“But we have no choice but to keep asking,” another friend interjects. “If we do not ask, then how will God know our requests?”
They all murmur their agreement. “It is always the strongest and best that suffer,” Nita says, clasping Ranee’s hand in her own. “As if God knows that you have strength the rest of us lack.”
A polite way of explaining her heartbreak, Ranee thinks. Nodding her head, she accepts their condolences with graciousness. A common belief among Indians is that if you spend too much time around someone experiencing bad luck, their energy can transfer to you. Their bad luck may become yours. If you are invited to a wedding and have an unexpected death in the family, no matter how distant, you must decline the invitation. It was why her decades-old friends came to visit but never stayed. Before Sonya came home, friends made sure there was dinner waiting for Ranee at the house. In the mornings, another friend would bring breakfast. A carousel of meals constantly available but no one to share them with. It was why Ranee never revealed her truth to any of them—if they knew her misfortune, they would cease to be her friends.
“It is with the strength of your friendships that I am able to continue every day,” Ranee returns, offering each of them a warm smile. “Without all of you, where would I be?”
The guru starts to ring the bell, motioning for everyone to gather around. The men take their seats on the floor on one side, while the women sit on the floor on the other side. The genders refrain from intermingling while in prayer to keep the air pure. Once everyone is seated, the guru begins the prayer.
“We are here to bless the new home of our friends Nita and Sanjay,” he says, adding melted butter to the small fire in the pot. Over a small statue of Lord Ganesha and Lord Shiva, he pours milk and water, following it with a sprinkle of rose petals. “Let there only be happiness in this home, prosperity, and great health. Let God smile on this home and its owners. No one deserves it more.”
The mantras continue, the guru calling on each deity to bless their home and to repel any misfortunes. Ranee wishes it were so simple. So often, she longed for a simple prayer to change her course in life. If only the deities were all-powerful—like a child with a simple request, she could ask them to bequeath the gift of a perfect life. But Ranee knows it is not so. Helpless to offer her daughters the childhood they deserved, she acknowledges there is no magic wand or prayer to erase the mural of her life.
With that knowledge comes her acceptance that to have the life she wants, she has to repaint the painting. Redefine the rules and reject all the beliefs she had been raised with. She has no need to honor the husband who dishonored her. To continue fearing the rejection of her community means living the life they accepted. But since it is all a lie, what does that make her if not a liar?
Ranee closes her eyes, allowing the memory of standing atop the mountain in India and the songs of the gurus then to intermingle with the songs being sung now. The same incense smell, decades apart, brings tears to her eyes. Surrounded by strangers, then and now, she welcomes the knowledge that she belongs because of who she is, not what they need her to be.
She used to have a recurring dream after she married—one where she fell out of the temple and down the mountain. It was a free fall, past the thousand steps and everyone climbing them. She kept falling and would awake with sweat covering her body. After Brent’s admission into the hospital, she had the dream again. This time, she landed in someone’s arms. When she turned to thank the person, she came face-to-face with herself.
As the fire burns and the smoke billows around them, Ranee smiles. Hidden by the haze, she is secure in the knowledge that she is finally living and somehow, she is sure, the world is watching.