kalpana's final wish, only led Aaron to the conclusion that there was still something that he didn't know. Yet with his mother and Kalpana both gone, there was every chance that he may never uncover what that something was.

It was only late afternoon, but Aaron was physically and mentally exhausted. There were so many questions, so much more that he wanted to know, but he was afraid that any more revelations might cause his head to explode. He had found their discussion insightful, but now he needed some time alone to process his thoughts and feelings.

'I think I'd better get going, Lucky,' he said hesitantly, unsure how to excuse himself without causing offence.

'Oh, but you can't go,' moaned Lucky, 'you must stay here, with us. We have so much more to catch up on.'

'If he wants to go, then let him go,' said Hanara as she reappeared in the doorway.

Lucky scowled at her unpleasantly.

'Don't listen to her, Aaron. You must stay here with us, I insist it. Mata-ji would not have allowed you to leave just yet, not now that you are home finally.'

'Thanks, Lucky, that's very kind of you, but I really must get back to Puri. I just need a little time on my own, if that's okay? Besides, all of my things are there, I don't have anything with me.'

'Ahh,' nodded Lucky, 'okay, but then please, you must at least eat something before you go. How rude of us not to feed you anything.'

'I'm not going to cook anything for him,' Hanara pronounced defiantly.

'That's so kind of you, but really I'm not very hungry.'

Lucky looked heartbroken.

'I'll come back tomorrow, I promise,' Aaron offered, desperate to bring back Lucky's charming crooked smile.

'Really you don't have to,' quipped Hanara spitefully, sharply contrasting with Lucky's now shining face.

'Fine, then it is settled. Now, if you are not eating, then at least I am taking you back to Puri.'

Aaron nodded his agreement, unsure how he would get back to the city otherwise.

'Where are you staying?'

'At the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel.'

'What a surprise,' Hanara mouthed sarcastically, tutting in disapproval.

Lucky and Aaron both ignored her and, beaming, Lucky scampered off to his room in search of something to cover his chest. Feeling uncomfortable with the silence, Aaron started to say something, but swiftly changed his mind, not wanting to incite yet more of Hanara's wrath. Lucky quickly returned wearing a thin beige shirt that hung loosely from his slight frame and the pair made their way outside towards his rickshaw. Hanara followed them as far as the front door, but remained tacit when Aaron wished her goodbye.

Huge clouds of terracotta dust were generated as they made their way back to Puri and without the shelter provided by a proper taxi, Aaron found himself intermittently covering his mouth to keep from inhaling deep lungfuls of the powdery earth. Appearing to be immune to the plumes of dirt, Lucky rambled on relentlessly throughout the journey, asking Aaron all of the questions that they hadn't had time for back at the house. He was eager to learn all that he could about his brother and seemed particularly intrigued by his lifestyle back in England. Aaron did his best to answer between mouthfuls of dust and by the time they were approaching the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, Lucky seemed quite disappointed to learn that Aaron's life was not quite the glamorous existence that he had imagined.

'So you really don't know any of the royal family?'

'No, Lucky, I'm afraid that I don't,' answered Aaron, chuckling at the absurdity of the question as he hopped out of the rickshaw.

He approached the front cabin and found himself in the uncomfortable position of not knowing whether he ought to pay Lucky for the ride; the journey was not exactly a short one and chauffeuring tourists around the city was, after all, his brother's livelihood. Not wanting to appear rude or presumptuous, Aaron fished in his pockets until he felt the crumple of notes beneath his fingers and pulled out two hundred rupees. Lucky looked at him, at once insulted.

'Please, keep your money.'

'But you've driven me all this way, I –'

Lucky held up his hand, immediately silencing Aaron's feeble protestations.

'What is it if I can't even give my only brother a ride?'

Aaron was once again touched and humbled by Lucky's words. Lucky would still have to make his way back to the village and the round trip would consume not only his time, but a considerable amount of fuel too. Yet there he was, a relative stranger with a beguiling crooked smile, who in the space of a few short hours had unquestioningly welcomed Aaron into both his heart and his home.

'Thank you,' he said in his sincerest tone, 'you really didn't have to.'

'No, Aaron, thank you. You didn't have to come back.'
**SEVENTEEN**

****

THE following morning, Aaron was enjoying his second cup of chai in the hotel restaurant, when the waitress delivered two slips of paper bearing the hotel's letterhead to his table. Surprised and intrigued, he quickly opened out the first of the two notes and began to read the neatly printed message.

_ROOM 702: MR RUTHERFORD, AARON_

_22/05/12_

_CALL FROM MR RUTHERFORD, ARTHUR AT 8.42 PM_

_PLEASE RETURN THE CALL_

Aaron glanced at his watch: it was nine o'clock on the 23rd May. He had no idea how he had missed Arthur's call the night before, especially since he had lain awake in his room for much of the evening, mulling over the events of the day. It was too late in the night to call home now and he would have to return the call later, but such an arrangement suited him better. He still wasn't certain how he felt about everything that he had learned and moreover how he was going to explain it all to Arthur, but he knew that the old man would be quick to rubbish any hypothesis that might incriminate his beloved wife. Putting the first message to one side, he opened up the second to find a handwritten note, scrawled in the ink from a leaky blue ballpoint pen.

_Hello Arun!_

_I came very early to the hotel, but you are not yet awake. I am doing a few jobs and then I will come back to pick you from the hotel at 10.00 am._

_Hope you will be awake!_

_Your brother, Lucky_

Aaron felt a warm, fuzzy feeling wash over him at the words on the page and he was once again struck by Lucky's thoughtfulness and generosity. Though Hanara's scathing words had played on his mind for much of the evening, Lucky's kindness and convivial hospitality had more than compensated for them, and it had left Aaron feeling a strange sense of attachment and acceptance that he hadn't anticipated. Excitedly, he glugged down the last of his chai and rushed upstairs to prepare himself for the day ahead.

At ten o'clock sharp he presented himself outside of the front of the hotel, but Lucky had not yet arrived. He chatted amicably with the concierge, who by now boasted a healthy fascination with his unusual requests for transport to destinations distinctly off the tourist map, but half an hour later Lucky was still nowhere to be seen. Just when Aaron was beginning to worry that something untoward might have occurred, he spied Lucky's rickshaw, bedecked in stickers professing his allegiance to the Indian national cricket team, pulling up outside the hotel. The concierge was quick off the mark, stepping into the road to shout angrily at Lucky and to wave him out of the hotel grounds.

'Wait! What are you doing?' cried Aaron, leaping to Lucky's defence.

'Rickshaws are not allowed, sir. Only official taxis for the hotel guests.'

'He's not here for the hotel guests, he's here for me.'

'I don't understand. Do you know this man, sir?'

'Yes, he's my brother,' declared Aaron proudly.

Lucky peeked out of the rickshaw and beamed at him, his sweet, crooked smile consuming his entire face. Aaron flashed him a conspiratorial grin while the concierge apologised profusely, mortified to have caused offence to a hotel guest. When he was satisfied that Aaron had accepted his apology and would not be making a complaint, he moved aside to allow the young man to clamber into the rickshaw behind Lucky.

'Good morning.'

'Good morning, brother,' replied Lucky brightly.

'I was beginning to think that you weren't coming.'

'Why would you think that?'

'Because you're almost an hour later than you said that you'd be.'

'Oh that is nothing only, Aaron. Nobody in India is ever on time; you will see. In fact I am early actually.'

Aaron chuckled at Lucky's nonsensical logic, but he didn't press the matter any further. He was simply grateful to be in the shining young man's company once again.

'Are we going back to your house?'

'Eventually,' Lucky answered with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

He guided the rickshaw out of the hotel complex and, after a near- collision with an oncoming motorcycle, joined the morning madness on Puri's roads. The day was already hot and sticky, causing the city's impatient drivers to be more irritable than usual as they sounded long blasts on their horns, fed up of trying to advance through the gridlock. Ordinarily Aaron would have demanded to know exactly where they were going, but there was something about his big brother's innocently disarming smile that put Aaron at ease, and he was happy to simply sit back and take in the view on the way to wherever Lucky was planning to take him.

It happened that Lucky had taken it upon himself to act as Aaron's tour guide for the day. During their journey back to Puri the previous night, he had been horrified to learn that Aaron knew almost nothing about his birthplace, and moreover that he hadn't been to, nor did he plan to, visit the many temples and sites in and around the city. Orissa was a unique state, in which custom and tradition had been carefully preserved despite the seasonal influx of tourists and pilgrims to its treasure trove of sites, and Lucky wanted Aaron to know and love his hometown as much as he did.

He wasted no time showing off the best of the city, weaving in and out of the traffic along the coastal road, affording his brother breathtaking views over the Bay of Bengal. The sea was a glittering, shimmering expanse as the midday sun reflected off its shiny surface, and Aaron found himself captivated by its simple charms as he watched the fishermen trawling amongst the gleaming waters. They had almost travelled the length of the beach, when Lucky abruptly turned inland and, beyond a fortified wall, the tops of an elaborate building complex came into view in the distance.

Two glistening, white-tiered pyramids sat in front of a tall stone tower crowned by an eight-spoke wheel, which itself rose up mightily from between several smaller, salmon-pink buildings and walls. They drew closer and closer, until Aaron became overwhelmed trying to take in the sheer size of the labyrinthine structures.

'What is that?' he shouted, leaning forward so that Lucky could hear him over the rhythmic chugging of the rickshaw's engine.

'That is the great Jagannath Mandir,' Lucky shouted over his shoulder.

'What's a Jagannath Mandir?'

'It's a temple, for Lord Jagannath, one of our gods,' explained Lucky, pressing his foot harder on the accelerator so that they began to speed even faster towards the cluster of buildings.

When they eventually reached the area surrounding the Jagannath Mandir, Lucky was forced to slow back down as the roads, overrun with crowds of people, became almost impossible to navigate. Day-tripping tourists poured forth en masse from large coaches, vendors sold food, souvenirs and religious offerings at the roadside, and beggars and hustlers surrounded the mandir trying to procure whatever they could. It was at once a majestically chaotic sight to behold, but one that Aaron was becoming accustomed to and now even associated with India.

Lucky parked alongside a long line of other rickshaws and hopped out of the front cabin, motioning for Aaron to follow him. Still in awe at the beauty of the Jagannath Mandir, Aaron dutifully trailed behind him, his eyes never leaving the spectacle so that invariably he trod on the backs of Lucky's heels several times as they meandered through the crowd. Lucky led Aaron around the fortified wall that surrounded the complex, delivering a thorough and obviously well-versed explanation of the mandir's history, buildings and significance within the Hindu faith. Aaron listened intently, enthralled by the many stories, and by the richness of the traditions and customs of a culture that he suddenly felt ashamed not to know more intimately.

The Rutherfords were quintessentially British, as were most of their friends, family and surroundings, to the extent that Aaron had never encountered anyone even remotely ethnic unless he was on holiday. It was what had made him stand out so much growing up and equally the reason that he had never really felt comfortable in his own skin. Yet to his surprise and delight, though many of the ideas and practices that Lucky described were alien, they somehow resonated with him, touching his soul with the familiarity of an old friend. Eager to learn more, his appetite for information became insatiable, but Lucky's patience never waned, and he answered all of Aaron's questions so expertly that people were soon surreptitiously following them and listening to his unofficial guided tour.

An hour later, when they had completely circumnavigated the wall, they found themselves back outside of the main entrance where, much to Aaron's confusion, Lucky began to lead him away from the mandir.

'Wait! Aren't we going to go inside? I want to see all of the things that you've just been telling me about.'

'Ah, but you are not allowed to go inside, Aaron.'

'Yes I am, Lucky, look – people are going inside.'

'Look carefully,' Lucky answered simply, nodding in the direction of the mandir entrance.

Aaron glanced over at the gate where the police were checking crowds of people before allowing them beyond the walls of the complex.

'I don't get it,' moaned Aaron, still mystified.

'Only Indians are allowed inside, Aaron. Even only _Hindu_ Indians are permitted,' he added for precision.

Aaron glanced over at the gate again and, sure enough, not one of the throng of visitors entering and exiting the mandir looked foreign.

'Why is that?' he asked curiously, feeling like an outsider all over again.

'I'm not certain exactly. It has not always been this way, but I think some foreign people made a trouble in the mandir one day and now they don't allow any foreign people inside.'

'Couldn't we try?' whined Aaron, feeling slightly put out. 'I am Indian after all... and they don't know that I'm not Hindu.'

'Oh no,' replied Lucky gravely, furiously shaking his head, 'we mustn't lie, Aaron. Lying is wrong, especially in the mandir. They are making all sorts of checks and they will know it for sure that you are not Hindu; I don't want to get a punishment.'

Lucky looked genuinely fearful of the consequences of any attempt to break the mandir's rules and his face was so serious that Aaron could only laugh, conceding that they would not be going inside.

'You will just have to wait until Rath Yatra like all the other tourists.'

'Rath what?'

'How is it you are coming in Puri and you don't know of Rath Yatra?' exclaimed Lucky incredulously. 'Rath Yatra is only the most important festival in Puri. We carry the three gods, Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadra on huge chariots, from the mandir, through the streets, until we are reaching Gundicha Mandir. There are always millions of people helping to pull the chariots, because they are heavy, Aaron, more heavy than even you can imagine, and it is a great honour. There is so much colour and sound; it is a magnificent spectacle, you will really love it.'

'It sounds incredible. Is it soon?'

'Yes, not long. In a few weeks' time I think so... 21st June or thereabouts.'

'Oh, I don't know if I will still be here by then,' mumbled Aaron a little sadly, though it was nothing compared to the look now fixed on Lucky's face.

His crooked smile had completely disappeared and his wide puppy-dog eyes made him look as though he had been physically wounded by Aaron's words.

'You're not staying in Puri?' he whimpered sadly, half-hoping that he had misheard.

'Well no, not forever,' Aaron began cautiously, mindful of upsetting Lucky any further. 'I had only planned to stay for about two-and-a-half weeks. I'm not sure I can afford to stay for much longer; I used most of my savings to get back from Africa and to get to India.'

Lucky unexpectedly brightened again.

'If it is only money, then this is not a problem, Aaron. You will stay with Hanara and I in our house and we will look after you.'

Aaron found himself touched once again by his brother's kindness and simple optimism.

'That's very kind of you Lucky, but it's a little more complicated than that. Besides, I couldn't inconvenience you like that and I think we both know that Hanara doesn't want me there.'

'Family is never an inconvenience, Aaron. And don't you worry about Hanara; she is pretending to be tough only. In fact, just last night when I came back home, she was asking many questions about you. All that is needed is a little time, you will see.'

'Oh, Lucky, I don't know...'

'Please come and stay with us, Aaron. It will be our honour,' interrupted Lucky, flashing his special smile as he tried to sway his brother's decision.

Aaron smiled back at him, powerless to resist the disarming charm of Lucky's crooked grin. It felt good to know that someone cared so much about him and wanted to spend more time in his company. He had booked the return flight to London partly out of fear of the unknown, and partly under duress from Arthur, who had been unusually insistent that he fixed a firm plan. Yet now that he was in India, two-and-a-half weeks simply didn't seem long enough to complete a lifetime's worth of catching up with his family. He had taken a liking to Puri in the short time that he had been there, and despite being too late to meet Kalpana, and in spite of the omnipresent chaos and heat, he felt an unexpected sense of belonging there with his brother by his side.

'Okay, I will think about it,' he conceded finally, much to Lucky's delight.

'Good. Now, are you hungry?'

Lucky led Aaron back through the crowds to the rickshaw and drove them the short distance to the beachfront, where he parked alongside the other rickshaw drivers vying for business from passing tourists. He lifted two round stainless steel containers and a faded old sari from a bag that Aaron had not noticed before, and charged off down the sand in search of the perfect picnic spot. The wide, open beach was still at the mercy of the sun's blistering heat, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon, but a gentle breeze ruffled Aaron's hair, keeping him cool while he picked his way across the scorching sand.

He joined Lucky a few metres from the water's edge, where his brother had spread the sari over the sand to form a blanket for them to sit on. The two metallic containers were now open, revealing a series of small compartments containing different items of food, and Lucky was greedily shovelling morsels into his mouth with his fingers.

'What is it?' Aaron asked, intrigued as he dropped down beside Lucky and pulled one of the containers towards him.

'Try it.'

'Do you have a fork, or a spoon, that I could use?'

Lucky paused, his hand hovering at the entrance to his mouth poised to deliver another tasty morsel, and began to laugh hysterically. Aaron looked at him, somewhat baffled by the outburst and unsure why Lucky found his request so comical. It was a few moments before Lucky had recovered his breath enough to explain why he was laughing.

'We are not using forks and spoons. You just eat with your hands only, like this,' he said, demonstrating how to ball up the food into small spheres with his fingers.

Aaron instantly felt embarrassed by his question. He had seen some of the hotel guests consuming their breakfast in this way and stupidly judged them for being ill-mannered and ignorant; it turned out that he was the uncultured one. He rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow and after being chided by Lucky for using his left hand, instead of his right, started to lift compact balls of rice, dahl and potato curry past his hungry lips. The food was delicious, if a little spicy, but not having eaten since the morning, Aaron wasted no time in filling his belly.

When they had finished eating, Lucky neatly stacked the stainless steel tins, and the brothers lay back against the warm sand. They watched the waves crashing onto the beach before them and listened to the soporific hum of the city as it buzzed past along the highway behind them. It was a paradisiacal setting and Aaron felt so relaxed and content that it wasn't long before he had dozed off, the combination of the afternoon heat and his body's battle with digestion proving too much to handle. When Lucky finally shook him awake again, the sky was awash with the red, pink and orange hues of the setting sun, its reflection dancing mischievously across the calm waters. It was a magical sight to behold and, in his semi-conscious state, Aaron was quite taken with the tranquil beauty of it all.

He watched dreamily whilst the fishermen heaved their boats onto the shore, the seagulls circling in anticipation overhead, but Lucky was soon tugging impatiently at his sleeve, desperate for him to see something. It took a few minutes for Lucky to rouse Aaron completely from his daze and, finally pulling him to his feet, he dragged his brother a couple of metres down the beach towards the water.

'Look,' he said, pointing at the sand excitedly and beaming whilst he waited for his efforts to be recognised.

Aaron rubbed his eyes sleepily and followed Lucky's finger to the inscription in the sand.

_ARUN AND LUCKY_

_AGAIN BROTHERS TOGETHER_

He smiled back at Lucky, warmed by his brother's boyish enthusiasm and affection, and equally amused by his mastery of the English language.

'It's great, Lucky. There's just one thing...'

'What is it?' he asked, immediately looking anxious.

'You keep spelling my name wrong.'

'I have not.'

'Yes you have.'

'That is the spelling given by Mata-ji only, on the day that you were born,' he answered defiantly.

'Kalpana named me?'

'Yes, of course she did. Who is it that you think has named you?'

'I had always assumed it was my adoptive mother,' explained Aaron quietly.

'No, no, no. If Dr Cathy had named you, then surely you would have been called something very terrible. Something very English... like Rupert,' Lucky mouthed disdainfully.

Aaron couldn't contain his laughter at both Lucky's choice of nomenclature and his obvious disgust.

'Aaron, spelt A-A-R-O-N _is_ English, Lucky,' he insisted.

'Arun, spelt A-R-U-N is _Indian_. It means "sun",' countered Lucky matter-of-factly, 'and Mata-ji gave you this name because your birth was the start of our new life, all of us, the same as the sun is the start of a new day.'

Aaron was quietly contemplative, silenced by the heretofore unknown poetry of his naming. He twisted the letters of the correct spelling around in his mouth, trying them on for size; he had never given much thought to what his name might mean before, and though it sounded the same out loud, that it was spelt differently and that it had a meaning unexpectedly changed something within him.

His Indian name, with its careful selection for significance, eternally bound him into the lives of his birth family; a family that he hadn't even known that he had until a few short months ago. Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, the name forged an intimate connection between he and Kalpana, in a way that he hadn't thought would be possible after arriving at the house to find her gone. His name was a piece of her, a gift, and a lifelong legacy of their brief time together. It was a testament to her belief that she was providing a better life for them all by giving him away, and strangely the thought filled his soul with a deep sense of satisfaction. Overcome with emotion, tears welled up in his eyes and, smiling, he looked from Lucky to the horizon and back again.

'I guess I'd better start spelling it right then.'
**PART TWO**

**ARUN**
**EIGHTEEN**

****

OVER the next fortnight, Arun and Lucky settled into the ebb and flow of a familiar and comfortable routine. Every morning, at the same time, Lucky would arrive in his rickshaw to collect Arun from the front of the hotel, and the pair would set off like two intrepid adventurers, eager to explore the delights of the city and its surrounds. Some days they covered vast distances, sputtering across the terracotta terrain as Lucky pushed his ageing rickshaw to its limits in a bid to show Arun what he called 'the real India'. There were simple rural villages set amidst gleaming rice paddies, silent hilltop temples and bustling local markets, peaceful island lakes, and a multitude of secret swimming spots along deserted stretches of Puri's beach. There could be no argument that the views were anything less than spectacular, but the best part of every day for Arun quickly became the simple pleasure of being in his brother's company.

A strong bond had slowly formed between them and each morning he looked forward to Lucky's arrival, cherishing the time that they spent together answering each other's questions and curiosities, and sharing in the magic of India's beauty. It had taken his best persuasive skills, but Lucky had finally agreed to let Arun ride up front alongside him in the rickshaw and the simple shift had made Arun feel like they were on a more equal footing. After much bickering about the matter, he had also allowed him to pay for the gallons of fuel that the vehicle guzzled through each day, though much to Arun's frustration, his brother was still resistant to his occasional attempts to otherwise remunerate him for his time.

By contrast, the evenings were an entirely different affair. When the sun began to set, Lucky and Arun would embark upon the long, dusty journey back to Kalpana's house. Though they would arrive laughing and smiling, thoroughly contented by their experiences and learnings from the day, the sight of Hanara's stony face and her palpable hostility would quickly level their spirits. She was unyielding in her loathsome sentiment towards Arun, seemingly going to great pains to ensure that he never forgot how much she resented his continued presence in her mother's home. Reluctantly, she would prepare dinner for the three of them, deliberately crashing around the small kitchen so that her brothers could not enjoy a conversation, but this left Arun even more confused, because she generously and voluntarily sent lunch for him with Lucky each day.

He struggled in the face of such animosity and though outwardly he feigned disaffection to Hanara's daily torrent of verbal abuse, its jarring nature made it impossible for him to feel truly comfortable in her presence. He yearned for her acceptance and it saddened him that building a relationship with his sister was so difficult, especially when he observed the love and care she so freely lavished upon Lucky. He had long since come around to Lucky's way of thinking and no longer blamed himself for Kalpana's death, but reasonable doubt remained as to whether Hanara herself would ever round that corner.

Every evening he tried with renewed enthusiasm to win her over, steering the mealtime conversation away from Lucky's incessant questioning about his life back home, to focus on learning more about Hanara and her life. Naïvely, he hoped that demonstrating his appetite for learning about his family and birthplace would shift her perceptions of him from a spoilt, rich kid visiting his peasant relatives to what he really was; a young man denied the truth, seeking to connect with the family that he'd always wished he could have. It was difficult to judge whether his efforts were having any effect on Hanara, because she continued to remain tight-lipped during his visits, save for the occasional vilifying comment. But the frequency and severity of her insults appeared to be slowly diminishing and Arun had to concede that perhaps Lucky had been right about her simply needing time to adjust to the situation.

One evening, when Arun and Lucky arrived home from another great day of explorations, they were surprised to find Hanara standing in the small yard talking to the elderly woman that had pointed the way to Kalpana's house nearly two weeks before.

'There you are! Mrs Satpathy needs a ride to Haripur to collect something from her cousin. Please take her,' Hanara instructed Lucky, ignoring Arun completely.

'Of course,' replied Lucky, smiling brightly and jumping out of the rickshaw to assist Mrs Satpathy.

His endless bags of energy never ceased to amaze Arun, who was himself ready to put his feet up and enjoy a long, cold drink. Despite his exhaustion, Arun remained seated, unsure whether to tag along with Lucky or to stay behind and face Hanara's daily diatribe alone, but the decision was soon made for him.

'You can wait here, Arun, you don't have to come. I will be back soon,' said Lucky, helping Mrs Satpathy into the back seat.

Taking a deep breath, Arun clambered out of the front seat and walked round to where Hanara was standing on the other side of the rickshaw, arms folded defensively across her chest. They stood uncomfortably in silence, watching while Lucky carefully tucked the folds of Mrs Satpathy's sari into the confines of the rickshaw, before hopping back into the front seat and setting off down the dirt track towards the next village. They watched until Lucky was no more than a speck in the distance and when the dust had settled, Hanara turned on her heels and stalked into the house without uttering a word. Exasperated by, but accustomed to, Hanara's behaviour, Arun started after her, wondering what he had let himself in for.

Once inside, he settled himself amongst the cushions, while Hanara persisted in ignoring him, busying herself instead with the pots and pans in the corner. They continued in this way for some time, an invisible wall standing tall between them, wholly reminiscent of the first day that Arun had arrived on their doorstep. Without Lucky present to mediate and to compensate for the harshness of Hanara's tongue, Arun felt intimidated into silence by her frosty reception. Somehow it was easier when Lucky was there – his mere presence rendered Hanara less callous for fear of reproach – but Arun would have to learn to stand up to her eventually if they were ever going to move forward. Finally, when he could stand the tension no more, he broke the silence.

'How was your day, Hanara?'

Hanara loudly clanged the steel pots in her hands together, washing up and pretending not to have heard him.

'HANARA,' he shouted, trying to command her attention in the way that he had so often seen Lucky do. Whatever it took, he resolved that she was not going to ignore him until Lucky returned.

'What?' she flared, spinning around so suddenly that her raven hair smacked loudly against her shoulders when it whipped across her back.

'I asked how your day was,' Arun repeated firmly.

Hanara glared at him, a dark look of contempt spreading across her face, her lips set in a tight line that refused to break. But Arun was resolute in his quest and though he was shaking inside from the terrifying look on his sister's face, he glared back, defying her not to answer.

'Fine,' she conceded eventually through gritted teeth, before turning back to the pots and pans, though she didn't resume washing them.

'What did you do?' pressed Arun, feeling secretly pleased that he had managed to elicit a curt, but relatively inoffensive, response.

'The same things that I do every day, isn't it?'

'Which are?'

'Do you really want to know?'

'Yes, Hanara, I do,' Arun responded hopefully, delighted to have finally initiated a dialogue. 'I know you think that I don't care, but I do.'

Hanara carefully set down the pot in her hands and turned to face Arun once more, an ambiguous look on her face. Unexpectedly, she began to walk towards him and, seating herself beside him, calmly arranged the pleats of her apple-green sari neatly over her folded legs. Arun patiently held his breath, half-expecting another of her vicious verbal assaults, but when she was satisfied that her clothes were suitably arranged, she smiled up at him sweetly and calmly answered the question.

'If you must really know, _dear brother_ , while you were probably still asleep in your _big bed_ , in your _fancy hotel_ , I was washing our clothes, preparing breakfast for Lucky, and lunch for you both. When Lucky left to collect _you_ , instead of doing _proper_ driving jobs in the city that pay _money_ like he's supposed to, I cleaned the _entire house_ and then I went outside to pick the little food that is left in our field, so that we don't all _starve_. And then, as if I hadn't already done enough, whilst you two were busy running around the city _enjoying yourselves_ , I passed the whole day _alone_ in the shop, so that we might make enough money to survive.

'After being on my feet all day I was _really_ looking forward to coming home, to maybe finally having a chance to go to the mandir, but of course then I remembered that His Royal Highness, _Prince Arun from England_ , is coming to dinner _again_. So instead I started the cooking for him and my idiot brother who keeps inviting him, so really my day is just _fantastic_. Does this answer your question?'

Arun's jaw dropped open, but no sound came out and he had no idea how to respond. Though he didn't appreciate the sarcasm, Hanara's words had finally exposed the real cause of her ongoing enmity, and they held a truth about the effects of his visit that he was embarrassed not to have recognised of his own accord. He had learned from Lucky that only a few short months ago the daily household chores and management of the shop had been a shared responsibility between Hanara and their mother, while Lucky ferried tourists about the city to bring in additional income. With Kalpana now gone, Hanara was shouldering the burden of the house and the shop single-handedly, with the hours that this consumed leaving her little time for anything else. Lucky left the house early, leaving her in isolation for much of the day, save for the occasional visitor to their shop, and the little respite that she looked forward to enjoying when he returned home each night was spoilt by the continued presence of the very man that she blamed for the entire situation.

Of the three of them, it was clear that Kalpana's absence was felt most deeply by Hanara, and the strain was now manifest in her behaviour. Feelings of guilt began to wash over Arun as her words echoed in the silence that had fallen on the house. It was no wonder that Hanara detested him; he hadn't given her any reason to view his arrival as a positive event. He had been having so much fun, getting to know his brother and his birthplace, that he had not stopped to consider the extent of the impact that this was having on their livelihood. Lucky was covering his expenses, but not earning a penny, and Arun was an extra mouth to feed from already dwindling supplies. These two activities that he had so freely enjoyed for almost two weeks had unwittingly caused him to become the very inconvenience that he had wanted to avoid.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered finally, not knowing what else he could say, but reasoning that this was as good a place as any to start.

Hanara seemed wholly disarmed by his apology and for the first time since his arrival, her face visibly softened.

'I just didn't think... about how my being here would affect you, I mean.'

Hanara remained silent, but her eyes revealed that she was listening.

'The last thing that I wanted to do was to make things difficult for you and Lucky. Coming all the way here only to find out that Kalpana was gone... it was a shock; you have no idea how much I was looking forward to getting to know her. But the fact that you were here, both you and Lucky, well, it made the whole thing a little easier to take. I guess it made the journey seem less... wasted. I didn't mean to keep Lucky from working, Hanara, or to make more work for you around the house. I just wanted to... to know more about my mother and my family... to know more about the place where I should have grown up... that's all. Does that make sense?'

Arun waited patiently for his sister to respond, searching her face for signs of what she might be thinking, but Hanara remained poker-faced and mute. After a few minutes had passed, she sighed loudly and began to fiddle with the folds of her sari, contemplating either Arun's words or her own, though it was impossible to tell which. When a few more minutes had passed, she finally looked up at him and parted her lips to speak.

'You are just like her, you know?' she muttered softly.

'Really? In what way?'

'Selfish. Always thinking of yourself only.'

Arun's eyes widened with surprise.

'That's not fair, Hanara. You can say what you like about me, but Kalpana really –'

'I'm not talking about Mata-ji, stupid... Dr Cathy,' she spat disdainfully.

'Dr Ca – my mother? How can you say that? How can you say that when she helped you, all of you, especially Lucky?' cried Arun defensively.

'She helped herself only.'

'What? How can you just... why are you saying these things?'

'I think they thought that I was too young to understand it, but I wasn't. I was six already and I remember, I remember everything,' she continued, staring blankly into the centre of the room as though in a trance.

'What are you talking about? You're scaring me.'

'Mata-ji was scared. That's why she did it only. That's how Dr Cathy convinced her.'

A hard lump formed in Arun's throat and he began to sweat profusely. His heart was racing at the prospect of where Hanara's statements might be leading and he was afraid to ask the next question, but with his sister offering him insight and information for the first time, he couldn't pass up the opportunity.

'What did my mother convince Kalpana to do?'

Hanara turned her gaze to Arun and her eyes were cold as she stared deeply and sinisterly into his worried hazel eyes.

'Hanara, please. What did she convince her to do?' he pleaded desperately.

Hanara drew in a deep breath and when she exhaled the words hit Arun like a bullet to the chest.

'Sell you.'
**NINETEEN**

****

'SELL me? What do you mean, sell me?'

'She called it an exchange, but that's what it really is, isn't it Arun?'

'Hanara, please, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?'

'Did you really think that Mata-ji would give away her baby just for the chance of it becoming a doctor?'

'But Lucky said –'

'I know what Lucky said; it's what Lucky believes only. But I know you are not so simple.'

Arun felt his breathing begin to quicken.

'Are you... are you saying that my mother _paid_ for me? That she gave Kalpana money?' he whispered hoarsely, barely able to get the words out.

Hanara remained mute, but the look on her face told Arun everything that he needed to know.

The blood drained away from his face and suddenly he felt hot and unable to breathe. Hanara's words had winded him and he clutched frantically at his throat, rhythmically opening and closing his mouth, desperate to fill his lungs with air. He felt like he was being crushed, his chest and throat constricted by the enormity of Hanara's revelation, and though every fibre in his body wanted to reject the awful truth, this time he had no words to explain away his mother's actions.

Hanara, who had until now remained perfectly calm, started to panic at the sight of her brother's distress.

'Are you okay?'

'I... I can't... I can't breathe...' he managed between the rapid succession of quick, shallow breaths.

'Hey Bhagwan, I'm sorry, please calm down,' she urged, gently fanning his face with her delicate hands.

When this produced no visible effect, she reached across Arun's lap to retrieve one of the cushions and began to shake it at speed, inches from his face. The cool waves of air were soothing against his damp, flushed skin and Arun closed his eyes tightly, concentrating hard on trying to regulate his breathing.

When his breaths had slowed to a more manageable pace, Hanara placed the cushion at Arun's feet and stood to fetch a cup of water. Guiltily, she handed the cup to him on her return and, kneeling down beside him, tucking her feet neatly to one side, peered apologetically into his face.

'Are you okay?'

'I think so,' answered Arun meekly, promptly draining the cup of its contents.

'Sorry for giving you a shock.'

Arun sighed loudly.

'It's... it's the truth though, isn't it?'

Hanara nodded sombrely and Arun felt nauseated at the thought of his mother paying for him.

'I just don't understand why. Why would my mother do something like that? She loved children... it doesn't make any sense.'

It was Hanara's turn to sigh deeply.

'I heard them talking many, many times; they never sent me away because they thought that I couldn't understand what they were discussing. It was all Dr Cathy's idea only. She wanted a baby so much and I don't know why she wanted you especially, but she did not stop until she had convinced Mata-ji that giving you to her was the right thing.'

'But how? How could Kalpana ever be convinced that it is right to sell a child? _Her child?_ '

'She was scared, Arun. After Bapu-ji left we had almost nothing; if we hadn't come to Rachna Hari then I don't know what would have happened to us. Mata-ji was scared to be alone again and with three small children to take care of, how was she going to work? How was she going to feed us and give us clothes? She told all this to Dr Cathy, but Dr Cathy was pretending to be her friend only, pretending to care when really she was using this information to trick Mata-ji. Instead of giving some reassurance, she agreed with her and made it sound as though two children would be ok to manage alone, but three would be impossible. It's like this only that she convinced her.'

'Okay,' mouthed Arun slowly, 'suppose I believe what you're saying. Suppose I believe that Kalpana was worried about how she would cope. Why didn't she put me up for adoption properly? If my mother wanted a child so badly then surely she would have gone through the process, not offered Kalpana money. It wasn't in her nature to take advantage of other people.'

Yet even as Arun said it, he wasn't sure that he believed it anymore. It disgusted him to think that his mother had behaved in this way, but it suddenly made sense of everything. Made sense of the lies that she had told to both him and Arthur, made sense of the secrecy surrounding Kalpana's letters, and made sense of why there was no record of his adoption either at home, or at Rachna Hari. At last he had an answer, but the moment was bittersweet and there in the stifling heat of his birth mother's house, he had never despised his adoptive mother more.

