Alka Handa

The Light Beyond the Mountains

PART ONE

Chapter 1

London

18th August

If I had it in me, I would have locked myself inside my bedroom forever.

I would have climbed out the window and run as far away as possible from the family who were supposed to love me. But the case was closed. Bags ready and waiting. I was leaving for school thousands of miles from home, far away in the Himalayas. All that was left was to say goodbye.

We gathered in the living room. Pa had booked an Uber to Heathrow, instructing Ma and Seema to stay home. ‘What’s the use of a big scene at the airport? We shall go without the drama.’

Ma protested. Seema stayed quiet. Tiny raindrops tapped on the window frame with trepidation. I rubbed at the flaky skin around my nails, and gave my big sister a sideways glance, searching for a dent in her impenetrable mask. A sign of…anything. She lowered her eyes.

I’d packed a few photos. A framed picture from Anya of the two of us in the park, Besties Forever etched onto the white wooden frame. Another one of our family guru draped in an orange robe, which Ma asked me to keep close. Lastly, Seema and I as kids captured by an amateur photographer on a visit to the Punjab. Dressed in traditional costume with nose-rings and smouldering eye kohl, we looped arms and smiled on cue for the camera. Even then, my sister stood out tall and proud with her glossy hair, chiselled nose, and hazel-brown eyes. Looking like a goddess. I followed her around like a devoted disciple, desperate to be a mini-her. Desperate for her to love me back.

Stepping outside, the August wind blew in warm gusts – phantom fingers pushing me back indoors. After the rain, the glistening pink and white rose bushes lining the path emitted the heady smell of summer I loved.

This small corner of London was my whole world.

I shuddered in my striped joggers and Taylor Swift T-shirt, layered over with the new denim jacket that Anya had convinced me to buy. ‘If you must go,’ she’d said, ‘go in style. And leave your old gear behind. You’re so curvy under that shed load. A star in the making, hun, don’t you forget it.’ Flabby and big-chested more like, but I appreciated her trying to pump up my self-esteem.

A plane droned overhead, leaving a fluffy white trail. I was used to a constant rumble of air traffic living below Heathrow’s flight path. This time, my stomach cramped, my breath grew shallow at the thought that it would be me, Priya, ascending into the sky, accompanied by Pa making sure I reached my destination.

My phone pinged.

Jeez, is this really happening…how am I going to get through year 11 without you…gonna miss you so so much hun.

A heart-stopping sense of loss swamped me. I couldn’t imagine making a friend to top Anya here, let alone halfway round the world. A tiny puddle slid from my eyelash onto the screen, remembering the lines we’d rehearsed together for months for the school play, the tatty script I’d left to curl at the edges deep inside my bedside drawer.

Ditto. don’t forget me alright?

As if

We exchanged a bunch of heart emojis.

A car pulled up and Ma and Seema appeared in the doorway. I swept my knuckle across my eyes.

‘I bet you’re going to love it there, sis. All that mountain air. Better than being stuck here in deadbeat Osterley.’ Seema’s lips quivered a touch, before flashing her radiant smile.

My arms reached out. Flailing mid-air. Her body stayed rigid. I couldn’t help wishing that a smidge of her was sorry to see me go – the kid sister she once took under her wing; made her right hand in our role play; pushed on the roundabout until I shrieked at her to stop. When did we last have fun together? I still dreamed about those days.

None of this would be happening if she hadn’t dragged me to that dumb party in June, when I was idiot enough to believe she wanted us to hang out. Pa wouldn’t have freaked over Seema bringing me home in a “state”, and he wouldn’t be sending me away to escape “bad” influences. I’d come so close to starring in the play, only for Pa to smash my chances when he found out. Seema knew I was taking part. Could she have told on me?

I hardened my heart. Turned away. Whatever was going on in that head of hers, I couldn’t help her now. Couldn’t even help myself, and with me leaving, there was no fixing anything.

Ma sobbed quietly so as not to annoy Pa. Made me want to scream. In her printed cotton salwar kameez, one of a handful of outfits she wore most days, her hair tied back in a frayed ponytail, she looked fragile. Carrying Lord Shiva’s blessing in her palm from the indoor shrine, she gently touched my forehead. ‘Sambal, beti. Study hard. Make us proud.’

I hugged her tight, inhaling her Oil of Olay moisturised skin. How would I protect her now? But the question I’d asked myself for weeks spun round my brain. Why didn’t she stop this from happening?

