MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (29 page)

John frowned. He had
heard of her, but he couldn’t remember exactly where. “I think so.”

“Mother Sita is one
of the great goddesses of the Hindu religion. She rules over purity, grace,
perfect beauty, the harvest, and constant prayer,” the old man informed him.
“Though she was a goddess, she once incarnated into the form of a mortal woman
and that woman was a queen. Well, one time Sita found herself in a situation
where her purity and goodness were in question. So she gathered all the court
together and she said this,” Buzzy’s voice took on the cadence of one reciting
something from memory, “‘I am as pure as fire. Hence, I will prove the purity
of my character by passing through the raging fire of flames.’”

“And do you know what
she did?” asked the old man.

“She walked through a
fire?”

“She walked into a
raging fire and stood there until the flames burned down into ashes. Not one
bit of her was burned because in her soul she was pure,” the old man told him
gravely.

“I think I finally
know where we’re going.”

“Where you’re going,”
corrected Buzzy.

John raised his
eyebrows and looked at the crazy, old man. “Excuse me?”

“I have a friend in
Delhi I’m going to drop in on. I haven’t seen him in at least twenty-five
years.”

“Aha.”

“You, of course, will
be going on by train to Amritsar,” the old man informed him.

“To the temple of
Sita.”

Buzzy beamed. “That’s
my boy!” He squeezed John’s arm warmly.

India was beyond
anything John had ever imagined. The smell of burning trash and pollution was
so strong he had to cover his nose with his sleeve just to breathe. Delhi was
like Manhattan times a billion, with cramped avenues jammed with cars, brightly
painted trucks, and big-horned cows, all clogging up the road. Everyone stared
at him and not all the looks were friendly. Hordes of children hung on him
begging for money in their fast-talking little voices. It was hotter than hell.
There were no traffic lights in the entire city. He had to make a dash for it
through the chaos of honking cars and hope that he’d make it to the curb on the
other side safely.

Aboard the
old-fashioned train that chugged slowly northward toward the little town of Amritsar,
there was no air conditioning and no toilet. Just a hole in the floor to squat
over and no toilet paper in sight. At least the throbbing, sweaty mobs of
desperate humanity were left behind in Delhi and John was alone in his train
compartment.

Deep green fields,
bright jungle flowers, and ancient twisted-up trees flashed by outside his
window like nature on some kind of psychedelic fertilizer. By the time the
train pulled into Amritsar, John had counted sixteen skinny, bronze-skinned men
he’d seen pooping in the fields. He made a mental note to himself to stay away
from the produce on this trip.

Outside the train
station, he hired a bicycle rickshaw. The ride was about as hair-raising an
experience as he’d ever had as the flimsy vehicle skidded across broken streets
and weaved through crowded, medieval-looking alleys, so narrow John had to pull
his elbows close to his body to avoid banging them on the faded stone
buildings. They sped past men in turbans stirring large vats of milk over open
fires and barefoot women in brightly-colored silk saris with mud clinging to
the hems of their skirts. Horns blared, other rickshaws whizzed by. John clung
bug-eyed to his seat hoping the wizen-faced driver had understood the place
he’d shown him on Buzzy’s old map.

At last, they broke
away from the wild little town and jolted down a long dirt road bordered by
more of that incredible lush forestland on either side. After they’d gone for a
while, the driver hit the brakes and they skidded to a stop.

John didn’t see any
temples around. Just road and forest.

The driver smiled a
toothless smile and waved his hand indicating for John to follow him. “Ji, come
this way, Ji,” he said and bowed his head slightly.

The ageless Indian
man started barefoot straight into the woods. As John followed, he saw that
there was a small trail, and wiping the sweat and dust off his face, he
followed his driver down the path until they came to a little clearing.

A one-room,
whitewashed house stood there with its doors thrown open. A string of orange
and yellow marigolds were draped around the entrance, but aside from that, the
place looked humble.

The driver turned to
John, smiled his big gummy smile again, and nodded in the direction of the
little building. “I will wait for you.”

“It could be a
while,” said John doubtfully.

“It’s okay.” The man
sat down on a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing, obviously making himself
comfortable.

John shrugged his
shoulders and tentatively walked toward the doorway and peered in. He started
to enter when the driver called out in an agitated voice, “Ji! Ji!” and
motioned frantically at his shoes. “You must take them off!”

Feeling awkward, John
kicked off his shoes. The driver smiled and nodded his head encouragingly.
“Okay.”

John entered the little
building and found himself in the first really clean place he’d seen since
landing in India. In fact, it wasn’t just clean; it was immaculate. The inside
of the shrine was whitewashed just like the outside. Even the floor was white.
A circular fountain stood in the middle of the tiny room with water bubbling up
from its center. The temple smelled like honey, roses, and tropical jasmine
mixed with some kind of incense, which burned in the corner on a brazier.
Clearly someone was taking excellent care of this place, but at least for the
moment, John was the only one there.

In the back of the
temple, a solid gold statue of the goddess Sita sat cross-legged and serene, a
blissful smile on her lips, her eyes half closed in ecstasy. She was draped in
scarlet silk; her wrists, ankles, fingers, and toes where encrusted with
richly-colored gems. A garland of yellow daisies hung around her neck, but at
the center of her forehead an empty crater gaped.

On the altar at
Sita’s feet, more incense burned and more flowers were heaped; rose petals were
scattered across everything. A golden tray with little cups of what looked like
tea fought for space with a golden bell, and there were two large candlesticks,
which lit the goddess softly, making her skin glow.

