Tiger’s Destiny (8 page)
Clearly, some things were certainly not back to normal, but Kishan did his best to rekindle our romantic flame nonetheless and brought up the idea of a date. First he suggested a romantic dinner by the pool, but we decided on a movie in the theater room instead.
“It’s a date,” Kishan said, poking his brother with his elbow. “And just to be clear,
you
are not invited. Three’s a crowd.”
Ren threatened, “Just don’t hurt her.” With a retaliatory shove, he stormed upstairs.
A few minutes later, we heard the unmistakable sound of something big being smashed against the wall from the direction of Ren’s room.
I sighed and wrapped my arms around Kishan’s waist. “It’s not nice to throw us in his face like that,” I said gently.
Kishan pressed his lips against my forehead. “Ren needs to understand that I’m not giving you up.”
“He does understand, but that doesn’t make it easy. Think about how you would feel.”
“I know exactly how he feels. He wants you back, and I don’t plan on accommodating his wishes.”
“Kishan—”
He cupped my chin and tilted my face to look at him. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
With a questioning look in his golden eyes, Kishan asked softly, “Do you want to go back to him?”
I froze, not knowing what to say. After a moment I shook my head slowly. “I chose you, and I meant it.”
He smiled, tilted his head, and said, “I’m not very good with words, and I know you’ve been through a lot these past few weeks. I told you we can take this slow once before, and I’m saying it again. We haven’t really had time to talk since, well, since Ren got his memory back. If you feel hesitant or unsure about me, it’s okay. I’m not saying it won’t hurt my feelings, because it will, but if you want to start over, back up, or hit reverse, I’ll understand.”
Once again, I marveled at the kindness and patience of this good man. I really didn’t deserve him. I pressed my cheek against Kishan’s chest and said with confidence, “I think what I’d like to do is to move
forward
with our relationship.”
He grinned. “Just how much forward are you talking about?”
I laughed. “Why don’t we just start with a kiss?”
“I think I can manage that.”
Kishan’s kiss was gentle and sweet. I sighed and wrapped my arms around his neck. I felt thoroughly safe and loved and protected in his arms. Kissing him back and loving him was as easy as slipping into a comfortable pair of sneakers. There was no golden fire. There was no powerful jolt of passion. There was no steel tether that connected us. But there was love.
A happy lifetime could be built on that strong foundation. Kishan would cherish me, and I knew that we would form a bond of our own. Over time, my stubborn heart would soften and would let Kishan possess it completely. I didn’t know when, but I hoped it wouldn’t be too long for both our sakes.
We broke apart when I heard another crash upstairs.
“Talk to him, Kells,” Kishan said intuitively.
With a nod, I headed toward Ren’s room. It was time to clear the air. So much had happened since he had regained his memory. I needed him to be at peace with both Kishan and me.
I found Ren sitting at his desk, staring out the window at the pool. Papers and notes were strewn across the floor and a small bookshelf lay in a heap as if it had just folded in on itself. I stooped to gather the pages and realized they were poems.
“What do you want, Kelsey?” he asked in a quiet voice without turning around.
“I’m here to see what all the commotion is about. Were you trying to take down an elk?”
“What I do in my own room is my business.”
I sighed. “You make it
our
business when you’re that loud.”
“
Fine
. The next time that my life is destroyed, I’ll try to express my distress in a quieter fashion, far away from your tender sensibilities.”
“You do have a gift for exaggeration.”
Ren spun around and stared at me incredulously. “The only exaggeration is that you are in possession of tender sensibilities. Obviously that is not the case. A
tender
woman would admit she is wrong. A
tender
woman would listen to her heart. A
tender
woman wouldn’t spurn the man she loves. Do you realize I almost lost you forever? Don’t you have any idea how that affected me? The thought of Lokesh hurting you was more than I could bear.
“Did you know that I could feel you? Your fear, your terror became mine. I haven’t slept in a week and my every agonized wakeful thought was spent wondering if you were hurt and suffering. The hope that I might get you back, to hold you, finally, in my arms and know that you were safe was the only thing that kept me sane.”