In a muffled voice, ‘make your father proud.’ Ma’s eyes flashed a warning signal. As if to say, do this, do it well, or see what happens.

I swayed on my feet, my legs about to give way.

Pa stood by the cab. Lips pursed. ‘Enough. Priya, get in the car.’

Ma’s body tensed. Fear swept over her face. A final hug, a mutter in my earhole, ‘have courage, beti.’

My stomach coiled. Don’t cry, don’t cry, I told myself, climbing into the back seat. As the Uber moved away, Ma and Seema faded from sight through the rear window. I was sure my beating heart could be heard by the whole neighbourhood, the whole universe, willing me to stay where I belonged.

On the way to Heathrow, Pa rambled on. ‘You’ll see. This school will give you discipline, faith, focus. You will be thanking me.’

A sob threatened to erupt. Held it down, forcing up the words, ‘but it’s so far away.’

Pa glared. ‘So? Didn’t I leave India as a young man? I came here with nothing. You will turn sixteen soon. Enough of your snivelling.’

Get a grip. There was only one direction this Uber was headed.

Mumbai

19th August

The mustiness hit me the moment I stepped off the plane. A strange odour of stifling heat mixed with the charred remains of a bonfire, making my skin tingle. A chorus of Hindi-speaking voices reached my ears amidst the droning vehicles and sirens. Like stepping into a whole new world.

A bus took us to the terminal building. Stuffed in like sardines, sweat dripping from each pore, I clenched my nostrils to stop myself inhaling India.

We collected our bags. Wheeled our trolley towards the exit. Pa laid out the plan for the millionth time. He would say hello to Shamit uncle and catch his onward flight to Amritsar to visit his mother, our grandmother. I hadn’t met her in years. It puzzled me why he wasn’t taking me with him to visit his family, rather than leaving me with Ma’s, but I didn’t dare question it.

We were to meet at Delhi airport in less than a week, and journey to Mussoorie together. I didn’t want him dropping me to school, lording over me. making everything worse. What if I hated it there? He wasn’t going to take me back home.

Shamit uncle was waiting by the barriers, palms clasped, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Arre, namaste. Welcome, welcome.’ He was exactly as I remembered; stubby, round-faced, with a wispy moustache which turned up at the ends.

‘Arre wah, our betiya has grown up.’ He patted me on the arm and turned to Pa, his voice oozing warmth. ‘Bhaiya, such an honour to welcome you back to India. I only wish you had included Mumbai in your programme.’

Pa took uncle’s hands in his. ‘Please accept my apologies, dear Shamit. I have family business in Amritsar. This will be a treat for Priya.’ He gave me a fond smile. His eyes showed something different. ‘She’s been begging me to visit Mumbai.’

I pretended to study my cracked nails. I never once begged him. India was as unfathomable to me as a page of calculus. My memories of being here as a small child faded long ago.

Faint raindrops landed on my skin as I stood back, leaving Pa to sweet-talk uncle. Pa had on his tweed jacket, with his hankie tucked into his top pocket and belt strapped high around his waist. His receding hairline made his forehead look huge. Bushy brows accentuated his dense eyes. Here was my dad, so careful about detail, yet oblivious to my feelings.

‘Aacha bhai,’ said uncle, shaking hands with gusto, ‘please pass on my best wishes to your dear mother and brother. Chal, Priya, this way.’

Pa looked only too happy to escape. He’d never been Shamit uncle’s biggest fan, calling him “showy”. He hugged me longer than he needed to. ‘Be good,’ he said, with an ominous look.

I took a sharp inhale, his words lurking like the bitter aftertaste of my malaria tablets. Half of me wanted Pa to disappear. The other half quivered at the prospect. Not having him around would seem alien, like losing an arm. Yet as his shadow lengthened along the asphalt, leaving me in the afternoon sun’s warmth, a link in the chain slipped away.

Shamit uncle chatted as we walked, but my heart thumped so loud I didn’t hear a word. A shiny red car loomed, with the boot and passenger door open and a well-turned-out man standing by. ‘Come,’ said uncle. ‘Antony will load your case.’

‘Good day, madam,’ said the man.

No one had ever called me madam. I cracked a hopeful smile, looked back in the vague hope that Pa would reappear and tell me this was all a cruel joke – he really did love me.

I felt unanchored. Untethered.