It was cool in here
and John gratefully splashed some of the water from the fountain over his face
and rinsed his hands. Then he stood there not quite sure what to do. The place
had such a stillness about it. He realized he hadn’t done his morning prayers
or any meditation in too many days. He walked to the altar and sat down on the
floor in front of the goddess.

For a long time, he
just sat there and stared at her. Something about her half-closed eyes made him
feel safe. This was a little corner of the world that operated on a different
psychic playing field, a place where time stopped, or maybe had never begun in
the first place. A time of eternity.

He didn’t say any of
his usual prayers or do any kind of formal meditation. He just sat and felt the
shadows of the sun setting outside the temple, listened to the soothing ripple
of the fountain, and soaked up the emanations of the golden goddess on the
altar.

Dusk was just
starting to settle when she came. He didn’t have to look behind him to know
Veronica stood in the doorway.

If she was surprised
to see him, she didn’t let on. She moved to his side, by the altar, and kneeled
down next to him. She was wearing an amber-colored sari with birds and flowers
embroidered along the hem and a silk scarf covering her dark hair. She looked
as natural in it as if she had been sporting Indian garb all her life, but of
course, for much of her childhood she probably had found it necessary to dress
in the exotic clothing of the many countries her father had dragged her
through.

“How long have you
been here?” she asked softly.

“Since early this
afternoon.”

“I’m glad you came.”
Her smile was so warm he could almost feel it against his skin.

“So am I,” he
breathed as he really took her in. He felt as if he were looking into a part of
her very few people had ever seen. With newly enlightened eyes, he witnessed
the graceful humility at her core, which had been hidden beneath that
ever-changing protective exterior. Her inner beauty shone like an interior lamp
illuminating her dark blue eyes and he felt a quiet intimacy between them so
much deeper even than the passion they had shared or the flashes of painful
hidden scars revealed.

“Do you know about
Sita?” she asked.

“Your father filled
me in.”

She smiled. “Poor
Daddy.”

“You’ve given him a
tough time over the years. The man is wracked with guilt,” said John seriously.

She met his gaze
unflinchingly. “Do you know why Sita and her husband, Rama, incarnated into
human flesh?”

“No.”

She turned to the
golden goddess and said, “They incarnated to end the evil and wickedness in the
world and to re-establish the rule of the righteous.”

Before he could
comment on that, she reached into the folds of her sari, part of which she had
tied up like a hobo’s knapsack. The Hope Diamond and the white brilliants fell
into the palm of her hand. She laid the smaller stones that had made up the
chain on a little golden plate that matched the bell and tea set on the altar.
Then she rose, and leaning into the shrine, firmly pressed the fabled blue
diamond into Sita’s third eye where the gaping hole had existed for the past
three hundred years.

The goddess looked
complete as the stone exploded with blue fire. For a long moment, they both sat
and watched the diamond shine. For the first time, John understood what
Veronica meant about gems possessing a magical life of their own. He could feel
that magic now in the tiny, whitewashed temple. It didn’t bother him anymore
that a fake was on display in the Smithsonian Museum. Sitting here, he
understood the diamond had never really belonged outside of this temple in the
first place.

“What are you going
to tell Lillian Spencer?” Even at a whisper, his voice sounded loud in the
stillness.

“I’m not going to
tell her anything,” she said evenly. “Her money will be waiting for her in the
specified bank account just as planned.”

“How’s Nicholas
Bezuhov mixed up in all this?”

She tore her eyes
away from Sita and smiled at him. “Nicky has all the jewelry I’ve pinched over
the years. He’s cutting it down and selling it for me. That Children’s Library
Fund is going to be getting their money back plus a sizeable donation I think
will knock their socks off!”

“You’re selling
everything?” he asked, stunned at the thought of the incredible collection she
had amassed over the past fifteen years.

“Everything that
didn’t originally belong to me.”

John whistled. “No
wonder you were crying so hard that night.”

“It seems silly now,
doesn’t it?” Her face looked so peaceful and serene, she almost reminded him of
the golden statue above them.

“That’s quite a risk
Bezuhov took for you.”

“Yes, it is,” agreed
Veronica. “I told you he was a good friend. You must understand, over the years
Nicholas was the only person in the whole world I could confide in. He kept my
secrets and I kept his.”

John thought about
what she said and it made sense. Maybe Bezuhov wasn’t his favorite person in
the world, but for Veronica’s sake, perhaps he could keep more of an open mind
about him in the future.

“So does this mean
you’re retiring for good?” John asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Her eyes sparkled
mischievously and licking her lips with the tip of her tongue she almost
purred, “I’ve decided to move on to bigger game.” And she looked at him in a
way that sent a shiver up his spine.

Suddenly the heat was
so palpable between them, he move to pull her into his arms and settle things
for good. She gently put out a hand to block him and said, “Close your eyes.
You may never be in a place this sacred again. Soak it up so you can carry a
little bit of it with you wherever you go.”

Obeying, he closed
his eyes and said a silent thankful prayer to this goddess who, until recently,
he had never even known existed. He felt his heart open and faith, pure and
joyful as a bubbling spring of clear water, flooded him for a moment bringing a
smile to his face and tears to his closed eyes. He had walked a long, strange
road trying to grasp that intangible, fleeting thing called faith. Tomorrow
morning, when he woke up, it would probably be gone. Or maybe, as Veronica
said, maybe a little bit of it would seep into his heart permanently; a
building block upon which to grow.

He opened his eyes
and turned to tell her, but she was gone—the Ghost in action.

He knew she couldn’t
have traveled far and jumping to his feet he ran outside. Night had fallen and
he could just barely make out the black outline of ancient trees against the
dark background of the sky.