'All this Mata-ji asked Dr Cathy,' Hanara explained quietly, 'but Dr Cathy said this way was better for everybody. The money she gave to Mata-ji would be enough for us to make a new home and a new life; Mata-ji would know that Dr Cathy was a good person who would look after her baby and give it a good life, and Dr Cathy would know the baby's history and be certain that it would not have health problems later on. She told Mata-ji that adoption was complicated, that it takes a very long time, and that they wouldn't tell Mata-ji where they were sending you. This way, Mata-ji would know everything and Dr Cathy promised to give updates, if Mata-ji promised not to contact you.'

' _I am understanding that this is not in our agreement,_ ' muttered Arun to himself, drawing from somewhere in the depths of his mind the memory of Kalpana's words in the first letter that he had found.

So much had happened since that day in his mother's study, the day on which his world had changed forever, that he could barely remember the detail of it and now the weeks of anguish and anger at his mother's loss boiled down to a single, all-consuming emotion: disappointment. Disappointment that she had played on another woman's fears and goaded her into giving away her child. Disappointment that she had paid cold hard cash for his love and his trust. And disappointment that she was not the woman that the world had believed her to be.

'Arun,' continued Hanara timidly, interrupting his spiralling thoughts, 'there is one more thing also... it wasn't only money.'

Arun felt the lump reforming in his throat.

'What do you mean?'

'Mata-ji was not happy about never being allowed to contact you and she was not going to make the agreement... but then Dr Cathy promised to fix Lucky's smile also.'

'His cleft lip surgery? Why would that convince her?'

'Before, Lucky's smile was a very big problem for us; it is considered bad luck, like an evil spirit. People in India wouldn't accept his face like this and he would have had trouble going to school, getting a job and even finding a wife. This brought even more shame on Mata-ji for having no husband _and_ a sick child, but we never had enough money to fix it. Even at Rachna Hari they said it was too expensive for the operation and they wouldn't do it there.

'It is like this only that Dr Cathy finally convinced Mata-ji. You would have a good life and become a doctor, Lucky would have a chance to make a good life for himself here, and Mata-ji would have money to start again and support our family. Dr Cathy said that everybody would be better off if Mata-ji made the agreement. Does that make sense?'

' _Remember it's for Lucky,_ ' Arun muttered slowly, recalling Arthur's account of Catherine's last days and finally comprehending what his father had been unable to. It made sense, of course it did, but it didn't make the explanation any easier to digest. Arun sighed deeply. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he no longer had the strength to fight what he knew in his heart to be the truth: his mother was a fraud. There were no more tears left to cry for her, no more words left to say in her defence, and all that remained in his heart was an empty hollow where the memory of a woman that he had once been proud to call his mother used to be.

'I'm sorry, Hanara. I'm sorry for all the hurt and pain that my mo –, that Dr Cathy has brought our family.'

'It's not only Dr Cathy,' answered Hanara, a genuine look of sadness in her eyes, 'why did you never try to find us? Didn't you ever ask about us or wonder how we were?'

'I didn't know about you, or Lucky, and... Dr Cathy told me that Kal –, Mata-ji, died after I was born, otherwise of course I would have tried to find you. I was told that Dr Cathy and Mata-ji became friends at Rachna Hari and that Mata-ji asked Dr Cathy to take care of me just before she died. That's what I've always believed... until now,' he finished sombrely.

'She told you Mata-ji was _dead?_ I had no idea,' gasped Hanara in surprise. 'So you really came as soon as you could? As soon as you found out about us?'

'Of course I did. As soon as I found Mata-ji's letters, as soon as I knew that she was alive and sick I started asking questions, but nobody could tell me anything. Arthur, my adoptive father, he didn't know any more than I did. I had to find you through Rachna Hari and believe me it wasn't easy.'

Hanara stared at her brother for the longest time, her almond-shaped eyes unblinking, yet devoid of the malice that had once possessed them. She seemed to finally understand that Arun was an innocent victim of circumstance, but just when she parted her lips to respond, the front door burst open.

'Sorry I took so long! Mrs Satpathy was having such a conversation with her cousin that it was impossible to leave only. Can we eat please? I'm starving,' rushed Lucky all at once, oblivious to the discussion that he had interrupted.

In an instant the moment was gone. Without uttering a word, Hanara dutifully stood and returned to the kitchen to heat up their food, leaving Arun to contend with Lucky's inane chatter all alone. Frustrated by the interruption, Arun tried to feign interest in the details of Lucky's trip with Mrs Satpathy, but it was too difficult to focus. Hanara had unexpectedly opened up to him and at last he knew the truth about his mothers and his adoption. It was not at all what he had expected and he found himself involuntarily recalling Arthur's words of caution about not liking what he might find. He didn't like what he had discovered, but it was the truth, and at the very least he would now be able to quiet his mind, all his questions finally answered.

A few minutes later, Hanara reappeared with the evening meal, but she refused to meet Arun's watchful gaze, focusing her attention on Lucky instead.

'Lucky, could you please just run and pick a few coriander leaves from outside? I thought that I had enough, but I just need a few more to sprinkle on the top here,' she smiled sweetly.

Obediently, Lucky scrambled to his feet and shuffled out of the front door in search of the missing ingredient, but as soon as he was out of earshot, Hanara turned to Arun with a worried look on her face.

'You mustn't tell Lucky any of what we discussed.'

'Why not?'

'Oh Arun, it would break him. It would break his heart to know that Mata-ji gave you away so that Dr Cathy would fix his smile. He would never forgive himself. Please, you have to promise me that you won't tell him, not any of it, not ever.'

Arun contemplated the request; he didn't like the idea of keeping yet more secrets, but then it would serve nothing and no-one to dwell on the specifics of their terrible past. He had the answers that he needed and, if Hanara were to be believed, shattering Lucky's illusions could cause untold damage, not only to Lucky, but also to the relationship that they had built with one another. He didn't want Lucky to feel guilty or resentful, and having reached an understanding with Hanara, for the first time in weeks, he dared to hope that he might still be able to forge a relationship with her too. The past had nothing left to offer him or his siblings and Arun resolved there and then to put it firmly behind him.

'Okay,' he said, nodding at Hanara decisively in agreement, 'I promise.'

When Lucky returned he continued to dominate the conversation, still unaware of the exchange that had taken place between his siblings, but this time Arun welcomed his brother's trivial chatter while he ate his fill and wound down from the earlier tensions of the evening. When their stomachs were full, the trio relaxed in the dimly lit house, and for the first time, Lucky and Arun's conversation was not punctuated by abusive remarks from their sister.

'Have you given any more thought to staying for Rath Yatra, Arun?'

'You know that I want to, Lucky, but I really can't afford to move my flight home _and_ pay for extra nights at the hotel. And I'm not really comfortable asking Arthur for any more money.'

'How many times do I have to tell you? You can stay here with us, isn't it,' cried Lucky, looking somewhat exasperated.

Arun looked uncertainly from Lucky to Hanara, trying to gauge his sister's reaction, but she remained mute and expressionless. He wasn't ready to leave at all, but equally he didn't want to outstay his welcome, and after their earlier exchange, he was aware that Hanara was approaching the limits of her tolerance for him.

'You don't have the room, Lucky. Besides, where would I sleep?'

'You would sleep with me, in my room, of course. There is plenty of room.'

'That's very kind of you, but really, I've already been far too much of an inconvenience to you both. And you need to get back to work,' he added, glancing sideways at Hanara.

'Ha! I am going back to work even if you come to stay. Don't you worry about this. My holidays are over now, even if yours are not.'

'Well there you go then; what would I do all day whilst you are out working? There are still two whole weeks until Rath Yatra. I would only get in Hanara's way.'

'You could help in the shop,' she interjected, her voice unusually small, but firm nonetheless.

Lucky turned to her in surprise, astonished that she had ventured any suggestion, least of all one which would see Arun staying longer, and in their house.

'Are you... are you sure?' whispered Arun slowly, searching her eyes for tacit understanding.

But Hanara closed her eyes and simply nodded her head in answer to his question.

'It is settled then,' cried Lucky excitedly, 'you will stay here with us and you can help Hanara in the shop until Rath Yatra.'

Confused by Hanara's sudden change of heart, but smart enough to secure Arun's stay before she had the chance to change her mind, Lucky began to dance elatedly around the room. He rambled on, listing out all of the things that he and Arun would now have the time to see and do, but Arun was no longer listening. Speechless, but genuinely grateful, he smiled at his sister with a newfound respect. They had turned a corner and though he was sure that there was still a long way to go, when he looked from her to his perpetually beaming brother, he knew in that moment that he was right where he was supposed to be.
**TWENTY**

****

'WHAT do you mean you're not coming home for another two weeks?'

'I'm just going to stay until Rath Yatra, and then I'll come back. It's really not that big of a –'

'What the hell is Rath Yatra?'

'Oh, sorry. It's a Hindu festival that happens here in Puri, at the Jagannath Mandir.'

'So now you're a Hindu all of a sudden?'

'No, of course not. It's just meant to be really cool; one of the main things to see here. They have this big procession, and it's the only time that non-Hindus can see Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subha –'

'See who, who, and who? Aaron, you're not even speaking English anymore!'

Arun held the receiver away from his face and stuck his tongue out childishly at the mouthpiece. He had already been on the phone for an hour, possibly the longest one-on-one conversation he'd ever had with Arthur, but the old man wasn't making things easy for him.

'To be perfectly frank, Aaron, I don't understand why you didn't just come home after you found out that this Kalpana woman had passed away. She's told all these lies to her children about how, and where, and why you were adopted, and who's to say that these Lanky and India characters are even your real brother and sister? They could be anyone.'

'Arthur, I –'

'I bet you they're both having a field day. Some unsuspecting young boy turns up on their doorstep looking for his mother, they invite him in, feed him a few stories and next thing you know he's moving in with them. Then they start borrowing things, asking for a little money and before you know it they've taken everything you've got!'

'That's really unfair, Arthur.'

'It's not unfair, Aaron, it's the truth; I've seen it happen before. You're just too young and naïve to realise what's happening right before your own eyes.'

Arun sighed into the receiver; he was tired of Arthur's conspiracy theories and tired of being treated like a child. He knew that Arthur would never believe what Hanara had told him about Catherine, but not wanting to propagate the lie any longer he had decided to tell him and now he was paying the price for his honesty. Though he had anticipated a strong reaction, Arthur's continued denial grated on him, yet whatever ludicrous explanation his father might offer in defence of his mother, he knew what he believed and he was resolute in his decision to stay.

'Arthur, I promise you it's not like that. I will stay for two more weeks and then I'll come home.'

Arthur was momentarily mute before eventually sighing huffily at the other end of the line.

'Fine, but then extend your stay at the Mayfair Beach Resort and I will pay for it.'

'Arthur, I can't. I've already promised Lucky and Hanara that I will go and stay with them. It would be rude.'

'I'm not happy about this,' Arthur growled irritably.

Arun remained silent; there was nothing more that he could say and the more he thought about it, the more relieved he was that his stay would delay the inevitable onset of the awkward father–son interaction that awaited him when he returned home.

Eventually, after a long lecture from Arthur, during which he had to promise repeatedly that he would not stay longer than two weeks, Arun was able to hang up the phone. He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan rotating above his head as he had done so many times before. The day had been a particularly long one, and he felt so overwhelmed by both Hanara's revelation and Arthur's sudden care and concern, that his body soon shut down in protest, causing him to drift off into a deep sleep.

The following morning Arun checked out and, armed with his backpack, waited for Lucky outside of the front of the hotel, much to the intrigue of the concierge.

'Waiting for your brother again today, sir?'

'Yes, I am. He is late, as usual.'

'Going back to England today, sir?'

'No, no, not yet.'

'But you are having your bag, sir, and I think I saw you checking out? You are going to another hotel, sir?'

'I'm going to stay with my brother for a few weeks.'

The concierge's eyes grew wide with surprise.

'Is it a big house that your brother is living in with his family, sir?' he asked curiously.

'No, not at all; just a small house that he shares with my sister.'

'Oh, so you will be all three together, sir?'

'Yes,' smiled Arun, 'we will be all three together.'

There was a slight pause while the concierge seemed to consider whether it was appropriate for him to ask his next question.

'You came to India to find a wife, sir?'

Arun laughed out loud, not understanding how the two were at all related, but he reassured the concierge that this was not the purpose of his visit all the same. They continued to make light conversation until, nearly an hour after their agreed meeting time, Lucky's little rickshaw finally pulled up alongside them.

'What time do you call this?' Arun chided playfully, no longer sure why they bothered to agree on meeting times when Lucky was always tardy.

'Lucky time,' he grinned, thoroughly amused by Arun's ongoing expectations about punctuality in India.

Arun shook his head and laughed; it was exactly the kind of nonsensical response that he had come to expect from his brother. He climbed into the rickshaw beside Lucky and, after wedging the backpack firmly between his legs, waved goodbye to the concierge, as Lucky swung the vehicle out onto the road towards home.

Now familiar with the route, the journey passed by quickly. Lucky chatted away, excited to formally welcome his long-lost brother home, and Arun found himself looking forward to his stay, especially since Hanara had finally started to thaw. When they reached the house, Lucky stopped just long enough to allow Arun to hop out, before shouting some instructions and speeding back towards the city, returning to work as promised.

Arun gazed up at the place that would be his home for the next two weeks, while the dust kicked up by the rickshaw's departure settled around him. Though he had spent a considerable amount of time there and felt comfortable in the company of his family, living with them would be a completely different experience. He had fought for the right to stay there out of principle, and more to demonstrate his maturity and independence to Arthur, than because of any real desire to avoid being impolite. The house would be a significant downgrade from the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel and though a part of him was scared to give up the comfort and luxury to which he had become accustomed, somehow getting back to a simple and basic way of living felt like wiping the slate clean and reconnecting with his family.

He lifted the backpack onto his shoulders and wandered into the house in search of Hanara, but a casual glance around the small abode revealed that she was not at home. He proceeded to Lucky's bedroom as his brother had instructed and placed the backpack upright in the far corner of the room. It was a small and windowless space, largely filled by a thin, brown mattress, barely big enough for two people to sleep on. In one corner, a shrine similar to, but smaller than, the one in the main room of the house spewed out thick curls of grey smoke from an incense burner, and in another, mounds of clothes tumbled forth from a poorly constructed wooden rack. It was not quite what Arun had envisaged when Lucky had invited him to share the room, but it was clean and homely, and the main thing, he reminded himself by recalling the concierge's words, was that they would all three be together.

Leaving his bags in Lucky's room, Arun ventured back outside to the front of the house and walked towards the adjoining shop, where he was sure he would find his sister. More akin to a shack, the rusted, corrugated walls fitted together to form a rectangular space not much larger than Lucky's bedroom, with a small door present on one side. There was a large hatch at the front through which customers could be served, but it was partially obscured by the wide variety of goods that dangled from long wires traversing the breadth of the opening. At first glance, the shop appeared to sell everything and nothing, and Arun found himself struggling to determine how they selected, and indeed sold, any stock at all.

Drawing closer, he softly called out Hanara's name, still unable to see her diminutive figure between the sachets of shampoo and boxes of cigarettes, but at the sound of his voice her worried face instantly appeared in the hatch, scanning the horizon for danger. She visibly relaxed when she caught sight of Arun, relieved to find that it was not a customer summoning her, and promptly disappeared again. When Arun reached the hatch itself, he could see that Hanara was seated on a small wooden stool, busily arranging a collection of savoury snacks into tall plastic jars. A burnt orange sari featuring an embroidered flower motif was draped elegantly across her shoulders and now that her facial expressions towards Arun had softened, when she stood to greet him he noticed for the first time just how striking she was. Her petite frame made her appear young, but there was a maturity evident in her demeanour and the lightness of her large, almond-shaped eyes was emphasised by the raven hair that lay dramatically about her face in thick, loose waves.

'Hi, Hanara.'

'Hello, Arun.'

'How are you today?'

'Very much the same as yesterday,' she quipped sarcastically, though with less malice than usual.

Arun remained unfazed by her response, knowing now that the latent hostility would eventually pass.

'I've left my stuff in Lucky's room, but I can unpack it later. I'm ready to help out now if you need it?'

Hanara stood, hands on her hips, pouting at him while she sized up his aptitude for assisting her.

'Okay. You come in here and help if someone comes to buy something. I am going to sort a few things in the house only,' she pronounced decisively.

She bent to gather a few of the plastic jars from the floor and swiftly exited the shop through the small door, gesturing for Arun to take her place on the stool. Obligingly, Arun stooped to avoid hitting his head and entered the tiny, cramped space. It might have been perfectly adequate for Hanara, but it was far too compact for his long limbs, and he struggled for a few minutes, trying to arrange both himself and the stool comfortably so that he could see out through the hatch without knocking anything over. Hanara looked on impatiently, tapping her foot on the floor and exaggeratedly sighing to express her irritation.

Once Arun appeared to be settled, she turned and started towards the house, but when he poked around and realised that none of the items in the shop bore price tags, he felt the panic begin to rise up in his chest.

'Hanara, wait,' he cried out when she had almost reached the door to the house.

'What is it?'

'How will I know what to charge people? There aren't any prices on anything.'

Hanara smiled at him, almost seeming to delight in his obvious distress.

'They will know, don't worry. They are almost always buying the same things.'

Her answer did little to reassure Arun, but the fact that his sister had smiled at him, for the second time in as many days, warmed him in a way that he could not put into words. She started towards the house once more, but then another thought occurred to Arun; a thought that could not be explained away so easily.

'Hanara, wait!'

'Hey Bhagwan, what is it now?' she answered irritably.

'What if I can't understand them? If they don't speak English, I mean?'

Hanara looked at him with a blank expression and shrugged her shoulders, leaving Arun unsure whether it was a suggestion that he simply muddle through, or an indication that she didn't care. Either way, she quickly disappeared into the house and Arun found himself alone in the shop, awaiting his first customer.

Fortunately, the morning passed by with ease, though Arun found himself surprised by the number of visitors to the shop. He hadn't realised that the village boasted so many inhabitants, but he was quickly learning that the deceptively small houses were often home to families of six or more people. Much to his relief, Hanara had been right about the majority of visitors knowing exactly what they wanted and how much to pay, but this seemed to become secondary to their concerns when they caught sight of him sitting cramped up inside the shop in her place. Confused gawping was quickly replaced by a string of questions, when each customer tried first to ascertain where Hanara was, then where Lucky was, and finally who he was. Introducing himself as their brother only incited further curiosity and it was rapidly becoming clear to Arun that no-one was aware of his existence. It was not a fact that he had previously considered and he wasn't sure how he felt about it, but he wondered why neither Hanara nor Lucky had mentioned him when he had been back in their lives for over two weeks.

At lunchtime, Hanara briefly reappeared to check on Arun and to deliver him a small plate of food. She had prepared a delicious puréed lentil dish, served with white rice and the perfectly circular, buttery flatbreads that Arun had come to love. After the busy morning he was famished and he devoured the tasty fare in a matter of minutes, in between answering Hanara's incessant questions about how business was going. Wiping his lips after the final mouthful, he was about to enquire about her morning and broach the subject of why nobody in the village seemed to know about his existence, when she deftly whisked the plate away and disappeared back into the house. The action left Arun feeling stunned and confused; it was as though Hanara was deliberately preventing herself from being too nice to him and it was clear that they still had some way to go before she would let her guard down completely.

The afternoon continued in much the same way that the morning had, but increasingly visitors seemed to be less and less surprised to find Arun sitting in Hanara's place, and perhaps even expectant of the fact. Most of the customers were women, though occasionally a young boy would stop by to help carry home one of the heavy gas canisters that powered the village's kitchens. The younger women spoke English and were eager to engage Arun in conversation, giggling shyly at his responses when they asked personal questions not dissimilar to those that he'd encountered on the train to Puri a few weeks before. The older women persisted with addressing him in what he now recognised to be Oriya, despite having their questions met with blank stares, and when all forms of verbal communication failed, goods were procured by pointing. It was a long day and manning the shop was harder work than Arun had anticipated, but the experience afforded him a much better understanding of Hanara's daily frustrations and by the end of it he was full of admiration for his sister. How she had single-handedly managed to run both the shop and the house simultaneously was nothing short of a miracle.

When the day began to fade away, Arun heard the familiar sound of a chugging motor approach. It stopped short of the shop, but a few moments later the sound of footsteps gave way to Lucky's bright face beaming down at him through the hatch.

'I would like to buy twelve of your very most juiciest mangoes, please,' he announced in the most sincere voice that he could muster.

'Very funny, Lucky. You know perfectly well that we don't sell mangoes here,' replied Arun, laughing at his brother's silliness.

'How was the day?'

'Not bad. Busy, but not bad.'

'Excellent. Did Hanara give you much trouble?' he continued, a serious look fleeting across his face.

'No, not at all. Actually, she even brought me lunch.'

'I am very happy to hear this,' beamed Lucky, deeply satisfied by the response. 'Shall we go inside? It is time for dinner only.'

Arun nodded and struggled to his feet, mindful not to knock his head on the low ceiling.

Together, he and Lucky took down the stock that dangled across the front of the shop and carefully arranged it inside of the small space. They closed the hatch and then the door, making sure that both were bolted securely shut, before starting across the yard towards the house. At the front door, they were greeted by the spicy scent of incense mixed with the aroma of burning oil and, as if on cue, when they assumed their usual places amongst the cushions Hanara appeared between them carrying dinner. Lucky dived straight in, clearly hungry from his first proper day of work in two weeks, but for the first time, Arun sat back and observed what had by now become their nightly ritual.

He wasn't sure how she did it, but Hanara always had their food ready at the exact moment that it was required. Lucky was always served first, followed by Arun, and Hanara only commenced eating once she was sure that her brothers had everything that they needed. An assortment of mixed vegetable dishes were served first, usually accompanied by a spicy soup of some kind, and they were always followed by the same rice, lentil purée and flatbread combination that Arun had enjoyed at lunch. Sometimes there were chutneys or pickles, but for the most part Arun avoided these because he found them too spicy. If either he or Lucky wanted anything further – more food, more water, or in Arun's case, more yoghurt to soothe the insides of his burning mouth – Hanara would instantly jump to her feet, interrupting her own meal to cater to their whims.

It was a strange arrangement, but one that appeared to satisfy them all and to keep the peace, as Arun had quickly learnt the day he had tried to get his own water from the kitchen and wound up being scolded by Hanara. The kitchen, with its tiny stove, hearth and collection of blackened pots and pans, was her space, and though she seemed happy to relinquish management of the shop to Arun, the kitchen was not to be disturbed.

'How was the day today, Hanara?' Lucky enquired, between mouthfuls.

'It wasn't so bad.'

'Better now that you have got Arun to work in the shop, isn't it?'

'Yes, I suppose so. It seems that our little brother is actually good for the business,' she smirked.

'Huh? What are you talking about now?' groaned Lucky, helping a sticky ball of rice past his hungry lips.

Arun regarded Hanara suspiciously, both intrigued and scared by her comment.

'There were a lot of people coming by today. First they were coming to buy things, then they were coming to see Arun only,' she answered playfully.

Lucky chuckled and nodded his understanding, but Arun was still confused.

'What do you mean they were coming to see me?'

'The village isn't very big, Arun. Everybody knows everybody, and everybody knows everybody's business. When someone new arrives, then everyone has to come and see it for themselves only. We don't normally sell so many things in one day,' Hanara explained, laughing at Arun's naïvety.

Embarrassed, Arun felt the blood rush to his face; he had thought that the shop was particularly busy given the size of the village. The unintended effects of the villagers' curiosity seemed to please Hanara and though Arun was a fan of anything that made her despise him less, her explanation left him even more bewildered as to why they had told no-one of his existence.

'If everybody knows everybody's business, then how come they didn't know about me already?' he asked, in the most casual tone that he could muster.

'When we first came here, Mata-ji told no-one about the past or about Rachna Hari. I think she wanted a fresh start and she didn't want too many questions,' replied Lucky, his mouth full of food.

'Okay... but now that I'm here, why haven't _you_ told them about me?'

' _I_ didn't want too many questions,' answered Hanara simply. 'Everybody is so nosy. Lucky doesn't have to deal with it all day, but always people are coming to the shop gossiping about each other. Sometimes it's nice to have something private only, just for a little while. After a time they find out anyway, even if I don't tell them.'

Hanara's words made Arun feel special and he proceeded to finish his meal without further questioning, reassured that Hanara was only trying to preserve the privacy of this significant event for their family.

After dinner, Lucky and Hanara disappeared into their respective bedrooms, leaving Arun alone to relax and digest his meal. When they reappeared, both were immaculately dressed in the finest traditional Indian clothes that Arun had seen them wear since his arrival. Hanara was radiant and feminine in a baby-pink sari, her long tresses lifted back from her face and twisted tightly into an elegant chignon, while Lucky stood by her side, looking equally impressive in a long, powder-blue tunic with matching trousers.

'You guys look amazing,' he exclaimed in surprise.

Hanara smiled shyly despite herself, but Lucky was much less modest, his face lighting up with his crooked smile while he deliberately struck various poses to show off his attire to full effect.

'What's the occasion?'

'No occasion, we are going to the mandir only. It has been a few weeks since we have been; usually we go almost every day,' Lucky explained.

'Oh, I guess I have to stay home then; no non-Hindus allowed, right?' he sulked.

'Oh no, that is in the Jagannath Mandir only. Anyone is welcome in our mandir, even non-Hindus. Do you want to come?' asked Lucky excitedly.

'I would really like that, if it's not too much trouble,' he answered, glancing cautiously at Hanara who was the most likely to object.

The truth was that Arun wanted to go wherever Hanara and Lucky went. For the first time since his mother had died, he felt like part of something again and he didn't want to be left out, not even for one evening. It felt good to know that he had done a decent day's work like his brother and sister, and though it was only small, the contribution had made him believe that he genuinely deserved his place at dinner that evening. Now that they were going to the mandir, he wanted to experience that too as a family, and to learn as much about his siblings and their lives as he could before he would be forced to leave.

A brief silence followed his admission, but eventually Hanara blinked twice and wobbled her head from side to side in the way that he had seen her do from time to time.

'You'd better give him some clothes then, Lucky. He can't go to the mandir dressed like that.'
**TWENTY-ONE**

****

LOCATED on the opposite side of the village, the mandir was a short, but significant, walk from the house, making a ride in Lucky's rickshaw more agreeable now that darkness had settled in. The night was humid and still, and when they stepped out of the house Arun struggled to breathe in the thick air, feeling the clothes that Lucky had kindly lent to him moisten and stick uncomfortably to his skin. In a move that appeared somewhat territorial, Hanara climbed into the front seat alongside Lucky, but Arun was simply glad to be accompanying his siblings for the evening and after folding his long limbs into the back seat, the trio were soon on their way.

They journeyed along in the dark, the only lighting provided by the glare of the headlights and the soft glow that emanated from the small houses that they occasionally passed. Hanara was silent, picking at the beading on her sari, whilst Lucky did his best to educate Arun on the principle ideologies of their religion and the practice of their faith. Arun was already familiar with much of it from their visits to the many temples in and around Puri, but he let Lucky complete his explanations all the same, not wanting to appear rude. He learned that every morning, Lucky and Hanara made a small offering to the shrine in the house, asking for good business in the shop, or for Lucky to be kept safe on the crazy roads of Puri. He learned that in the evenings, once the shop was closed and Lucky had returned safely, that they attended the mandir to thank God for answering their prayers, to study more about their faith, and to socialise with their friends. And he learned that the community was Lucky and Hanara's extended family; an unofficial legion of brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, all bound together in a delicate ecosystem, the heart of which was the mandir.

Approximately ten minutes later, Lucky eased the rickshaw off the dirt road and onto a concrete parking area that was already filled with a jumble of cars, mopeds and people. Arun stepped out, discreetly massaging his bottom, which was now sore from the bumpy ride, and glanced up at the village mandir. It was no Jagannath Mandir, but there was something distinctly more appealing and inherently inviting about the building as it rose up mightily from the darkness, flickering lights dancing across its façade to reveal flashes of its colourful design. It was easily the largest building in the village and its well-maintained brick and stone construction was an obvious testament to its standing in the community.

A short flight of polished concrete steps, virtually obscured by the many groups of worshippers huddled together conspiratorially along its length, led up to a square platform upon which the mandir itself had been built. Four pairs of columns capped by intricately carved archways delineated an open porch area, beyond which a yellow wall was punctuated by three brightly painted lavender doors, the centremost of which was open, marking the entrance. A large, mint-green dome topped by a colourful figure rose over the central hall and to each side, set back slightly from the main façade, two further striped dome structures supported by pillars could be seen.

Arun had barely finished taking in the mandir, when he felt all eyes in the parking area turn to him and his siblings. In a matter of seconds, they were surrounded by a swarm of people, all clearly thrilled that Lucky and Hanara had returned after such a prolonged absence, and equally intrigued by the presence of a new arrival. Whilst his brother and sister chatted amicably with the excitable crowd, answering their relentless barrage of questions, Arun was being pushed and shoved from every direction, as man after man jostled his neighbour, desperate to be the first to welcome him. Social convention usually dictated that Arun would be ignored by the people around him and, not accustomed to being the focus of such attention, he quickly found the situation overwhelming. Soon the noisy chatter from the crowd felt like it was closing in on him and, intuitively sensing his brother's anxiety, Lucky immediately took charge of the situation. He placed his arm protectively around Arun's shoulders and proudly set about making formal introductions.

Within the space of five minutes, Arun had shaken more hands, learnt, and forgotten, more names than he had in almost twenty years, but the buzz that surrounded his arrival, and the warmth and enthusiasm with which he was welcomed, made him feel somewhat like a celebrity returning to his home town. It was strange to think that he could so easily and readily be accepted into a place where he had spent such little time, when he had struggled to find similar acceptance at home for much of his life, but it all added to India's charm and allure. A few moments later he saw Hanara being whisked away by a group of giggling girls who were doing little to disguise the fact that they were talking about him and, before he could object, Lucky was steering him through the crowd towards the open door to the mandir.

Taking his lead from Lucky, under the arches of the porch, Arun kicked off his flip-flops in a mark of respect, and gently rang the large bell floating above his head to announce his arrival. When they entered the mandir, the crowd fell silent at once and in the stillness of such a holy place, the familiar aroma of burning incense filling his nostrils, Arun felt a deep sense of spirituality and calm unexpectedly wash over him. He had never been religious and though the Rutherfords had pledged a faint allegiance to the Church of England that saw them attending services at both Easter and Christmas, his mother had always maintained that this was more for the sake of keeping up appearances, than on account of any true faith.

Despite the tightly packed crowds, the mandir was cooler inside than Arun had anticipated it would be. The polished concrete floor was cold and inviting against his bare feet, and the large fans placed strategically around the main hall gently fanned his face and clothes, keeping his body at a comfortable temperature. There was a sense of peace and serenity that prevailed and it was difficult to imagine that this was the same crowd that had been causing such an excitable drone only a few minutes before. They moved as one, their momentum carrying Arun effortlessly through the dimly lit hall, leaving him free to absorb the full beauty of his surroundings.

The mandir was decorated with colourful murals depicting scenes of gods and goddesses that he recognised from Lucky's earlier descriptions in the rickshaw, and Arun found himself mesmerised by the enchanting stories that seemed to unfold dramatically across the walls. His attention was soon drawn away by a large shrine at the centre of the hall, which contained an elaborate and more opulent statue of the Elephant God, whom he was familiar with from Mata-ji's house. The statue was held on a plinth, lavishly adorned with rich fabrics, pretty garlands of flowers, fruits and other small offerings, and was only visible through the glass doors set into each side of the intricately carved white chamber that housed it.

Desperate to keep the crowd moving, Lucky guided Arun to the right of the shrine and tugged sharply at his elbow, encouraging him to sit down amongst the other men that had gathered there to pray. Still gazing at the statue in awe, Arun silently obeyed, folding his long legs beneath him until he was nestled snugly between Lucky and another man about his age, peering over the sea of heads towards the shrine. A balding, rotund man, dressed entirely in white robes appeared to be leading the evening's proceedings and, entranced, Arun watched while he carefully peeled back one of the doors to the shrine and started to chant a song-like prayer in a strange tongue.

The balding man made further offerings to the Elephant God, flicking pinches of first a red, and then a yellow powder over its head, before sprinkling uncooked grains of rice and small flowers around the base of the plinth. Every so often the balding man would pause in his chanting and the worshippers would call out something undecipherable in unison. The ritual fascinated Arun at first, but when he realised that it was simply being repeated over and over again, his interest began to wane. He looked to his left, trying to gauge from Lucky's face how much longer the prayers would continue, but his brother's head was bowed and his eyes were closed deep in worship.

Arun continued to look around the hall and quickly registered that the other men mirrored Lucky's bowed head and focus on prayer. Out of boredom, his eyes began to follow the tales depicted by the murals along the walls, his mind fashioning its own stories to pass the time. He had made it all the way to the opposite side of the hall before he caught sight of the community's women, clustered together in their brightly coloured saris like the feathers of some exotic, yet flightless, bird. He had been so busy focusing on the balding man, and then on the murals, that he hadn't realised that they were in the same room.

He watched them for a while, their heads bowed deep in prayer like their male counterparts, and it wasn't long before his eyes picked out the soft pink folds of his sister's sari. Lost in prayer, Hanara looked miniscule compared to the other women, the unusually calm and peaceful expression on her face revealing a rare glimpse of the softer side so often concealed beneath her intimidating exterior. He studied her intently, taking advantage of the opportunity to really see her for the first time, safe in the knowledge that it would not end with her scowling at him. She was beautiful in her own way and now that they were starting to get along with one another, her personality had lost some of its ugly edge. He tried to determine whether Hanara resembled their mother, but just when he began to picture Kalpana in his mind, he found himself immediately distracted by the young girl seated in front of his sister.

Dressed in a silky, mint-green sari, the young girl was a picture of perfection, the delicate features of her smooth, milky skin just peeking out from beneath a glossy veil of sepia-coloured hair. Arun gazed longingly at her, unable to tear his eyes away, and his heart began to thump ferociously in his chest; she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. He watched with interest while her soft pink lips silently mouthed the words to each prayer along with the balding man, speaking audibly only when the others did, to answer his calls. He was so absorbed in watching the young girl that he failed to notice the men around him getting to their feet, but a few moments later the sound of Lucky's voice dragged him from his reverie.

'What are you looking at, hey, Arun?'

'Who's that girl? The one sat in front of Hanara.'

'Oh, that is Chandni only. She is one of Hanara's very good friends. Come, we have to go and take prasad now.'

Arun struggled to his feet and followed Lucky to the long line of men queuing in front of the shrine. While his brother chatted away quietly with his friends, Arun found himself scanning the room, desperate to catch another glimpse of the beautiful Chandni, but the band of women had rapidly dispersed and neither Chandni nor Hanara were anywhere to be seen. The queue slowly advanced forward and soon Arun was standing before the shrine with the balding man stood to his right, seemingly poised to offer him something from a large stainless steel pot. Taking his cue from Lucky once more, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, unsure how long he ought to continue for. A few seconds later he felt the familiar tug of Lucky's hand at his elbow and when he looked up, his brother was beaming across at him, motioning with his head for Arun to approach the balding man.

'Rajubhai Joshi, this is our brother, Arun,' Lucky announced proudly.

'Welcome, Arun. It is lovely to meet with you.'

Up close the balding man had a softly spoken demeanour and his kind face, smooth and fair, with sparkling green eyes, instantly put Arun at ease.

'It's lovely to meet you too, sir,' he said, extending his hand politely.