I climbed into the car.

My future sealed.

Gazing out the window as Anthony steered the wheel, the day I was told I’d be going to live in India loomed in my brain like a parasite. Even then, I never thought t would happen. Pa had stood over me at dinner, dangling a flimsy envelope in my face. I stared at the bottle-green stamp, as if it were a monster with fangs. ‘See this. It’s from the principal of Meadows School. In India. You will be joining in August.’

‘What…?’ I spluttered, fear clawing my chest. I turned to Ma. She chewed on some roti, staring into space.

Pa’s nostrils flared. ‘I’ve informed Redhill. They won’t be expecting you back in September.’

This was bonkers. ‘But. You can’t –'

Pa stood, chair scraping the kitchen lino, making me shudder. ‘I can and I will. I’m your father. You'll do as you’re told.’

My fingernails dug into the hard edge of my chair. None of it made sense. Pa watched me like a hawk. Why would he send me so far away?

I had to do something, before my world turned upside down. ‘Please, Pa. Everything is here. My school, my friends, my hobbies –'

‘Your. What!’ Pa clenched his fists. ‘You think I’m a bloody fool? You think I don’t know what’s going on behind my back? Letting that Anya girl fill your head with rubbish. These extra tutorials you say you’re doing. Maths club. Science club. You think you’re so clever…’ his face grew redder ‘…then tell me, why are your results so poor?’

My throat gritted like sandpaper. What did Pa know? How? I stared at a shiny shred of potato peel on the lino, praying it would miraculously turn into a time machine and transport me away.

‘I won’t allow it. Do you hear? Parading yourself on stage with boys, getting up to no good. It’s too late for your sister…’ We both turned and stared at Seema. Her face was drained of colour. ‘…I won’t disrupt her A-levels. You still have time. You can sit your GCSES there.’ He flinched, a shadow crossing his face. ‘I’ve seen how this goes, getting foolish ideas. I won’t have you shaming us.’ His voice rose several notches. ‘You’re going, and that’s final.’

Shame. The word pierced like a knife. Sweat poured down my forehead.

Neither Ma nor Seema raised their heads. This had to be down to my sister. She must have told Pa about the play. I was the star of Redhill’s performance of High Street Musical. She wasn’t. She was part of the backstage team. An unspoken understanding had stood between us to keep our involvement a secret from Pa. Or so I thought.

Did she do it out of spite? English and Drama were the only subjects where I shined. Seema topped me at everything else so why couldn’t she let me have this.

Pa walked out, followed by Ma complaining of a ‘headache.’ My eyes filled with tears. ‘How long have you been scheming?’ I asked Seema. ‘You told Pa about the play, didn’t you? You made this happen. Do something.'

‘Get over yourself. It’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ she said, picking up her plate and taking it to the sink. ‘I’ve got better things to worry about.’

I sat up straight. Took a deep breath. A blast of car AC and a chilled Fanta had turned my flesh ice-cold. Too late for Seema? Well, she didn’t have to leave her whole world behind. As I took in the unfamiliar scenery through the windscreen, I wished it had been too late for me.

Pa hadn’t spoken to Seema properly in weeks. His prized possession had fallen off her pedestal. Discarded. She’d stopped jumping to his tune. Stayed out of the house more. Barely spoke to any of us.

What would’ve happened to us if I hadn’t gone along with his plan? What would he have done to Ma – besides badgering, blaming her for my failings, not only with words and taunts, but his fist.

When he didn’t get what he wanted.

I was screwed either way.

We entered a congested area, miles more manic than Southall Broadway on a Saturday morning. Vehicles crawled along like an army of caterpillars, endlessly beeping their horns as though it was in fashion. Lanky young boys weaved their way between cars, proffering glossy magazines. A curly-haired girl approached my window, stretching out her hands for paisa. Red-flecked eyes protruded from her gaunt face.

Behind her, a woman cradled a tiny baby and held her fingers to her mouth. ‘Hai Ma.’

She didn’t look much older than Seema. At least I had a place to stay. ‘Can’t we give her some change, uncle?’

He gave me a wry smile. ‘What a soft heart you have. Lekin, don’t get into the habit. A bunch of crooks make them work the streets. Give to one, and they all come.’ He laughed in a detached sort of way. The thought of a queue of beseeching beggars scared me into silence.

