“The water will damage it,” Gulnar quavered, still holding her quilt to her shoulders.
“It can be washed and dried,” Bhumika said gently. “But if you die here, Auntie, it will not be loved as it is loved now.”
The woman hesitated, then gave a curt nod. “Let him carry me, then.”
“Get her quilt,” Bhumika ordered. The boy scrambled to obey. “Treat it gently.”
Jeevan picked the woman up.
The girl was the one who guided them to the bridge. It was a spindly structure of wood and rope, and the water was highenough now to brush perilously close to its boards. But Jeevan tested it with his own weight and judged it strong enough. “Go,” he said to the children. They rushed ahead, light on the uneven surface of the bridge, clutching the blanket between them. Jeevan lifted Gulnar and carried her to the side.
Bhumika followed a step after him. The bridge rocked under her feet. The water was roaring. She lost her footing for a moment on the slick wood, slipping as the bridge trembled.
“Bhumika.” Jeevan’s hand was holding her wrist, helping her find her balance. The old woman stood on the opposite bank.
“Come,” he said. “We’re going to the village together.”
She was suddenly, awfully, so grateful that he was here. That he had followed her from a past she could not see, and he trusted her still. That he looked at her and saw strength where she could find none, and worth where she only saw her own emptiness.
“What did you leave behind to come with me on this fool’s journey?” Bhumika asked, voice trembling.
His grip tightened, infinitesimally, on her.
“Everything,” he said. “Just as you did.”
“Everything,” she repeated. They took another step forward. Another. It would have been so easy to fall. “All this for duty? For a debt?”
Another step.
“I lied,” he said. “I am sorry.” His hand urged her forward. The bridge was swaying, the water groaning like a wounded beast. “I did not follow you for a debt.”
She did not ask himWhy, then?She did not push or prod. She met his gaze as he held her steady, as he guided her across churning, black water and did not let her fall.
He never looked away from her.
“Ah,” she said softly. She knew.
PRIYA
The night when Arahli Ara visited her—when she heard Mani Ara’s voice whisper again in her skull—Priya’s fever began.
She hid herself in the only private place she could find—a storeroom in a particularly damaged corridor. But Rukh found her anyway.
“I’ve got some water and some kichadi, and some wet cloths too,” he announced as he came in, balancing a truly alarming number of items in his arms. “Do you need anything else?”
“To be left alone,” she groaned, but she took the cloth from him anyway and pressed it to her hot face. “Where is Padma?”
“I left her with the temple children. I… I know I shouldn’t leave her alone, but…”
“With Ashish?”
“Yes.”
She relaxed.
“That’s fine, then.” The oldest temple child was uncannily good with the younger children. “Go.”
“I don’t care about getting sick,” Rukh insisted.