Instead of shaking it, Rajubhai Joshi lifted a small, soft, sand-coloured lump of food from the stainless steel pot and deposited it into Arun's hand, but before Arun could ask for an explanation, Rajubhai Joshi had done the same to Lucky, and the waiting worshippers had shooed them both away from the shrine.

The brothers made their way back out into the moist night air, while Lucky attempted to explain the significance of the prasad in Arun's hand. In return for their offerings, the prasad was a gift containing blessings from the Elephant God and its consumption was certain to bring them all good fortune. Slightly dubious, but figuring that he was due a change in fortune, Arun tipped the soft lump into his mouth and was pleasantly surprised by the sweet, moreish taste as the cardamom-tinged mixture dissolved on his tongue. Just as he was licking the residue from his palm, Hanara rejoined them on the steps, the gaggle of girls still in tow, though much to Arun's delight, a very quiet Chandni was now buried amongst them.

'Hello girls,' said Lucky, flashing his most charming, crooked smile.

'Hi Lucky,' they chimed in unison, though each of them was too busy staring dreamily at Arun to pay him any further attention.

Arun blushed, unaccustomed to being the recipient of female attention, whilst the girls looked from Hanara to Lucky expectantly, eager for introductions to be made.

'This is our brother, Arun. He has come to visit all the way from England,' Hanara announced, an unexpected hint of pride evident in her voice.

This was enough of an opener for the girls, who instantly began falling over each other to introduce themselves, bombarding Arun with questions about England and how long he would be visiting for. Arun did his best to remember each of their names and to answer all of their questions, but his eyes kept wandering back to Chandni, who stood silently behind the other girls, nervously clutching a small bag in her hands. Up close, she was even more beautiful and Arun couldn't help but notice how her sari complimented the striking green colour of her eyes.

'All right girls, that's enough now. I know that you are _tired_ of fighting over me every day only and that my brother is _almost_ as good looking as me, but we are going home now, isn't it?' joked Lucky.

The girls groaned in harmony at Lucky's poor humour, but comprehending the underlying sentiment, they eased up on their questioning.

'Do you need a ride home?' Hanara asked, turning to Chandni.

'Yes, please. Only if it is not too much trouble,' she answered sweetly, glancing fleetingly at Arun before looking to Lucky expectantly.

Her silky voice was like music to Arun's ears; soft and melodious, it fitted perfectly with her petite and feminine form.

'It is never too much trouble for you,' Lucky answered brightly, inadvertently causing a smile to take possession of Arun's face.

They waved goodbye to the gaggle of girls gathered on the mandir steps and piled themselves into Lucky's rickshaw. Just as Arun had hoped, Hanara reclaimed her spot in the front seat, leaving him no option but to sit alongside Chandni in the back. Lucky and Hanara talked animatedly amongst themselves, clearly rejuvenated by their visit to the mandir and glad to be back in the swing of village life, whilst Arun struggled to find the words to make conversation with Chandni. He wasn't well practised at communicating with the opposite sex, but there was something about Chandni, something that prevented his mind from focusing for more than a few seconds and denied him the power of speech. He needed to say something, anything, to gain her attention, but it was difficult to think straight when the soft light from the village houses intermittently illuminated her face, reminding him just how beautiful she was. Thankfully, Chandni seemed blissfully unaware of his internal struggle, and with her hands folded neatly in her lap, she stared into the passing darkness, her sepia-coloured hair streaming out behind her from the speed of Lucky's driving.

'I'm Arun, by the way,' he managed eventually. It wasn't the most scintillating of openers, but he reasoned that it was a start. Chandni turned to face him and smiled a beguiling smile that made Arun's heart stop.

'Yes, Hanara told me. I'm Chandni.'

'Pleased to meet you,' he replied, tipping his head, afraid of what might happen if he actually extended his hand to touch Chandni.

'And you too,' she said, smiling sweetly again.

She looked up at Arun expectantly, her mesmerising green eyes barely visible between the long lashes that framed them. She seemed to be willing Arun to continue their conversation, but when a few seconds had passed and he had said nothing further, she turned her face back towards the passing darkness disappointedly.

It was a few minutes before Arun was able to find his voice again and, wary of appearing nosy, the words emerged shakily because of his underlying apprehension.

'Did you come to the mandir alone?'

'Oh no, I came with my Bapu-ji, but he is not quite finished there yet.'

The conversation was stunted and short-lived, but they were spared any prolonged awkwardness when Lucky pulled up outside a house that closely resembled his own, and Chandni hastily hopped out.

'Thank you for the ride, Lucky,' she smiled, standing on the roadside in the dimly lit glare of the headlights.

'It is my pleasure, always.'

'I'll see you both tomorrow?'

'Yes, of course. See you tomorrow,' Hanara answered, leaning across Lucky to wave goodbye to her friend.

'Nice to meet you, Arun,' Chandni added shyly over her shoulder, as she started towards the house.

'You too,' he croaked in response.

The three of them watched until Chandni was safely inside of her house and, when the door was firmly shut, Lucky began to chart the course towards home.

'How did you enjoy the mandir, Arun?' Hanara cried over the whir of the rickshaw's engine.

'It was great, really interesting,' he answered somewhat absent-mindedly, his brain still on the pretty girl that they had just left behind.

'A bit different to what you are probably used to at home, isn't it?'

'A little, yes, but in a good way.'

Hanara turned to smile at him, evidently pleased by his positive responses.

'Rajubhai Joshi was very impressed by you, I could tell,' she added proudly.

'So were Hanara's friends. I think you can have your pick of any wife now,' quipped Lucky, laughing good-naturedly.

Arun laughed too, recalling the unwarranted attention that he had received.

'I don't think that I will be getting married just yet, Lucky. Let's not get carried away.'

'Why not? You are exactly the right age now, isn't it?'

'Are you kidding me? I'm nineteen; that's far too young,' exclaimed Arun.

'I'm not kidding. Marriage always happens around this age in India. It is normal only.'

'If it's so normal, then why aren't you and Hanara married already?' teased Arun playfully.

Lucky and Hanara exchanged knowing glances and Hanara nodded at Lucky, silently authorising him to continue.

'Because Hanara and I have an agreement; we decided not to leave Mata-ji alone. Bapu-ji already left... and then you went with Dr Cathy... if we had gone too, then who would have looked after Mata-ji? Hanara refused many offers, because if she had married then she would have had to live with her husband's family only. And I didn't take a wife, because it is not fair to Hanara if I am married, but she is not, and it would have made more work in the house.'

'And now? Now that Mata-ji is gone?'

'Now I am too old, so I am taking care of Lucky,' answered Hanara simply.

'And I am taking care of Hanara,' concluded Lucky, shining his crooked smile at his sister.

Arun was humbled by Lucky and Hanara's dedication, not only to Mata-ji, but also to each other. Though their small family had experienced many challenges over the years, none had been strong enough to divide the two of them. They were a unit, a whole, bound together by unconditional love and support, and it made Arun proud to finally be a part of it.

A few minutes later, Lucky eased the rickshaw to a standstill outside of their house and when he killed the engine they were plunged into darkness. Blindly, the trio disembarked the vehicle, giggling as they bumped each other accidentally in the blackness of the night.

'So, how about it, Arun?' came Lucky's voice from somewhere up ahead.

'How about what?'

'Getting married. You have all these beautiful mandir girls to choose from... I think we should start calling _you_ Lucky!'

' _Both of you_ would be lucky to marry _any_ of those girls,' interrupted Hanara, finding Lucky's shoulder and shoving him playfully in a half-hearted attempt to defend her friends.

'Your friends are lovely, Hanara,' began Arun, trying hard to stifle a giggle because he didn't wish to offend his sister now that they were finally getting along, 'they just ask a lot of questions.'

'Women do that,' retorted Lucky, swerving to avoid another of Hanara's shoves.

'Not all of them, Lucky... your friend, Chandni, she was very quiet,' remarked Arun, surreptitiously trying to steer the conversation round to the only girl that he was interested in discussing.

'Oh, she is not quiet, just a little shy. She always takes some time to get used to people that she doesn't know,' replied Hanara dismissively.

'How long have you known her for?'

'Oh, just about her whole life. She's your age, I think.'

'How did you meet her?'

'Everybody knows Chandni. Rajubhai Joshi has been bringing her to the mandir practically every day since she was born,' answered Hanara, her voice trailing off as she disappeared into the house.

'Rajubhai Joshi?' queried Arun, stopping at the door to the house and turning to Lucky for an explanation.

'Yes, Arun,' he answered impatiently, shoving his brother forcefully into the house, 'Chandni is Rajubhai Joshi's daughter.'
**TWENTY-TWO**

****

THE days hurtled towards Rath Yatra and Arun felt himself becoming increasingly absorbed in village life, and less enthused by his impending departure. Though living was basic compared to the standards back home, working in the shop each day and being in the presence of Lucky and Hanara gave him the sense of belonging and purpose that he had craved for most of his life. They were creatures of habit and though the repetitive nature of their daily schedule could easily have led to monotony and boredom, Arun relished the predictable simplicity of their routine. Each morning he would rise with his siblings to sit in on their morning prayers; an activity that for him was less about religious beliefs and more about aligning himself with his family's customs. Together they would enjoy a light breakfast, and after Lucky departed for work, Arun walked the few paces to the shop to open up for the day, leaving Hanara to tend to the housework and fields.

Managing the shop was becoming an easier task as Arun began to experience mutual recognition from his customers, engaging them in light-hearted conversation whilst he pulled the items that he knew they had come for from the depths of the shack. On the rare occasions that the shop was quiet, he would close up early and surprise Hanara by trekking out into the fields to assist her with carrying the day's harvest back to the house. When Lucky returned at the end of each day, Arun helped him to unload the goods that he had bought in the city to replenish the shop's stock, and when the sun set on rural India, he joined his family once more to enjoy another of Hanara's tasty home-cooked meals. Once dinner was over, Arun changed into one of the old tunic ensembles that Lucky had gifted him, and the three of them would pile into the rickshaw to travel to the mandir.

The nightly visits to the mandir came to be the best part of Arun's day, for they epitomised all that he had come to love about India. From Rajubhai Joshi's melodic chanting and the smell of burning incense, to bowing his head to the Elephant God and accepting prasad for his devotions, a deep sense of spirituality prevailed within Arun whenever he set foot inside the temple. Sharing in a ritual that held such great importance for both his siblings and the wider community made him feel like a part of something much greater than he had ever experienced before. The villagers greeted him like an old friend, recognising him from both his visits to the mandir and from his work in the shop, and collectively they seemed to appreciate his efforts to ingratiate himself. He still didn't understand the words of the prayers, but he looked forward to the enforced silence that they brought, using the time for a deep introspective to process the new events, thoughts and feelings that he was experiencing. And still there was another unexpected perk to his daily visits; a perk that was rapidly evolving into the driving force behind his dedication to attendance.

Seeing Chandni was Arun's reward at the end of each day; a pint-sized figure, whose shining green eyes and sweet smile had captivated him so much that he found himself offering up a daily prayer for more time in India to feast on her beauty. He had been unable to shake the imprint of her smile from his mind since their first meeting, and attending the mandir each evening was the only way to guarantee a glimpse of her. Their exchanges were few and far between, and brief when they did occur, because Chandni always seemed to behave in a very restrained manner within the confines of the mandir. Her reserved demeanour should have caused her to be overshadowed by the self-aggrandising ramblings of Hanara's other friends, but the quiet mystery surrounding Chandni was the voice that called out to Arun most clearly.

Frequently tired of waiting for her father to finish each night, it was only on the occasions when they dropped Chandni home that Arun was able to enjoy any time alone with her. Hanara and Lucky engaged in their own conversation, finding it too difficult to be inclusive over the sound of the rickshaw's engine, and once they had started to get to know each other, Chandni had relaxed in Arun's company, just as Hanara had reassured him that she would. She was an intelligent young woman, though sometimes fearful of sharing her views and ideas about the world lest they should offend anyone, and Arun found himself hanging on her every word. The days were long, but they were deeply satisfying to Arun's soul and when he collapsed into bed each night beside Lucky, he was silently grateful for having found so much more than what he had come looking for.

The ritualistic pleasures upon which he had come to depend were rudely disrupted one evening, when Chandni was not present at the mandir. No-one else seemed to notice or even be concerned by her absence, but Arun felt an unexpectedly huge pang of disappointment when he scanned the crowds for her face to no avail. That night he was unable to sleep, wondering what might have kept her away, and the next day in the shop passed impossibly slowly while he waited, anxiously, to see whether she would return that evening. When Chandni had been absent for three consecutive days, Arun began to worry. From everything he knew, it was not like her, and though she wasn't a frequent customer, the fact that she had not visited the shop at all in the preceding week greatly unsettled him. Irrationally, he feared that something untoward might have happened to her, but he was mostly troubled by the prospect that he might not see her again before he had to return home.

Rath Yatra was approaching fast and although he had already decided to return to Puri at the next available opportunity, he didn't know when that might be. Not knowing for certain when he would next see Chandni's smiling face caused him physical pain in his chest: a dull, aching pain that only intensified each time he queued to accept prasad and was forced to look into Rajubhai Joshi's eyes that were so like his daughter's. Not wanting to arouse suspicion about his feelings, initially Arun resisted the temptation to ask his siblings about Chandni's whereabouts but, when he could stand the uncertainty no longer, he finally broached the subject while they were on their way home one evening.

'I haven't seen Chandni in a few days,' he remarked, in the most nonchalant voice that he could muster.

'Hmm?'

'I haven't seen Chandni in a few days,' he shouted again, over the noise of the rickshaw's engine.

'Oh, no, me neither,' Hanara replied, nonplussed.

'I hope that she's okay?' he tried again, tentatively.

'I think I heard someone saying that she is not feeling well. She's probably just staying at home so that she doesn't give the whole village whatever it is that she has. I'm sure she's fine,' Hanara concluded.

It was a relief to hear that Chandni was likely resting at home, but without any additional information about the extent of her illness, Arun was still no closer to knowing when she might resume her visits to the mandir. He lay awake in bed that night with Lucky fast asleep beside him, oblivious to his woes, and tried to figure out how he could get to see Chandni in the event that she didn't come back to the mandir before he left India.

It wasn't until the following day, whilst he served Mrs Satpathy in the shop, that the solution came to him. He resolved to pay Chandni a visit at home under the guise of checking that she was okay, though it was largely to fulfill his selfish desire to see her. It seemed the most logical course of action and he was sure that after several days alone in the house, whilst Rajubhai Joshi had continued with his daily duties at the mandir, she would be glad of the company and, perhaps, even pleased to see him. The only question that remained was when to visit? He could suggest it to Lucky and Hanara, but he was desperate for an opportunity to be alone with Chandni, and if he expressed too great an interest in her wellbeing, they might begin to suspect the feelings that he wasn't yet ready to share with them.

Arun struggled with the execution of his grand plan all day and it was only at the conclusion of dinner that evening that the right opportunity unexpectedly presented itself.

'Hey Arun, which suit do you want to borrow from the shop of Lucky today?'

'Actually, Lucky, I don't know if I should come to the mandir tonight. I'm not really feeling all that well,' he lied.

'Oh no, what is the matter?' cried Lucky, at once serious and concerned.

'Oh, I'm sure it's nothing major, don't worry. My stomach has just been hurting a lot today. I think it might have been something that I ate.'

'Hey! It's nothing that you ate! We have all eaten the same things and Lucky and I are fine, isn't it?' shrieked Hanara, mortally offended.

'I didn't mean it like that. You know that I love your food, it's just that my stomach's not used to all that spice.'

Hanara grumbled loudly, but seemed to accept his reasoning without further complaint.

'Are you sure you won't come? Everybody will be so very disappointed not to see you,' Lucky pleaded.

'I don't think that I can sit through the prayers, Lucky. I've been in and out of the bathroom all day and – '

'Okay, okay,' conceded Lucky, holding his hands up defensively to signal that he understood what Arun was hinting at, 'you just stay here and rest.'

Hanara and Lucky washed and changed their clothes as usual, and only once Hanara was satisfied that there was nothing more that she could do to make Arun comfortable did the pair set off for the mandir. When the chugging of the rickshaw became a faint and distant sound, Arun eased himself from the nook that he had created amongst the cushions and set about freshening himself up for his visit. He combed his hair and washed his face, but opted to remain in the same clothes, not wanting to appear to have tried too hard. Satisfied that he looked the part, he stepped out into the yard and closed the door to the house softly behind him.

The air was still and the streets were dusty and quiet, save for the nightly chorus of crickets emanating from the surrounding fields. Arun knew vaguely how to reach the street that Chandni lived on and he was certain that he would recognise her house when he saw it, but he struggled to retrace the journey in the darkness, with even less light than usual. He walked slowly, but with purpose, tiny beads of perspiration gathering around his temples, on account of both the humidity and his growing nerves. His stomach began to tie itself in knots and when he finally turned the corner onto Chandni's street, a flood of doubts filled his mind, causing him to question what he was about to do. He wrestled silently with his conscience, worried that Chandni might find it odd that he cared so much, but by the time her house came into view, he reasoned that it was too late to turn back.

He walked across the small yard and approached the house, where a soft halo of light surrounded the front door in the places that it didn't quite fit its frame. He knocked twice and stood back to wait, the butterflies in the pit of his stomach now forcefully beating their wings. After a few minutes, when there was no answer, he stepped forward and knocked again a little louder, hoping that Chandni hadn't gone to the mandir that evening after all. Again there was no response, but just when Arun was about to knock a third time, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and the door was suddenly thrown open to reveal Chandni's surprised face peering up at him. Arun's heart stopped instantly; she was just as beautiful as he remembered.
**TWENTY-THREE**

****

'HELLO Chandni.'

'Arun, I... hello. What are you doing here? Has something happened?'

'No, no, I um... I came to see if you were all right?'

Chandni looked at him, at once confused.

'I'm fine... why wouldn't I be?'

Arun instantly felt foolish for his undue concern; Chandni was clearly fine. He stood outside her house feeling exposed and all too aware that things were not playing out quite how he had imagined they would.

'Do you mind if I come in? I'm being bitten to death by mosquitoes out here,' he lied, desperate to gloss over his awkward arrival and to keep things on track.

Chandni's eyes widened in alarm at the suggestion and she looked around nervously unable to meet Arun's gaze. She seemed to be wrestling with something in her mind, searching for an excuse to deny his request and he felt momentarily wounded at the prospect that she might not want to see him. However, a few moments later, she stepped back and held the door open, motioning for him to enter the house.

Inside, it was not dissimilar to Mata-ji's house, though it extended much further back and there was a door beside the kitchen that opened onto the side of the building. Arun made himself comfortable in the small seating area, whilst Chandni dutifully fetched him a cup of water, ever the perfect host.

'Thanks,' he said, accepting the small cup gratefully and gulping down a few sips. The cool water was refreshing after his walk in the unbearably thick heat of the night and it provided lubrication for his throat, which kept drying out with nerves.

'Sorry to come over unannounced, it's just that you haven't been at the mandir for a few days. And I haven't seen you at the shop either... somebody told me that you were sick?'

'I'm not sick,' Chandni replied quickly, without any hesitation.

'Oh... well how come you haven't been coming to the mandir then?'

Chandni looked nervously at the floor, wringing her hands in her lap as she sat stiffly beside him, but she didn't answer the question.

'It's okay, you can tell me,' he insisted gently, setting down the cup so that he could give her his full attention.

'It's nothing, really, I'll be back at the mandir tomorrow,' she answered, gazing innocently up at him with the shining green eyes that he so adored.

Yet Arun wasn't convinced. For Chandni to miss prayers at the mandir there must be a significant reason and as she peered up at him, bathed in the soft glow of the lights in the house, he was overcome with a desire to help her, whatever the problem might be. He didn't know where such strong feelings had come from, especially when he barely knew Chandni, but he wanted to be her confidant and to support her, if she would let him.

'I won't tell anyone, I promise,' he offered reassuringly.

'Really, it's nothing, Arun.'

'You can trust me, Chandni.'

'I do trust you, Arun.'

'Then tell me what's wrong. I want to help.'

'You can't help,' said Chandni chuckling softly, a beautiful smile stealing across her face in the way that made Arun's heart skip a beat.

'I can try.'

'Can you change biology?'

'Huh?'

Chandni broke off her gaze and looked shyly at the floor again, unable to meet Arun's confused eyes when she answered.

'It is a certain time in the month... women are not allowed into the mandir during this time,' she whispered.

Arun's face flushed crimson with embarrassment and, rooted to the spot with mortification, he could do nothing but avert his gaze away from Chandni. How had he gotten so worked up, so obsessed with being her knight in shining armour and the solution to all her problems, that he hadn't considered that her absence could be down to something so simple?

'I... I... sorry,' he stammered, his throat drying up again, leaving him unsure what else to say in response to her admission.

'It's okay. It's nice to know that someone cared enough to check up on me,' she replied smiling sweetly, though she was equally embarrassed.

'Can I... can I get another drink of water please?' he asked, trying to distract them both by changing the subject.

Chandni reached over his lap to grab the cup and her proximity made Arun's whole body tingle. He watched her walk to the kitchen and fill his cup once more, mesmerised by the womanly curves that were accentuated by the tight-fitting lemon Punjabi suit that she wore. Returning, she set the cup down in front of him and settled herself back against the cushions, leaving Arun battling a growing urge to reach forward and kiss her pretty pink lips. She was so feminine, so innocent and sweet, and so unlike any other girl that he had ever met, but it wasn't until that exact moment that he realised just how much he had missed seeing her beautiful face.

'So, how come you are not at the mandir tonight?' queried Chandni, playfully.

'I told you, I wanted to make sure that you were all right,' he answered, feeling his cheeks flame once more.

'So Lucky dropped you off on the way?'

'No, not exactly...'

'Not exactly?'

'I walked.'

'You walked? Why didn't Lucky drop you?'

'Because, I sort of told him that I wasn't feeling well and that I wanted to stay at home,' Arun admitted shyly.

The words brought another smile to Chandni's face and Arun felt his heart soar; she _was_ pleased to see him. They continued to smile at each other, their eyes conducting a conversation for which no words were necessary, until, encouraged by the warmth in her expression, Arun found the confidence to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind since his arrival at the house.

'Chandni?'

'Yes?'

'I know this might seem a little... strange, but I was wondering if you –'

'What's that noise?' she interrupted, abruptly jumping to her feet with a sheer look of panic on her face.

Arun listened for what had startled her, but he could hear nothing except the faint ticking over of an engine.

'It's just someone passing by. No need to panic.'

But no sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard first the sound of Lucky's voice, and then the sound of Rajubhai Joshi's, as they shouted at each other over the noise from the rickshaw.

'You have to leave,' Chandni whispered desperately, grasping Arun's hands and pulling him to his feet.

Arun didn't want Lucky to discover him there, but he couldn't understand why Chandni was so anxious.

'You don't have to worry about Lucky, it's your house; he'd expect you to be here,' he protested, laughing.

Unamused, Chandni clamped her soft hands over his mouth, instantly silencing him. Her face was stern and serious whilst she deftly swiped Arun's cup from the floor with one hand and, depositing it in the kitchen as she passed by, forced Arun out of the side door with the other.

'Lucky is nothing compared to what my Bapu-ji will do to us both if he finds you here,' she whispered.

Arun was about to respond with a quick quip, but he had just enough time to glimpse Rajubhai Joshi and Lucky when they burst animatedly through the front door, before Chandni had forced the side door shut, leaving him out in the heat of the night once more.

His clothes instantly dampened with sweat, clinging to him like a second skin, but as he strained to hear the muffled sound of Lucky and Rajubhai Joshi's conversation, a different kind of heat began to overwhelm him. It was a heat that originated deep inside of him; a fire, a passion and an insatiable desire for Chandni. His heart thumped furiously in his chest from the exhilaration of almost being caught, but he had seen her and she was beautiful, and now he knew that he wanted more. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the place where she had been, daydreaming while he replayed their conversation in his mind. She had been so shy, so sweet, so humbled by his visit that he was smiling goofily to himself, knowing that there was no-one around to see him in the darkness.

His reverie was soon interrupted by the sound of Lucky's rickshaw engine sputtering to life once more. He crept along the wall to peer round at the front of the house just in time to see Lucky disappear into the night, and the realisation that he wouldn't reach home before his brother promptly brought Arun back to reality. He started to run, faster than he ever had before, the sticky heat causing him to sweat so much that his clothes became drenched in the salty, smelly liquid. He pounded the dirt road, focused only on getting home as quickly as possible and on concocting a plausible explanation as to why he had left.

When he reached his front door, sticky and breathless from his exertions, he was surprised to find the house still shrouded in darkness and none of the internal lamps lit. Lucky's rickshaw was not parked outside and for a split second, Arun breathed a sigh of relief, believing that he had gotten away with his secret jaunt. He pushed the door open and when his eyes had adjusted to the blackness of the house, they were instantly drawn to the outline of the figure that lay sobbing in a crumpled heap on the cushions. He felt along the wall until he found the light switch and on illuminating the room, he was shocked by what he found.

'Hanara?'

'Arun!' she cried out, sniffling loudly when she lifted her head from her arms.

Her face was damp and tear-stained, her eyes puffy, darkened by the smudges of kohl that now streaked across them. She wrestled with the folds of her sari and, after struggling to her feet, in two quick paces she was by Arun's side, flinging her arms around his waist and pulling him towards her in a tight embrace. She buried her face in his chest and squeezed him tighter, sobbing harder and harder, until her tears had intermingled with his sweat and he could no longer tell which was causing his T-shirt to stick to him. Reaching around her small frame, Arun encircled his sister in his arms, trying to calm her as she shook from the force of her sobs.

'Hanara, what's the matter? What's happened?'

He swallowed anxiously, his mind immediately turning to thoughts of Lucky, wondering why he was not yet home and how Hanara herself had got there. Hanara pulled away from Arun's chest and looked up at him through tear-filled hazel eyes.

'It... was... I... was...' she stuttered between sobs.

'Is it Lucky? Where is he?'

'I thought that... you were... gone... leaving us... without... saying... goodbye.'

Arun felt relief wash over him.

'Oh Hanara, no,' he said soothingly, 'I would never leave without saying goodbye. How could you think that?'

'I... came back... to check on you... and you... are... gone. I didn't know what... what to think,' she blubbered.

The thought of secretly leaving had never entered Arun's mind, in fact he was trying to find an excuse to stay longer, but he still felt a tremendous pang of guilt for causing his sister so much distress. He stroked Hanara's hair apologetically until her sobs subsided, and eventually she released him from her grip, drawing the backs of her hands across her face to wipe away the tears.

'I'm sorry, Hanara. I didn't mean to worry you.'

'Where were you?' she sniffed loudly, regaining her composure at last.

She peered up at him expectantly, but Arun stood mute, undecided as to the answer that he should give. If he told her the truth, would she be mad at him for lying and sneaking off, or would she understand? It was difficult to discern from the look on Hanara's face, but Arun reasoned that she was likely to be so relieved that he hadn't run off, that any explanation would be preferable and acceptable at that particular moment. He had already lied once that day and been caught out; was it really worth perpetuating the lie further? He knew how much Lucky and Hanara valued truthfulness and he didn't want to disappoint them. Besides, little lies had already done so much to destroy their small family.

'I went for a walk... to see someone,' he started, sitting down amongst the cushions and unsuccessfully trying to read Hanara's curious facial expression.

'Who?'

'Chandni.'

'Chandni? Why?'

'To see if she was okay. You know, because you said she's been sick.'

'Oh,' said Hanara, looking utterly stunned while she contemplated Arun's admission, 'but if you were not feeling well, then why were you going to see another person who is also sick? It's not good to share all the germs.'

'I'm not sick,' Arun smiled, chuckling at her naïvety.

'I don't understand.'

'I pretended to be sick, so that I could stay home from the mandir and go and see her. I'm sorry that I lied.'

'I still don't understand,' she complained, her brow furrowing from the inability to make sense of Arun's explanation. 'If you wanted to go and see her only, why didn't you ask Lucky to take you?'

'Because... I wanted to see her... by myself.'

Hanara seemed so taken aback by this last admission that she finally sat down beside Arun on the cushions.

'Do you... do you _like_ Chandni?'

Arun nodded his head silently, feeling too exposed and embarrassed to speak.

'Really?' she breathed, staring at him in disbelief.

'Yes, really... why not?'

'Well, it's just that, and don't take this the wrong way, but when my other friends ask after you and try to get your attention, you never seem interested. I thought that maybe you preferred white girls only. You know, since you have come from London.'

Arun laughed out loud; here was another thought that had never entered his mind.

'It's not about colour, Hanara. Your other friends are... just a bit too full on for me, whereas Chandni... Chandni is different. She's quieter, but when you get to know her she's sweet and funny, and incredibly smart.'

'Who's sweet, and funny, and smart?' came Lucky's voice from the door.

They had been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn't heard his rickshaw pulling up outside.

'It appears that our little brother has taken a liking to a lady,' answered Hanara, grinning mischievously.

'Oh, really? And who is it, this lady?' Lucky queried, joining his siblings amongst the cushions scattered on the floor. He looked from his brother to his sister expectantly, desperate to be let in on the secret.

'It's Chandni,' replied Arun, feeling embarrassed all over again by the attention.

'Hey! My brother even has good taste,' cried Lucky, slapping him playfully on the back.

'But please, please, don't tell anyone,' Arun begged, suddenly recalling Hanara's words about the village being small and everyone knowing everyone else's business.

'Your secret is safe with me,' affirmed Lucky, holding his hands up and winking at Arun conspiratorially. 'I didn't know that when you were saying that you felt sick, that it was a love sickness only.'

'Very funny, Lucky.'

'I'm joking only; how are you feeling now? Better?'

Arun glanced at Hanara, unsure whether to keep up the charade now that she knew the real reason he had stayed behind for the evening.

'He's fine,' she answered, stealing a knowing sideways glance at her little brother. 'I made him some of Mata-ji's special drink when I came home.'

'Hey, are you okay?' cried Lucky, immediately concerned when he caught proper sight of Hanara's damp, kohl-stained face.

'I'm fine. I dropped a pan on my foot only when I was preparing the drink,' she lied convincingly.

'Ouch, you must be more careful next time... so, Arun,' Lucky continued, turning his attention back to his brother, 'shall I ask if Rajubhai Joshi will meet with you tomorrow?'

'Rajubhai Joshi? Why?'

'For Chandni, of course,' Lucky quipped, laughing uncontrollably at his own joke.

'Oh no, I don't want him to know,' protested Arun, instantly serious and distraught at the prospect alone.

'But how else is Chandni going to know of your feelings for her?'

'I don't know, but I'd at least like to tell her myself and see what she says first.'

Hanara and Lucky both began to laugh uncontrollably.

'What's so funny?'

'It doesn't matter what Chandni is saying,' answered Hanara, between fits of giggles.

'Why not?'

'Because everyone knows that the only way to an Indian girl's heart is through her father.'
**TWENTY-FOUR**

****

WHEN he awoke the next morning, something had changed inside of Arun. He didn't know whether it was his encounter with Chandni, or the fact that Hanara had been so distraught at the prospect of him leaving, but he felt the roots of a deep attachment to his birthplace tighten their grip on his heart. He couldn't envisage staying in Puri forever, but he could no longer imagine his days without seeing Lucky, Hanara and Chandni either. Life in the village was simple, uncomplicated and too monotonous to satisfy his long-term ambitions, yet it was only against this simplistic and uncomplicated backdrop that he had been able to understand and appreciate the things that really mattered in life.

The unconditional support and security of a loving family, the sense of self-worth from contributing to and being accepted into a community, and his love for Chandni, because he was certain that this is what it was, were all new to Arun. He had never experienced such strong feelings of attachment towards a place and its people, especially after such a short amount of time. He reasoned that it could only be the blinding love that Aunt Ruby had spoken of, that could make him want to devote himself to a life so unlike the one that he had always imagined he would lead. The feeling was delightfully strange, tempting him down a path of uncertainty, in which the only certainty was that he would continue to follow the path, because he had to.

He moved through his daily rituals like a ghost that day, his silhouette present in the shop, but his soul distant and detached while he contemplated the events unfolding in his life. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that when Chandni appeared in his line of vision, until she spoke he was convinced that she was a figment of his imagination.

'Hi,' she said shyly, peering up at him.

She looked radiant, the sun illuminating her face perfectly so that her green eyes sparkled in the light.

'Chandni, hi, how are you?' he asked, struggling clumsily to his feet and knocking over several items in the process.

'I'm well, thank you for asking... how are you?'

'I'm good... good.'

An awkward silence followed while they eyed each other nervously, unsure of what to say next.

'Yesterday was...' they both began in unison.

The comedy of their synchronised speech caused them both to giggle, instantly easing the tension in the air.

'Ladies first.'

'I just wanted to say thank you for coming to check on me yesterday. It was very kind of you... and I'm sorry that I pushed you out of the house. I hope you were not offended?'

Arun laughed out loud, remembering the panic with which Chandni had forced him through the side door.

'Not at all.'

'It's just that if my Bapu-ji had found you there, well he would have thought the worst and then we would both have been in a lot of trouble.'

'I understand. Good thing you're so well practised at working the escape route.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you must have had to push a lot of men through that door.'

Arun regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. Chandni instantly averted her gaze and he could only gape at her silently, horrified that his words were going to be interpreted in the wrong way.

'No man has ever visited me at the house before,' she murmured quietly, without lifting her head.

Arun continued to gawk at her, this time in surprise; it wasn't what she had said, but what she was alluding to that had stunned him. She was such a beautiful, dainty woman, that it was difficult to imagine that he could be the only one to have ever pursued her. Yet when he thought about it in more depth, he realised that he had never seen any men around Chandni. He had never seen any men approach her at the mandir and he was sure that if one had been fortunate enough to win her affections by now, that they wouldn't have been stupid enough to let her go.

'That can't be true. I would have thought that a beautiful girl like you would have men knocking at her door every day,' he tried, more flirtatiously than intended.

Chandni blushed, a rosy colour spreading across her fair cheeks, the result of being simultaneously flattered and embarrassed by the attention being lavished upon her.

'I wish that were so, but my Bapu-ji is a very... effective deterrent.'

'Rajubhai Joshi? Really? But he seemed very welcoming to me.'

'Oh, he is if you're interested in getting involved with the mandir, his _other_ baby,' she answered sarcastically.

'But?'

'But when it comes to me, he's very... particular... too particular. He scares people away, which is funny when you consider how desperate he is to have me married.'

Arun laughed loudly at Chandni's dry wit, but beneath the humour it was evident that the situation deeply troubled her.

'Men don't see me as Chandni; they see me as Rajubhai Joshi's daughter. Sometimes I just wish...'

'What? What do you wish?' he probed, feeling more and more enamoured by the second.

'No, it's really silly, never mind. Forget that I ever said anything.'

'I'm sure that it's not. Go on, you can tell me,' he pushed, desperate for her to open up further and share her innermost feelings with him.

Chandni hesitated and gazed deeply into Arun's almond-shaped hazel eyes, setting his stomach all a flutter.

'I just wish someone would be brave enough to take a chance; to forget about pleasing my Bapu-ji for one moment and to worry about getting to know me instead. Nobody ever wants to know what I want, what pleases me,' she finished, sighing.

Not enthused by Lucky and Hanara's suggestion that he approach Rajubhai Joshi the night before, Chandni's words were like music to Arun's ears.

'How do you know that someone doesn't want to know?' he challenged.

'Oh I know it. It's just not how things work around here; everybody knows and respects my Bapu-ji too much to do anything that might upset him.'

'What if... what if someone wasn't from around here?' he croaked, his voice betraying the confident nonchalance that he had wanted to portray.

