I put my mouth against his ear. “Bhai, can you hear me?”
His lips move. Quickly, I untie the sling holding Chullu and lay my son down next to me. I remove the goatskin bag, filled with water, from my waist and hold it up to Vinay’s parched lips with one hand. With my other hand, I lift his head carefully so he can drink. He gulps greedily but most of the water drips down the sides his mouth. I wipe it away with my hands.
“Tell me how this happened.”
No response.
How long has he been lying here? I’m wondering if I can move him, take him back with me to Shimla and the Lady Bradley Hospital?
Now he’s speaking. “Po—t,” he says.
I lean in so close I can smell the staleness of his breath. “We need to get you to the clinic. Dr. Kumar will take care of you.”
Vinay tries to shake his head, but the movement is too painful. He grimaces. “Poc—poc—t.”
I’m trying to think clearly, but my thoughts are jumbled. If his back is broken, I can’t carry him; he’s far too heavy. With the children, it would take me hours to walk back to Shimla. I can’t go on my own and leave the children with Vinay. What should I do?
“Pocket.” He says it with more force this time.
With shaking hands, I rifle through his pockets. He’s carrying his pouch of tobacco, and a few sharpened twigs to clean his teeth. I’m breathing hard, trying not to cry. “Bhai, what am I looking for?”
He tries to point, but he can barely move his arm. “Inside,” he manages to say.
I search until I feel the edge of something solid in the inside left pocket. I turn the pocket inside out and see a tiny home-sewn pouch attached to it. I tug and rip the pocket open with my fingernails and find a matchbox. Bright yellow, printed with an image of Lord Ganesh. I turn it over. I recognize the English script imprinted on the back, but I can’t read it.
“You wanted matches?” I ask, incredulous.
Before he speaks, he runs his tongue along his chapped lower lip. “The go—gold.”
“Vinay, I need to get the doctor.”
“Shee—p.”
I look around, but I see only Neela in the clearing. “I don’t see them, Vinay. Where are the sheep?”
“Keep...” he says. He’s using every ounce of energy he has left to talk. “My sons...”
His lips are moving, but he makes no sound. His body shudders once, and then again, before his mouth yawns open and the breath escapes.
I press my ear to Vinay’s nose, but now there isn’t any breath. Still, the air is thick with his spirit. My children feel it. Chullu starts to fuss. Rekha pulls on my sweater. “Maa?”
I pick Chullu up and stand, taking comfort from his body, from its warmth. I cup the back of Rekha’s head, and she holds tighter to me. There is no need to shield the child from death; we do not do that in my tribe. We want our young to understand that death is as natural as life for man and animals alike, and the sooner they’re aware of that, the better.
“You remember your uncle, bheti?”
She nods.
“He is no more.”
Rekha looks up at me, then back at her uncle’s body on the ground. She puts her thumb in her mouth, a habit she had shaken a year ago.
Chullu nuzzles my breasts. I should feed him, but first I must take care of something else. Again, I wet Chullu’s rag with my milk, and he takes it in his mouth and sucks on it. I set him down on the sling lying on the ground and tell Rekha to watch him. Then I sit next to Vinay, take his dusty hand in mine. I murmur incantations learned in the womb, long before I entered this world. I ask our gods to look after my brother in the realm of spirits, to give him the new life he deserves, to help his soul maintain harmony with those who came before him and those who will follow him. I repeat the words until they become one with the air we’re breathing.
The children watch me quietly. They seem mesmerized, as I once was, by this ritual. I don’t know how long we stay this way, the three of us.
Horse hooves, louder this time, closer. Then a whinny.
I turn to see the sleek head of a chestnut horse being jerked to a halt by his rider at the entrance to the gorge. I grab Chullu and snatch Rekha’s hand and lead us to the shelter of a nearby boulder.
“Nimmi!” My name echoes across the ravine.
Cautiously, I go back to the clearing. Across the way, I see Neela chewing grass. She stops and looks around to see where the noise is coming from.
It’s Lakshmi. The small mountain horse she’s riding is the color of wheat. As she gets closer to us, the horse sees Vinay’s mangled body, and rears back, startling Lakshmi. She bends to pat his neck, then dismounts, holding tightly to his reins. She looks over at the body, then at me, her eyebrows raised in a question.
I blink. “It’s Vinay,” I tell her.
She comes nearer and says, quietly, “I’m so sorry, Nimmi.”
Rekha is staring, openmouthed, at Lakshmi, who is wearing a man’s wool pants, the legs stuffed inside short boots. Her dark brown wool coat is too large for her frame; she must have borrowed her husband’s. She has a woolen shawl wrapped over her head and around her shoulders. I’ve only ever seen her in saris. I didn’t know she could ride a horse. But then I remember the day Dev died and Chullu came into the world. She and Dr. Jay must have ridden horses to reach us in the mountains.
Lakshmi’s face is flushed. She had to have been riding fast. She offers a reassuring smile to my daughter, then to my infant son, who has stopped fussing long enough to stare at her. I know that if she turns that steady, consoling gaze on me, I will start to cry. As if she senses this, she walks the horse to the other side of the clearing and ties him to a scrawny tree. Then she steps around me and approaches my brother’s body. As she crouches, she studies Vinay’s wounds—like I’ve seen her husband, Dr. Kumar, do.
Now I see that Vinay’s fingers have been gnawed on, by some animal, as he lay dying. There are bite marks on his ears. The toes of his exposed foot have been chewed.
I tremble, thinking of it. How much pain did he endure? How alone he was in his suffering!
Lakshmi raises her head and scans the steep slopes to the left and right of us. I follow her gaze.
“How do you think this happened?” she asks.
My mouth is dry. I ponder for a moment, take in the scene. “He might have stumbled—most likely, fell—and hit his head. This crevice is so rocky. His leg looks broken, and I think his hip might be broken. When I found him, he couldn’t move. I’d say he’s been here for at least a day or two. It’s possible his back is broken, too.”