Tiger's Voyage (24 page)

“I can’t go with
you
,” I said flatly.
Not really very gentle, Kells.

“Why not?”

Why not?
“Because … well … Wes asked me first. It would be rude to accept your invitation after he asked me.”

Kishan thought about that and nodded in understanding. I mentally sighed in relief.

He said, “But I’ll be there regardless. I won’t interfere, but I’ll feel better if I can keep my eye on you. Like I said, Wes is slippery. Lots of men are, and I’m sure the place will be packed with men—and half of them will be trying to get their hands on you.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Don’t you remember the Star Festival? There was a line of men around the block waiting to dance with you.”

“Now I know you’re exaggerating. You danced with me four times.”

“I cut in line.”

He was so serious, I laughed. “Come on, Kishan. You can walk me to my room.”

The next morning, I heard movement in the adjoining bedroom. Thinking it was Ren, I knocked briefly and opened the door to find Kishan standing at the dresser in jeans searching for a shirt.

“Kishan?”

“Good morning, Kells.”

He turned and thankfully pulled a shirt over his head so I could stop staring at his bronze-muscled chest.

“Are you sleeping in this room now?” I asked.

Kishan shrugged. “You need a tiger around, Kelsey. Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed. Did you sleep well?”

“I’m fine, just embarrassed about catching you half dressed.”
And
enjoying the view.

I looked around the room. “I thought Ren didn’t want you in here.”

“He’s changed his mind.”

“Yeah,” I said sadly, “he does that a lot.”

“Kelsey—”

I raised my hand. “Never mind. I don’t really want to go there.”

Dropping the matter entirely, Kishan and I spent the day together, relaxing and playing water sports. He quickly became adept at the Jet Ski, and I found it as exhilarating as the motorcycle ride.

At least I did when I wasn’t overly conscious of my arms wrapped around Kishan, or my cheek pressed against his sun-warmed back. Now that I knew it was a serious possibility that we’d end up dating, I felt different around him, more awkward.

When Durga was talking about my life mate, she said I’d love him more fiercely than I’d loved before. Phet had said either brother would be a good choice, but I had been so determined to pursue a relationship with Ren and so resolute about keeping Kishan at a distance that it felt wrong for me to openly consider crossing that line. We had fun together, and Kishan didn’t pressure me, so I left it at that.

When we docked at Trivandrum, Wes disembarked but said he’d be back to pick me up at six. I spent most of the afternoon with Mr. Kadam researching our new weapons. Kishan stopped by from time to time to check on our progress.

We discovered that the trident, also called a
trishula
or
trishul
, was a weapon rich in symbols. Mr. Kadam showed me a picture.

“Look here, Miss Kelsey. Each of the three prongs represents a variety of ideas. When wielded by Shiva, it reflects his three roles— creator, preserver, and destroyer. It also symbolizes the three
shaktis
, or powers—will, action, and wisdom. Sometimes it is a reflection of the past, the present, and the future. With Durga it is said to represent states of being—inactivity, activity, and nonactivity.”

“What’s the difference between inactivity and nonactivity?”

“In this instance, I believe inactivity means ‘doing nothing, resting, or perhaps stagnation.’”

“Uh-huh.” I winced thinking about Durga’s encouragements to leap forward.

“The word
tamas
is used for the third prong, which is the same prong as nonactivity.
Tamas
also means ‘darkness, ignorance, or sin.’ Perhaps in this case, the nonactivity is worse than the inactivity.”

“Maybe it’s the difference between doing good, doing bad, and doing nothing.”

“Hmm … I could certainly see that view being applied. Another book I read indicates that the three prongs represent the three types of human suffering—physical, mental, and spiritual. The
trishula
is to remind us that Durga can help stop that suffering.”

I took careful notes while Mr. Kadam buried his head back in the book.

Later while I was getting dressed for the party, I thought about the symbols of the trident. Some people believed that making a mistake was better than doing nothing. Maybe Durga was trying to tell me that if I just did
something
then my pain would diminish. I could only hope so.