Chandni flushed pink once more and, though she was silent, the adoring green eyes with which she was now looking at Arun gave him all the confidence that he needed to ask the question that he had been denied the opportunity to ask the night before.

'Chandni... would you like to go out together some time? Just the two of us?'

He held his breath tightly in his chest while he waited for an answer, the response seeming to take an eternity to emerge from her lips.

'Do you mean... like ... on a date?' she asked timidly, blinking up at him.

'Yes... on a date.'

'I'd like that very much,' she whispered.

Arun released the breath and his heart soared. Deep down he knew that Chandni would accept his proposition, but, ever the pragmatist, his head had not allowed him to believe it until he heard her say it out loud. She was a free spirit who wanted someone to get to know her, someone who wasn't afraid to challenge Rajubhai Joshi's rules, and whilst he had to admit that he was scared of what the old man might do if he found out, the chance to spend more time with Chandni was worth the risk.

'Great. Where should we go?'

Chandni was pensive for a minute.

'We'll have to go out of the village, we can't be seen alone together,' she concluded finally. 'If we stay around here someone will certainly see us and my Bapu-ji will know straight away.'

Arun's mind was immediately pulled back to the secluded spots that he and Lucky had visited when he first arrived in Puri; a few would make the perfect place for he and Chandni to be alone together.

'How about if we go into Puri? It's far enough away and the city is full of people; no-one would pay us any attention at all.'

'Puri would be perfect,' Chandni squealed, starting to get excited, 'but then it would have to be at the weekend. I don't think that I could get away for long enough to make the journey otherwise. How will we get there?'

'I can ask Lucky to take us in his rickshaw.'

Chandni blushed at the thought of more people knowing about their secret rendezvous.

'Are you sure Lucky won't mind taking us? I don't want to be a trouble to him.'

'I'm sure that Lucky would be more than happy to help out,' he answered, recalling the excitement with which his brother had discussed approaching Rajubhai Joshi the night before.

A grave look crossed Chandni's beautiful face and she glanced up at Arun, her eyes suddenly solemn and serious. The look caused Arun's body to stiffen, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end with apprehension.

'Arun, before we can go, I must tell Hanara what we are planning to do. I don't want her to think that I am meddling in her family.'

Arun breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, warmed by Chandni's thoughtfulness and sweet sincerity. She always seemed to put everybody else's feelings before her own, a sentiment that he was well acquainted with.

'That's okay. I don't think that she will be surprised to hear about it though.'

Chandni regarded him with suspicion, seemingly wondering how long he had been plotting to take her out for and exactly how many people he had told. His enthusiasm was endearing, but the more people that knew of their plans, the greater the chance of her father finding out about their exploits.

'Shall we try to go this weekend?' she asked hopefully, smiling again.

'Yes, this weekend would be per –, oh wait, no,' answered Arun, thinking out loud. 'I um... well I can't this weekend.'

'That's okay. We can always go to Puri the weekend afterwards,' Chandni responded brightly.

'We're going to Puri for Rath Yatra in a few days... and then I fly back to England after the festival. I won't be here the weekend after,' explained Arun sombrely.

'Oh,' mouthed Chandni, her face falling at once.

Arun's heart ached, knowing that in a single sentence he had made her beautiful smile disappear, but without hesitation, his immediate instinct was to fix the situation. He could stay for another week, another month; however long was necessary to restore the smile to Chandni's face. But then what would happen? No matter how many times he delayed it, one day he would have to leave and he started to wonder whether it was wrong to act upon the feelings that he held for Chandni after all. Was it wrong to raise her hopes of experiencing the romance that her father had always made impossible, only to take it away from her a week, or a month later?

His head told him that it was cruel, that it was self-serving and selfish, and that if he couldn't sustain such a romance, then he shouldn't initiate it; but he couldn't help himself. Whenever he saw Chandni, whenever he looked into her eyes, it made him want to make the impossible, possible, and with that all reason went out of the window. He didn't care that he would have to go back to England, nor did he care that they would have to hide from Rajubhai Joshi and the rest of the village; he just wanted to be with Chandni for however long he could, and if the time he had wasn't enough then he would simply have to find more.

'I guess I could push my flight back a bit?'

Chandni's face lit up and she smiled the smile that made Arun's head retreat back into its overly sensible box.

'Are you sure? I don't want to keep you from your responsibilities back home.'

'Positive,' he affirmed, the huge grin plastered across his face mirroring Chandni's own.

They stood facing each other, the warmth of the sun beating down on them almost in celebration of the act that they had just committed to, and Arun knew, without reservation, that he had made the right choice. He was happy, Chandni was happy, and Lucky and Hanara would be equally pleased when they found out that he planned to stay a little longer. They continued to beam at each other adoringly, whilst Arun collected the three packets of salted nuts that were the real purpose of Chandni's visit, and then he watched dreamily while she sauntered down the road, turning back intermittently to smile at him shyly.

When Chandni had disappeared completely from view, Arun settled himself back into the shop and lazily daydreamed of what was to come in the fading light. He had asked Chandni to spend time alone with him and she had said yes; it was a perfect end to the day. His heart was content and though his head made one final attempt to reason with him, reminding him that Arthur would be furious about a further extension to his stay, he dismissed the thought as quickly as it arrived, recalling Chandni's very pertinent words; it wasn't about what pleased his father, it was about what pleased him.
**TWENTY-FIVE**

****

ON the morning of Rath Yatra, Arun rose earlier than usual, too excited to continue sleeping. To his surprise, both Lucky and Hanara were already awake, preparing for the departure to Puri. Arun had arranged for them all to spend one night in the city at the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel; a gift of thanks for the kindness with which they had welcomed him into both their hearts and their home. He wanted to give them a chance to relax together without the stresses of the shop and house, or Lucky having to worry about navigating them home through the crowds when the procession ended. It had been a simple matter to change the room reservation for what should have been his final night before returning to England, and a night in the city would allow him access to a telephone in order to make the call to Arthur that he had deliberately been avoiding.

They travelled to the city in Lucky's rickshaw, chattering away and feeding off each other's excitement, until collectively their energy pulsed around them like a force field. The roads were buzzing too as devotees descended upon Puri from far and wide, and tourists lined the broad streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the great Jagannath. Arun couldn't remember the last time that he had seen so many people gathered in one place and the noise that they generated was deafening. Pilgrims shouted across to one another, beating tambourines and drums in time to the rhythmic cries of the street sellers, rickshaw drivers touted competitively for business, and it wasn't long before the familiar domes of the mandir came into view in the distance.

When they were no longer really advancing through the thick crowds, Lucky pulled the rickshaw to one side and squeezed it between several other haphazardly parked vehicles beneath a small tree.

'Here we are,' he announced enthusiastically.

'I can't believe how many people there are,' said Arun, dismounting and immediately running his hands through his hair to calm the bouffant that had formed on account of Lucky's erratic driving. His hair was starting to get long and unkempt again, and though the hairs on the back of his neck routinely dampened with sweat from the heat that they trapped, the hairstyle made him resemble Lucky more closely, a fact which made Arun feel more like one of the family.

Collecting their small overnight bags from within the rickshaw, the trio linked arms and joined the throng of worshippers and voyeurs, pushing through the crowds to find a good spot from which to watch the procession. Arun became lost in his surroundings, mesmerised by the myriad sights and sounds of the organised chaos that typified India, and it was all that he could do to keep from being separated from his siblings as they were shunted along by the growing crowd. Eventually, they managed to settle into a slightly elevated spot set back from the Bada Danda, giving them a perfect view of the grand avenue along which the three deities would be paraded.

Three lavishly decorated wooden chariots, each resembling a small temple structure, lined the eastern entrance to the mandir and spanned the full width of the road. The constructions were an impressive sight at over forty feet high, their domed, striped canopies emblazoned with crests, and topped by giant spindles and flags that fluttered romantically in the breeze. Each canopy swooped down dramatically, stopping just short of a stepped wooden base, to reveal porticos draped in low-hanging, orange valances. The wooden bases created a platform around each portico and were almost entirely ringed by low fences swathed in flowers. Complicated cage-like structures extended from the platform down to the ground and protectively encased the brightly painted wheels that supported each chariot. The sides of each structure were decorated with small golden shrines, bedecked in garlands of freshly picked marigolds, and three wide wooden ramps rose up to meet the front of each chariot, providing access to the raised platforms.

A wall of blue-uniformed officials held back the restless crowd, who were jostling each other forcefully, craning their necks to secure a glimpse of the majestic chariots. The crowd extended as far as the eye could see and, much to Arun's surprise, it was peppered with a mix of devotees, both young and old, all waiting impatiently in the scorching heat. With no space left unfilled, he struggled to see how the crowds could ever be sufficiently displaced to allow the chariots to proceed, unobstructed, down the Bada Danda, but Lucky was quick to offer a sombre account of pilgrims being crushed and killed each year, whilst trying to pull or touch the passing chariots. It was a sobering thought, and in an uncharacteristic move, whilst exuberant cries carried on the wind over the drone of religious song that rang out from the loudspeakers stationed around the mandir, Arun offered up a silent prayer that no-one would be hurt this year.

His prayers were interrupted by a sudden surge in noise from the crowd and by Lucky tugging insistently at his elbow, pointing towards the mandir like an excited child the night before Christmas. Arun followed the line cast by his brother's finger to the main entrance, where the deities were finally beginning to emerge. The noise from the crowd continued to escalate, accompanied by the eclectic sounds of instruments being struck, blown or beaten, until even Arun was unable to escape the sense of euphoria that had gripped the crowd below. In the crush of devotees it was difficult to see clearly, as first the celestial wheel, then Balabhadra, Subhadra and finally Jagannath were carried out of the mandir. When the elaborate wraps and floral decorations that surrounded them were stripped away, the dark wooden statues were much smaller than Arun had envisaged that they would be. Yet with each statue requiring over fifteen men to carry it from the mandir to its waiting chariot, it was evident that the gods were deceptively heavy.

The volume of the crowd surged once again until a steady chant formed the deafening backdrop against which the deities were to be carried from the mandir in a seductive, drunk-like dance. Several hours passed by as the celestial wheel was placed beneath the red and black striped canopy of the central chariot, followed by the transport of Balabhadra to the chariot closest to Arun, which featured a red and blue canopy. Subhadra appeared to move faster than her brother, with the devotees almost rushing through the procession to settle her into the central chariot, then last came the great Jagannath in the most regal procession of all. Largely obscured from view by the many hands that gripped him, Jagannath was proudly carried to his red and yellow canopied chariot amidst a flurry of dancers performing to the synchronised beats of drums and gongs, whilst the crowd repeatedly chanted the names of the gods and jumped around ecstatically.

Shortly after the deities were in position, a smaller procession began to make its way up the Bada Danda, dragging Arun's eyes away from the spectacle of the chariots. A large caparisoned elephant lumbered up the wide road and behind it several men carried an elegant, silver-coloured palanquin, though Arun was unable to make out who, or what, was inside from such a great height. On arriving at the mandir a young man, dressed entirely in white, emerged from within the palanquin and set about performing a series of rituals. Climbing each of the chariots in turn, he knelt or bowed in prayer to the seated deity, before sweeping the surrounding platform with a golden broom and sprinkling colourful flowers and holy water across its surface. When he had completed the ritual on the final chariot, the young man departed and the crowds were whipped up into a frenzy once more when the chariots were primed for the climax of the day's festivities: the pulling of the chariots to the Gundicha Mandir.

Brown, black and white wooden horses were affixed to the three chariots, along with thick ropes a few hundred feet in length. This alone took over an hour to complete and though Arun's legs were beginning to ache from standing for so long, and his stomach ached from not having eaten all day, he remained rooted to the spot, not wanting to miss a moment of the celebrations. His patience was duly rewarded when the pulling of the chariots finally commenced. Balabhadra's chariot was first, followed by Subhadra's, but it was during the grand finale, when Jagannath's chariot began its slow journey along the Bada Danda, that Arun felt a wave of elation wash over him, as he shared in the moment with the half-a-million people gathered around him. Initially the ropes were taken up by official-looking priests, but soon visiting pilgrims were diving into the street to assist, hurling themselves against the crush of the overexcited crowd for the opportunity to touch Jagannath's chariot, an act considered to be auspicious by devotees.

Those that hung back continued to chant devotional songs, strike their drums and tambourines, or trumpet loudly with unquestionable devotion. Small children lined the streets adding their own chatter and songs to the hubbub, and absorbing the electric ambience, Arun was glad that he had listened to Lucky and stayed to experience the festival. The colours, sounds, sights and smells were all things that he had come to know and love during his short time in India, and watching his brother and sister, both equally absorbed in the passing spectacle, he felt a sense of peace and satisfaction lift his spirits even higher.

Several hours later when the procession had passed some way down the Bada Danda, the light fading rapidly, the three siblings made their way back to street level, where the crowds had dispersed leaving only mountains of rubbish behind. Remarkably Lucky's rickshaw was still in the exact place that they had left it and it wasn't long before they had packed themselves into its tiny confines once more, bound for the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel. The journey passed quickly with Lucky quizzing Arun on what he had seen and what his favourite parts of the festival had been, but reliving the day over again made Arun realise that it was more significant to him than any other since his arrival. He had seen and done so much with Lucky during the earlier part of his visit, yet having Hanara present to witness the majestic elegance of Rath Yatra with them had somehow made the experience, and their family, more complete.

Before long they were being greeted by the familiar smile of the concierge and when he ordered his staff to carry their bags from the rickshaw into the hotel, Lucky and Hanara became giddy with excitement. Unaccustomed to being treated like such important guests, they snuck along behind Arun, whispering and gasping at the hotel's opulent interior, whilst being careful to stick closely to their brother, for fear that they might appear out of place and be asked to leave. Though Arun had spent two weeks at the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, it felt strange to be back in such luxurious surroundings, and finding himself missing the homely simplicity of Mata-ji's house, he wondered how he was going to adjust to life back in London when he was finally forced to return.

When they arrived at their room for the night, Arun watched Lucky and Hanara's reaction to the space and amenities with great amusement. Hanara marvelled at the size and spring of the bed, and the cleanliness of the sheets and towels, whilst Lucky became enamoured with the balcony and its breathtaking views of the large pool and sea. Both opened the doors to every cupboard, drawer, minibar and safe that they could find, curious to inspect the contents, and when they had finished gushing and gawping at their luxurious surrounds, Lucky excitedly announced that he was off to take a very long shower in the huge marble bathroom. Hanara settled herself onto the balcony to watch the sun descend into the sea and Arun took the opportunity to make the call that he had been dreading all day.

'Hello?'

'Arthur, hi, it's me, Arun.'

'Oh hello, how are you? Are you well? Is everything okay?' came Arthur's worried voice all at once.

'Yes, I'm fine. How are you?'

'Yes, not bad... not bad at all... looking forward to having you home finally.'

An awkward silence followed and Arun swallowed the lump in his throat, realising that the conversation wasn't going to be a straightforward one.

'How was that rash thing?' Arthur continued.

'It's Rath Yatra, Arthur.'

'That's the one; you knew what I meant. How was it?'

'It was great. A little long, but definitely an amazing festival to have watched. The chariots were enormous and there was singing, and dancing, and music. And so many people and pilgrims, all helping to pull the chariots along.'

'I see. And did you get to see this juggernaut thing that you stayed for?'

'Jagannath,' Arun corrected again with a sigh, 'and no, not really.'

'Well what was the point then?'

'I saw bits of him, but there were just so many people wrestling to carry him from the mandir to the chariot that it was difficult to see much. And we were quite high up.'

'Right then,' concluded Arthur disapprovingly.

Another brief silence followed, all obvious topics of conversation exhausted and Arun twirled the telephone cord nervously around his fingers, desperately searching for the right words to break the news that he was not yet ready to come home. He didn't know how to begin but, eventually, Arthur unknowingly forced his tongue.

'What time is your flight leaving tomorrow?'

'Um, it's supposed to be at six o'clock.'

'Supposed to be? Don't you think you ought to check? You don't want to miss it.'

'Well actually, Arthur, the thing is... I'm thinking of staying on a bit longer.'

There was silence at the other end of the phone, save for the sound of a single, heavy sigh, and Arun felt the tension reach through the receiver and strangle him with the cord.

'Meaning?' Arthur answered finally, a false calm evident in his voice.

'Meaning, I'd like to stay in India a little longer.'

'Why?' fired Arthur, accusingly.

'Because, I'm enjoying myself out here. I'm enjoying spending time with Hanara and Lucky, getting to know them better, and getting to learn about my culture, and –'

' _Your culture?_ ' Arthur interrupted, unable to disguise the contempt in his voice.

Arun ignored the jibe and continued, feeling strangely more empowered the more irate and irrational Arthur became.

'There is so much that I never knew about India; all the customs and traditions, they're so fascinating and so different to what I'm used to at home. I guess being here and being around my family has made me look at things differently. I just want to make the most of that while I can.'

'Your family? _Your family?_ Aaron, they are not _your family_ , you barely know them,' Arthur cried bitterly, the jealousy evident in his angst.

'Yes they are, Arthur. They _are_ my family, and it's not my fault that I barely know them.'

'Fine. Then why can't you just come home, call them, write to them, and maybe visit once a year like normal people do with their relatives? Enough is enough, Aaron. You need to come home and start preparing for university – Oxford is no joke.'

'Which is precisely why I want to stay now, while I have the time. When I start at Oxford it's going to be so difficult for me to get back out here often.'

Another silence followed, during which the old man seemed to be searching for an alternative argument, but Arun remained mute, resolute in his decision to stay.

'Well, you can't move your flights again, you were only allowed one amendment. So how exactly do you propose to get yourself home, Einstein?'

'I'll have to buy a new flight, I guess.'

'I'm not paying for it,' spat Arthur petulantly.

'That's okay, I wasn't expecting you to. I have a little money left in my savings, enough to buy a new flight with a little bit to spare.'

'Fine.'

Arun listened patiently, waiting for Arthur to try his next line of attack, but when none came he realised triumphantly that not only had he stood his ground, he had won the battle.

'I've got to go now, Arthur. I'll let you know my plans as soon as I can.'

'Fine.'

'Bye. Oh, and say hi to Aunt Ruby for me,' he added, but Arthur had already rung off.

Arun replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed, his head hung low between his knees, whilst he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to unwind from the stress of the call. He was replaying the conversation in his mind when the sound of the balcony door closing broke his chain of thought. He spun around to see Hanara standing sheepishly in the corner of the room and realised, to his horror, that she had been there for some time. One look at her face was enough for him to know that she had overheard every word of his conversation, but there was a look of understanding and empathy in her eyes that instantly soothed him.

'Parents can be stubborn sometimes, isn't it?' she whispered with a smile.

'Yes, they can.'

'So can children,' she added.

'Do you think I'm being stubborn?'

'Of course you are being stubborn, but don't worry... it's a family trait.'
**TWENTY-SIX**

****

THE week following Rath Yatra passed by in much the same way that the weeks before had. Fresh from the excitement of staying at the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, Hanara and Lucky had resumed their daily rituals with new rigour and Arun had continued to earn his keep by looking after the shop. The people of the village were now well acquainted with him and normal levels of business had resumed, yet without the constant stream of curious customers, the days seemed to slip by painfully slowly while he counted down to his first proper meeting with Chandni. The quiet days afforded him hours to plot and scheme and daydream about how their date might unfold, and when he had exhausted all possibilities, his mind turned to thoughts of what their future might hold too.

Lucky had practically fallen over himself to help drive them into Puri and each evening he was full of ever more imaginative suggestions as to where Arun could take his date. After a few days, Arun decided not to go to Puri at all, settling instead on a visit to Chilika Lake, a stunning lagoon a few hours past Puri where a rare breed of dolphin could be spotted. Lucky insisted that it would impress Chandni and, wanting to surprise her, Arun decided to keep their true destination a secret. Hanara had played her part too, agreeing to provide their cover by closing the shop for the day and accompanying them as far as Puri, allowing Chandni to tell Rajubhai Joshi that the two of them planned to shop for new sari blouses. It was the perfect plan; they would be far enough away from the village to remain unseen and with Hanara gone too, nobody would suspect a thing.

By the time Saturday finally arrived, Arun could hardly contain himself, and as if on cue his eyes blinked awake shortly after five o'clock when the sun was beginning to rise. He nudged his brother gently to rouse him from sleep and though Lucky merely groaned loudly and rolled away from him, it was enough to know that he was awake too. They quickly dressed themselves and made their way to the main room of the house, where Hanara was already laying out breakfast on the floor. Arun had no idea how she managed it, but his sister was always one step ahead of them and he loved her all the more for it. They completed the morning prayers together and, after rushing through a light breakfast of masala dosa and chai, Hanara closed up the house and they made their way to Chandni's place.

Arun felt his nerves grow exponentially when they approached Chandni's house and he could no longer tell whether his palms were sweaty from the escalating morning heat or out of pure fear that Rajubhai Joshi would somehow rumble his carefully orchestrated plans. He waited quietly in the rickshaw with Lucky, whilst Hanara went to the door to call for Chandni in case her father had not yet left for the mandir, but a few moments later she appeared alone in the doorway, dressed in a beautiful canary-yellow Punjabi suit that instantly made Arun forget his worries.

'Good morning, Arun,' Chandni smiled sweetly, clambering into the rickshaw beside him.

'Hi, Chandni. You look... beautiful this morning.'

Chandni blushed, seemingly overwhelmed by the kind compliment and all too aware of Hanara and Lucky's presence.

'Thank you, Arun; that's very sweet of you to say. How are you?'

'I'm great thanks; really looking forward to today. How are you?'

'Oh, I'm okay; also looking forward to the day. I haven't been to Puri in a long time, it will be nice to see the city again.'

Lucky turned in his seat to exchange a conspiratorial look with Arun, but seeing the alarmed look on his brother's face, he quickly changed tact.

'Good morning to you, Miss Chandni.'

'Good morning, Lucky,' she smiled, reaching forward to gently pat his arm. 'Thank you so much for driving us today, it's very kind of you.'

'It is really no trouble at all; anything to help my dear brother,' he answered brightly, turning to start up the engine once more.

'Did your father suspect anything?' Arun asked anxiously, once he was sure that Lucky and Hanara were too engrossed in their own conversation to eavesdrop on his own.

'No, not at all. I just saw him only as he was leaving for the mandir. He even gave me some money for the sari blouses... to tell you the truth it made me feel quite guilty,' she answered, settling back against the seat and staring at the floor of the rickshaw regretfully.

Arun couldn't stand the thought of her feeling bad and, taking her hands in his own, he did his best to reassure her.

'Don't feel guilty, Chandni. We're not doing anything wrong, not really. We're just enjoying a day out together and what Rajubhai Joshi doesn't know won't hurt him. I promise that I'll get you home safely.'

'I know that you will,' she said, half-smiling and half-sighing, 'perhaps I'll buy him a gift whilst we're there, just something small. We'll have time to go to the market won't we?'

'Actually, Chandni, we're not going to Puri.'

'We're not? Why?'

'Well, we are, briefly, but I've thought of somewhere else that we can go. Somewhere that's a little bit more exciting,' he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Chandni looked at him quizzically, her eyebrows knotted together entirely perplexed by Arun's admission, and for a moment he thought that she might be angry with him for keeping their destination from her.

'Please don't be mad at me, Chandni. It was supposed to be a surprise.'

'I'm not mad, Arun, I'm... well, surprised. Nobody has ever given so much thought to anything for me like this before. It's... well, it's really very sweet.'

Relieved, they both shared a smile and though he could only see the backs of their heads, he was sure that Lucky and Hanara had overheard their exchange and were smiling too.

When they reached Puri, Hanara abandoned them, preferring to spend her day pottering about the city and trying on saris that she couldn't afford, in lieu of spying on Arun and Chandni with Lucky. They tried to persuade her to change her mind – Lucky because he desperately desired someone to gossip with and Arun because he was concerned what mischief Lucky might get into if left to his own devices for the day – but as she correctly pointed out, someone had to purchase the sari blouses for Chandni to show Rajubhai Joshi when she returned home. They arranged a spot at which to meet later in the day, and only after Chandni had described in great detail the exact sari blouse colour that she wanted, were they able to wave Hanara off into the depths of Puri's crowds.

Whilst Lucky concentrated on navigating his way to Chilika Lake, Arun and Chandni engaged in a playful and light-hearted conversation, Chandni gently mocking the ongoing touristic wonderment with which Arun was recounting his experience of Rath Yatra. Despite the jibes, it was a simple pleasure to behold Chandni laughing and smiling, and as the passing wind whipped her long hair out like a stream of coffee being poured from on high, Arun was taken by her beauty all over again. The Indian countryside rolled by in a blur of greens and browns, and they were so lost in their conversation that the two-hour journey seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Before they knew it, Lucky had pulled his rickshaw to a standstill and just beyond the small jetty they were all treated to the awe-inspiring blue beauty of Chilika Lake.

'Oh my,' exclaimed Chandni, suddenly breaking off the conversation that she and Arun had been enjoying.

'Welcome to Chilika Lake, Chandni,' he whispered, feeling suitably smug at her reaction.

'Arun, it's beautiful.'

He helped her down from the rickshaw and they stood in silence, Chandni still clutching Arun's forearm while she stared out across the still water in awe. They stayed that way for some time, Chandni watching the water and Arun watching Chandni, until the serenity of the moment was broken by the faint sound of a low grumble originating from Chandni's stomach.

'Oh, excuse me,' she gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth with an embarrassed giggle.

'Hungry?' asked Arun, grinning boyishly.

Chandni nodded her head and needing no further encouragement, Arun took her by the elbow and guided her a few paces past the jetty to a small ramshackle restaurant for an early lunch. Not wishing to obstruct the course of true love, Lucky hung back and, propping his feet up inside the rickshaw, promptly dozed off, tired from the early start and concentration during the long drive.

The pair dined on cheap, but tasty, fresh fish thali and, not having realised quite how hungry he was, Arun had devoured the contents of his plate within minutes of being seated. When Chandni had caught up, and only once their food had settled in their stomachs, he led her from the shack and down the beach, until they reached a painted green boat where a skinny, shirtless, dark-skinned man sat puffing heavily on a small pipe. Upon registering their presence, he immediately tossed the pipe aside and stood to attention, bowing as he motioned for them to step onto his boat. Arun helped lower Chandni down first and once she was comfortably seated on the central bench, tightly gripping its sides to steady herself as the boat rocked gently from side to side, he climbed down to take his place beside her. As the midday sun beat down ferociously on them, the boatman settled into the back of the small vessel and eased them out into the open water to explore the delights of Chilika Lake.

The lake was expansive and dotted with lush green islands that provided homes for thousands of migratory birds; birds which Chandni only began to enjoy once she'd adjusted to the rhythmic swaying of the boat as it cut a neat path through the water. She was reminiscent of a small child, excitedly pointing out and commenting on everything that they passed, and Arun took great pleasure in watching her, knowing that her smile was there because of him. By the time they spotted their first dolphins, only a few metres from the boat, Chandni was grinning like a Cheshire cat, looking repeatedly from the dolphins to Arun and back again, and squealing in delight. It was a beautiful, melodic sound and Arun smiled to himself, relishing the feeling of bringing someone else happiness, not because he had to, but because he had wanted to.

When they reached Rajahamsa Island, the last stop of the day, he was glad of the opportunity to disembark from the boat, feeling mildly nauseated from its ceaseless rocking. He and Chandni walked a little way up the beach and kicked their sandals off, settling onto the sand, where there was an uninterrupted view of the lake before them.

'Thank you for today, Arun. It has been such a wonderful surprise.'

'It was my pleasure, Miss Joshi. I'm glad that you have enjoyed yourself.'

'I have, so very much. I only wish I could do things like this more often,' Chandni continued, sighing.

'You can... I'd like to take you out again... if you'll let me?' he asked hopefully.

'Oh, that's not what I meant, but yes, of course, that would be lovely.'

A wide smile spread across Arun's face, his heart all a flutter at the prospect of a second date with the beautiful girl sat beside him. They watched the lake in silence for a while, before it occurred to him to enquire as to what she had meant by her words.

'What did you mean, Chandni?'

'Sorry?'

'You said that you wished you could do things like this more often. What did you mean by that?'

'Oh... this,' she answered, gesticulating to their surroundings, 'this is what I'd really like to do; learn about all these wonderful places in the world, the people, the history, the wildlife. And then I could go out and share my knowledge, so that visitors can have a really good experience in India too.'

'Kind of like a tour guide?'

'Yes, exactly like a tour guide. I just think that it would be so much fun, so great to be in the best places in the world all day long.'

'Why don't you do it then?'

'My Bapu-ji wouldn't allow it,' she murmured sadly.

'Why not? I think that you'd make a great tour guide,' he offered reassuringly.

'He'll think it too dangerous; spending all day with foreigners and their strange ways, and going out on boats... plus he doesn't want me to be too far away either.'

'Well that's just silly. Tourists are harmless; they'll be more fixated on enjoying the sights that they've come to see than on anything else. And there are lots of sights close to the village. What about Puri, and Konark? All the big mandirs?'

'I know, I know, but it's just the way that he is, and I don't like to upset him. Besides, to get a really good job and to be allowed to guide at the big mandirs, first you have to study a little at university, otherwise you don't stand a chance.'

'Why don't you take the course then?' he quipped, his feelings spurring him to push Chandni towards the attainment of her dreams.

'It's too expensive,' she mumbled uncomfortably.

'There must be some sort of scholarship or funding that you can apply for?' he tried, not prepared to give up the fight so easily.

'Well, there is... never mind, it's silly.'

'I'm sure it's not, go on.'

Chandni seemed to regard Arun hesitantly, then deciding that she could trust him with her innermost thoughts, she continued.

'There is a very famous old movie called _Chandni_ , which my Mata-ji named me after. It was her favourite, and mine too. We used to watch it together all the time when she was alive.'

'I don't think that I've heard of it,' said Arun, wondering where the story was heading.

'Oh I adored _Chandni_ when I was younger. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up... sometimes I even thought that I would be because we shared the same name.'

Arun smiled at Chandni's girly enthusiasm and felt himself fall in love with her a little more.

'In the movie she falls in love with a wonderful man and they become engaged, but then he has this terrible accident that paralyses him and his whole family blames her for it. So then she leaves her village and goes to work in Mumbai for a travel agency.'

'Right,' acknowledged Arun, still utterly mystified, but enjoying the story nonetheless.

'Anyway, there is a very famous travel company in India: Gopals. They have offices nearly everywhere, but they run a programme in Mumbai every year. You work in the office and they pay for your courses, and if you pass them then they will consider you for a tour guide job. I know it sounds silly, but if I did it then I could be just like Chandni, working in a travel agency in Mumbai.'

'It's not silly at all,' smiled Arun warmly, admiring Chandni's ambition. 'Why don't you go for it?'

'Because it's very competitive. I probably wouldn't even get on and besides, my Bapu-ji would never let me go to Mumbai alone.'

'How will you know if you don't at least try? Maybe if you got accepted, then Rajubhai Joshi would see how serious you are about it?'

'Oh, I doubt it. He's very traditional, that's why he wants me to stay at home. It's strange when you consider how educated and worldly he is; he has done so much studying and travelling as a pujari, you would think that he would want me to do the same thing. But my Mata-ji had to push him, just to let me continue schooling and learning English for so long; he didn't see how it would be useful for me. He doesn't think women need to work; that's why they have husbands. My Mata-ji was never allowed to work.'

'Well if he keeps scaring off potential suitors, then you will have a need,' replied Arun, laughing loudly.

Chandni giggled sweetly and playfully shoved him so that he lost his balance and toppled over into the sand. They laughed hard while Arun dusted the sand from his clothes, feigning offence at her aggression.

'In all seriousness,' he continued, once they had both recovered their breaths, 'I think that you should at least apply and see where it goes. What have you got to lose?'

'Oh, Arun, I wouldn't even know how to go about it. I bet there are forms and things to fill in. It's probably a very complicated process.'

'If I get the forms for you, do you promise to apply?'

Chandni blinked up at him, her green eyes filled with admiration and love.

'Okay... I promise.'

'Good,' answered Arun, feeling triumphant, 'now, are you going to tell me how this _Chandni_ movie ends?'

'Oh, well she meets another man in Mumbai and he falls in love with her too. They plan to marry, but then the Mumbai man has to go to Switzerland, where he ends up meeting her first love. The men become friends and so the first love is invited to the wedding, but when he arrives a few days before, he finds out that Chandni is the bride. They have to pretend not to know each other, so that the Mumbai man won't get suspicious and then they finally meet alone and Chandni tells him that she will still marry the Mumbai man.'

'So they marry and that's the end of the movie?'

'Oh, no. At the wedding, her first love falls down the stairs and Chandni is so worried about him that the Mumbai man realises that she is supposed to be with her first love, so he lets her go.'

'Sounds... interesting, if not a little... unrealistic,' Arun mused delicately, not wanting to completely berate her favourite movie.

'It's not unrealistic, all movies are like that; that's what makes them so wonderful. Chandni is one of the best! It's like a grand fairy tale, a beautiful love story with a little bit of everything, even though you know that they will be together by the end,' Chandni romanticised. 'Haven't you ever seen a Bollywood movie before?'

'You mean Hollywood, Chandni,' corrected Arun, laughing gently at her error.

'No, not Hollywood, I know what Hollywood is. _Bollywood_ , Indian cinema.'

'Oh,' sank Arun, feeling at once embarrassed, 'then no, I can't say that I have.'

Chandni's mouth flew open in astonishment.

'Then you have to watch one. Arun, there are so many good ones; you can't come to India without seeing a Bollywood movie!'

'Okay, then maybe you can accompany me to see one next week?' he asked, grinning.

Chandni blushed.

'I would really like that, Arun.'

'Excellent. Now, since you're the expert, what movie should we see?'

Chandni smiled up at him mischievously, her green eyes wide with delight.

' _Chandni_ , of course.'
**TWENTY-SEVEN**

****

AFTER conducting a brief search in the city on Arun's behalf, Lucky discovered that the movie was showing at the old Puri picture house the following weekend, and Chandni seemed confident that she could slip away on the Sunday without arousing any suspicion. They had both enjoyed their time together at Chilika Lake and Chandni had been suitably impressed by the extent of Arun's efforts to ensure that they had a memorable day out. His enthusiasm and words of support for her career aspirations had brought them closer together and there was an undeniable chemistry that now existed between them. Best of all, Chandni had returned home from the day bearing a selection of sari blouses that had met with Rajubhai Joshi's approval and, to everyone's great relief, he had not suspected their deception.

Desperate to keep it that way, Chandni purposely distanced herself from Arun when in public, becoming so quiet in his presence that her silence was easily mistaken for indifference towards her new beau. The coldness wounded him and, though he knew that it was an act, he couldn't help but feel that her behaviour betrayed the time that they had spent together and the relationship that was building between them. Seeing her at the mandir each evening became a torturous affair and with the week passing by even more slowly than the one before it had, Arun found himself clinging to the memory of their first date to get himself through it.

When Sunday eventually came, Arun breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that they would finally be able to enjoy a conversation that lasted longer than the journey from the mandir to Chandni's house. Disliking the guilt that arose from their more elaborate deception the previous week, Chandni had decided to tell her father a truth of sorts. She informed him that her favourite movie was showing in Puri and insisted that she be permitted to travel into the city by bus to see it. When Rajubhai Joshi asked who would be accompanying her, she explained that she wanted to go alone, because it was a tradition that she had shared with her late mother. Rajubhai Joshi refused on the grounds that it was not safe for a young woman to travel on the bus alone, making him much more at ease with Chandni's suggestion that she catch a ride with Lucky instead.

