She of the Mountains by Vivek Shraya Page A

Sati. My father motioned me to sit at the front of the hall next to the chief priest.
    As the prayers continued, I gazed at the fire ahead, comforted by the only presence in the room that understood my burning sense of betrayal and disappointment.
    How could my father be so cruel? And so foolish? Without Shiv’s presence, the ceremony would be inauspicious. Cursed, even. Surely now I would never meet Shiv.
    Contemplating my misfortune, I became mesmerized by the streaks of blue in the flames until all I could see was blue.
    Shiva! There you are! I knew you would come , I said. I stood up and walked into the fire, arms open. This was the end of my human life.
    Shiv, who had been watching the ceremony from above, sweptdown to pull me out of the fire, hoping to bring me back to life. Wake up, Sati, wake up! he yelled, lifting my body into the sky. His own body vibrated like thunder, trying to re-energize mine.
    Shiv circled the earth with my lifeless body folded over his shoulder for years. He forgot who he was, forgot the commonness of death, and in the process, forgot who I was. Although my human body had died, I of course had not.
    I waited patiently for him in Kailash, not wanting to disturb him. I was fascinated by—perhaps even jealous of—his strange attachment to this human body. What was so special about it that it had deluded him? What was so special about it that he had forgotten that his beloved Parvati still lived?
    Every morning, when the sun arose, my first words were to him, in my heart: Wake up, Shiv, wake up …
    He never heard me. As I watched day after day surrender to darkness, I pushed against the urge to do the same.
    As years turned into decades, the other gods and demigods began to lose their own sense of self and purpose watching the Lord of Destruction so confounded. For the sake of order, my brother Narayana intervened. He shot his golden discus into the air and sliced Sati’s body into pieces. Seeing the hideousness of the human body cut up, Shiv remembered its expendability and immediately returned to his mind. And to me.
    The first thing he said, without my even asking was, I needed to know what it would be like to lose you.

What are we doing? His eyes were determined and focused on her.
    We are talking? She was just as focused, but on her plate, her closed mouth moving leisurely in a circle, savouring the slice of pumpkin cheesecake they were sharing.
    Don’t you think this tastes like … clouds? she continued, her tone as light and airy as her metaphor.
    No, seriously. What are we doing? He stayed on course, dropping any lightness in his voice.
    Eating cheesecake?
    No. I mean you and me. Us, he said slowly, careful not to exude impatience.
    Oh.
    She put her fork down.
    I miss you. Like, really miss you.
    She looked up.
    What are you saying?
    They had always blamed biology, namely his biological gayness and the destiny that implied, for their inability to be together, to stay together.
    I am saying, what if we gave this a shot? A real shot.
    It was also biology—their elevated heart rates, their perspiration, and the dilating of their pupils when in each other’s presence—that had made being just friends impossible.
    How would that be different from before? How would we not end up in the same place? You’re gay …
    Their explicit physical responses to each other’s pheromones, appearances, voices, and brains: her wet vagina, his erection.
    I don’t know what I am. I know that I have dated boys and slept with boys, and I still want you. My body craves you.
    Based on the evidence, it wasn’t logical to consider biology as the reason to continue living in the shadow of The Great Love That Couldn’t Be.
    If anything, it was a reason to get back together.

This will be the last winter I spend in Edmonton.
    While he shovelled his parents’ driveway, refusing to wear the toque his dad had given him because it would mess up his