The idea of living without Ren was like a tight vise wrapping thick bands around my throat. I felt like I’d been dragged onto an emotional roller coaster against my will, and all I could do was suffer through it with my head between my knees and try not to throw up. Screaming “I want off” wouldn’t do any good. There was no getting off the ride at this point. I had to see it through to the end and hope the safety bar was secure enough.

I was supposed to meet Wes on the dock, so I hurried through my primping. Nilima had the Divine Scarf make me an outfit like one she saw in a magazine. I’d just finished straightening my hair when she brought it into the room. She was all dressed up.

“Are you going to the party too, Nilima?”

She patted her hair. “Oh, I thought I might stop by. I’ll see you there.”

As she left, I picked up the hanger. The champagne-and-black sleeveless dress was pretty. It was ruched at the empire waist and had a sheer outer layer decorated with beautiful black bead accents. Examining the beads more closely, I discovered they weren’t beads at all, but some kind of tightly woven shiny threads that looked like beads. Ren had been right about the Scarf making substitutions.

I slipped into the dress and strapped on a pair of black sandals I discovered in my closet. Wes was waiting for me on the dock. He whistled in happy appreciation and made a fuss about how nice I looked. I felt out of place because he wore a casual pair of board shorts and a white unbuttoned shirt that showed off his nicely tanned chest.

“Oh, I’m overdressed,” I muttered awkwardly. “Ren and Kishan are always wearing over-the-top fancy things and I didn’t realize this might be less formal. Just wait a sec and I’ll change.” I turned to head back to the boat.

Wes ran a couple of steps and blocked my path. “No way, darlin’. I plan on showin’ you off.”

I laughed as we began to walk. “It’s not like I’m wearing a French bikini. I doubt anyone’s going to pay attention.”

“There’s a big difference between crass and class, sweetheart. And you are 100 percent class. Any feller with any sense would see I got a gem on my arm.”

“You’re kinda sweet for a Texas cowboy.”

“And you’re gettin’ a nice tan for an Oregon gal.”

Wes entertained me with wild stories about his family, each one more unbelievable than the last. We walked toward the pulsing throb of loud party music.

The beach was full of people. There must have been at least a thousand party goers. Wes paid an entrance fee for both of us, and we headed into the throng toward a giant bonfire where people were dancing. The weather was cooler now because we were in the middle of the monsoon season, and the bonfire’s heat would be welcome as the evening temperature dropped.

Wes shouted, already moving his body to the beat, “Do you want to eat first? Or dance first?”

“Dance first.”

He grinned and pulled me along until he found a spot among the other weaving bodies. The pulsating rhythm of the Indian live band was impossible to resist. No one cared if they were good dancers or not. Everyone just moved happily, jumping, nodding, waving their arms, and clapping. It was a communal experience unlike dancing in America. The mood was jubilant as the crowd moved together as one.

The music almost made me feel like I was an Indian goddess sinuously moving my many limbs or a gypsy girl wearing a tinkling costume. I didn’t move to the music, the music moved me until I felt like I was a part of it. I was thrumming, pulsing, and alive. Wes was thoroughly enjoying himself too.

I didn’t compare the experience with my Valentine’s dance with Ren.
Well … I almost didn’t.
I slipped off my sandals and let my toes sink into the sand as Wes wrapped an arm around my waist and spun me dizzily around, effectively twirling away any negative thoughts.

After several songs, Wes said he was thirsty and hungry, so we went to the buffet tables under a canopy strung with paper lanterns. We picked up our plates and perused the choices. Wes promised he’d steer me clear of curry.

They offered roasted, buttered corn on the cob; fresh coconut; sliced tropical fruits; lamb kebabs; idli, which were savory steamed cakes dipped in chutney; cheese-filled dosas similar to crepes; daigi roast (sort of like spicy hot wings); and dabeli pao, which looked like miniature hamburgers, but the butter-toasted bun was filled with potatoes, onions, and spices and was served with tamarind chutney. Not exactly a cheeseburger, but they were good.

Wes got us tall glasses of water filled with fruit. It was extremely refreshing, and I finished one quickly and returned for another. A DJ took over when the live band quit. He incited the crowd to more frenzied dancing, and Wes was soon itching to get back out there. We passed a vendor selling roasted peanuts and another one selling ice cream.

“Come here. I want to show you something.”