Still trying to compensate financially for the days that he had spent showing his brother around the city, Lucky was keen to set off at his usual early hour, leaving Arun and Chandni no choice but to journey to Puri in the back of the rickshaw whilst still half-asleep. He dropped them off close to the picture house and they leisurely wandered the city streets, enjoying the scintillating conversation that Arun had been craving all week. He felt relaxed and content in Chandni's company and there was a sincerity about her that gave him the confidence to share his innermost thoughts and fears. They talked about their lives and about losing their mothers, about clashing with their fathers and the importance of families, and with so much in common Arun felt as though he had known her for much longer than he really had.

Shortly before two o'clock, they made their way back through the crowded streets towards the picture house and purchased two seats a few rows from the back of the theatre, which Chandni insisted were the best in the house. They settled into their seats and when Arun glanced around the darkened theatre, he noticed with a certain detachment that it was full of elderly people. Nobody seemed to be paying the young couple any mind, but it did raise questions in his mind about what sort of film he had let himself in for. Catching sight of a sweet-looking elderly couple seated three rows from the front, Arun found himself involuntarily picturing he and Chandni in the distant future, but it wasn't long before a faintly spicy, musty smell invaded his nostrils and distracted him away. It was coming from the elderly gentleman seated to his left and though the smell was only mildly offensive, it made him recall Jez's rant about 'proper Indians from India' with amusement. He would have to remember to tell his friend just how untrue his assertions had been; here he was, on a Sunday afternoon, in a picture house in Puri with the most beautiful and graceful Indian that he'd ever met, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The movie started up in a flurry of song and dance, but Arun quickly realised to his horror that he had three unintelligible hours ahead of him.

'Chandni,' he hissed, 'it's not in English!'

'Of course not, it's in Hindi,' she whispered back, smiling at him in the darkness.

'How am I supposed to understand what's happening? There aren't even any subtitles.'

'You won't need them, just watch. I promise you will understand everything.'

Chandni was right. He wasn't sure if it was because she had already given him a brief synopsis the week before, or simply because the acting was so exaggerated, but by the end of the film Arun had his right arm curled around her shoulders and had been able to follow the whole epic story.

They exited the picture house hand in hand and the sun was beginning to set, leaving Arun feeling the same deep sense of contentment that had pervaded his body the week before.

'I love that movie so very much. Did you like it?' Chandni gushed.

'Surprisingly, it wasn't half bad. Much better than what I was expecting from your explanation last week.'

'See, I told you so! And it didn't even matter that there weren't any subtitles,' she responded smugly.

'You really do love it, don't you?'

'Oh yes. My favourite bit is when Rohit is showering her with rose petals from the helicopter; it's so romantic.'

Arun chuckled at her girly ideations and, squeezing her hand tighter, he suddenly had an idea.

'Shall we go to the beach and watch the sunset? We have at least another hour before Lucky will be back to collect us.'

'How very romantic,' she giggled softly, allowing herself to be led in the direction of the beach.

When they arrived, Arun collapsed onto the sand leaving Chandni to gently prop herself up against his side, her long sepia tresses tumbling freely across her cheeks. They watched the sky ignite itself in a magnificent blaze of reds and oranges and, as the sun set on the horizon, he breathed in the scent of her hair, losing himself in daydreams of staying in India with Chandni forever.

'Oh wait, I almost forgot,' he said sitting up abruptly and shrugging her off his shoulders.

Chandni frowned for the first time that day, not at all pleased at being uprooted from her comfortable position, but when Arun leant away from her to fish in the back pocket of his trousers she was instantly intrigued.

'This is for you,' he pronounced ceremoniously, returning to an upright position and presenting her with a wodge of papers.

Hesitantly, she took them from him and carefully peeled open the folds, unsure of what she was going to find.

'The application form. You got it! How?'

'It wasn't hard, I found it on the internet,' he replied, grinning with satisfaction.

'The internet? When? Where?'

'I came into the city with Lucky during the week. It took a little while to find, but when I found this I knew it was the agency that you were talking about. It sounds like a great programme.'

'Thank you,' she cried, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her head in the nape of his neck.

Arun felt Chandni's heart beat fast against his chest and the warmth of her breath on the back of his neck stirred something deep inside of him. She began to pull away slowly until her face was inches from Arun's, her hands still clasped firmly around his neck. She looked so beautiful and happy, her green eyes filled with gratitude, that he felt a strong urge to press his lips to hers; but something told him that he shouldn't. He held her gaze, silently communicating his own gratitude that she had risked her father's wrath not once, but twice, to be with him, and then the moment passed. Chandni released her grip around his neck and nestled back against his shoulder, avidly reading through the contents of the application form.

'Arun,' she began, when they were sitting in near darkness, 'what do you want to do?'

'Well I think we have to go in a moment, Lucky will be waiting for us back by the picture house.'

'No, silly, I meant what do you want to do in life? What do you want to be?'

There were a million answers that Arun could give, but he elected to go with the one that would best address the question that Chandni had actually intended to ask.

'I've always wanted to be a doctor.'

'Really? That's incredible. That's the very best thing that you can become. Why do you want to be a doctor?'

Arun opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without uttering a word. His reasons for wanting to become a doctor were rooted in his past and despite all that he had learned in recent weeks, those reasons had not changed. Having already shared with Chandni the sordid details surrounding his birth and adoption, he felt guilty admitting out loud what his true motivations were.

'What is it?' she pressed, peering worriedly into his bronzed face.

'It's because my mother was a doctor,' he sighed. 'She was always helping people, kids mainly. Growing up I guess I just saw how happy it made her to help people and I've always wanted to do the same. But that was before... you know.'

'I know,' said Chandni, patting his arm reassuringly.

'And knowing now that it was also one of the hopes that Mata-ji had for me when she gave me away... I guess I just believe that's what I'm destined to become.'

'Have you tried to get onto a course? I've heard it's very tough.'

'Actually I have been accepted onto a course already. It starts in October,' answered Arun without thinking.

Chandni was suddenly silent, finding herself with nothing to say and unable to disguise the sadness she felt at the thought of Arun leaving. The stark reality settled in beside them uncomfortably, like an unwelcome dinner guest, and as Arun wrestled with his own thoughts he was forced to look away from the unbearable melancholy in Chandni's eyes. It was impossible to imagine his life without her in it, even after such a short passage of time, but for so many reasons it was equally impossible for him to stay. Arthur was already cross that he'd extended his visit and it wouldn't be long before he ran out of money completely, but most of all, talking about his dream of becoming a doctor had reminded him just how badly he wanted it for himself.

Whilst it was true that he owed it to the memory of both of his mothers, becoming a doctor symbolised so much more for Arun. A doctor was someone that people respected, someone who people admired and above all someone who was needed, which was all that Arun had ever aspired to be. To become an important member of society in his own right, to become more than just the Rutherford's alien son and to be able to stand on his own two feet, were dreams that had pushed his desire to become a doctor for most of his life.

India had unexpectedly made so many of those things possible in a way that he could never have imagined growing up, but on its own it simply wasn't enough. Taking his place at Oxford and becoming a doctor was the final step in fulfilling a lifelong ambition and though Arun felt more at home in India than he had ever done anywhere else, he could not think of a way to reconcile the two. His heart sank at the realisation that he would have to return home eventually, but sitting in the silent darkness of the beach with Chandni beside him and the waves crashing onto the shore, he realised something else: he didn't really want to go.
**TWENTY-EIGHT**

****

DAYS turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, until Arun could no longer discern what day it was at all. The routines that had come to be so ingrained in his life had become something that he welcomed each morning like an old friend, and he cherished the time that he was able to spend with his family, and even the wider community. His relationship with Chandni had blossomed and, though the time that they shared alone was often brief, it was firmly his favourite part of the week. Lucky was back in Hanara's favour, having procured a significant sum for driving a visiting couple around Puri for two weeks, and Hanara herself was relaxed and content, the balance between work, play and worship finally restored. The only person unhappy with the arrangement was Arthur and though he never neglected to remind Arun of this fact during their fortnightly telephone calls, Arun had learnt to rise above the bitter comments. For the first time in his life everything seemed to be in its rightful place and he was loathe to disturb it any sooner than he had to, yet in the depths of Arun's mind remained the inescapable reality that he would soon be forced to leave India.

Every night whilst Lucky lay snoring beside him, he endured a complex debate between logic, his conscience and his heart. Far from extricating himself, he could reasonably be accused of rooting himself deeper and deeper into their lives, taking on additional responsibilities at home and investing more and more time with Chandni until he had bound himself to them so tightly that his departure would be tantamount to a death. Was it wrong to allow them to get used to having him around if it made them all happy? If being there made him happy, then why was he forcing himself to leave? And if becoming a doctor was all that he'd ever dreamed of, then why was he contemplating following any path that might prevent him from achieving it? Each battle was part of a war that no side could win and the ceasefire that held during the day was always the same; he would have to find a way to reconcile pursuing his medical career with keeping Hanara, Lucky and Chandni in his daily life and until he found that way, he would remain in purgatory.

It was mid-August and the monsoon rains had arrived, the long days marked by heavy downpours and occasional bouts of thunder and lightning. Arun had never experienced anything like it before and though the wet weather had forced them all to spend more time indoors than he would have liked, he remained grateful for the drop in temperature that the rains had brought. After a particularly long day of working in the shop, during which Arun had spent almost an hour and a half trying to decipher what Mrs Satpathy wanted to purchase, he closed up for the evening and trudged back through the terracotta sludge of the yard to the house. The strong aromas of chilli and cardamom greeted him when he entered and the living quarters were filled with a thick smoke that curled out from one of the pots bubbling away above the hearth.

'Hanara?' he cried out, unable to see anything through the haze.

'I'm here only, just sit; dinner is almost ready.'

'Aren't we waiting for Lucky?'

'I'm here already, isn't it?' came Lucky's voice as he emerged from the bedroom, his wet hair showering small droplets of water over his face and shoulders.

'Oh, hi. I didn't see your rickshaw outside.'

'It is there only, Arun. Too busy dreaming about Chandni to notice, isn't it?'

Arun chuckled and shoved his brother playfully as they took up their usual places amongst the cushions.

'Here,' instructed Lucky quietly, passing him a weighty plastic bag emblazoned with the name of a shop that he remembered Chandni dragging him into on their last visit to Puri.

'What's this?' he asked curiously, opening the bag.

'Shh,' warned Lucky, pressing one hand to Arun's lips and using the other to reseal the bag. 'It's not for you, it's for Raksha Bandar. Just keep it under your cushion for now... you'll see.'

Before Arun had time to protest, Hanara was placing dinner before them on the floor and, at the insistence of Lucky's urgent stare, he quickly shoved the bag behind the cushion against which he was leaning. Together they enjoyed a deliciously thick and spicy curry that to Arun's delight contained small pieces of chicken; a fact that surprised him since, without exception, all of the meals that Hanara cooked were vegetarian.

'Is there ... is there chicken in this?' he asked between mouthfuls.

'Well spotted, detective,' she answered with a smile.

'But we never have chicken?'

'Today is a special day only. I know that you miss it.'

Arun was both touched and confused, and when Hanara and Lucky exchanged knowing glances he grew increasingly suspicious that they were up to something. Unexpectedly, Arthur's warning that they would try to extort money from him flashed across his mind and he immediately hated himself for it.

When they had finished eating, Hanara cleared away their empty plates and returned carrying the aarti tray that was usually reserved for her morning prayers, leaving Arun bewildered and intrigued in equal measure. She settled down on her knees in front of Lucky and began to conduct the aarti on him as though he were the Elephant God, placing pinches of coloured powder in the centre of his forehead and sprinkling rice over his head. Arun watched with fascination while she rotated the tray around Lucky's face, before reaching into her pocket and removing a thin braid of red and gold threads that she proceeded to tie around Lucky's right wrist.

'I love you Lucky. Thank you for being such a good brother. I don't know what I would do without you,' she whispered sincerely.

'I love you too, Hanara. And you don't have to know, because I will always be here to protect you,' he smiled.

Hanara sat back on her heels expectantly and a beaming Lucky reached beneath his cushion to retrieve a bag identical to the one that he had given Arun. Hanara clapped her hands together gleefully and, accepting the bag from Lucky, wrestled it open to reveal a stunning midnight-blue sari with an intricately stitched gold border.

'Oh Lucky, I love it, thank you so much,' she gushed, throwing her arms around her brother's neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.

'You deserve it. I know it has been hard without Mata-ji; you are the one who has really kept us both going,' whispered Lucky into her hair, just loud enough for Arun to hear.

Arun instantly felt like he was intruding on a very intimate and personal moment, and though he was still baffled as to the significance of the exchange between his siblings, he couldn't tear his eyes away from their obvious display of love and appreciation. He felt close to Lucky and Hanara in the way that he had felt close to his mother, but his siblings had been on a journey together, a journey that had been tougher than his own in so many ways, and it was the strength of their unity that had seen them through.

Hanara released Lucky from her embrace and shimmied leftwards until she was facing Arun. There was no trace of malice when she gazed up at him meaningfully, her soft hazel eyes filled only with love. She repeated the same ritual that she had conducted on Lucky and this time produced a red and silver braid from her pocket to tie around Arun's wrist.

'Arun, I love you too,' she began, almost with tears in her eyes, 'thank you for coming back to us. I am so grateful to have both of my brothers in my life again; I don't know what I would do without you either.'

She sat back on her heels once more and looked at Arun expectantly, but he was so warmed by her unexpected words of kindness that his eyes shone with tears and it took a few moments before he was able to find his voice.

'Hanara, I... I love you too. I know that at first we had our differences... but I feel so privileged to know both you and Lucky... and I am truly humbled and thankful for the way in which you have welcomed me into your home. I... I wish I could stay longer, but I will always be here for you if you need me.'

Hanara smiled at him encouragingly, visibly moved by his choice of words.

'I'm afraid I don't have any –' he continued, but a sharp jab in the ribs from Lucky was all that was needed for him to join the dots together. 'This is for you,' he said, reaching behind his cushion to produce the bag that his brother had given him before dinner.

Hanara enthusiastically accepted it and reached inside, removing a crimson sari covered in black beading.

'Wow,' she gasped, lifting the folds to inspect the delicate handiwork, 'it's beautiful, Arun, thank you.'

She placed the sari on top of the one that Lucky had gifted her and reached forward to embrace Arun tightly, allowing him to snake his arms around her small waist. Arun had meant every word and with Lucky smiling and winking at him over Hanara's shoulder, he was never more grateful to know that he had a big brother looking out for him too, especially when he wasn't even aware that he needed one.

When the emotional exchanges were over, Lucky disappeared into his room and returned carrying a large wooden square and a small bag. He set the square down on the floor between them and Arun noted the intricate markings that seemed to indicate that the piece of wood was a board game of some sort. A large circle was painted in the centre and there was a hole in each of the four corners with various other lines and small circles arranged on the board in a symmetrical fashion.

'What is this?' asked Arun, intrigued.

'It's carrom,' answered Lucky brightly.

'It's a family tradition,' explained Hanara, 'we always play carrom on Raksha Bandar; that is, on this day. It was Mata-ji's favourite game only. She was the best at it so she was always making us play, just so that she could at least win something.'

'You mean she didn't tie a string and get a sari too?'

'It's called a rakhi, and no she didn't. Only sisters tie rakhis on their brothers, or sometimes also on their very close cousins and friends.'

'Didn't Mata-ji have any brothers or cousins?'

'No, she was an only child, that's why she always liked to play carrom on Raksha Bandar. Everyone was always busy tying their rakhis, so she would stay home and make first her parents, then Bapu-ji and then us play carrom, to keep her from being bored.'

'I see,' replied Arun, delighted to have picked up this new bit of information about Mata-ji. 'So we're not going to the mandir tonight?'

'Oh no, hardly anybody is going to the mandir tonight. Not even your beloved Chandni,' teased Lucky, noisily pouring a stream of red and black draught pieces onto the board from the bag that he had been carrying.

'But why not? Chandni doesn't have any brothers... or cousins or male friends for that matter,' replied Arun, a little sad that he would not get to see her that evening.

'Her cousin-brother always comes from Mumbai for Raksha Bandar. Hey, you should be careful while he is here; he is not very nice and he will not like you being close with Chandni.'

'What are you talking about, Lucky? Naresh is a sweetheart only,' Hanara swooned.

'Hmph,' exclaimed Lucky with a snort of disdain, 'it is only the girls who are falling for his smooth-talking, Mumbai medical college rubbish. He is always looking down at everybody, always thinking he is better than them. Just because I drive a rickshaw, it doesn't mean that –'

'What did you just say, Lucky?' interrupted Arun, his eyes suddenly wild with excitement.

'About Naresh? That he's always looking down on other people?'

'No, no, the bit before that, about the medical college. Did you say that it's in Mumbai?'

'Oh yes, they have many medical colleges in Mumbai. In Delhi also, actually, but Naresh thinks the one that he –'

'Lucky, you're a genius!' cried Arun, launching himself at his brother and flinging his arms around his neck with such vigour that he accidently kicked the draughts that Lucky had been carefully lining up, scattering them across the carrom board.

'I don't understand,' grumbled Lucky, almost falling backwards from the force with which his brother had struck him.

Arun released his brother and calmly sat back in his place. He took one of each of Lucky and Hanara's hands into his own and after taking a deep breath, squeezed them both tightly. He studied their confused faces while they waited anxiously for him to speak, but he was savouring the moment; savouring the moment of clarity that he had so desperately awaited, a moment that had finally come when he had least expected it to.

'Lucky, Hanara,' he began, nodding at each of them in turn, 'I'm going to apply to medical college in Mumbai.'
**TWENTY-NINE**

****

HANARA and Lucky were thrilled and, unsurprisingly, both supported Arun's decision to stay in India. Though Mumbai was not exactly around the corner from Puri, its proximity relative to London was enough to make regular visits an affordable possibility. Being a bigger, more modern city, there was also much less chance of Arun growing bored there whilst he completed his studies. It was so simple that Arun didn't know why the idea hadn't occurred to him sooner and, too excited to sleep, the three siblings stayed awake late into the night, plotting and scheming how best to move things forward. Their discussion wound up being largely theoretical, and with Lucky and Hanara both having left school at a young age, there was little that they could offer Arun in the way of advice. At the very least it seemed likely that he would have to delay his studies for another year in order to make the necessary applications and complete the mountains of paperwork that he was certain would accompany the process.

After sleeping soundly for the first night in a long time, the following day passed impossibly slowly and, unable to focus on anything except advancing his new plans, Arun found himself consistently making errors in the shop. There was so much to figure out and so much to be done, but he was confident that this was what he wanted, and an inner peace prevailed within him now that he was no longer agonising over the decision to return to London. He couldn't wait to tell Chandni of his plans either, knowing that it would bring to her face the shiny smile that he so adored, and the prospect of remaining near to her set his mind adrift with thoughts of their future.

By the time evening came and the trio were journeying to the mandir, Arun was entirely absorbed in his own thoughts, leaving Lucky and Hanara to bicker in the front seat over how best to assist their brother. Lucky rejected Hanara's repeated calls for him to speak with Naresh for assistance, reasoning that not only was involving Chandni's snooty cousin in their business a bad idea, but also that her judgement was impaired by an obvious attraction towards him. Arun slipped in and out of his daydream, occasionally catching snippets of their conversation, and, without having fully engaged in the discussion, determined that Naresh was a logical starting point for his enquiries. If nothing else, he figured that it couldn't hurt his cause and the opportunity to build connections with Chandni's family seemed like something he ought to embrace.

After the evening prayers were over, they were engaging in their usual chatter when Arun spied Chandni lingering behind Hanara's other friends, who after all this time persisted in shamelessly competing for his affections. He politely excused himself and, pushing past the giggling ladies, deftly slid past Chandni and grasped her hand, tugging her a few metres away from the crowd.

'Arun,' she muttered through gritted teeth, her beautiful green eyes wide with alarm. 'What are you doing? You know that you're not supposed to touch me in public.'

'Sorry,' he said, dropping her hand instantly, 'I just really needed to talk to you.'

'What's the matter? Has something happened?'

Her bright eyes widened even further with concern and Arun once again felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Instead, he took a deep breath and prepared to deliver his exciting news.

'Chandni, I've decided to stay in India.'

'What?'

'I'm going to apply to medical college in Mumbai.'

'Hey Bhagwan! Really?' she cried, a little louder than intended, unable to prevent a sweet smile from breaking across her face.

'Yes, really. I don't want to go back to England. Not yet anyway. I want to be near to Lucky and Hanara, and well... to you,' he answered, returning her smile.

'I can't believe –'

'Hey Chandni, is this guy bothering you?'

A short, slightly balding, but young man, with skin as fair as Chandni's and thick-rimmed glasses had appeared from nowhere and placed his arm protectively around Chandni's shoulders. Dressed smartly in western clothes, there was an air of superiority and self-importance about him as he sized Arun up, causing Arun to take an instant dislike to him.

'No, not at all. Naresh, this is Arun; Lucky and Hanara's brother,' she responded, her eyes silently communicating a look of warning to her beau. 'He was just telling me that he's going to be applying to medical college in Mumbai.'

'Oh, well you know I study at Topiwala,' he said gushing, 'where are you applying?'

'I, um, I haven't really decided where I will be applying yet,' Arun answered hesitantly.

Naresh regarded him curiously and Arun felt his insides freeze, certain that he'd said something wrong.

'Your accent; you're British?'

'I live in London, yes, but –'

'Oh well then you can't apply to Topiwala, they only admit Indian citizens.'

'Actually, I was –'

'In fact you can't apply to any of the good colleges; they're all state-run and they absolutely don't accept foreigners. You'll have to look at the private colleges.'

'Okay, thanks for the –'

'The private colleges are _very_ competitive though and there are only a few places for international students. You have to be really smart to get in.'

'That's okay, I –'

'And then even if you _did_ get in the fees are absolutely astronomical, especially for the foreigners, so you shouldn't really even _bother_ unless you have a lot of money, otherwise you'll only be disappointed,' finished Naresh smugly.

Arun's mouth was wide open in disbelief, unable to compute Naresh's obnoxious discourse, but Naresh seemed completely unaware of how his words had fallen and quickly turned to his cousin, ignoring Arun completely.

'Chandni, Rajukaka said to tell you to go home if you are tired. He is going to be a little while yet, but I'm going to stay and come back with him later.'

'Okay,' nodded Chandni, pink from embarrassment at her cousin's arrogance.

'Nice meeting you, Arjun,' he called over his shoulder, before skulking back towards Rajubhai Joshi and the group of men gathered around him.

'Sorry about that. Naresh is my cousin-brother... he doesn't mean any harm.'

'I'm sure he doesn't,' replied Arun dubiously, immediately recalling with greater understanding Lucky's dislike of Naresh.

'It's all very exciting,' she continued hopefully, trying to put Naresh to one side.

'Yes, it is. Do you think that he's right though? About me only being able to go to the private colleges?'

'I really have no idea, I'm afraid. But either way you are an Indian national; you were born here, remember?'

'That's true. I don't know if that qualifies me as a citizen though,' he concluded with a sigh, 'I guess I need to do a little more research.'

'It will all work out, Arun. Don't worry,' Chandni whispered softly, lightly grazing his arm with her hand.

'I know it will. Come on, let's get you home.'

Chandni dutifully followed Arun outside of the mandir to where Lucky and Hanara were already waving goodbye to their friends and a few moments later they had all climbed aboard the chugging rickshaw to commence the short journey home. Amongst friends and aware of his plans, Chandni chatted freely with Lucky and Hanara, the three of them delighted by Arun's decision to stay, but Arun found himself distracted and unable to dismiss Naresh's words from his head.

He hadn't realised that there would be so many rules and regulations, so many layers of complexity governing the simple right to study in India, and he had foolishly assumed that the costs would be lower than they were at home; wasn't that why all the big companies were shipping their operations out to India? He was well aware that Arthur was going to be livid when he informed him of his intentions, but he had rather hoped that the cheaper cost might soften the blow and make for a compelling argument. He sighed deeply, the chatter inside the rickshaw washing over him; it was all very well getting excited, but it was painfully clear that this was not going to be as simple as he had first thought and before he could make any more plans or promises, or even broach the subject with Arthur, he had a lot more investigating to do.

He decided to devote the next two days to the pursuit of information, travelling into Puri with Lucky each morning to gain access to the tools and resources that he needed. He worked meticulously throughout the days, flitting between the district library and a nearby internet café, detailing his findings and desperately trying to clarify their accuracy. The information that he happened upon seemed to be limited and often contradictory, and it greatly frustrated Arun that uncovering the basics alone was such an arduous task. With no alternative, however, he persevered and by the end of the second day he had, what he considered to be, a reasonable understanding of how the whole process would work.

Unfortunately, despite his arrogance, Naresh had been right and without Indian citizenship Arun was not eligible to apply to a public medical college. There were a number of notable private colleges in Mumbai and the annual fees were on a par with those at Oxford, but with lower living costs and courses only lasting four-and-a-half years, overall, study in India remained the cheaper option. Courses started in July and there were many companies and agencies that could help him to navigate the somewhat convoluted application process for a small fee, but all of these things paled into insignificance when compared to the biggest hurdle that he would need to overcome: the intake of foreign students to each institution was tiny, perhaps only five places at best, and competition was fierce.

Feeling somewhat dispirited, he discussed his findings with Lucky and Hanara over dinner that evening, pushing his food absent-mindedly around his plate. They both tried their best to pep him up, but the reality was that they were so in awe of everything that their brother had already experienced and accomplished, that neither could fully grasp the probability that Arun would not be accepted into medical college. Lucky promised to help however he could and Hanara vowed to pray for him each and every day until he secured a place. Though Arun was usually sceptical of such intangible approaches to real world challenges, he too found himself offering up a small prayer when they reached the mandir that evening, willing to attempt anything that might help his cause.

After the prayers were over, Arun noticed Chandni on the opposite side of the hall discreetly trying to garner his attention. She motioned towards the door with her eyes and quickly disappeared outside. Somewhat taken aback by her boldness, a few moments later he seized the opportunity to slip away from Lucky and Hanara, and joined her on the steps of the mandir.

'Hey,' he said, sitting down beside her.

She was a picture of perfection in a silky violet sari, the moonlight dancing mischievously in her eyes.

'Hi,' she replied, almost nonchalantly.

'What has gotten into you, Miss Joshi? Outside the mandir, alone, with a man; people will talk,' he mocked, stealing a cursory glance around the grounds to make sure that no-one had followed them outside.

'Arun, I got a place,' she gushed breathlessly, unable to hold it in any longer. 'I got a place on the travel programme in Mumbai!'

'That's brilliant! Congratulations!' he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her without thinking.

Chandni offered no resistance, allowing Arun to hold her tightly and to express his pride at her achievement. They stayed that way until the heat of the night rendered their embrace uncomfortable, but when Arun started to pull away he felt the same warm, feelings of longing that he had experienced on the beach begin to creep over him once more. He looked into Chandni's eyes, bright and shiny with hope, and he knew, unreservedly, that this was the right time. Cupping her face in his hands, he gently pressed his lips to hers and kissed her long and deep.

The electricity between them set his pulse racing on contact and a small moan of pleasure and surprise escaped Chandni's lips. She returned his gift, gingerly at first, but steadily growing more confident and firm, and when Arun finally prised his lips away, he left a broad smile behind on Chandni's flushed face. He grinned back at her inanely, causing them both to giggle, but quickly remembering where they were, Chandni shuffled along the steps to reinstate a safe distance between them.

'I'm really excited for you, Chandni. You're going to make a great tour guide one day.'

'Not if my Bapu-ji has anything to do with it. He's going to be so cross with me for going behind his back.'

'Talk to him, Chandni, he might surprise you. Anyone can see how much you want this; I'm sure that he will understand,' he said, reassuringly.

'What did your father say when you told him that you were staying in India?'

'I... I haven't told him yet.'

'Arun!'

'I'm going to tell him, eventually. I've been doing a bit of research and it's very difficult for someone like me to get a place. Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to start until next year and either way he's not going to like it, so I figured I should hold off on telling him until things are a little more... certain.'

'I think you need to take your own advice,' replied Chandni, matter-of-factly.

'What do you mean?'

'You want this as much as I want the travel programme, maybe even more. You are really smart and you have as good a chance as anybody at getting accepted, you just have to believe in yourself. Your father will understand if you take the time to explain it to him, he might even be able to help you.'

Arun looked into her eyes and smiled sarcastically, but he knew that she was right. Knowing too that the possibility of Chandni going to Mumbai was fast becoming a reality spurned him on further and now, more than ever, he was desperate to make the situation work in his favour.

'Okay, I will make you a deal. I will talk to my father tomorrow, if you'll talk to yours too. Deal?'

'It's a deal.'
**THIRTY**

****

THE night marked a return to insomnia for Arun, who tossed and turned, consumed by his anxieties over the impending conversation with Arthur. By the time the morning came, he resembled the walking dead and, exhausted from his restless night, the last thing that he felt like enduring was a confrontation. Despite Chandni's rousing pep talk, in the cold light of day he knew with near certainty that whatever arguments he put forth, however calm and rational he remained, Arthur was not going to be pleased or supportive of his decision to stay. The only unknown was what the extent of his displeasure would be and he had been acting so strangely towards Arun since Catherine's death that it had become difficult to predict. When she was alive, Arthur had never cared too much for bonding with his son, taking as little interest in his personal life and activities as Catherine would let him get away with. Yet now he seemed to want to know everything, to be involved in every decision and to control the outcome of every situation, and Arun didn't know how to handle him.

When he made the familiar journey into the city with Lucky, Arun was largely silent, lost in thought whilst his brother's banal chatter amounted to mere background noise along with the passing traffic. Lucky dropped him outside of the internet café that had become his second home over the previous few days and, after waving goodbye, Arun trudged inside, already weary from a conversation that hadn't yet begun. It was too early to call home, so Arun used the morning to continue with his medical college research, sending e-mails to various agencies that could help with the application process in a bid to distract himself from what lay ahead.

At midday, he made his way to one of the small wooden telephone booths at the back of the café and, securing the door so that his conversation could remain a private one, nervously dialled the fourteen digits that would connect him with Arthur. It was stiflingly hot inside the booth and while the telephone rang once, twice, and three times, he felt sweat begin to cascade down the sides of his face, his pulse quickening in apprehension.

'Hello?'

'Hi Arthur, it's me.'

'Aaron! How are you?'

'I'm good, thank you. How are you?'

'All's well at this end. Starting to make preparations for your return; I've just had the cleaners in.'

Arun's stomach lurched as he steeled himself for the conversation that he had been dreading all morning.

'About that, Arthur, I um... well I've decided to stay a little longer.'

'Is there anything special that you want? Anything that you've been missing?'

'Arthur, did you hear what I said?' he croaked, his palms beginning to sweat so much that he found it difficult to grip the receiver.

'I could ask Aunt Ruby how to make her shepherd's pie. I know it probably won't be as good as when she makes it herself, but I know how much you like it.'

'Arthur, stop, please, listen to me. I'm not coming home; I want to do my degree out here,' he said, somewhat more forcefully than intended.

There was silence at the other end of the line, save for the sound of noisy, heavy breathing, and after three long minutes Arthur had still not uttered a word.

'Arthur, are you still there?'

'What do you _mean_ you're not coming home?' he growled finally, in such a low and irritable voice that Arun quickly recognised his father was on the cusp of exploding.

'I... I want to stay in India.'

'Yes, I understood that part, Arun; why?' continued Arthur, impatiently.

'Because... my life here is... good. I'm happy... relaxed... and every single time I think about having to leave it feels all wrong. I think... I think this is where I belong, Arthur.'

'Nonsense, Aaron. England is where you belong, with me,' spat Arthur dismissively.

'Arthur, let's both be honest for a second,' he began boldly, deciding that there would be no better moment to address the elephant that had been in the room for the last nineteen years, 'you and I don't exactly fit the stereotypical father–son mould.'

'That's not true,' lied Arthur, unconvincingly.

'I think we both know that it is.'

'Why are you doing this to me?'

'I'm not doing anything to you, Arthur; this isn't about you. There is just something about this place, something about being here, that feels right for me.'

'You belong here with me; it's what Catherine would have wanted. It's what I want, for us to be a proper family.'

'We are family, Arthur, but –'

'No, no we're not; you were right. I know that I haven't been a good father in the past, but I'm trying now, Aaron. I've been trying for months because really we're the same, you and I. All we had was Catherine and, sure, Aunt Ruby might come and go from time to time, but it's just us now. It's just us and so you can't leave me. We have to stick together... we're all that we've got,' he pleaded pitifully.

Arun was stunned into silence by Arthur's ramblings. Finally his odd behaviour, his sudden care and concern over the past few months made sense: Arthur was afraid of being alone. With Catherine gone Arthur had nothing, but he was wrong about one thing, because Arun did have something and it was so much more than he had ever dreamed would be possible.

'Arthur,' he began slowly, 'I know that you've been trying... and just because I'm not there, it doesn't mean that I don't care. I don't want you to feel like you're alone... but I have to get on with my own life too. I'll come to visit regularly and maybe you could even come and visit me out here from time to time. I'd –'

'They've done this to you, haven't they?' exploded Arthur, switching angrily.

'Done what?'

'I warned you about this; they've brainwashed you into thinking that you can't leave. I bet that temple's trying to turn you into some bloody robe-wearing Hare Krishna chanting fanatic,' he spat, his soft pleading tones abruptly replaced by the shrill sounds of a venomous rage.

Being kind and honest had done nothing to convince Arun of his obligation to return home and now, appearing to have run out of options, Arthur had resorted to forceful bullying instead.

'Arthur, it's not –'

'No, Aaron, this whole thing is ridiculous. What on earth are you going to do there? How are you going to support yourself?'

'It's okay, Arthur. Lucky and Hanara have already said that I can stay with them whilst I complete my college applications. Then, hopefully, if I get accepted next year I can move up to Mumbai.'

'NEXT YEAR?'

'Yes, next year. It's too late to make an application for this year's intake.'

'So let me get this straight,' began Arthur, his voice now ten decibels higher than it had been at the start of the conversation, 'you have already had a gap year and you have a place to study medicine at Oxford University starting in two months' time that most people would kill for. Yet you want to throw it all away and waste _another year_ for the chance to maybe, _maybe_ , study at some unrecognised, backwards institution that no-one's ever heard of? Can you not hear how ridiculous that sounds?'

'The colleges here are actually very well-respected, Arthur,' he answered coolly. 'A lot of them are public, which means that I can't apply to them, but there are some great private ones too.'

'Oh we're going to private college now, are we? And how much is that going to set me back?'

'It's really not as expensive as it sounds; the fees are about the same as they are back home, maybe even a little cheaper. The course is shorter too, so overall it should cost you less,' Arun pleaded.

'You're wrong.'

'I'm not wrong, Arthur, I've done my research and –'

'It's not going to cost me anything, Aaron. Now you listen to me, and you listen to me good,' growled Arthur, the tone of his voice disturbingly menacing. 'You went to India to find Kalpana. You should have come home as soon as you found out that she was dead, but you wanted to get to know your brother and sister, and I was more than understanding of that fact, _especially_ given all the rubbish that they've filled your head with about your mother paying for you. Next you say that you want to stay to see that rash festival, and still I didn't say anything. Then you want to play happy families in some pokey little village all summer and I thought to myself, okay, maybe you need to get it out of your system. But this is where I draw the line.

'If you think that I'm going to just sit back and watch you throw away your future, throw away everything that your mother worked so hard to provide for you, _and_ pay for the pleasure, then you've got another thing coming. It's Oxford in October, or nothing at all. And if you are not on that plane in four weeks' time, then don't bother coming home again. Ever.'

