shadowed by the wide brim of her sola topi. He wondered if she would talk with him; he wanted her to talk with him, so he raised his hand and said, "Good morning."
Her eyes fell to the reins in her hands and then she touched the rim of her topi with her whip and said, "Good morning," as she passed by. Sam listened to the lingering sound of her voice, low and sweet, and repeated her tone, with the emphasis on the first word, good morning. He had seen more of her by now, her eyes, her mouth, the slant of her chin, the muscles flexing her slender forearm. He moved to the middle of the road and watched her ride away in the direction he had come from and willed her to turn back, to turn around, to do something that would be more of an acknowledgment of him.
It was an interminably long time to Sam, but in actuality only a few seconds, before Mila reined in her horse and swung its head back toward Sam.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.
"I'm headed to the Civil Lines," Sam said, reaching out to grasp the horse's bridle. "Is this"--he pointed toward the trees from which Mila had emerged--"the right way?"
"Yes." She smiled then, for the first time, and a lone dimple deepened the skin of her cheek. Sam felt his heart stop and smiled back at her. He was no longer tired, his shoulder did not ache, he did not care that th e t emperature was steadily rising around them. He wanted to ask her if she lived within the Civil Lines and, if so, where, and if he could come to call on her.
She pointed to the rickshaw with her whip. "I see that the puncture is almost fixed. You should be within the trees and in the coolness soon. It isn't always this hot here, you know."
"You don't seem to feel the heat."
"Not very much," she replied. "I've grown up here in Rudrakot. The desert lies in my skin; I don't know that I could really live anywhere else." Color rose on her face as she spoke and she looked away from Sam, offering him a glimpse of her ear and her hairline. "You should be all right now."
"Is this all of Rudrakot?" Sam asked desperately, gesticulating around him to the trees and the desert.
She turned back. "What you see here, well, from the station to here, is merely the town of Rudrakot. The entire princely state takes its name from the town, the two are indistinguishable, but the state goes beyond here, into the sands of the Sukh." She pointed southeast, to the low-lying hills. "Those are the Panjari Mountains. Both the names are misnomers, optimistic misnomers." Mila laughed. "As is Rudrakot's own name."
"Tell me," Sam said.
Mila studied Sam's face, as if to decipher whether he was serious about wanting to know all of this. She was not used to talking with strangers--particularly a man--and had already engaged in a far longer and, to her, more intimate conversation than with any other person she had just encountered. "My brother Ashok would be thrilled to give you the history of Rudrakot. This might seem like an odd thing to say, but he is fascinated by America, and so would demand an equal rendition of your country's history from you in return."
"I will be glad to talk with Ashok anytime, but he's not here, you are," Sam said, greatly daring, not knowing if she would think him rude.
She lifted the edge of her topi so that it sat back on her head and Sam could see her more clearly. "The panjari is the bird's nest on a ship's main mast. It is said that one of Rudrakot's early kings trekked to the top of these hills, which only range about five thousand feet into the sky, and, overwhelmed by the cool, fresh air, named these the Panjari Mountains."
The mountains had begun to glow now with the golden touch of th e s un, and though Sam was used to the mightier Cascade Mountains back home, to him this chain of hills in the distance looked enormous compared to the flat of the desert around him.
"And Rudrakot?" he asked.
"Rudrakot was originally Rudraksha-kot, named for the rudraksha tree."
"The seeds are used for
Her eyes fell to the reins in her hands and then she touched the rim of her topi with her whip and said, "Good morning," as she passed by. Sam listened to the lingering sound of her voice, low and sweet, and repeated her tone, with the emphasis on the first word, good morning. He had seen more of her by now, her eyes, her mouth, the slant of her chin, the muscles flexing her slender forearm. He moved to the middle of the road and watched her ride away in the direction he had come from and willed her to turn back, to turn around, to do something that would be more of an acknowledgment of him.
It was an interminably long time to Sam, but in actuality only a few seconds, before Mila reined in her horse and swung its head back toward Sam.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.
"I'm headed to the Civil Lines," Sam said, reaching out to grasp the horse's bridle. "Is this"--he pointed toward the trees from which Mila had emerged--"the right way?"
"Yes." She smiled then, for the first time, and a lone dimple deepened the skin of her cheek. Sam felt his heart stop and smiled back at her. He was no longer tired, his shoulder did not ache, he did not care that th e t emperature was steadily rising around them. He wanted to ask her if she lived within the Civil Lines and, if so, where, and if he could come to call on her.
She pointed to the rickshaw with her whip. "I see that the puncture is almost fixed. You should be within the trees and in the coolness soon. It isn't always this hot here, you know."
"You don't seem to feel the heat."
"Not very much," she replied. "I've grown up here in Rudrakot. The desert lies in my skin; I don't know that I could really live anywhere else." Color rose on her face as she spoke and she looked away from Sam, offering him a glimpse of her ear and her hairline. "You should be all right now."
"Is this all of Rudrakot?" Sam asked desperately, gesticulating around him to the trees and the desert.
She turned back. "What you see here, well, from the station to here, is merely the town of Rudrakot. The entire princely state takes its name from the town, the two are indistinguishable, but the state goes beyond here, into the sands of the Sukh." She pointed southeast, to the low-lying hills. "Those are the Panjari Mountains. Both the names are misnomers, optimistic misnomers." Mila laughed. "As is Rudrakot's own name."
"Tell me," Sam said.
Mila studied Sam's face, as if to decipher whether he was serious about wanting to know all of this. She was not used to talking with strangers--particularly a man--and had already engaged in a far longer and, to her, more intimate conversation than with any other person she had just encountered. "My brother Ashok would be thrilled to give you the history of Rudrakot. This might seem like an odd thing to say, but he is fascinated by America, and so would demand an equal rendition of your country's history from you in return."
"I will be glad to talk with Ashok anytime, but he's not here, you are," Sam said, greatly daring, not knowing if she would think him rude.
She lifted the edge of her topi so that it sat back on her head and Sam could see her more clearly. "The panjari is the bird's nest on a ship's main mast. It is said that one of Rudrakot's early kings trekked to the top of these hills, which only range about five thousand feet into the sky, and, overwhelmed by the cool, fresh air, named these the Panjari Mountains."
The mountains had begun to glow now with the golden touch of th e s un, and though Sam was used to the mightier Cascade Mountains back home, to him this chain of hills in the distance looked enormous compared to the flat of the desert around him.
"And Rudrakot?" he asked.
"Rudrakot was originally Rudraksha-kot, named for the rudraksha tree."
"The seeds are used for
Similar Books