“Ren—”
He interrupted, “Then you come home and what do you do? You go traipsing back over to Kishan. I’m allowed to offer you comfort but not love.
Kelsey
, how can you still deny what you feel for me?”
“You always wax poetic when you’re angry.” I picked up a book and ran my hands over the leather cover. “I prayed for you to come. I knew that the two of you would move heaven and earth to find me if you could. I’m not denying that I love you. I’ve admitted as much to you, in fact.”
“Then explain it to me again. How can you love me and choose Kishan?”
“If you don’t think I love Kishan, you’re mistaken.” I sat on Ren’s bed and sighed, tossing the book onto the nightstand. “Do you believe he’s a good man? That he loves me, will watch over me, protect me, and keep me safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then, in your mind, there is nothing wrong with my choice, except that he’s not you.”
“And there’s also the fact that you’re not
in love
with him,” he said dryly.
“Kishan’s good and kind and brave and wonderful, just like his brother. Isn’t it enough that he makes me happy?”
“No.”
“Then there’s nothing more for me to say.” I smoothed the stack of poems and left them in a neat pile on his desk.
Ren’s eyes burned holes in my back as I quietly left the room.
Downstairs, while Kishan and I watched a James Bond film, I thought only of Ren. He was the person I’d always confessed everything to. He was my friend, and he also knew me well enough to see I was holding back. He knew there was something more to my choice, and like a tenacious hound with a juicy bone, he was not going to let it go. I sighed, snuggled closer to Kishan, and lay my head on his chest.
T
he next day we started the long journey to a temple of Durga. The temple Mr. Kadam chose was actually located in Katra, in the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. We were going into the Himalayan Mountains and about as far north as you could go and still be in India. Katra was four hundred miles away, not far from the border of Pakistan.
Even with Mr. Kadam driving faster than would be legal in the United States, we were stuck in the car all day. The only breaks we got were a few quick stops for gas. After I was told our destination was Katra, I tried to explain how Spock’s “katra” ended up in Dr. McCoy’s body in
Star Trek.
Ren had seen
Star Wars
so he kind of understood what I was talking about, but Kishan soon lost interest. When I brought up the time travel episodes, Mr. Kadam seemed particularly keen to know what happened to all the characters in the future if the space-time continuum was disrupted.
Finally, the snow-capped mountains near Katra came into view. I had thought the Himalayas were cold in the summer, but now, in the winter, the air was downright freezing. The worst part was that we’d have to hike up thirteen kilometers to the mountain temple.
“I’m sorry, Miss Kelsey. I promise that we will rest often along the way,” Mr. Kadam said.
I shivered. “Fine. Snowy mountain peak temple it is. I’m just glad this is the last quest.”
At sundown we asked the Scarf to set up a thick tent with mounds of blankets inside. Mr. Kadam made us hot bowls of stew using the Fruit, and I used the power of the amulet to warm the interior of the tent. Heat waves of energy pumped from my hands as if I were a radiator.
The next morning was cold and bright. After a breakfast of hot cereal, we donned several pairs of wool socks, spiked hiking boots, and layers of cold-weather clothes, topping off the layers with down jackets. Ren kept creating extra things for me to put on. Unsatisfied with my scarf, he made a thicker one and wrapped it three times around my neck. Then he added a ski hat that covered my whole head except my face and put another hat with ear protectors on top of that. When he started criticizing my gloves, I pushed him away and told him to go bother someone else.
“You’re not in Antarctica, Kells,” Kishan commented as the four of us started the hike to Durga’s temple.
“Bug off. Ren’s being overprotective. It wasn’t my idea.”
Kishan grinned. “Here. At least I can carry your backpack for you. Looks like you’re packing double your weight in clothes anyway.”
I shoved my bag at him and marched off toward the mountain in a huff. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
Kishan laughed uproariously, and the four of us hiked toward Durga’s temple.
Mr. Kadam caught up with me quickly, followed by Kishan and Ren, who took up the rear after staying behind to break camp.
On the way to the temple, Mr. Kadam walked by my side and kept me distracted by talking about the area and its shrine.