An uncomfortable silence prevailed, punctuated only by the sound of Arthur's ragged breath on the line. Arun was dumbstruck and the unexpected finality of Arthur's last words felt like a punch to the gut.

'Arthur... Arthur, I –' he croaked, unable to get any words out.

'I have to get dressed for work now. I will see you in four weeks.'

Before Arun could protest any further, Arthur was gone. He tried to steel himself against the small desk inside the cubicle, but it was futile. The emotions involuntarily bubbled up inside of him and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Soon they were in free flow, cascading like waterfalls down his bronzed cheeks until he could no longer hold it all in and, bending over the desk, he sobbed uncontrollably into his arms. He had expected an adverse reaction from Arthur, but he had never imagined that he would be so unforgiving and so final. He wept and he wept, overcome with exhaustion and emotion, the tension in his body slowly releasing itself, until the shop assistant was soon knocking at the cubicle door with concern.

Arun wiped the moisture from his face with the back of his hands and emerged from the cubicle looking more strained than he had when he had first entered. The shop assistant opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind before any words came out. Numbly, Arun paid for his call, unable to see how many rupees he had placed on the counter through his bleary eyes, and then stepped out into the stormy afternoon showers. The rain was oppressive, the fat drops of water beating down hard on his back like the lashings from a whip, but the pain was strangely gratifying. It was several hours before Lucky was due to return and collect him, but he couldn't face sitting in front of the computer, continuing with his research as planned, so he walked. He walked through the rain in no particular direction and to no particular destination; he just had to keep moving.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Somehow, in the course of one conversation, the solution that it had taken him so many weeks to arrive at was now the problem. He hadn't expected everything to run smoothly, but the difficulty should have been gaining acceptance to medical college. Now, whether he gained acceptance or not, without Arthur's financial support he couldn't afford to go, and worse, if he didn't go home, Arthur would never speak to him again. As a child he had often mused that his life would be unaffected by Arthur's absence, but as an adult he knew that the reality was very different. Arthur may not have been the greatest father, but he was still the only father that Arun had ever known and once again he found himself in a place of impossible reconciliation. He needed to speak with Chandni; she was the only one who would understand and the only one whose doe-eyed optimism could soothe and reassure him.

By the time Lucky picked him up, Arun was completely soaked through. Lucky couldn't understand why his brother had persisted in walking about in the heavy monsoon rains, but Arun couldn't bring himself to share the details of Arthur's horrible ultimatum. When they reached home, he told both siblings that his call to Arthur had gone unanswered and though he hated lying to them, he hated the idea that he might have falsely raised their hopes that he would stay even more. He was silent throughout dinner and when they reached the mandir, he couldn't focus on the evening's prayers, desperately scanning the room for Chandni's diminutive figure.

When he finally spied her, unusually seated several rows behind Hanara, their eyes met briefly across the hall, but behaving more cautiously and more introverted than usual, Chandni was quick to avert her eyes from his gaze. By the time the prayers were over, Arun physically ached from his desire to talk to her, but with Naresh glued to her side it proved impossible to get her alone. At the close of the evening, it appeared that she would be staying on at the mandir until Rajubhai Joshi finished his duties and Arun felt the frustration rise in his chest as the last opportunity for them to talk privately slipped away.

He was as silent during the journey home as he had been all evening, and Lucky and Hanara were beginning to grow suspicious. While they prepared for bed they took it in turns to question his wellbeing, concerned that he was not himself, yet Arun could still not find the strength to relive his conversation with Arthur, knowing the reaction that it would likely receive. Brushing them off, he clambered into bed alongside Lucky and for the first time he welcomed the blackness of the windowless room, its opacity masking the silent tears that rolled down his face as he cried himself to sleep.

When Arun awoke the following morning, he was relieved to remember that it was Saturday, the day that he and Chandni traditionally spent time alone together. Running out of excuses for her to need to venture to Puri and not at all enthused by the relentless monsoon rains, lately they had taken to sneaking between each other's houses once Rajubhai Joshi had departed for the mandir. The arrangement suited Chandni better because it involved less outright lying and it meant too that they were not reliant on Lucky to ferry them to and from their rendezvous. Today was Chandni's turn to visit Arun, but with Naresh scheduled to return to Mumbai that morning, she had been unsure about the exact time that she would be able to slip away. Lucky had set off for work early and with Hanara minding the shop, Arun was left to silently pace the length of the house, impatiently awaiting her arrival. He found himself obsessively checking his watch, stunned to learn that only a few minutes had gone by each time, but by eleven o'clock Chandni was still nowhere to be seen and he was growing increasingly anxious.

At midday, he braved the rains and traipsed across the yard to see if Chandni had perhaps visited the shop for provisions, or left a message with Hanara, but his sister had nothing to ease his apprehensions. Arun was baffled, racking his brains, desperate to determine what could be keeping his beloved Chandni away. He was sure that Naresh was scheduled to leave in the morning, but perhaps he had made a mistake? Perhaps Rajubhai Joshi had not gone to the mandir after seeing him off and now Chandni couldn't get away? There were a million possibilities and he didn't care which of them was correct, so long as he could see Chandni. He needed to talk to her and to share with someone the details of his conversation with Arthur, before it completely consumed him from the inside out.

At three o'clock, when Arun lay helplessly on his bed on the verge of giving up all hope, there was finally a knock at the door. Instantly relieved, he jumped up and almost fell over himself in his haste to reach the front door. Quickly smoothing out the creases in his shirt and combing his fingers through the tangled mop on his head, he excitedly pulled back the door, but he was not at all prepared for the figure that stood before him.

'Arun, I think you and I need to have a little talk.'
**THIRTY-ONE**

****

ARUN stepped back and held the door open, gesturing for Rajubhai Joshi to enter the house. The look on the usually mild-mannered man's face was serious and foreboding and Arun couldn't quash the rising panic he felt in his chest. If Rajubhai Joshi was there instead of Chandni, then it could only mean one thing. The old man moved slowly, but with purpose and, seating himself amongst the cushions, he looked up at Arun expectantly.

'Can... can I get you anything, sir?' Arun squeaked, clearing his throat.

He had meant to sound confident and manly, but his voice emerged shrill and pitchy, betraying his underlying concern.

'Just a small cup of water, please,' Rajubhai Joshi responded coolly, giving nothing away.

Arun made his way to the kitchen, all the while feeling the heat of Rajubhai Joshi's eyes on his back, and shakily poured the drink. He returned and set the cup down on the floor beside the old man, before stepping back, afraid to get too close.

'Please, sit,' said Rajubhai Joshi, gesturing to the cushions scattered opposite him.

Fearfully Arun did as he was instructed and lowered himself down cross-legged onto the cushions, balling his fists in his lap anxiously. Rajubhai Joshi reached forward and took a long, slow sip of water, never averting his gaze from Arun's face. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to get to the purpose of his visit and the manner in which he was studying Arun, slowly drinking him in from the top of his coffee-coloured head to the soles of his dirty feet, made Arun increasingly uncomfortable.

'I know,' he said at last, placing the cup of water back on the floor.

'Know what, sir?'

'Of your plan to run off to Mumbai with my daughter.'

'I'm not planning to run off to Mumbai with your daughter, sir,' answered Arun, swallowing guiltily.

'Do not lie to me, Arun. The gods do not look favourably upon those who distort the truth.'

'It's not a lie, sir, I promise.'

'Really? Tell me then, is it not true that it was under your encouragement that she applied to this travel programme in Mumbai?'

'Okay, yes, that is true, but –'

'And is it, or is it not, true that you yourself are planning to attend medical college in Mumbai?'

'Yes, sir, it's true,' mumbled Arun, realising that it was futile to argue back.

'And tell me, have you, or have you not, been luring her off to the city behind my back each week, in order to take advantage of her innocence?'

'Oh God no,' breathed Arun, mortified that he was having to suffer this conversation with Rajubhai Joshi, when he'd never even discussed the matter with Chandni. 'It wasn't like that at all. I never touched her, I swear.'

'Never?'

'Not once.'

'So you weren't touching her and kissing her outside of my mandir only a few nights ago? Is that what you're saying to me, Arun?'

Arun hung his head in defeat, knowing that whatever he said would only make things worse. He had no idea how Rajubhai Joshi had found out about all of these things, but he had pieced them all together incorrectly to paint a picture much seedier than the reality.

'Do you have any idea of the damage you could have caused?' he continued rhetorically. 'This is not England, Arun. I've seen your movies, I know how your young men and women behave: drinking too much, never getting married and having a good time with a different person each week. Things do not work like that here.'

'I know that, sir, I –'

'What if someone had seen you? People would have been talking about her, _my Chandni_ , and talking about me, thinking that I cannot control even my own daughter. I'm already having a difficult enough time trying to marry her, without you tainting her also.'

'Oh, Rajubhai Joshi, sir, it isn't like that. I really care for your daughter,' he protested meekly.

'Arun, if you cared for her, you would have thought about how your actions would affect her. Filling her head with these silly little ideas, promising her that she can go to Mumbai, making her think that she has what it takes to become a travel guide. Can you not see that you are simply setting her up for disappointment?'

'But she does have what it takes,' whined Arun.

He was grateful for the fact that Rajubhai Joshi was calm, but he was frustrated on Chandni's behalf by his lack of belief in her.

'Arun, you do not know my daughter like I do. She has never been outside of this village for more than one day at a time; how do you suppose she would cope in a big city all alone? Mumbai is a dangerous place for those unaccustomed to its pace; anything could happen to her there. There is nothing wrong with a simple life here in the village. A life devoted to God, with her family and friends, where she belongs.'

'But that's just it, she doesn't want a simple life. If –'

'She was content with it, until you came along.'

'But, sir, if you just –'

'Your mother was a very good friend of mine, Arun,' interrupted Rajubhai Joshi. 'She was a wonderful woman and a devout Hindu, whose passing caused me great personal sadness. It is only out of respect for her memory that I have found the restraint not to be harsher in my dealings with you today, but from now on, you are to stay away from Chandni. Do you understand me?'

'But –'

'I mean it, Arun. If I so much as see you talking to her, I will have you forcibly removed from this village. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir,' mouthed Arun, solemnly.

'Good,' pronounced Rajubhai Joshi, struggling to his feet. He drained the last dregs of water from his cup and, setting it to one side, disappeared through the front door without a backward glance.

Arun stared at the space where the old man had been. He felt hollow and numb, as though someone had removed all feeling from his body and placed it into a box for safe keeping, forgetting that he might need it on occasion. Everything was falling apart and he was powerless to stop it. Only a few days before he had been full of confidence and clear about the path that he wanted to follow, but now Arthur was threatening to disown him and, when he needed to talk to Chandni the most, it was the one thing that he was forbidden from doing. He desperately craved her words of wisdom, her shining optimism and the reassuring comfort of her embrace, but something told him that Rajubhai Joshi had not been quite so forgiving in his dealings with her, and whatever rebellious streak remained, whatever urges she might still feel, he knew that she would not act upon them now.

Arun felt lost and entirely overwhelmed for the second time in as many days, the familiar sting of frustrated tears pricking his eyes once more. The tears came thick and fast and he sobbed for what he had lost, sobbed for what could have been and sobbed for what he was being denied. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that this journey to India would take him to the places that it had and now it had taken him full circle, right back to the place that he thought he had left behind. A place of sadness, loneliness and longing for a life that he could not have.

'Arun? What's the matter?' came Hanara's voice from the door. She rushed immediately to his side, but Arun was too emotional to speak and as she cradled his head in her lap, willing him to explain what had occurred, he could do nothing but sob harder.

It took until Lucky's return that evening for Arun to regain his composure, but the feeling of numbness prevailed. Slumped against the cushions during dinner, he wearily pushed the food around his plate, his appetite buried beneath the depths of his sorrow. After much goading from Lucky, he had recounted the details of his exchanges with both Arthur and Rajubhai Joshi, but his eyes remained stony and dry, with no more tears left to cry. Lucky and Hanara were surprised to learn that Arthur had been so explosive and that by contrast Rajubhai Joshi had been so calm, and though they were sympathetic to his predicament, neither was able to offer a viable solution.

Arun didn't want to go home and if he did he was certain that Arthur would wield the payment of his tuition fees over him and prevent him from returning to India ever again. Yet if he stayed, with no money and no means of supporting himself, how would he ever make it to medical college in Mumbai? He would be forced to leave the village sooner than he thought in order to find a suitably well-paying job, but even then it could take years before he was able to save enough money. And what of his beloved Chandni? How could he stay and see her face every day, knowing that he couldn't speak to her, let alone touch her? How could he go to Mumbai and leave her behind?

For a week, the same thoughts swam round and round in Arun's head, until he thought that he might implode from overanalysing his options. Lucky and Hanara did their best to help him work through his thoughts and feelings, but there could be no doubt that the stress of the situation was getting to him. Unable to eat and incapable of sleep, the days merged together in a jumbled blur until Arun resembled a frail shadow of his former self. His hair was lank and overgrown, his face tired and gaunt, and the bones of his shoulders protruded unattractively through the skin, because of the amount of weight that he had lost. Though at first it had made him happy to glimpse Chandni, even from a distance, evenings at the mandir had quickly become unbearable and the indifference that she had been forced to assume tore painfully at his heart. Eventually, the insatiable yearnings and desires sent him spiralling into a deep depression and, constantly feeling tired and weak, Arun's days in the shop were spent staring into space, hoping for a solution to magically appear.

On one such day, when Arun was so lost in self-pity that he could no longer discern what day it was, he was roused from his stupor by the unexpected sight of Chandni and Rajubhai Joshi approaching the shop. Simultaneously scared and excited, he quickly pulled himself up and slicked back his hair, in a bid to appear a little more presentable. By the time they reached the shop, he could see that Chandni too had lost a lot of weight, but she kept her pale, sad face fixed to the floor, speaking only when addressed directly by her father.

'Good afternoon, Arun.'

'Good afternoon, sir,' he croaked, desperately trying to keep his eyes from wandering over to Chandni.

'Show him which one it is that you need then,' continued Rajubhai Joshi, turning to face his daughter.

'Just one packet of those, please,' mumbled Chandni, pointing to a box of sanitary towels without lifting her eyes from the ground.

Arun reached up to the shelf behind him and placed the box on the counter, lightly grazing Chandni's palm, but never taking his eyes off Rajubhai Joshi's expressionless face. Chandni scooped the box into her purse whilst her father noisily dropped a few silver coins into Arun's outstretched palm by way of payment.

'Thank you, Arun. Come along, Chandni,' he ordered.

Within seconds the tense experience was over and Arun watched as Chandni obediently trudged down the puddle-filled dirt path after her father. They were some distance away when Arun saw something fall from Chandni's balled fist and flutter gently to the floor. His immediate instinct was to call out to her, but not wishing to incur Rajubhai Joshi's wrath, he thought better of it and remained mute. When the two figures were no more than specs in the distance, Arun stepped out of the shop and walked towards where the object had fallen. Lying in the mud was a small slip of white paper bearing his name that had been folded several times into a small square. Lifting it from the ground, he wiped off the terracotta sludge and carefully began to unravel the folds of paper.

_Come to my house tomorrow afternoon._

_Bapu-ji will be away._

_C x_
**THIRTY-TWO**

****

ARUN'S palms were hot and sweaty when he walked the familiar dirt track to Chandni's house the next day. Keeping his head low, he tried to remain inconspicuous and, though he felt reassured by the fact that Rajubhai Joshi was away from the village, the thought that somebody else might spot him walking to, or worse entering, Chandni's house filled him with a deep sense of dread. Rounding the corner onto her street, he looked around cautiously, and, satisfied that the coast was clear, he quickly approached her house and rapped softly on the door. His breathing was ragged and his heart thumped furiously in his chest, a mixture of adrenaline and desire fuelling the pursuit of what he knew to be a dangerous activity. After a few seconds he heard footsteps approach and the door opened inwards until it was slightly ajar. Arun pushed the door back further, just far enough to create a gap that he could squeeze his lanky frame through and quickly closed the door behind him.

Chandni launched herself at him as soon as he was safely inside, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and burying her head in his chest. Relieved, he enveloped her in his arms and fervently kissed the top of her head, breathing in the sweet, familiar aroma of her hair.

'I've missed you so much,' he whispered, stroking her silky sepia tresses soothingly.

'I've missed you too,' she breathed.

They clung to each other tightly, lost in their embrace for several minutes, until eventually Chandni untangled herself and motioned for them both to sit down.

'How have you been?' he asked tentatively, taking stock of her small face.

She looked pale and tired, her usually shining green eyes devoid of the sparkle that he so loved.

'I'm okay,' she sighed, leaning against Arun's chest. 'My Bapu-ji is still pretty mad about everything though.'

'I don't understand how he found out about us; we were so careful.'

Chandni sighed deeply.

'Bapu-ji and I were discussing the travel programme, like I promised. He was quite upset at the thought of me going to Mumbai alone, so I tried to explain that Naresh would be close by to look after me. For a moment I thought that he was actually going to let me go, but then Naresh started saying that he'd seen us together outside of the mandir and that you were planning to go to medical college in Mumbai too. He was convinced that we were running away together and he said that he would not help me to lie. Of course Bapu-ji believed him and then, and then...' she broke off, her eyes welling up with tears as she tried and failed to hold back her sobs.

'Shh, it's okay,' soothed Arun, stroking her head comfortingly, 'it's not your fault.'

'Oh but it is, Arun, it is my fault. He was so angry, so disappointed in me, that I told him everything. I couldn't lie anymore.'

Arun hugged Chandni closer, caressing her back while she shook from the force of her sobs. It wasn't her fault and even Naresh, for all Arun's dislike of his character, had thought that he was doing the right thing by Rajubhai Joshi; there was no malice in his intent. He held Chandni until the worst of it had passed and kissed away the tears that remained.

'I'm sorry, Chandni,' he whispered after a time, 'really I am.'

'What do you have to be sorry for?' she answered, sitting up and curling her legs beneath her protectively.

'For getting you into so much trouble with your father, and with Naresh.'

'Never be sorry, Arun; I'm not sorry. I have had a wonderful time with you, it was better than I could have ever hoped, and I will always keep the memories of it very fondly,' she said, her eyes beginning to fill with tears again.

'What? Wait, hold on a second,' he said softly, taking her into his arms once more, 'it's not over. What are you talking about?'

'I tried, Arun. I really tried, but he's not going to allow us to be together. Not now, not ever,' she wailed.

'Please don't cry, Chandni. Sure, he's mad right now, but he'll calm down eventually.'

'You didn't see his face, Arun. He was so very angry that I'd been lying to him, so very disappointed. I wanted to see you, just one last time, but after today... after today I really can't see you again.'

Arun felt as though he'd taken a bullet to the chest. Chandni could not possibly be suggesting what it sounded as though she was.

'You _can_ see me. You _can_ see me, Chandni; I'll talk to him. I'll make him understand,' Arun pleaded desperately. 'He's only upset because he thinks that we are just having fun, that I'm not serious about you. He doesn't realise that I love you, Chandni.'

The words escaped his mouth before he'd really had the opportunity to process them, but when he heard them out loud he knew that they were true. He had known that there was something special about Chandni from the moment he had laid eyes on her and in the short time that they had spent together his affections had only grown stronger. It was the only natural conclusion, the only explanation for why he felt the way that he did every time he looked into her eyes. He didn't know how his feelings had developed so quickly, but he knew in his heart that he wanted to be with her. Whether he was forced to return to London or not, and even if they could not be together physically, he wasn't ready for things to be over between them emotionally.

'I love you,' he repeated, tipping her head up towards him so that he could look into her eyes and she would know that he was being sincere.

He waited for her to respond as she peeked up at him from between her long lashes, seeming simultaneously delighted and distressed by his words.

'I... I love you too, Arun,' she whispered hoarsely, 'more than you will ever know.'

It was all the encouragement that he needed to hear and he bent forward to kiss her deeply and passionately, no longer caring who might catch them.

After a few moments Chandni abruptly pulled away, her expression dark and serious.

'Please will you promise me something, Arun,' she said gravely.

'Anything.'

'Promise me that you won't try to talk to my Bapu-ji.'

'What? Why?'

'Because, you'll only make it worse.'

'How could telling him that I'm in love with you make it worse?' Arun grumbled, entirely confused.

'Because it's not just about that, Arun. Even if he could accept that our love is genuine ... boyfriends, girlfriends, dates, all these things are not accepted within our culture. He won't allow them, because he doesn't understand them, and in his eyes, the fact that you didn't seek his blessing right from the start not only means that you lack respect for our culture and traditions, but for him as a man. As long as he feels that way he will never respect you and if he doesn't respect you, then he won't listen to you either.'

Arun contemplated Chandni's argument and recalled with great irritation Lucky and Hanara's earlier suggestion that Rajubhai Joshi was the key to gaining access to Chandni. On the one hand he could understand why the old man might feel slighted by his actions, but on the other it was hard to believe that things would have turned out any different if he had asked for permission upfront. The request would almost certainly have been denied and even if it hadn't, they would never have been allowed to spend time alone or to visit half of the places that they had experienced together, places where their love had been able to blossom and grow without interference.

'Are you saying that you want us to keep sneaking around behind his back?' asked Arun, confused by the expression of Chandni's earlier wish not to lie anymore.

'No, no. We can't. We mustn't.'

'Then what?'

'I will talk to him. When he has calmed down a bit and when the time is right.'

'And in the meantime?'

'In the meantime... we have to continue as we are.'

Arun opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it and settled for sulking instead, protruding his bottom lip in a stroppy pout.

'Please try to understand,' Chandni pleaded quietly, 'I do love you, but I can't lie anymore. It's too risky.'

Arun nodded his acceptance to the promise, but he wasn't happy about it. The week had been agonising, seeing her, but not speaking to her, touching her, but not being able to hold her; how could he indefinitely endure more of the same? The very thought crushed him, but a promise was a promise and he had to at least try, for Chandni's sake.

In the wake of their professions and promises, Chandni and Arun sat, clinging to one another, enjoying the time that they could before they would be forced to separate again. Arun felt greatly comforted by her presence alone and for the first time in a week his body submitted to relaxation, the tension in his muscles virtually melting away. Exhausted by his run of sleepless nights, he was on the verge of dozing off completely when he felt Chandni's soft hands gently stroking him awake.

'Hey,' she smiled sweetly, 'I forgot to ask how it went with your father. What did he say about going to Mumbai?'

Arun felt a sharp pang in his chest and winced at the memory of his conversation with Arthur. He had been so consumed by Chandni's suggestion that they end their relationship that he had completely forgotten about the added complexity of Arthur's ultimatum. He looked across at her innocent face, not knowing how to tell her and not wanting to burden her with any more than he already had, but she was looking at him expectantly and he knew that he would not be able to dodge the question.

'He wants me to come home. He's not going to pay for me to go to medical college here and if I don't come home now, he's said that I shouldn't bother to come back at all.'

Chandni gasped and clasped her hands to her mouth, equally shocked by both the revelation and the calmness with which Arun had delivered it. Her eyes were laden with pity and it made Arun feel pathetic.

'What are you going to do?'

'What can I do? I don't want to go home, especially now that Arthur's behaving like this, but becoming a doctor is my dream and he is still my father. I just don't understand why he suddenly cares so much about where I go to study; we're not even that close. And I know that if I go home, he's going to do everything in his power to make sure that I can't come back out here again,' he finished, his voice rising to a crescendo with exasperation.

'So stay then,' Chandni whispered hopefully, 'don't go, Arun... please.'

'Oh, Chandni, I want to, really I do, but how can I? I can't afford to pay for medical college myself, and who knows how long it would take to save up enough money. Plus, there are still no guarantees that I'll even get a place. I want to be close to you, and to Lucky and Hanara, but I think the only way I can make that happen is to go away and come back again some day.'

Chandni smiled a bittersweet smile; she seemed charmed by Arun's ongoing desire to be close to her and irked by the uncooperating practicalities of their situation, but, much the same as Hanara and Lucky, she couldn't advise on a solution.

The remainder of the afternoon passed by faster than Arun would have liked and though he enjoyed the opportunity to spend time alone with Chandni again after so long, they both remained subdued by the gloomy outlook. It was impossible to avoid intermittently discussing the challenges that they faced and the more that they talked, the more convinced Arun became that returning to England was the sensible option. It was the only path that provided any certainty and this way he knew that he would be able to achieve his dream of becoming a doctor. Even if by some small miracle he were to be accepted into medical college in Mumbai and managed to find the funds to attend, with Chandni under close watch and Arthur threatening to disown him, he was starting to think that going home would be best for everyone all round.
**THIRTY-THREE**

****

THOUGH the afternoon had not been the happiest one that they had shared, knowing that Chandni loved him and working through the challenges that they faced together had provided Arun with the release that he so desperately needed. He was finally able to enjoy a restful night's sleep and the following day he felt much more revived, his head less congested by the complex array of thoughts that he had been juggling all week. He wasn't exactly overjoyed at the prospect of returning to England, but the decision to do so, and the plans and provisions that he had made with Chandni to sustain their relationship, had given him a sense of direction once more.

He knew that his decision would crush Hanara and Lucky, but he knew too that they would understand and appreciate that this was the only way to guarantee that he might one day return more permanently and under his own steam. He decided to break the news to them during dinner that night when they would all be together and, though it might dampen their spirits, at least their visit to the mandir would prevent them from dwelling on the matter all evening. Arun had a little over two weeks remaining in the village and he was determined to make the most of the time. He wanted to leave a lasting impression, not just on Lucky, Hanara and Chandni, but also on the other villagers that had so warmly welcomed him and left such a lasting impression on his soul. This time, he would not be forgotten by his home.

He passed the day in the shop talking amicably with his regular customers, going to great lengths to assist them with their purchases and making a concerted effort to be more positive about the journey that lay ahead. Mrs Satpathy came by, as did a number of Hanara and Lucky's friends from the mandir, and Arun laughed and joked with each and every one, taking mental pictures by which to remember them. When the sun began to set, he secured the shop for the night and headed towards the house for dinner, feeling famished by the return of his appetite, but upon stepping inside he instantly knew that something was not right. The omnipresent smell of spices and the cloud of smoke that usually greeted him were nowhere to be found and Hanara was not in the kitchen where she usually stood.

'Hanara?' he called, wondering where she might be.

'I'm here only,' she answered, emerging from her bedroom with her hair swept to one side while she tried to fix an earring in place through the hole in her left ear.

She was already dressed in one of the saris that she usually reserved for visits to the mandir.

'You look nice,' he observed, feeling relieved that she was okay, 'are we going somewhere for dinner?'

'No, no, Rajubhai Joshi has called an urgent meeting at the mandir only. You need to get dressed, quickly. We'll have to eat when we get back.'

'Is everything okay?' he asked, ignoring the grumbles of disapproval emanating from his stomach.

'It doesn't sound like it, no.'

As if on cue, Lucky walked through the door, looking tired and equally hungry from his long day of driving.

'Good evening, everyone.'

'Lucky get dressed, quickly. We are going to the mandir; Rajubhai Joshi has called a meeting,' she insisted.

Lucky's face dropped instantly, but comprehending the urgency inherent in his sister's voice, he didn't protest. Wordlessly, he grabbed Arun's arm and dragged his brother into the bedroom that they shared, forcing him to change his clothes. Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated in Lucky's rickshaw, riding in silence to the mandir and, though Arun remained puzzled by their strange behaviour, it was enough for him to know that something was very wrong.

When they arrived at the mandir, he was surprised to see so many people lining the steps. There were at least double the number of people that usually attended the nightly prayers and, though he could pick out the faces of a few infrequent visitors to the shop, there were a host of faces that he didn't recognise at all. People crowded together in small huddles, talking in hushed tones, and there was a palpable tension present in the air that made Arun feel increasingly ill at ease. It was only when Rajubhai Joshi appeared at the main entrance and beckoned them all inside that the huddles began to disperse and the people of the village filed into the main hall of the mandir. Arun obediently followed Lucky to the men's side of the room and sat cross-legged beside him, patiently awaiting the start of the evening prayers, but they never came.

Rajubhai Joshi stood before the large shrine and, in an unusual move, faced the audience, his hands clasped together in a tight ball, devoid of the aarti tray that he usually carried for worship. The crowd immediately fell quiet at the sight of him and while they waited with bated breath for him to speak an eerie silence prevailed in the large hall. Rajubhai Joshi looked tired and worn, and even before he moved his lips to speak, Arun knew that he was not going to like what the old man had to say. Alternating between English and Oriya, he sombrely addressed the gathered crowd.

'My dear brothers and sisters,' he began slowly, clearing his throat, 'I thank you all for coming at such short notice. As you are aware, some years ago the government of Orissa approved a plan to build a new airport serving Puri. This plan was also supported at a national level, the idea that visitor numbers to Puri could be increased by improving direct access to the city. The search for an optimum site led officials here, to our small community.

'During the initial discussions, we rejected their proposal to move us. After all, why should we simply leave behind our homes and lives, and the generations of history that we have with this, our village? Yet undeterred, these same officials then made offers of financial compensation in addition to the move, offers that we once again declined, our heartfelt concerns clearly falling upon deaf ears. With no resolution appropriate to their own needs, myself and the other mandir committee members were called upon to defend our right to stay in our homes in a court of law.

'My brothers and sisters, we fought valiantly, but I am sad to say that the greed of the government and the corruption inherent in our judicial system colluded to prevent us from securing a victory. On the advice of our counsel and in upholding the vow that we made to serve you, we appealed that decision and requested that it be overturned. My dear friends, this morning I returned from the court in Bhubaneswar, and it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that our appeal has not been successful.'

Gasps and cries instantly went up around the room and, with the shock of Rajubhai Joshi's words causing widespread panic, the room was soon buzzing with the sound of a million worried voices. Arun turned to Lucky, but his brother's face was frozen, his mouth wide open in disbelief, unable to compute the recent turn of events. Rajubhai Joshi raised his hands in the air and the crowd fell silent once more.

'I am sorry that we were not able to do more. We did the very best that we could, but in the end, I am ashamed to say that our government favours the money of tourists over the wellbeing of its own people. As the matter has been so protracted the officials are keen to begin construction right away and, as such, the relocation process is likely to commence in the next few weeks.'

Another hysterical cry went up around the audience and one elderly lady whom Arun didn't recognise could be heard wailing uncontrollably while her neighbour tried to comfort her. Rajubhai Joshi motioned for quiet once more.

'I know that you will have questions, many of which I am ill-equipped to answer, therefore I have invited representatives from both the government and the construction company that proposes to conduct the work, to attend the mandir in two days' time. They will be able to outline the relocation and compensation processes for you and answer the questions that you may have.

'My brothers and sisters, though the loss of our beloved village is sad, I urge you all to remember that we are more than the mud and bricks that make up our homes. We are a community, a family bonded through love and faith, and it is this love and faith that will see us through. May God bless you all.'

Rajubhai Joshi turned to the shrine and briefly bowed his head in prayer, before stepping off to one of the adjoining rooms, leaving the crowd to erupt in outrage.

People began getting to their feet, the distress in their faces mirrored by their neighbours as they discussed Rajubhai Joshi's life-altering revelation. Arun and Lucky struggled to their feet too and immediately went in search of Hanara. A few moments later they found her outside on the steps of the mandir, surrounded by her friends and a few elder women who Arun didn't recognise. Strangely, they were virtually silent, talking in hushed tones and, for the first time since his arrival, none of them paid Arun much attention when he approached. Hanara pushed her way out of the circle to join them, her mouth set in a thin line and her eyes dark and wild with fury.

'Can you believe it?' she said in a tone so menacing that it reminded Arun of the first day that they had met.

'Can we go home please?' responded Lucky in the most melancholy tone that Arun had ever heard him use. 'I don't feel like being around all of these people right now.'

'Sure, let's go.'

Hanara waved goodbye to her posse of friends and the trio made their way back to Mata-ji's house, a house that in a few weeks would no longer exist.

Hanara set dinner down before them all and the mood was subdued, each of them mulling over the events of the evening. Still famished, Arun eagerly wolfed down the food on his plate, but, deeply saddened at the prospect of having to leave his home, Lucky appeared to have taken up the mantle of pushing food aimlessly around his plate.

'You must eat, Lucky,' Hanara chided.

Lucky smiled briefly at her concern, but made no move to lift food towards his mouth.

'I can't believe that you have to move,' said Arun, to everyone and no-one at the same time. 'How can they just force people from their homes?'

'Because, what is one small village compared with the money that they can make?' answered Hanara bitterly.

'But what if you refused to leave? What if you just stayed in your houses and refused to come out?'

'Even this is not working,' moaned Lucky, staring blankly at the space ahead of him, 'eventually they would send in the army to remove us; it's happened before, in other states.'

'What about the new place? Do you know where it is?'

'Yes, it's miles away, even further from Puri. When they talked to us the first time, it sounded okay; we would have a new house and a small plot of land, and we could build the shop again next door. But it is really too far away for Lucky to drive to Puri each day. He would hardly be making anything after the fuel costs.'

'Well surely that's something that they can't ignore? That's his livelihood,' cried Arun indignantly.

'They told me that once the new airport was built, there would be even more business for me, so it didn't matter,' answered Lucky, sounding utterly unconvinced.

The mood was sombre and though Arun was desperately racking his brains for a way to help his siblings, or at the very least provide some words of comfort and reassurance, his mind kept being drawn back to thoughts of his impending departure. The fact that he had not yet shared his decision to leave with them weighed heavily on his mind and as though she possessed a sixth sense, Hanara conveniently broached the subject for him.

'Have you given any more thought to what you are going to do, Arun? Will you be moving to the new house with us?' she asked hopefully.

Arun looked guiltily from Hanara to Lucky and back again. He dreaded the thought of telling them that he was leaving more than leaving itself and to do so, right when they had just been told that they would be losing their home, seemed almost cruel.

'Let's talk about it tomorrow. I think we've all had enough excitement for one night,' he replied, brushing off the question.

'But you have made a decision?'

'Yes, I have.'

'Then why not share it with us now only? It is not going to be any different tomorrow, is it?' quipped Hanara matter-of-factly.

'No, of course not. I just thought that –'

'You're leaving, isn't it?' interrupted Lucky. 'It's okay, you can say it.'

Arun nodded and watched painfully while Lucky and Hanara's faces fell at the confirmation of their suspicions.

'I have to. It's the only way. I can't afford to stay, but at least if I go now then I'll be able to come back some day.'

Arun searched his siblings' eyes, pleading for understanding, and though their sadness was tangible, he knew that they appreciated what a difficult decision it had been. Rising from her seat, Hanara crawled across the floor and circled her arms around Arun's shoulders.

'We will miss you. _I_ will miss you,' she whispered.

'I will miss you both too, but I will come back, whenever I can.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

It was the most heartfelt promise that Arun had ever made. India was where he wanted to be, it was where his heart belonged and whatever came to pass, whatever he had to do, he was going to return as soon as he could.
**THIRTY-FOUR**

****

A FEW nights later Arun returned to the mandir to anxiously await the arrival of the unwelcome guests. The main hall was packed to capacity with an even greater number of villagers than had turned out to hear Rajubhai Joshi's initial announcement. The noise that the crowd generated made it almost impossible for Arun to hear his own thoughts, let alone anyone's conversations, but when a long line of men dressed sharply in well-tailored suits followed Rajubhai Joshi to the front of the room, a hush fell over the audience at once.

