Looking at her clean sari and matching sweater blouse, I felt ashamed. I had not had time to wash my clothes with so much going on the last few days. I could feel my face grow warm. Rekha and Chullu were no cleaner. After all the work with the sheep the night before, I hadn’t had the energy to draw water, heat it, and wash the dirt and sweat off me or my children in our lodgings. Would she want our private grime to soil her home?
“You and the children can stay in Malik’s room. He has an adjoining bath.”
How is it that she always manages to read my mind?
“And I think it’s better, safer that you not sell flowers on the Shimla Mall until we get this sorted.”
My pulse quickened. “You think it’s that unsafe?”
“I do.”
A little while later, I took a break from my work in the Healing Garden and went to the waiting room, where I approached patients who were people of the hills, most likely shepherds—their homespun woolens and darker skin giving them away. One middle-aged man with a cloudy eye and half an ear missing said he could take our sheep to graze with his flock, north of here. I told him I’d let him know tomorrow where to find my brother’s sheep and described the notch on their ears so he could keep his sheep separate from my brother’s.
He smiled then, showing me his five teeth. “I don’t need to mark my sheep,” he said. “I know which sheep is which because I know their personalities. And every single one of them is ornery!”
The woman sitting next to him joined his laughter.
* * *
So tonight I find myself with Rekha and Chullu in Lakshmi and Dr. Jay’s house. I left work early to retrieve our few belongings from the Aroras’ so I could to take them to Lakshmi’s house. She’d asked me not to tell my landlords where we were going. Better, she said, to be safe. I didn’t like keeping things from them; they’ve been so kind. But Lakshmi has been right about most everything, so I left without saying goodbye to the old couple. It took only one trip; we don’t have much. Lakshmi said she’d send our clothes to the dhobi. I always wash my own clothes, but I didn’t want to say as much to Lakshmi. Perhaps she thinks I don’t clean them well enough.
* * *
Now the children are up in Malik’s bedroom with Lakshmi’s housekeeper, Moni. Lakshmi is putting on her boots and Dr. Kumar is buttoning up his wool jacket. Madho Singh is pacing on his perch. Every now and then he squawks, “The hand that feeds us is in danger of being bitten.”
I can tell by Dr. Kumar’s expression that he wishes we weren’t doing this. But just as Lakshmi will not put a child at risk, Dr. Kumar will never fail to protect Lakshmi. What choice does he have? She is determined. I want to apologize to him for the danger Vinay put us all in. But the mention of my brother’s name would only increase the tension in the room. I say nothing.
* * *
It’s eight o’clock at night, dusk, and we’re in the lower pasture, close to the edge of the forest, with Vinay’s flock. The ground has been mowed clean, and the sheep seem eager to be moved. Was it only yesterday we were here, collecting the gold? Then, I was preoccupied with the work to be done, hardly thinking about where we were. Tonight, the woods feel sinister. Tree branches resemble claws. Leaves whisper dark omens. Mulch on the forest floor smells of rot, death.
I show Lakshmi and Dr. Kumar how we shear the sheep.
I take one, turn her on her back and squat on the cloth I’ve spread on the ground so I can hold the animal between my knees. The sheep are used to being sheared and know they’ll feel much better when they’ve lost their heavy coat, so they lie still. The shepherd at the clinic this morning lent me two long-handled shears. I start by grabbing a handful of the wool on the sheep’s stomach and trim it with the shears. Once I’ve cleared this small area on the sheep’s belly, I know how close I can cut without grazing the skin, and the shearing goes much faster.
I keep going until I’ve sheared all the sheep’s fleece from the underside. Then I turn the animal on her side so I can shear the wool there, then I turn her once again to shear the other side. The work of shearing has a rhythm that can be soothing and, at times, hypnotic. It doesn’t take me long before I’ve finished with the body and can shear the legs.
I tell Lakshmi and Dr. Jay, “The best shearers get the fleece off in one piece. They can shear forty sheep in a day and never nick or cut the skin.”
When I’m done, I release the animal and gather the wool, showing the others how to twirl it all in a big ball. We’ll pack as much of the wool as we can on the horses and leave the rest here, to collect upon our return.
Lakshmi watches the process with fascination. I can tell she’s never seen this done. Dr. Kumar seems unfazed. Not only does he work with scalpels: he grew up in Shimla and has long watched shepherds doing this same task. I hand him the other borrowed shears.
But seeing and doing are different things. At first, the sheep are not relaxed in Dr. Kumar’s arms; they’re just not used to him. Soon enough he gets into a rhythm and is shearing almost as fast as I. Lakshmi finds the work more challenging; she doesn’t want to nick the sheep. They sense her hesitation, so they squirm and wiggle out of her grasp. As it grows darker, she decides to take on a different task: she holds two flashlights—one for the doctor and one for me—so we can get the work done as soon as possible.
After three hours, everything—the field and the surrounding forest—is pitch-black, illuminated only by the flashlights Lakshmi is holding.
My arms are fatigued from holding the sheep down, my legs are tired from squatting and my thumbs have blisters on them from handling the shears.
In the light of the flashlights, I can see Dr. Kumar’s face and know he’s every bit as tired as I am.
I’ve counted thirty-seven sheep, including Neela. Two more to go.
But the flashlights suddenly go dark.
I’m about to call out to Lakshmi when I feel her hand on my shoulder. That’s when I hear the voices. I see lights, like fireflies, blinking in the distance. Men are calling out to one another through the forest to the east. One man is shouting orders; others are answering his commands.
Lakshmi, Dr. Kumar and I stand still as tree trunks. I hold my breath.
Dr. Kumar whispers, “Nimmi, come with me.”
I rise from my squat.
“Lakshmi,” he whispers, “you stay here.”
He takes my hand and leads me away from the flock, toward the men. I don’t know what he’s up to, and I want to let go of his hand and run the other way, but his grasp is firm, and I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.
We run a hundred yards in the dark. Then Dr. Kumar stops, turns my body so he’s facing me. He kisses me. I’m so startled I don’t know what I ought to feel. His lips are not as full as Malik’s, but they’re just as warm.