“Would you like to hear the story of the temple?”
“Yes,” I said. I slipped on an icy patch of ground, and Kishan was next to me in an instant, his hand under my elbow to lend me his support.
Mr. Kadam inhaled the brisk mountain air and let it out with a sigh. “Around seven hundred years ago, a demon called Bhairon Nath chased Durga, or Mata Vaishno Devi as she was called then, into these hills. When Bhairon Nath found her hiding in a cave, she cut off his head with a trident. It is said that the large boulders near the mouth of the cave are the petrified remains of his body.”
“I have a question. Why do Hindu gods and goddesses have so many names and forms? Why can’t Durga just be Durga?”
“Each form is called an avatar, a reincarnated form of the goddess. In one life she may be called Durga; in another she may be Parvati, for example. The concept of reincarnation varies from religion to religion. Some believe a person is reincarnated because he needs to continue to learn, and he only stops reincarnating when he has gleaned from his human life that which he needs to know to ascend to the next level of existence.
“In Buddhism, reincarnation is seen not so much as the same spirit inhabiting a new body, but it’s more that the old spirit gives rise to a new one, like a dying flame igniting a new candle. The candles are different but the flame comes from those who have gone before.”
“But aren’t gods and goddesses already enlightened?”
“Ah, in India our gods and goddesses are not perfect.”
“It’s still confusing.”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Many also believe that the goddess calls to her devotees from this very temple and that they will drop whatever they are doing to make a pilgrimage here.”
“That’s interesting. Do you feel a calling to be here?” I teased.
He looked up at the looming mountain trail ahead of us. “Yes. In a way,” he replied softly.
We continued hiking for several hours on a well-worn path that angled up the mountain.
Mr. Kadam’s spirits seemed to lift a bit the closer we got to the temple. He was more distracted than usual, but he smiled often, and we talked of many things. I hadn’t realized just how much I had missed him until then.
The last part of our journey was a series of icy carved steps that led up to the cave. Though we’d been equipped with ice-climbing boots, I was glad to be able to lean onto Ren and Kishan for support.
We stopped briefly to catch our breath at the mouth of the cave and then moved through to the end of the one-hundred meter structure to the stone temple beyond the cave. The temple’s conical structure was similar to the Shore Temple. Its layers of thin stone were carved and notched, almost like a rock-climbing wall in a gym. The exterior was gray at the top and more sepia-colored near the doorway. The four of us stepped inside and began searching for the statue of Durga.
Though the outside of the temple was drab, the interior was bathed in color. Near an alcove on a dais stood the goddess we’d been seeking. This time the goddess was not carved of stone or even bronze but was made of wax.
Durga’s face and arms were painted an alabaster tint, and she wore a gown of heavy jeweled fabrics and garlands of silk roses, jasmine, and gardenias around her neck. Her hair, under a headpiece adorned with jewels, looked real. A ruby
bindi
rested between her arched brows and her golden nose ring and earrings gleamed with semiprecious stones. Behind her, the alcove was painted as red as her lips.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.
Kishan studied the statue for a moment and then answered, “She is.”
“So this is it,” I said calmly. “Mr. Kadam, are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Mr. Kadam smiled strangely. “Trust me. We are in the right place.”
“Okay, let’s give this a try.”
I asked Kishan for my backpack, and he helped me lay all of our offerings to Durga at the feet of the statue. Mr. Kadam had instructed us to bring a box of long matches, several fat candles, a few pieces of wood, some charcoal, a couple firecrackers, a lighter, and a string of very hot chilies. When it was time for me to brush the bells on my anklet, I discovered I couldn’t reach them. My many layers of clothes prevented me from bending over.
Kishan laughed heartily at my dilemma. Ren just growled softly, knelt at my ankle, and brushed his fingers across the bells. Then he stood and we joined hands.
Ren began our plea to Durga. “Today we seek your help on this, our last task. We have come to complete your fourth and final challenge and ask for your blessing that the path ahead may be smooth and our feet sure and steady.”
I added, “Please help us to have the wisdom and the skill to make it safely through this last part of our travels.”