There were five men in total, each as arrogant and pompous looking as the next, and their smug smiles were just visible beneath the thickly grown beards that covered the lower halves of their faces. They seated themselves ceremoniously on the rickety wooden chairs that the committee had laid out for them and Arun took an instant dislike to the way in which they looked down on the people of his village, in a manner that had nothing to do with the height that the chairs afforded them over their audience. Rajubhai Joshi remained standing and when he approached the front of the crowd, the last vestiges of conversation ceased until there was pin-drop silence inside the mandir.

Never one to forget his manners, in his skilled mix of English and Oriya, he thanked everyone for coming and proceeded to introduce the uptight band of men seated behind him. The first was a parliamentary representative, presumably present to counter claims that the government were putting rupees before the wellbeing of their own people, and the next three were representatives of Orissa's state government, but it was the final gentleman that captured Arun's attention, his rotund form preventing his suit from fully buttoning.

'And lastly, this is Mr Prakash Solanki of the firm Solanki & Partners. Mr Solanki's construction firm will be managing both the demolition and construction phases of the project.'

'I know him,' hissed Arun, deftly nudging Lucky in the ribs with his elbow.

'Ow,' he whispered back through clenched teeth, 'who do you know?'

'Prakash, the construction guy. I met him on the plane on the way here.'

'Is he a friend of yours?'

'No, not exactly.'

'Good, because he is the one who's going to knock down our house,' quipped Lucky irritably.

They listened intently whilst each of the men personally introduced themselves and explained their particular interest in the project, using a curious mix of Hindi and English, not too dissimilar from the way in which Rajubhai Joshi had addressed the crowd. The gentlemen spoke in order of ranking, the parliamentary representative beginning by praising the village for making a sacrifice for the greater good of the state, and ultimately the country. He had a fondness for figures, but his projections of future visitor numbers and the revenue associated with them impressed no-one.

The state government officials were a little more mindful of their audience's concerns, outlining details of the new village and trying to upsell its features to the uninspired crowd. They also discussed the arrangements for financial compensation: all families would receive a lump sum, livestock and assistance with the construction of their new homes. In addition, the state had agreed to pay for the existing mandir to be partially disassembled and moved to its new location, and for a subsidy to be paid to businesses, including Hanara's shop, to aid with reconstruction. On reflection Arun didn't think that the packages sounded too bad, but one look at Lucky's face told him that his brother did not feel the same way. A brief question and answer session followed the state representatives' presentation; brief, because the villagers had already resigned themselves to their fate and having lost their appeal, there was a shared sentiment amongst the crowd that nothing they said or did would change whatever plans the state had already committed to.

Finally, Prakash stood to begin the most sensitive part of the panel's presentation. Arun listened with interest whilst he explained how construction of the new settlement would be completed in phases, with the erection of their new homes constituting the first phase and beginning in approximately ten days. The new settlement was to be modelled on the existing one to 'minimise disruption and unfamiliarity for residents', and on completion they would be required to vacate their existing homes immediately. In the second phase, the mandir would be moved and only once this was successfully completed would the existing village be razed to the ground, enabling construction of the airport to begin.

The last statement caused a small furore amongst the audience as devoutly religious members of the community angrily voiced their grievances surrounding a disruption to their daily worship rituals. Sensing the rising tension, Rajubhai Joshi was quickly forced to step in and reassure them all that he had discussed the plans at length, concluding that the approach selected ensured that their primary need for housing was addressed first. The crowd seemed to calm down at his words and Prakash himself appeared visibly relieved, but ripples of discontent could still occasionally be heard sweeping through the hall whilst he concluded his presentation and resumed his seat.

When the final question and answer session was over, both the panel and the villagers adjourned to the two adjoining rooms, where some of the younger girls were serving hot chai. Securing a cup each, Arun and Lucky retired to the corner of the room, Lucky still seething over the content of the panel's presentations.

'It is ridiculous. How am I supposed to make any money travelling two hours to Puri each day and night?' he exclaimed, sucking his tea through clenched teeth.

'Why didn't you say anything during the question and answer session then, Lucky?'

'What's the point only? They aren't listening to us; coming here in their fancy suits with their fancy words. They don't really care – it is acting only.'

'But if you don't speak up, how will they know what your concerns are? How the plans affect your livelihood is a big deal; they can't ignore something like that.'

'I have told them already, right at the beginning,' said Lucky, growing increasingly exasperated by Arun's naïvety. 'They don't care about my money, as long as they are getting theirs. If they cared, then they wouldn't be moving us so far away from Puri.'

Arun hated seeing Lucky behave so negatively and it was clear that his brother was quite put out by the whole ordeal, but he couldn't help feeling that his refusal to voice his concerns made the absence of an adequate resolution partly his own fault.

'I'm just saying, I think you ought to have raised your points again today. All of the important decision makers were here; you never know what might have happened.'

'If you are so convinced that they are listening, then why don't you go and talk to them?'

'Lucky –'

'Go on! Go and talk to your friend. Ask him if he knows or even cares that he's knocking down your family house,' challenged Lucky angrily.

'Who's your friend?' queried Hanara, joining them from across the room.

'He's not my friend,' corrected Arun.

'The fat one who was talking at the end,' retorted Lucky childishly.

'You know him?'

'I wouldn't say that I _know_ him; I met him on the plane on the way here.'

'Arun is going to talk to him about how this is affecting my job and to see if they will move us closer to the city instead of farther away from it, isn't it Arun?'

Feeling somewhat put on the spot by Lucky's adolescent behaviour and on account of the expectant enthusiasm that was written all over Hanara's face, Arun nodded reluctantly and, placing his empty cup on a ledge, set off in search of Prakash.

He found him in the next room standing amongst a group of gentlemen that he didn't recognise, the village's elder women incessantly fussing over them, insisting that they drink more chai. He wasn't sure what to say and he wasn't even sure that Prakash would remember him, but he knew that he would not be able to face Lucky and Hanara again until he had at least attempted to fight their cause.

'Excuse me, Mr Solanki?' he said, approaching the group and hovering nervously by Prakash's side.

'Yes?'

'I don't know if you remember me? We met on the plane a few months back?'

Prakash turned his back on the group of gentlemen and, when he studied Arun's face, a slow look of recognition started to spread across his own.

'Yes, yes, A –?'

'Arun, sir,' he finished, extending his hand by way of a more formal greeting.

'Arun. That's it! I almost didn't recognise you – all that hair,' he said jovially, accepting Arun's palm with one hand and pointing to the unruly mop perched atop his head with the other.

Arun ran his free hand through his uncombed hair self-consciously, trying to shape it into something a little less unprofessional in appearance.

'What are you doing all the way down here?'

'This is where my family live,' he answered, catching sight of Hanara and Lucky entering the room out of the corner of his eye.

'Oh yes, very good. A bit of a long trip though isn't it? Have you been here the whole time? That flight was quite some time ago if my memory serves me correctly.'

'Yes, I have. We, um... had a lot of catching up to do.'

'I take it that your family lives in the village? How are they feeling about the move?'

'They, um, they're okay,' he answered, trying to choose his words carefully, 'but my brother is a little upset about a few things.'

'Is it the mandir? I thought that I was going to be lynched the way that they all reacted when I said it would be moved during phase two!'

'No, actually it's a little bit more personal than that.'

'Oh?'

'He's a rickshaw driver in the city. The move will mean that he has twice as far to travel each day. He's concerned about the time it will take and also that the extra fuel costs will reduce his earnings.'

Prakash seemed to consider this for a moment and appeared to be struggling with how to respond.

'Between you and I, Arun,' he began, lowering his voice conspiratorially, 'that's why they're locating the new airport in the village.'

'I don't understand; what do you mean?'

Prakash glanced around anxiously and lowered his voice even further before continuing.

'Think about it, Arun. If there is already an empty plot of land, why not just build the airport there instead of going through all this fuss and uprooting villages and whatnot? The plot is pretty perfect from a construction perspective, but the government decided that two hours was not an acceptable time for the commute between the airport and the city. It already takes that long to travel in from Bhubaneswar on the train so there would be no advantage to building the airport.'

Arun felt an anger bubbling up inside his chest at the realisation that Lucky was right; the government's priorities had nothing to do with its people and everything to do with money.

'Why not just look for another plot of land then? There must be somewhere else that's suitable and not too far from Puri? Somewhere that doesn't involve having to relocate an entire village?'

'You'd think so, wouldn't you, but unfortunately the searches didn't turn up any other viable sites,' answered Prakash regretfully.

'Couldn't you try searching one last time? Just in case there is somewhere that you didn't spot the first time round?' pleaded Arun, desperately.

He could feel the weight of Lucky's gaze upon him and he didn't want to return without having anything positive to say.

'There isn't anywhere else Arun, trust me. These searches are very comprehensive.'

'But what if there _is_ somewhere and you've missed it?' he whined, feeling his opportunity rapidly slip away.

'Arun, believe me, if there was any other option, I'd be the first one pushing for it. I don't like seeing these villagers kicked out of their homes any more than you do and frankly, constructing another settlement before we can even get started on the airport is a headache that I don't really need. But it is, what it is.'

Arun sighed dejectedly and nodded his head in defeat. He thanked Prakash for his time and skulked back to where Lucky and Hanara stood, eagerly awaiting the outcome of his conversation.

'Well?' they asked in unison.

'You were right,' mumbled Arun bitterly, 'it seems the government really do just care about themselves.'

'And your friend?' asked Hanara, her eyes still wide with hope.

'He sympathised with you, but there isn't anything that he can do.'

'Figures,' muttered Lucky under his breath.

Hanara's face fell and Arun sensed that he had fallen slightly from the pedestal upon which she had placed him.

'Can we go home now please? I'm exhausted, the day has been really long,' yawned Hanara.

'Why not?' quipped Lucky, swiftly moving towards the exit. 'It's not like standing around here talking about it is going to change anything anyhow.'
**THIRTY-FIVE**

****

ANOTHER week rolled by until only one week remained before Arun was due to fly back to England. It had taken some getting used to, for all of them, but he had made his peace with what he had to do and was trying his best to think positively. He felt encouraged to view the return as the start of a very promising medical career, rather than the end of his time in India. It was this career that had been his lifelong ambition and, if successful, it was this career that would ultimately enable him to return to India to be with his siblings and Chandni when the time was right. There was little for Arun to do by way of preparation for his departure – he had left with one bag and would return with the same – but since his arrival in the village, at the back of his mind there had always been one place that he felt he ought to visit again before leaving.

The monsoon rains were more or less over and one sunny morning, leaving Hanara to mind the shop, Arun travelled into Puri with Lucky and asked to be dropped off outside of the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel. He was unsurprised to find his concierge buddy on duty and, greeting him with a huge warm smile, he politely requested that a taxi was summoned for him. Within ten minutes he was zipping along the main road once more and when they passed beyond the city limits and ascended the gentle incline, the verdant beauty of the bushy trees and gleaming rice paddies was enough to transport Arun back to his first visit to Rachna Hari. How different it had been then, speeding along on the back of Manoj's motorcycle, hurtling towards a great unknown in a time when he had dared to hope, to dream and to wish. He couldn't have predicted that it would be the start of such a wonderful journey and the point beyond which his life would be forever transformed and enriched.

When they reached the top of the hill, the large white colonial house dazzled in the midday sun and, after remunerating the driver, Arun stepped out of the car into the cooling breeze. The security guard regarded him with suspicion, failing to recognise his face beneath the tangled mop that framed it, but he seemed to relax somewhat when Arun politely explained that he was there to see Manoj. He scurried into the house leaving Arun to bask in the warmth of the sun and when he returned a few minutes later, looking decidedly more amiable, he eased back the heavy metal gate and allowed Arun to enter the grounds. Manoj stood waiting for him expectantly on the steps leading up to the house and threw his arms open in a gesture of welcome at the sight of him.

'Arun, what a lovely surprise. I would have assumed that you had returned to England by now.'

'Hello Manoj, how have you been?'

'Very well. Do come through,' he said, shaking Arun's hand and motioning for him to proceed into the building.

They walked leisurely through the grand house, the hallways cool, dark and silent, until they emerged onto the terrace at the back with the spectacular view of the city. Seating themselves on the plastic garden furniture as before, Manoj summoned the same young girl who had served them during Arun's first visit and she obediently fetched two fresh lime sodas for them from the kitchen. They sipped their drinks gratefully in the sunshine and it wasn't long before Manoj was enquiring about the outcome of Arun's search for Kalpana. Taking a deep breath, Arun began to recount in detail his experiences from the past few months and he was surprised by just how much he had done.

Manoj listened closely while Arun described his initial meeting with Lucky and Hanara, and explained how he had learned of Mata-ji's death six weeks before his arrival. He recalled with fondness the early adventures with Lucky and how Hanara's rejection and resentment had slowly turned to love, acceptance and even a rakhi. He omitted the true details surrounding his adoption, concerned that Catherine and Mata-ji's agreement might in some way incriminate Rachna Hari because of the refuge's involvement in their introduction, and he spoke instead of working in the shop by day, attending the mandir by night, and of finally belonging to a community, whose lives were now on the verge of disruption. He delighted in tales of the crowds at Rath Yatra and of the more intimate encounters with Chandni that had caused him to fall in love, despite Rajubhai Joshi's ban on their courtship. And he reminisced; he reminisced about his short-lived plan to attend medical college in Mumbai, before Arthur had delivered the selfish ultimatum that was now forcing him to return home.

'It sounds like you have had quite an adventure,' mused Manoj, when Arun finally ceased talking.

'It has been quite eventful, yes,' concluded Arun, sipping his lime soda.

'I'm terribly sorry to hear of your mother's passing too; I know how much you were looking forward to meeting her.'

'Thanks, Manoj, that's very kind of you. It was a shock, of course, but you know, strangely I can't help feeling that perhaps I was never supposed to meet her. I can't imagine how things would have turned out and being reunited with Lucky and Hanara, and meeting Chandni, well it's been... enough. Maybe they're the real reason that I had to come, even if I didn't know it at the time.'

'I know what you mean; life can be strange like that sometimes. Imagine if we too hadn't met that day? You know it was purely by chance that I was there; I hadn't been back to the old refuge building since the last items were moved here. You'd probably still be wandering aimlessly around that desolate town; no-one ever goes there anymore, it's completely empty.'

Arun started to violently cough and splutter as the sip of lime soda that he had just taken travelled halfway down his throat before beginning to resurface in his haste to speak. Manoj patted him hard on the back trying to calm his swells, but he waved him away, fighting desperately to regain his breath so that he could speak.

'Around the old refuge,' he croaked painfully, 'are you certain that no-one lives or works there anymore?'

'Positive, why?'

'Who owns the buildings?' he continued, ignoring Manoj's question.

'Well we still own the refuge building, but I think most of the others have simply been abandoned. Why?' he pressed, growing increasingly curious as he tried to decipher the wild look in Arun's eyes.

'Manoj, do you need the old refuge building? Would you be prepared to sell it?'

'I'd love to sell it, but no-one will buy in that neighbourhood now. People don't even want the properties that they already own.'

'The airport, Manoj!' cried Arun over-excitedly. 'What if they were to build the airport in the town where the old refuge is?'

The short man looked at him and smiled benignly.

'It's a nice idea, Arun, but I doubt that things are as simple as that.'

'Why not? The area is big enough and it's just as close to Puri as the village is. Best of all, there is no-one living there that needs to be moved elsewhere; it's the perfect solution,' Arun exclaimed, mildly irritated by Manoj's lack of enthusiasm for the idea.

'I quite agree with you, but I can't see the government agreeing to it, especially after the effort that it sounds like they have already put into securing your village.'

Arun sighed exasperatedly and regarded Manoj with a serious, business-like face.

'If I can get them to agree to it, will you agree to sell?'

'Of course I will, Arun, but how do you propose to go about getting them to agree to such a drastic change so late in the proceedings?'

'I have absolutely no idea, but there must be a way... I need to talk to Rajubhai Joshi, urgently,' he concluded.

Eager to present his idea to Rajubhai Joshi, the afternoon passed by far too slowly for Arun's liking, but he could not return to the village until Lucky's day was over and with no means of contacting his brother, he had no choice except to wait it out. When the sun began to set over the city, Manoj kindly gave him a ride on his motorcycle back to the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, where he had arranged to meet Lucky at five o'clock. True to form, it was gone six o'clock by the time Lucky actually arrived, but as soon as Arun divulged the details of his masterful plan, a very enthusiastic Lucky sped back towards the village with fervour.

A little over thirty minutes later, the brothers found themselves parked outside of the mandir, where they knew Rajubhai Joshi would be preparing for evening prayers.

'Are you sure that you want to do this?' asked Lucky.

'Yes of course, why?'

'Maybe I should go instead? He doesn't dislike me quite as much.'

'No, Lucky, I need to be the one to do this. I'll have to face him some day and if this doesn't change his thoughts about me, then I don't know what will.'

Lucky beamed with admiration at his brother's courage and, nodding proudly, wished him the best of luck.

Arun found the old man in one of the side rooms preparing the aarti tray. There was no-one else present in the mandir and since it was clear that Rajubhai Joshi hadn't heard him approaching, he loudly cleared his throat to alert him to his presence.

'Arun,' the old man uttered with surprise, 'is there something that I can help you with?'

'I need to talk with you, please, sir.'

'Arun, if this is about Chandni, then I am not interested in whatever it is that you have to say. I've already had to endure her incessant pleading on your behalf, without now having to endure yours too,' he finished curtly.

'It's not about Chandni, sir.'

'Oh? Then?'

Rajubhai Joshi listened carefully whilst Arun quickly retraced his conversation with Manoj and explained about the existence and allure of the uninhabited site. When he finished, he looked expectantly into Rajubhai Joshi's eyes and awaited the embrace of gratitude and the revelling in the genius of his idea that he was certain would follow, but the old man was silently contemplative.

'It is a nice idea, in theory at least, but I doubt very much that they would agree to it,' he concluded calmly.

'But you could ask. Ask them and see what they say?'

'I really don't see the point in that, Arun. Your friend, Mr Rama, was quite right. The project has effectively started and they are just a few days away from beginning construction of the new village.'

'All the more reason for you to speak with them now, before they start. Before it's too late,' wailed Arun, exasperated by Rajubhai Joshi's apparent refusal to fight.

'No, Arun. As I have already said, it is a nice idea, but I really think it is too late now. The time has passed and we must accept that we will be moving, and make the necessary preparations.'

'So you won't even try?' he said, pouting in defeat.

'How _dare_ you, Arun; I _have_ tried. I have been trying since before you even knew of the situation, before you even knew of the village for that matter. What's done is done; we must all accept it and move on.'

'But, what if –'

'Arun, if you don't mind, I have a lot of things to finish preparing before this evening. I will see you later,' he finished dismissively.

Irritated by the exchange, Arun trudged back outside to find Lucky, the frustration manifest in his face.

'How did it go?' questioned Lucky eagerly, before Arun had even climbed back into the rickshaw.

'He doesn't think that they'll agree to it. He thinks that it's too late,' Arun sighed dejectedly.

'Oh. Well that's it then.'

'Actually, Lucky, it's not,' cried Arun, suddenly brightening when another thought occurred to him.

'Arun, if Rajubhai Joshi and Mr Rama are both saying that it is too late, then it must be too late, isn't it? There's nothing that we can do.'

'Yes, yes there is,' he countered defiantly, more determined than ever to prove Rajubhai Joshi wrong.

'But Arun –'

'Just drive, Lucky. I'll explain on the way.
**THIRTY-SIX**

****

BEFORE Lucky could bring the rickshaw to a complete standstill, Arun had jumped out and made it halfway across the yard to the house. He tore through the front door and, ignoring Hanara's greeting, charged straight through to the bedroom that he shared with Lucky. He could hear muffled voices rising in the living quarters when Lucky finally caught up and tried to explain Arun's haste to a deeply offended Hanara, but placating his sister was not his primary concern at that moment. He searched frantically until he found his backpack, concealed beneath the mountainous piles of clothes that he had borrowed from Lucky to attend the mandir. He tipped it upside down and vigorously shook out the contents until they virtually covered the mattress that he and Lucky used for their bed. He sifted through his belongings, tossing clothes and toiletries to one side to whittle down the mass, and it wasn't long before he found the very thing that he had been searching for. Punching the air triumphantly, he marched back into the living quarters, adrenaline now fuelling the urgency of his mission.

'I found it; let's go,' he announced, nodding at Lucky.

A look of confusion remained on Hanara's face, but Lucky instantly leapt to his feet and in a few short strides he had joined Arun by the front door. Together, they wrestled it open and within minutes they were back in the rickshaw heading out along the dirt road to Puri. The sun had set and the night air was sticky, but the speed with which they were hurtling towards the city created a welcome breeze that gently ruffled Arun's hair, helping to keep him cool. He tightly gripped the side of the seat with one hand, to keep from being thrown from the rickshaw every time Lucky rounded a corner at speed, and with his clothes devoid of pockets, in his other hand he gripped the small white card in which he was placing all of his faith. His mind raced with possibilities, but he could do nothing except hope that he would not be too late to save the village from unnecessary upheaval.

Lucky expertly navigated them through the city traffic until they reached the internet café that Arun had not had the strength to return to since the day of his hellish confrontation with Arthur. He left Lucky to go in search of a parking spot and swept into the shop to procure one of the telephone booths at the rear. His hands shook with nerves as he carefully dialled the number on the front of the card and waited, willing his call to be answered.

'Hello?'

'Prakash, hi. It's Arun Rutherford from the plane.'

'Oh hello, Arun. How nice to hear from you again. Is everything okay?'

'Yes, sort of. Prakash, I'd like to ask a favour, please.'

'Of course; shoot.'

This was it, Arun's last attempt to sell in his big idea and he hoped that Prakash would be more enthusiastic than Manoj and Rajubhai Joshi.

'You know how you said that there weren't any other suitable sites to build the airport?'

'Yes...' answered Prakash incredibly slowly.

'Well, I think that I've found a place. It's close to the city, there is virtually no-one living there and best of all there won't be a need to relocate the village if you go for it.'

'Arun, I assure you that we really did search high and low for a site. Whatever it is that you think you've found sounds too good to be true, which probably means that it is.'

'It's not, Prakash, I promise it's not,' Arun pleaded, feeling like the opportunity was slipping away. 'I've been there myself; it is exactly the kind of place that you were looking for.'

'Have you told Mr Joshi about this place?'

'I tried, but he wasn't interested in hearing about it and I know that we don't have much time left. That's why I need your help. I was hoping you might be able to talk to the other representatives? Maybe get them to take a look at the site? That's the favour that I wanted to ask.'

'Ah, Arun,' began Prakash, sounding distressed, 'that's a big favour and I really don't know if I should start meddling in all the –'

'Please?' Arun pleaded simply.

Prakash was his last hope and he desperately wanted everything to work out. He wanted to be able to leave India knowing that he had helped Lucky and Hanara to keep Mata-ji's house, a house that was full of memories, both old and new.

'Okay,' answered Prakash wearily, finally giving in, 'let me see what I can do, but I'm not promising anything.'

'Thanks, Prakash,' whispered Arun, trying to contain his excitement. 'You have no idea how grateful I am.'

He read out the address of the old Rachna Hari refuge, along with Manoj's contact details, and though Prakash explained that it might take some time to convince the others to view the site, he gave Arun his word that he would not authorise construction to commence until they had either approved or vetoed his proposal.

Arun replaced the receiver and, with a glow of positivity surrounding him, exited the booth to pay for the call. Lucky, who had been patiently waiting for Arun to conclude his discussion, immediately launched himself at his brother when he stepped out of the booth.

'What did he say?'

'He's going to talk to the others for us,' answered Arun with a smile.

'That's great news,' screamed Lucky, flinging his arms around his brother's shoulders with gratitude. 'Arun, if this works, you will be the best little brother that anyone has ever had.'

'You mean that I'm not already?' he scoffed, feigning insult as they left the shop and started towards home.

The next few days were slow and torturous whilst they waited to hear whether the airport would still be built over their village. Prakash had reassured Arun that he would find a way to communicate any developments to him, but with no telephones or computers present in the village Arun had no idea how he proposed to manage this. It was hard to resist the temptation to travel into Puri each day and bombard Prakash with calls and e-mails, especially with Lucky and Hanara constantly haranguing him for an update, but Arun forced himself to remember that Prakash was doing him a favour and he couldn't risk aggravating the only person that might still be able to help their cause. The three of them decided to remain tight-lipped about their intervention, not wanting to risk falsely raising the hopes of the community, and on Arun's part, not wishing to antagonise Rajubhai Joshi any further. Only a few days remained before he was due to leave India for good and after all of the drama that had taken place in recent weeks, he was happy to simply spend the time with his family and let it slip by uneventfully, with one small exception.

With Hanara acting as a go-between Arun had managed to arrange a final meeting alone with Chandni one evening. Her time of the month was conveniently approaching and though she had been reluctant to risk meeting at first, eventually she had submitted to a final visit from Arun at home, whilst Rajubhai Joshi attended the mandir. Lucky and Hanara dropped their brother outside of Chandni's house on their way to prayers and promised to pick him up again on the way home, saving him the wearisome walk in the dark. Once the rickshaw had disappeared into the night, Arun rapped softly on Chandni's door until he heard light footsteps approaching. As had become habit, she opened the door a tiny fraction and waited for Arun to slip inside of his own accord.

Alone again at last, their arms and lips quickly reunited and they devoured each other hungrily, releasing the weeks of tension that had built up from being unable touch or speak to one another. It was a bittersweet moment, but they tried their best not to let Arun's impending departure spoil their fun.

'How are you?' enquired Chandni sweetly, as she sat wrapped in Arun's arms, smiling to herself contentedly.

'I'm fine, how are you?' he answered, lightly kissing the top of her head.

'Better now that you are here.'

'Good; I'm glad.'

'How are you feeling about going home?'

Arun winced at the prospect of leaving, having tried so hard not to think about it, but Chandni couldn't see his face and remained silent while she awaited his response.

'Okay, I guess. Don't get me wrong, I'd still much rather stay here, but I'm looking forward to starting my course in October. It will be good to have something to focus on, something to work towards, instead of thinking about how much I am missing you all the time. It's hard seeing you every day, knowing that we can't be together.'

'I know. I am trying and my Bapu-ji is not nearly as cross as he was at first, but it takes time.'

'I know. What's the latest on Mumbai?'

'Well, they've agreed to defer my entry into the programme until next year; I figure that gives me enough time to work on my Bapu-ji. I think he's coming around to the idea that I want to do more with my life, which is something at least, but Mumbai is still very much out of the question. If I'm lucky, he might allow me to go to Puri.'

'That is something,' he answered, hugging her tightly against his chest.

They sat lounging together in the comfortable silence of the night, no words necessary for each to understand how the other felt, until Chandni released herself from Arun's arms and sat back against her heels.

'Thank you, Arun.'

'For what?'

'For everything. For taking the time to get to know me, when nobody else would. For loving me enough to stand up to my Bapu-ji and for pushing me towards my dreams. I would never have applied to the programme if it wasn't for you,' she explained humbly.

'Yes you would have. Maybe not this year, maybe not even next year, but eventually you would have. You've always had it in you, Chandni, you're not like the other girls in the village; you want more for yourself than just a husband, and a home, and the same life that your mother lived. You just needed to conquer your fears, that was all.'

Chandni smiled down at him warmly, her face rosy with embarrassment from the compliments he had showered upon her, but Arun wasn't finished.

'I think the real thanks goes to you.'

'For?'

'For risking Rajubhai Joshi's anger to see me. For supporting my dreams, even when they mean that we have to be apart. For being the most beautiful, kind, loving and understanding girl that I have ever met. And most of all, for believing in me and believing in us enough to try.'

The smile unexpectedly left Chandni's face and her bottom lip began to tremble.

'I'm really going to miss you, Arun,' she whispered, the tears that she had fought so desperately to hold back now welling up in her eyes.

'Hey, shh,' he said, pulling her towards him once more. 'I'm going to miss you too, but it's not always going to be like this. I will be back and don't forget we can send each other letters through Hanara and Lucky.'

'I know,' she said sniffling and wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, 'but it still hurts.'

They sat together in silence once more, absorbing each other and trying to commit to memory the sight, smell and feel of the other's being. It would be a long time before they would be together again, especially alone, and Arun wanted to memorise every last inch of Chandni so that he would always be able to picture her in his mind. Shortly after ten o'clock, they heard the familiar rattle of Lucky's rickshaw engine outside, followed by the faint blast of his horn, and they knew that their time was up. Disentangling themselves from one another, they walked slowly towards the door, neither of them wanting the night to end because of the finality that it would bring. When they reached the door, Arun took Chandni into his arms one last time and kissed her long and deep, knowing that he would fall apart the moment that he had to let her go.

'I love you, Arun,' she breathed between his kisses.

'I love you too, Chandni,' he whispered and, eyes still closed, unable to bear the sadness that he was sure filled her eyes, he slipped out into the cool night air.
**THIRTY-SEVEN**

****

BY the time of Arun's penultimate day in the village and his last day of working in the shop, there was still no word from Prakash, and Arun was forced to resign himself to the fact that his efforts to save the village had amounted to nothing. The chances of a victory had been slim, but he had dared to hope and more importantly to try, which was more than could be said for Rajubhai Joshi. He was staring lazily out onto the road, waiting for customers to drop by and provide him with the light entertainment and distraction that he so enjoyed, when he noticed a large black vehicle advancing at pace towards the shop. When it drew closer, he recognised that it was one of the sleek executive cars that he had often seen pulling up outside the Mayfair Beach Resort Hotel, ready to chauffeur well-to-do businessmen and important dignitaries around the city.

The car ground to a halt just short of the shop and, after a few brief moments, Prakash emerged from the back seat. Arun felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his heart began to thump uncomfortably in his chest. For Prakash to come all the way to the village to see him, it must be important, but he didn't know the businessman well enough to determine whether he was about to receive good or bad news.

'Good afternoon, Arun,' he called brightly, waving as he approached the front of the shop.

'Good afternoon, Prakash,' Arun responded, instantly jumping to his feet, but resisting the urge to demand an immediate explanation for Prakash's silence.

'How have you been?'

'Fine, and yourself?' Arun answered through pursed lips, the suspense now tearing at the insides of his stomach.

'Not too bad, not too bad. Business going well?'

'Slow. It's my last day here today anyway.'

'Oh?' answered Prakash with surprise. 'How come?'

'I'm going back to England in a few days. I start my degree at Oxford in October.'

'I see. Well that is a shame.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, I mean you won't be around to enjoy the delights of the village... now that it looks as though everyone will be staying put,' he finished with a smile.

Arun's eyes immediately lit up and in his haste to exit the shop he nearly brought the whole thing crashing to the ground. He fumbled clumsily with the door before smacking his head on the frame, forgetting to stoop as he rushed out into the yard and flung his arms around Prakash's shoulders with gratitude.

'When did you? How did they? Really?' he exclaimed all at once, before remembering who he was talking to and stepping back to shake Prakash's hand instead. 'Thank you. Thank you so much.'

The rotund gentleman chuckled to himself, amused by Arun's bumbling appreciation.

'There's no need to thank me, Arun, I really didn't do much. I'll admit that it was a bit tough persuading the team to consider an alternative site at such late notice, but once they viewed it, everyone agreed that it was a viable option. We pushed through a couple of the initial site surveys last week and it looks as though the land is safe to build on, plus your friend Manoj has negotiated a very reasonable deal on the plot where the refuge used to be. The rest of the land is government owned and since there is nobody currently living around there, the projected construction and demolition costs are much lower so the bigwigs are pleased about the savings and the village gets to stay where it is. Everyone's a winner.'

'That's brilliant,' breathed Arun, almost with tears in his eyes. 'Really Prakash, I can't thank you enough.'

'As I said, no need to thank me. Thank you for having such quick thinking,' answered Prakash, bowing his head courteously. 'I was never really too happy about being responsible for uprooting a whole village. At least now I can sleep soundly at night.'

'I'll bet.'

'Listen, I can't stay unfortunately, but I wanted to come and tell you the good news in person. Just do me a favour and keep it to yourself, okay? The team and I only met with Rajubhai Joshi this morning and I think he is planning to make some sort of official announcement at the mandir tonight.'

'No problem at all.'

'Great. Well, I'd better get going, lots to be done. Drop me a line when you get back to the UK, it would be good to hear how you're getting on,' said Prakash, extending his hand one final time.

'I will,' began Arun, accepting Prakash's hand, 'thanks again... for everything... you have no idea what this will mean to everyone.'

'My pleasure.'

Prakash turned on his heel and started back towards the car. Within a few minutes he had been swallowed up by the darkness of the car's blacked-out windows and after a perfectly executed three-point turn by the driver, the car sped off into the distance.

Arun could hardly contain his excitement and though he had promised not to shout it from the rooftops, he felt compelled to share the news with Hanara immediately. Leaving the shop unmanned and unlocked, he flounced into the house, where he found Hanara crouched over a large pot shelling peas.

'Hey, Arun, who is watching the shop only? I know it's your last day, but there is no need for slacking,' she joked amicably.

Arun dropped down onto the floor beside her and watched her at work, an enormous smile plastered across his bronzed face.

'What do you want only? It's very distracting to have you staring at me like that,' she grumbled.

When Arun didn't respond, Hanara paused what she was doing to look across at him properly, but it was only then that she registered the inane look on his face.

'What are you so happy about?' she demanded, regarding him suspiciously.

'Hanara, we did it. The village doesn't have to move. They're going to build the airport where the old Rachna Hari is,' he screeched, his voice rising to a crescendo by the time he had managed to get all of the words out.

'Are you... are you being serious?'

Hanara's question didn't require an answer because the ridiculous grin on Arun's face told her everything that she needed to know. Shrieking with glee, she leapt to her feet, almost knocking over the pot of peas. She dragged Arun to his feet too and, hand in hand, they danced a delighted little jig around the room, lost in their rapture.

'We need to tell everyone,' Hanara gushed. 'Does Rajubhai Joshi know? We need to tell him!'

'Yes, he knows, but Hanara you can't say anything to anyone. Rajubhai Joshi is going to announce it tonight at the mandir.'

Hanara clapped her hands together ecstatically, relieved and still slightly shocked that they would no longer have to leave their home.

'Can we tell Lucky?'

'Of course we can tell Lucky!'

When Lucky returned a few hours later, Hanara and Arun pounced on him the moment that he entered the house. Overcome with emotion, Lucky wept openly at the news; the weeks of stress trying to figure out how to make his job work from the new village suddenly released by a single revelation. He was full of praise for Arun's headstrong determination and it was a joyous moment for them all as they settled down to dinner in the knowledge that there would be more dinners in the house to come. A deep sense of satisfaction pervaded Arun's soul and he felt proud to have helped to secure not only a piece of his family's history, but also the future of an entire community. Of all the things that he had achieved in his short life, this was his greatest accomplishment and the strongest signal to date that he was where he was supposed to be.

The thought was a bittersweet one and after the dinner plates had been cleared away, and Lucky and Hanara had retired to their rooms to dress for the mandir, Arun remained lounging amongst the cushions lost in thought. Hanara re-emerged briefly to search for her shoes and was surprised to find Arun relaxing in the clothes that he had put on earlier that morning.

'Aren't you going to change?' she chided.

'Actually I, um, I think I'm going to sit this one out,' he said quietly.

'What do you mean you're going to sit this one out?' exclaimed Lucky, smoothing out the length of his tunic as he emerged from the bedroom.

The siblings regarded Arun quizzically, unable to comprehend his sudden change in mood.

'I think I'm going to stay here tonight.'

'You can't stay home; we have to celebrate our good news. Everyone at the mandir will be so pleased; they'll all want to see you and to thank you,' cried Hanara.