Wes said something to the vendor in Hindi, and the man opened his cart so we could see inside. His little freezer was full of long cylinders of precut ice cream lying across the bottom like Yule log cakes. Each cylinder was a different flavor: tropical, tutti-frutti, chai, pistachio, fig, mango, coconut, ginger, saffron, orange, cardamom, jasmine, and rose.

“No chocolate?” I asked Wes.

He laughed, told the man we’d be back later, and pulled me toward the dance floor. As we wove through the crowd, something caught my attention, and I looked up to find Kishan standing off to the side. He smiled at me briefly before heading to the food. I felt at ease knowing he was there. I could relax. Not that I was on edge with Wes, but there was something comforting about having one of my tigers nearby. I knew I was absolutely safe, like I had my own personal superhero watching over me. Kishan’s presence steadied me and calmed me in a way that bothered me to think about, so I stopped thinking and turned my attention back to Wes.

Throughout the evening, I’d spotted Kishan only one more time, but I felt his eyes on me often. It wasn’t until Wes and I were dancing by the bonfire that I saw Ren.

I froze and didn’t hear a thing Wes said. Ren was surrounded by beautiful, laughing women. Most of them were scantily clad and were flirting with him outrageously. He wore black slacks and a sea-green shirt with the top few buttons undone, which was somehow more appealing than all the other bare-chested men around him. His silky black hair fell over one eye, and he pushed it back as he danced. He paid attention to one girl and leaned over to whisper something to her. Then, when another girl pouted and touched his arm, he gave her his attention and touched her cheek with his fingertip.

There was a blonde, a brunette, a redhead. Tall girls, petite girls, long haired, short haired. I couldn’t stop staring as girls gyrated around him, jockeying for his attention while trying to snuff out the competition. A tall, tan blonde leaned closer to say something to him; he wrapped an arm around her waist and laughed, his white smile dazzling. She reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes, and my pulse slammed. Blood pounded through me. The air became thick. I couldn’t breathe. I took deep gulps trying to prevent myself from throwing up.

Wes had been watching the scene too. “Come on, Kelsey. Let’s go. You don’t need to see that.”

I let Wes pull me away, and the sick feeling turned into a deep burning rage. I trembled with it. I wanted to heat up my hand and blast the head off of every single girl who’d touched him. I wanted to pummel him with electric shocks. Better yet, I wanted lightning to strike me dead, so I could stop feeling this terrible vibrating rage, this bitter hurt. I felt like everything good and happy had been drained out of me and had been replaced with burning lava. I wouldn’t have been surprised if steam was shooting out of my ears.

I spied Kishan at the edge of the crowd, which calmed me. My mom would have said, “Kells, now that’s a young man you can rely on,” and she would have been right. He’d been a constant at my side since Oregon. Never pushing, never asking more of me than I was willing to give. He was good to me.

Kishan and I looked at each other for a brief moment. In that look, I knew he was asking if I needed him. I shook my head slightly and closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was gone. The lava cooled and cracked. My insides turned black and crumbled into dust. No amount of water could wash away the thick dust choking me. My limbs were heavy weights. I sagged under the pressure and felt like collapsing to the ground.

Wes touched my hand, and I snapped out of it.

“Sorry, Wes. I’m just …”

“You’re in shock. I understand. He shouldn’t have come out here and paraded himself around like that.”

I stated dully, “He can do whatever he wants to. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Let me get you a fruit drink. Some sugar will do you good.”

Wes brought me back something tall and red and delicious. I sipped it slowly to humor him. I felt the sweet drink slide down my throat before dropping into a never-ending pit in my middle. I imagined it hit the black char inside me, hissed, and disappeared along with everything else.

Wes wanted to dance some more, and I told him I’d stay but only for a few more songs. We stayed far away from where I’d seen Ren. I danced, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. I just wanted to go to the ship. Wes agreed to take me back, and somewhere in my mind I felt sorry for ruining the big party that he’d looked forward to all year, but the regret was quickly overwhelmed with my own personal list of “sorry fors.”

We started back up the beach. The music had changed to a slow song. I spied a flash of green out of the corner of my eye and couldn’t help it. I turned to look.