'I know... but I will see them all tomorrow at my leaving party anyway.'

'Please come, Arun. It will be our last visit to the mandir together for a while,' said Lucky, his eyes wide and pleading.

'I want to Lucky, I really do, but I... I just don't think that I can face seeing Chandni again. We've already said our goodbyes; it's too hard. Besides, it's probably a good idea to steer clear of Rajubhai Joshi too. He's not going to be too pleased that I went behind his back... again.'

'Of course he will be pleased,' shrieked Lucky incredulously. 'Arun, if you hadn't gone behind his back, we would all be halfway across the countryside right now, too far away to even go to the mandir.'

Arun looked from his brother to his sister and back again; they looked so pitiful, so scorned by his decision not to come with them and though he didn't want to upset them, he knew in his heart that he simply couldn't face seeing Chandni.

'I'm sorry, I really am, but I just can't. You go and I promise that we will have a proper celebration tomorrow.'

Hanara and Lucky nodded their heads grudgingly, but Arun knew that deep down they understood his predicament. A few moments later they disappeared through the front door and, in the silence of the house, Arun found himself alone with his thoughts once more.
**THIRTY-EIGHT**

****

THE next day, Arun and Lucky helped Hanara to prepare the house for Arun's farewell party. They had been expecting a reasonable number of guests anyway, but following Rajubhai Joshi's announcement the night before, details of Arun's involvement in orchestrating the deal had spread and everybody wanted the opportunity to thank him and wish him well with his studies. Hanara spent most of the day cooking, myriad smells wafting out from the pots and pans that she had left to simmer over the hearth, whilst Lucky busied himself recording Hindi songs off the radio to create the perfect party cassette, which he planned to gift to Arun as a souvenir of his time in India.

All day long the house was a hive of activity and there was no time to breathe when guests started to stream through the front door part way through the afternoon. It wasn't long before the house buzzed with the sounds of people talking and laughing, eating and drinking, and Arun barely had two minutes to himself as guest after guest stopped to thank and congratulate him. There could be no doubt that he was enjoying himself and it was a strange feeling, not only to be the centre of attention, but to be included, celebrated and honoured by the community, when all his life he'd only ever felt like an awkward outsider looking in on a world that he was supposedly a part of.

By late afternoon the party was in full swing and Arun could only look on in amusement while Lucky tried to goad some of the younger guests into dancing to his favourite song. Just when he feared that he would be Lucky's next unfortunate victim, he felt a soft tap on his shoulder and, relieved by the excuse to move away from the makeshift dance floor, he turned to see who it was.

'Good afternoon, Arun.'

'Good afternoon, sir,' he replied, instantly filled with panic as he stared into Rajubhai Joshi's deep green eyes.

'I wondered if perhaps I might have a few moments of your time?'

'Of course,' he answered more confidently than he felt. He was certain that the old man was there to reprimand him for meddling in the village's affairs, or worse, that he had found out about his secret rendezvous with Chandni a few nights before.

'Do you mind if we step outside? It's a little bit noisy in here; I can hardly hear myself.'

Arun led the way through the house and out into the backyard, where the sun was slowly starting to sink into the horizon. Rajubhai Joshi appeared calm and composed, but Arun instinctively felt on edge, nervously twisting his fingers around the cup that he was holding.

'It would seem that you have an aptitude for pursuing things behind my back, Arun,' the old man began. 'First my daughter, and now my village.'

Arun remained silent, fearful that anything he said would be twisted or made to sound worse than it actually was, much like during their previous confrontation.

'Whilst I am not fond of secrecy or lies, I do have to admire your tenacity. You believed that our village could be saved and, in spite of my lack of support for your ideas, you went after what you believed in. That took a lot of courage and I respect courage. This whole village is now forever indebted to you, as am I.'

Rajubhai Joshi paused momentarily and Arun released a long sigh, relieved to discover that the old man was not there to chastise him for his actions.

'I am prepared to admit that I may have misjudged you, Arun, and for that I am sorry. My daughter speaks very highly of you, as do many other members of our community, and I can see that she has not been the same since I forced you from her life. She says that the two of you are in love; tell me, is this true? Do you love my daughter?'

'Yes sir, I do, very much,' Arun croaked, his mouth dry from nerves.

He held his breath in his chest whilst Rajubhai Joshi silently contemplated his admission, unsure exactly where the line of questioning was leading.

'Do you really believe that she has what it takes to become a tour guide in Mumbai?'

'Yes sir, I do.'

'But you yourself are returning to England, correct?'

'Yes sir, that is correct.'

'May I ask why? I was previously informed that you wished to study at medical college here in India.'

Arun shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other; this was not really any of Rajubhai Joshi's business, but in the spirit of honesty, which the old man had made it very clear that he valued, Arun decided to go with the truth.

'Arthur, my father, has refused to pay for my medical college tuition fees if I stay in India.'

'I see. And why is that?'

'It's... complicated, sir. He doesn't believe that I belong here and he would prefer it if I came home.'

'Do you believe that you belong here, Arun?'

'Yes sir, very much so.'

Rajubhai Joshi was silent again, seemingly searching for the right words to convey his thoughts.

'Arun, I am going to put an idea to you. I realise that it might be somewhat... alien, growing up where you have, but I feel that it is my duty as a father to at least explore the subject on my daughter's behalf.'

'Okay...' Arun responded hesitantly, feeling more and more uneasy by the second.

'As you know, I cannot allow you to court my daughter in the manner that you enjoyed previously; it is simply not appropriate for a young Indian girl to be seen cavorting around town with a man that she is not married to,' he began disdainfully. 'However, if you really love each other as much as you profess to, and you are prepared to stay in India, then I am willing to give my consent for the two of you to be married.'

'MARRIED,' Arun spluttered loudly, before he could stop himself.

Rajubhai Joshi regarded him calmly, unmoved by his outburst, and when Arun offered no additional comment or protest, he continued.

'If you accept my proposal, I will perform the marriage ceremony here in the village at the mandir. I will provide sufficient dowry, such that you may both continue to live comfortably in the village, however, if you wish to travel to Mumbai and study, then I'm afraid that is a matter for the two of you to work out.'

'And if I don't marry Chandni?' he asked, regretting the question almost as soon as it left his lips.

'Then I would respectfully ask that once you return to England, you let her be. For you, I understand that it is of no significance to be of a certain age and remain unmarried, however for Chandni it is important that I find her a husband soon, before she is considered to be too old. And I know that she will not submit fully to anything, while she believes that there is a possibility of resurrecting her relationship with you.'

Arun's mouth was wide open with disbelief, while he listened to Rajubhai Joshi calmly laying out his proposal. He simply couldn't believe what he was hearing and the idea that he would have to choose between marrying Chandni and abandoning his dreams of becoming a doctor, or pursuing his aspirations but ceasing all contact with her forever, was too much for him to cope with.

'What does Chandni think of your proposal, sir?' were all the words that he could manage.

Rajubhai Joshi was talking about her as though she was a possession and though he was loathe to go out of his way to upset the old man, it was really only Chandni's opinion that mattered to Arun.

'We discussed it at great length last night and she believes that it is fair. She is a very traditional girl at heart, who only wants to do the right thing and I regret that in recent months both you and I have repeatedly forced her to choose between making one or the other of us happy. I know that she loves you, she has told me so on many occasions, but she also respects our culture's traditions and wishes to conduct herself accordingly. I believe that it is her overwhelming preference to marry you, but she understands the sacrifices that this will involve, and accepts the need to seek an alternative pairing, if you yourself are not ready to commit to such an undertaking at this time.'

Arun weighed Rajubhai Joshi's words in his mind; the old man was behaving as though a marriage to Chandni was a business transaction and, though it made Arun uncomfortable, it didn't surprise him to learn that Chandni had agreed to the proposal. She was indeed a traditional girl at heart and it was one of the many things that he loved about her, yet the prospect of forfeiting his ambitions and committing to marriage at such a young age, even to Chandni, remained something that he would need to think long and hard about.

'Take your time, Arun,' continued Rajubhai Joshi, as though reading his mind. 'I understand that this is not a decision to be taken lightly.'

Arun nodded in acknowledgement, unsure what else he was supposed to say.

After a long and awkward pause, Rajubhai Joshi thanked him again for saving the village and politely excused himself from the backyard. Arun stared at the space where the old man had been, subconsciously willing a sign to appear in its place that would point him in the right direction. Every time that his life seemed to be on track, the wind would change and throw him so off course that he had no option but to return to the starting line and replot his path. He had a lot of thinking to do and some tough decisions to make, and whilst it was all very well Rajubhai Joshi telling him to take his time, time was a luxury that he had simply run out of. He was due to fly back to England the following evening and if he wasn't on that plane, then that would automatically be one decision made for him.
**THIRTY-NINE**

****

THE party continued in a hazy blur and Arun was unable to concentrate on any of the conversations that guests tried to engage him in. He needed to speak with Hanara and Lucky alone, to tell them about Rajubhai Joshi's proposition and to seek their advice, but until the villagers reached their fill of food, drink and dancing, it didn't seem as though the party would end. Arun was rapidly growing tired, frustrated and irritable, and he felt emotionally drained by the constant need to re-evaluate his options. On its own, Arthur's ultimatum had been difficult to digest, but to have a second issued to him by Rajubhai Joshi was simply too much. This second challenge made the first seem like child's play; he could cope with never seeing or speaking to Arthur again and he was returning to the UK to pursue his medical career, not because he feared being cut out of the old man's life. However, the same could not be said for Chandni. He loved her and he had made a promise to her, facts that rendered the thought of losing her forever all the more cutting.

It wasn't that Arun didn't want to marry Chandni one day, but Rajubhai Joshi's inflexible proposition had wide-reaching consequences, consequences that would dictate how he lived the rest of his life and consequences that he was unsure he was fully equipped to cope with yet. He was so young and he still had so much to accomplish; how could he offer a woman any of the things that a husband should provide for his wife? How would he take care of himself, let alone Chandni, if he didn't complete his medical degree? His head began to ache from the spiral of questions and, unable to hear himself think clearly, he revived his old party trick of slipping away to the bedroom when he was sure that no-one was looking.

He lay down on the mattress and stared at the damp spots on the ceiling, desperately trying to quiet his mind, but he couldn't keep from thinking about everything. He had achieved the impossible; he had changed Rajubhai Joshi's opinion of him to such an extent that the old man was prepared to offer him his daughter and welcome him into the family. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and if they married, Chandni too would be able to have the kind of relationship that she had always desired. There was no doubt in his mind that she would make a loving, doting wife, but more than that, their union would at least make the pursuit of her dreams in Mumbai a possibility one day. Yet if they didn't marry, Rajubhai Joshi would likely marry her off to a man who shared his belief that women belonged in the home, and Arun would never be permitted to speak to, touch, kiss or hold her ever again. The prospect alone was unimaginable and Arun shuddered when he recalled how awful he had felt the day that Chandni had tried to end their relationship. It was possible that the end of their relationship was his biggest fear, greater than anything else, for he didn't know how, or even if, he could cope without having her in his life.

Overwhelmed by his attempts to unpick the tangle of thoughts in his mind, his body shut down in protest and Arun soon drifted off into a deep sleep. The short snooze was replete with vivid, twisted dreams and it was only when he heard the faint sound of someone calling his name from afar and felt his body being gently shaken from side to side, that he was roused.

'Here you are only. We've been looking everywhere for you,' said Hanara, peering down kindly into his face.

Arun stared up at her feeling somewhat disorientated and lazily rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the backs of his knuckles.

'Sorry, I must have dozed off.'

'You missed half of your party and, I must say, some excellent dancing; even Mrs Satpathy had a little wiggle,' said Lucky brightly, demonstrating his best moves as he entered the room.

He lowered himself down onto the mattress beside Hanara, while Arun eased himself into a sitting position.

'Did you enjoy yourselves?' Arun asked, yawning.

'Oh very much so, it was a great celebration only,' smiled Hanara.

'I saw you talking to Rajubhai Joshi,' chimed Lucky. 'I told you that he would be impressed by what you did, isn't it? He even came to your party.'

For a split second Arun had forgotten all about their conversation, but at Lucky's words he felt his head fill with questions once more and a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes caused him to wince in agony.

'What's the matter?' asked Hanara, the concern apparent in her voice.

'I... Rajubhai Joshi... he made me a... proposition.'

'What sort of proposition?'

Arun sighed, his throat hoarse and dry from sleep.

'He said that he would give his blessing for me to marry Chandni.'

'Hey Bhagwan! That's brilliant, Arun,' cried Hanara, instantly springing to her feet and clapping her hands together with delight.

Lucky was quickly on his feet too, his crooked smile splitting his face so wide that he couldn't form any words of congratulation with his mouth. Their excitement and enthusiasm contrasted sharply with Arun's sobriety, as he remained seated, paralysed by the weight of the decision that lay before him.

'Why aren't you happy?' queried Hanara, ceasing her revelry at the sight of Arun still motionless on the mattress.

'We have to marry now. We have to marry now and I have to stay in India.'

'But that's great. This is what you wanted, isn't it?' asked Lucky, now as confused as Hanara.

'Yes... no... not like this. I don't know if I'm ready to get married yet,' he mumbled.

'Well then wait a while only and when you are ready then it can be arranged,' concluded Lucky simply.

'Lucky, Rajubhai Joshi is only giving his permission if we marry now. If we don't... if we don't then he said that I must leave Chandni alone so that he can find somebody else for her. But if I don't go home now, I can kiss goodbye to my medical career.'

'Oh,' said Hanara, sinking back to her knees.

Always one to view things simply, Lucky still couldn't see what the issue was.

'Why can't you just marry Chandni now and then take her to England with you?'

'Ha,' snorted Arun, 'Arthur doesn't even want me to stay here with my family, do you think that he's going to welcome me home with open arms when I tell him that I'm bringing a wife with me too?'

'Maybe...' mumbled Lucky, feeling foolish.

'There isn't time anyway; I have to be on that flight tomorrow, or that's it. We'd have to marry tomorrow and it would take months to arrange the paperwork so that Chandni could join me. I don't even know if that's what she would want; I don't know if she could be so far from Rajubhai Joshi, and besides that's not what I want for her... for us. To force her to rush her wedding and to move to a strange country when I can't support her properly in the way that a husband should; it's not right.'

'Arun, what does Chandni think about all of this?' asked Hanara hesitantly, seeming fearful of setting him off on another rant just as Lucky had done.

'I don't know. Rajubhai Joshi said that she had agreed to it. I can't see why he would make that up.'

'Why don't you try talking with her? You can work this out together,' she pressed gently.

'Oh Hanara, I want to, but how can I? How can I when there isn't any time and I'm still not allowed to be anywhere near her. I think ... I think this is a decision that I need to make on my own.'

'I think you should stay, Arun. This is what you wanted before and now you get to be with Chandni also. It is a sign only,' reasoned Lucky.

'But what about my studies? You know that I can't afford to study if I stay here. It would mean giving up on my dream of becoming a doctor ... or at least postponing it indefinitely.'

The three of them sat in silence, each trying hard to think of how the situation could be resolved, but they consistently found themselves back at square one. This time there would be no magic bullet, no one-size-fits-all solution that could satisfy everybody, and something was going to have to give. What that something was though, was anybody's guess.

By the time they went to bed that night, there was a definite dampener on the mood in the house. It was supposed to be Arun's last night with Lucky and Hanara, and it should have been filled with laughter and celebration for the family that they had become; yet Arun was quiet and subdued, his sombreness rubbing off onto his siblings. He lay awake in bed, staring into the darkness as he had done so many times before, whilst Lucky's chest rose and fell with slumber beside him. How could Arun sleep when tomorrow he would have to make the biggest decision of his life and he had no idea which direction he should turn in? The minutes turned to hours and he desperately tried to switch off, desperately tried to shut out the thoughts that were exhausting him though not allowing him to sleep, but it was to no avail, and when the sun began to rise the following morning Arun had not slept at all. Anxious, irritable and no closer to reaching a decision, the only thing that he knew for certain was that he needed to be alone.

When Lucky and Hanara finally stirred, they found him sitting amongst the cushions, fully clothed and waiting with his backpack leant up against his legs.

'Lucky, can you take me to Puri please?'

'Now?'

'Yes, please.'

'But, we haven't had breakfast yet. Can't you wait a little bit? Hanara is going to make your favourite masala –'

'Please?' he pleaded.

'You're going back to England, aren't you?' whispered Hanara meekly, hinting at her disappointment.

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Then why are you rushing back to Puri only? There is plenty of time before your train to Bhubaneswar this afternoon.'

'Because I need to be by myself for a bit, to figure everything out.'

'But you can do that here only.'

'Hanara, I can't. Please try to understand. I need space and some time away from everyone to think. I think it's best if I head back to Puri now.'

'And then?' asked Lucky with trepidation.

'And then if I decide to stay in India, it's easy enough to come back here. And if I decide to go back to England... well then at least I'll be able to make my plane,' he finished solemnly.

There was pin-drop silence as tears welled up in Hanara's eyes and she sprung forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Arun's neck. Lucky quickly joined them and together they shared the love and comfort of a family embrace, Hanara weeping silently over their shoulders. Lucky too looked a little teary when they finally prised themselves apart, but even though he would miss them both tremendously if he persisted with his plan to leave, Arun was fresh out of tears. It had been a long and emotional journey, full of many triumphs and an equal number of tragedies; he had laughed and he had cried, and now he simply didn't have any more left to give. Silently, he lifted his backpack onto his shoulders and made towards the front door, both Hanara and Lucky in tow.

'Are you sure that I shouldn't come?' Hanara asked one last time, as they stood pitifully in the yard.

'I'm sure. Besides, you need to get going on Lucky's breakfast,' he joked.

Arun hugged his sister tightly, knowing that she would never fully appreciate the extent of his gratitude for all that she had done for him.

'I love you, Arun,' she croaked, choking back another wave of tears.

'I love you too, sister. Whatever happens, we will meet again, I promise.'

Hanara nodded mutely, unable to speak as she pulled away from the embrace and sobbed softly into her hands. Lucky started up the engine and once Arun had climbed in beside him, they set off along the familiar road to Puri, their spirits the lowest that they had ever been.

They passed the journey in silence, Arun's mind mulling over the troubles that he faced and Lucky unable to find the words to make light of the situation. With an aching heart, Arun stared first at the rolling green countryside and then at the crowded city streets, taking it all in and storing it in his memory, just in case it was the last time that he made the familiar trip for a while. India had been good to him; it had taught him things and shown him things about both himself and others, and for that he would be eternally grateful.

Approximately forty minutes later, he was back outside the internet café with his bag resting at his feet and Lucky staring despairingly into his eyes. Unsure what was left to say, Arun hugged his brother to him, willing the love and thanks that he felt to diffuse from his body into Lucky's own.

'It has been a great many months, Arun.'

'Yes Lucky, it has. Thank you... for everything.'

'I told you before only, no thanks are needed from my very best brother,' he smiled through his tears.

'I know, but... just know that I am grateful for the day that I met you.'

'I know. And you must know that whatever you decide, we will support you, always.'

'You have no idea how much that means to me right now,' breathed Arun, hugging his brother one last time.

He watched as Lucky drove away and though he felt a dull ache in his chest, he knew in his heart that he would see his brother and sister again. It might be the next day or it might be the next year, but the simple fact that it would be, unlike with Chandni, was a great source of comfort.

Contrary to what he had hoped, the city made it even more impossible for Arun to reach a decision. It was restless just like he was and provided so many different options for clearing his mind, that to distinguish between them was a complicated distraction in itself. He sat in the internet café; he walked the packed streets and markets; he watched the fishermen trawling in the sea and he climbed the steps of the Raghunandan Library to look out over the Jagannath Mandir, but still nothing. There was no definitive answer, no standout decision and no satisfactory course of action. Tired of carrying his bag on his shoulders, he returned to the internet café and secured a telephone booth at the back, just so that he could hide away.

He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and after one sleepless night and a morning of wrestling with his heart and his head, he had concluded nothing except that the situation was an impossible one. Each path had its own merits, its own pitfalls, and each time that he approached a decision, he would find himself veering away from it again, conjuring up a million excuses as to why it wasn't the right choice. When only one hour remained before he would have to begin making his way to the train station, he did the only thing left that he could think of. He picked up the receiver and dialled the fourteen-digit number, praying that the person at the other end would be home.

'Hello?'

'Hi Aunt Ruby.'

'Aaron? Is that you dear? Where are you?'

'I'm still in India.'

'Oh wonderful, wonderful. You're arriving home tomorrow though, right?'

'I don't... I don't know.'

'What do you mean you don't know dear? Arthur told me yesterday that you were.'

'Did he also tell you that I wanted to stay and go to medical college here?'

'No, no he didn't mention that at all. So now you're going to stay there? Does Arthur know?'

Arun drew in a deep breath and offloaded his troubles onto Aunt Ruby's experienced shoulders. He told her about deciding to stay and then deciding to leave, and about being unable to decide at all now. He told her about his time in India, about his wonderful family and about falling in love with Chandni. He told her about Arthur's ultimatum, Rajubhai Joshi's proposition and about his need to fulfil his own career aspirations, and Aunt Ruby listened. She listened in the way that only an aunt could: impartially, without interrupting and without judgement.

'And now I have no clue what I'm supposed to do,' he concluded breathlessly. 'Help me Aunt Ruby, please.'

'I understand that this is tough, Aaron, but I can't make the decision for you. There are some things that you just have to figure out for yourself I'm afraid.'

'I know, but how? How do I figure this out? I've been trying to figure it out for hours; I feel like my head is going to explode,' he whined helplessly.

'Aaron, nothing in life is ever straightforward. Getting the things that you want almost always involves having to do a few things that you don't like, but life is about taking chances and living each day as it comes. It's about doing what's right for you and not what's right for everybody else, about finding yourself and being true to that self no matter what. Only you know whether that self is being a doctor, being a husband, or both; you just need to follow your heart.'

Aunt Ruby's words struck a chord deep within Arun, and as if by some invisible hand, he felt the weight and tension lift from his shoulders. All this time he had been desperately trying to fit himself and his future into the boxes determined by Arthur and Rajubhai Joshi, trying to determine which box would keep the most people happy, or at the very least disappoint the fewest, but if India had taught him one thing, it was that he needed to determine his own box. He needed to choose his own path, to define his own rules and to be his own person, and only then could he be satisfied by whatever the outcome may be, because the decision would have been his and his alone. In the cramped heat of the phone booth, Arun thanked Aunt Ruby for her words of wisdom and replaced the receiver on the base, knowing finally, and irrefutably, exactly what he was going to do.
**EPILOGUE**

****

ARUN and Chandni were married at the mandir a few months later. The ceremony was simple, yet long, and was performed proudly by Rajubhai Joshi to a large audience on account of his standing within the community. No details were spared for his only daughter and as she moved gracefully through the rituals of the Hindu marriage ceremony in a heavily embroidered red sari, Chandni glowed with a radiance that Arun had never witnessed before. They were both full of smiles, overjoyed at finally being able to demonstrate their love for one another openly and Arun drew immense satisfaction from knowing that they would be making each other smile for the rest of their lives.

The day marked the start of a new chapter in Arun's life, a chapter in which he would always strive to do what would make both he and Chandni happy. He was a man now, a man with a wife and a family, towards whom he felt not only an innate sense of responsibility, but also a huge amount of love, trust and respect. Ever since his mother had died, he had craved the warmth and security that she used to provide, but it was only now, with it firmly in his grasp once more, that he truly understood and appreciated it. It was this warmth and security that he could not live without, this warmth and security that gave him the strength and belief to pursue his heart's desires, and this warmth and security that he knew he would have been giving up if he had returned to England. Hanara, Lucky, Chandni and even Rajubhai Joshi were his support system, and a life without them was not a life that he wanted.

With the assistance of Rajubhai Joshi's dowry payment, Arun and Chandni were able to remain in the village, whilst Arun figured out a way to secure the funds necessary to move them both to Mumbai for study. He was still committed to becoming a doctor and though he accepted that it might be some time before he could begin his training, he reminded himself that he was young and that time was something that he had plenty of. India was where he wanted to be, it was where he belonged, and he would not allow anyone to tear him away from his home again.

Despite Arthur's continued silence, in an act of maturity, Arun had extended several invitations to both he and Aunt Ruby to attend the wedding. Unsurprisingly, Arthur hadn't deigned to respond and, though she had wished him the very best of luck, Aunt Ruby had politely declined at her brother's insistence, not wanting to raise tensions further. Lucky and Hanara were the only family members to represent Arun's side, but their exuberant joy at the permanent reunification of their family, and indeed its growth with the official addition of Chandni, ensured that their whoops and cheers for the happy couple more than made up for the absence of the others.

The wedding reception was an equally simple affair held at Chandni's house and attended by most of the guests that had witnessed the wedding ceremony. It was nice to have everyone together celebrating and Arun found that he was able to relax and enjoy the party much more than he had his leaving party a few months prior. He stood proudly next to his new wife, leading her around the room to receive words of congratulation from their friends and family and, when he felt a light tap on his left shoulder, he was overjoyed by who he saw when he turned around.

'Manoj! You made it,' he exclaimed, smiling broadly at the refuge director.

'Of course, how could I miss your big day?' he replied, shaking Arun's hand and casting an approving look over his nuptial attire. 'It is always a little difficult to get away first thing in the morning; I'm sorry that I had to miss the ceremony itself.'

'It's no problem at all, Manoj; I'm just glad that you were able to come.'

'Congratulations Mrs Arun Rutherford,' he said, turning to Chandni with a deep bow.

'Oh, that sounds so strange,' she giggled shyly.

'You look stunning; the most beautiful bride that I have ever seen. Arun is a very lucky man.'

'Thank you Manoj, that's very kind of you.'

'This is for the two of you,' he continued, pulling a small envelope from his trouser pocket and offering it to Arun. 'May I suggest that you open it now? I think that you might like what you find and, truth be told, I'm a little nervous about this particular gift getting lost amongst the millions of others that I'm sure you have received.'

Arun regarded the refuge director suspiciously, but accepted the envelope and quickly tore open its contents.

'Hey Bhagwan!' he gasped, so loudly that a few people standing close by turned to see what all the commotion was about.

He had pulled from the envelope a greeting card signed by Manoj and some of the staff at Rachna Hari, but it was the cheque for an outrageous sum of money that had caused his outburst.

'I thought that this might help to get you both to Mumbai and to put you through medical college, maybe even with a little change to spare,' grinned Manoj.

'Manoj, we can't accept this. It's... it's too much,' stuttered Arun, still shocked by the row of figures present on the cheque. 'How... how do you even have this much money to give?'

'Ah, well I'm glad that you asked actually. Thanks to your intervention, we did very well out of the sale of the old refuge. We never expected to get anything for it; to be honest I had written it off.'

'Manoj, that money should be invested back into Rachna Hari, we can't take it.'

'Actually you have to take it, because I'm afraid that we've inadvertently taken something of yours. Something that I believe is probably of even greater value.'

'What? What are you talking about? What could you have possibly taken?'

'Arun, as you know, the new refuge building was gifted to us anonymously. It was a legacy donation and according to the woman's last will and testament, the building and an accompanying note were to be passed to a son of hers. In the event that this could not happen for any reason, the building was to be transferred to us instead.'

'I still don't understand what all this has to do with me,' Arun said, somewhat perplexed.

'The legal team couldn't verify the identity of the son that was mentioned. They didn't find any legal record of his existence, no match on the name, no birth certificate, nothing. That's why the building passed into our hands.'

'Okay...'

'The will stated that the note would be left somewhere inside the house, but it was never found before we took possession of the building. As you know, moving has been a slow process for us; we've been trying to get all of our files in order and we're still discovering little nooks and crannies because the place is so huge. A few days ago one of the team finally found the note in one of the top floor rooms; it had become trapped between the floorboards. When we opened it up, well, I think you'd better take a look for yourself...' Manoj trailed off, holding out a small white envelope that had already been opened.

Arun accepted the envelope and, extracting a slip of crisp white paper, carefully unfolded it to reveal a short, handwritten note in a familiar script that would leave him stunned for the rest of the day.

_My darling Arun,_

_I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Welcome home._

_All my love,_

_Mum_
**JOIN THE CONVERSATION**

****

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You can find out more about Marisha and her books on her website (marishapink.com) – she would love it if you dropped by to say hello. Alternatively, you can follow her on Twitter (@marishapink), get in touch on Facebook, find her hanging out on Google+, or send her an email: info@marishapink.com
**OTHER BOOKS BY MARISHA PINK**

****

**LAST PIECE OF ME**

****

**Three lives.**

**Two women.**

**One last chance for happiness.**

Catherine has a high-flying medical career, a doting husband and a beautiful home in London. Yet none of these things matter without the baby that she is desperately longing for.

Five thousand miles away in rural India, Kalpana has nothing but the clothes on her back. Yet she is determined to give her children the life that they deserve.

When their worlds become intertwined, an unexpected discovery offers the chance to transform both women's lives forever. Kalpana has something that Catherine wants, and Catherine can give Kalpana everything she needs, but how much is each willing to sacrifice for happiness?

**The long-awaited prequel to _Finding Arun_ , _Last Piece of Me_ is an intimate and emotional page-turner exploring whether the means can ever justify the ends.**

**_If you love engrossing books that will take you on a journey,_** ** _download Last Piece of Me now_** ** _._**

**ABOUT THE AUTHOR**

****

Marisha Pink is a rat race escapee turned author and entrepreneur.

Born and raised in London, from a young age she had an unhealthy obsession with books. She always dreamed of one day writing stories with the power to take readers on a journey, but somehow she wound up studying Chemistry and working in marketing instead.

After five years of climbing the corporate ladder, she decided that it was finally time to take the leap. Backpack in hand, she left everything behind to travel Southeast Asia and complete her debut novel, _Finding Arun_. She's been on a mission not to live life by the book ever since.

Eventually returning to London, Marisha raised the finance to publish the book through crowdfunding, and joined the self-publishing revolution. Released globally in 2013, _Finding Arun_ has earned a 5* _Readers' Favorite_ review, a _B.R.A.G. Medallion_ , and a shortlisting for the inaugural _Quagga Prize for Literary Fiction_.

Marisha has been featured on _BBC London 94.9FM_ , _The Literary Platform_ , and across several popular blogs and podcasts. Her second novel, _Last Piece of Me_ _,_ the prequel to _Finding Arun_ , was published in 2015.

marishapink.com

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**

****

Bringing Finding Arun to life has been the most incredible personal journey for me and I have been so fortunate to have the support of family, friends and even strangers throughout. To all of you, whether named below or not, thank you. I am humbled by your faith in me and grateful for all the words of inspiration and encouragement.

To Nina and Delton Pink, aka Mum and Dad, for the unconditional love and support, for the unwavering belief, and for giving me the space to write, both literally and physically. 95,000 words later and there are still no words for how much I love and appreciate you both.

To my brother, Kishan Pink, for being a great sounding board, for always providing sage advice and honest opinion, and for those crazy Kickstarter jungle beats. Your time is now.

To my family: G, Nita Dhumal, Madhu Thakur, Minaxi Thakur, Dipika Keen, Prema Thakur and Prabha Thakur, for support far beyond what I deserved. Your love and kindness knows no bounds.

To Louise Melzack, for giving up her time, for the endless bags of energy and enthusiasm, and for helping to shape the masterpiece that was Please Fund My Book (yeah, yeah, yeah!). I definitely owe you one.

To Angella Tapé, David Perkins, Gemini Patel, Lisimba Pink, Jonathan Abrahams and Stephanie Pinker, for being there when I needed you most, for your incredible patience and superb acting skills, and for suspending your dignity to jump around the street. I will never forget the fun of that magical day and what it helped me to achieve.

To Rakhee Patel, Sheena Sikka, Anisha Brahmbhatt, Ayanna Witter-Johnson, Mohamed Nawari, Jonathan Southee and Paul Roussel-Milner, for being such supportive and understanding friends, and for picking me up, putting me up and pushing me up. I hope I can return the favour some day.

To Jermaine Dunbar-Reid, for not being part of the plan, but for being my favourite distraction.

To my editor, Gary Smailes, and proofreader, Richard Sheehan, for working their magic on the manuscript. You made this book as polished as a book can be.

To my beautiful beta-readers, Janina Koschnick and Hannah Premaratne, for giving up your time, for honest and astute feedback, and for making sure the reading experience would be up to scratch for everyone else.

To Abhishek Anil Naik, for the incredible cover designs, which gave the book an identity.

And last, but not least, to my Kickstarter family, without whom this book would not have been possible. I am forever indebted to you: Amal Ismail, Amit Patel, Andy Palmer, Anisha Brahmbhatt, Anjana Shah, Anna Clark, Ayanna Witter-Johnson, Bharti Patel, Bhupendra Patel, Binita Sagar Shah, Brahman Narendran, Brian McMunn, Buket-Deniz Ulusoy, Caroline Ahlefeldt, Cengiz Dervis, Chani Davie, Cherry Phypers, Christine Delsol, Christine Miller, Christopher Artry, Clive Harper, Colin Emerson, Daniel Thorns, Danielle Romano, David Baker, Debbie Rosario, Diana Bates, Diana Cuffie, Didi Boeva, Dipak Khakhar, Dipika, Andy, Anya & Ayesha, Dora Angelov, Dorry Smith, Dr Sheena Sikka, Dray, Eduard Llena Portell, Edward Cowling, Erica Deel, Fatai Bamigbola, Felicia Sim, G, Gaynor Madoc Leonard, Gemini Patel, Gerald Okpere, Gillian Rowe, Graihagh Quayle, Gurneesh Cheema, Hannah Premaratne, Henika Patel, Henry Nicholls, Isaiah 'Mob' Saibu, Jacqui Dokoupil, Janina Koschnick, Janvi Patel, Jen Dumbleton, Jenny Asante, Jessica Boxer, John Hardcastle, Jonathan Fadugba, Jonathan Southee, Judy Carter, Julie Dwek, Jyoti Leavis, Kaanal Patel, Katarina Ilic, Kathrin Spieker, Katie Crockett, Katie Smith, Kelvin Hughes, Khrishanthne Sambasivan, Kishan Antony Pink, Komal Badiani, Laura Ellis, Laura Kavalier, Leanna Baker, Lisette Rexwinkel, Loraine Kanervisto, Loris Stylianou, Louise Melzack, Luca Massaro, Marisa, Meena Robinson, Melissa de Lusignan, Merle Clara, Mia Ali, Missy Tabor, Mohamed Nawari & Hannah McGrann, Mohini Kara, Mr Lisimba Pink, Mrs Minaxi Madhukar Thakur, Nigel Ellis, Nilpa Shah, Nita Dhumal (Auntie), P. Roussel-Milner, Parit Shah, Peter Tonkin, Piral Dadhania, PP, Prabha Thakur, P. Thakur, Priyesh Shah, Raakhee Thompson, Rakhee & Kunaal Patel, Ramesh Halai, Rebecca Dadzie, Ricky Datta, Rosie Chesson, Ruby Mannan, Sagar Boom Shaka Laka Shah, Sam Petyan, Sam Sheldon, Samantha Fairweather, Sarah Azia, Scarlett Rose Gray, Seema Dadhania, Seeta Shah, Sheesh, Shirley Bode, Silvana D'Imperio, Simon Alderwick, Simon Watts, Sion Griffiths, Sir Delton Pink, Steve Bartlett, Stevie Phillips, Suad Garayeva, Sunil Shah, Tajinder Gill, Tim Woodcock, Tony Watkins, Troy Bonar, Victoria Lopez, Vishal V. Shah, Yvonne Torre and Zoë Humphrey.

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