The traffic slowly uncorked. As the car moved to life, street dwellers laid sheets on the roadside, preparing to settle for the night in front of gold jewellery stores and fancy-looking outfits draped on mannequins. In London, I’d come across a homeless person and avoid their eye or guiltily toss them a coin if I had change in my pocket. I couldn’t remember my seven-year-old self being bothered the last time I was in India. Now, the numbers of destitute left me overwhelmed, aching to be surrounded by familiar sights and sounds.

By the time we arrived at the apartment, rain fell in fat drops. Rivulets sped along the grooved sides of the drenched street, carrying plastic items, and stubbed cigarettes. Skinny stray dogs roamed, hollering in high-pitched tones.

Just when I’d been thinking uncle was chilled out, he rolled down his window and shouted at the security guard sheltering inside a hut by the iron gates. ‘Arre chowkidar, get rid of those dogs, yaar. I have a guest from overseas,’ and in a softer tone as we drove in, ‘your aunt is excited to see you.’

I raked my lip. This country was full of contrasts. Where would I fit in?

Sunita Masi was waiting when the lift doors opened, holding a silver tray laden with Indian sweetmeats, incense, and rose petals scattered around a brass statue of Lord Ganesh. ‘This cannot be my choti niece.’ She wafted the smoky incense stick into my face and stuffed my mouth with a piece of sickly-sweet cashew mithai. ‘How is my dear sister. I worry about her.’

I swallowed. ‘She’s fine thanks, Masi.’ Our eyes joined. They talked nearly every day. If anyone knew Ma’s thoughts, she did.

Masi was a kind aunt, with a red stick-on bindi and purple crescents under her eyes. Like Ma’s. When she smiled, her mouth creased into a sweet caress. Her only disproportionate feature was her prominent nose, hooked like a parakeet. Draped in a delicate chiffon sari in shimmering shades of royal blue and white, she seemed way younger than Ma, not three years older. It crossed my mind how Ma rarely wore bright colours.

I looked around a cosy apartment, instantly feeling Ma’s presence. The spicy aroma of meat curry and screech of the pressure cooker from the kitchen tugged at my heartstrings. I followed Masi down a narrow hallway, dimly lit by a solitary candle placed before an image of Lord Shiva. A replica of the one Ma had, depicting a cobra snake wrapped around the neck of the blue-faced deity with long black hair and a closed mouth smile. It was comforting to see it there.

At the far end of the living room, double glass doors opened onto a balcony, framed by green velour curtains swaying in the breeze. A blare of horns flooded the apartment from the street below, like a string of chords in a concerto.

When my eyes fell on my cousin Sunil, I had to look twice. He jumped to his feet and sauntered over, wearing a wide grin. ‘Hey Priya, welcome to Mumbai.’ He spoke in a heavy drawl.

I couldn’t believe the change in him. He’d passed the time in London three summers ago sprawled out on the sofa playing video games and watching American sitcoms, his body odour making me baulk whenever I entered the room. The memory of how I’d avoided him left me cringing. Now a clean-shaven boy stood before me, with the same podgy frame as his father and the smiling eyes of his mother behind his rectangular specs.

Sunil’s arms enveloped me in a clumsy hug. ‘Mom tells me you’re here for your schooling.’

‘That's the plan.’ I let out a giggle and smoothed down my hair which flew in every direction under the overhead fan.

Sunil cocked an eyebrow. ‘It may take some time to get used to India, eh?’

I reddened, as if the tables had turned, and this time he was lumbered with me – his shy, spotty British cousin. I looked towards the door with an urge to walk out. Slammed my hand against my mouth. ‘Christ.’

High up on the wall, a greenish-grey scaly creature the size of my palm, rested at an angle, eyes aimed upwards. The ugliest looking thing I’d seen.

‘Come,’ said Shamit uncle, ‘you’re not frightened of a few chipkali, are you? India is full of these things. Besides, seeing a lizard will bring you luck.’

Standing beside a mahogany cabinet, with displays of china and crystal behind a glass frame, uncle poured himself a whiskey on the pull-out bar and cracked open two Cola bottles. Sunil passed one over.

‘Thanks.’ I took small sips, thinking how the plane must have dropped me on some faraway planet.

‘Sure.’ He gulped his down. I couldn’t tell which one of us felt more awkward.

Masi entered the room and rested her hands on my shoulders. ‘No formalities, beti. You are my daughter, and this is your home. I have none of my own, so you are a blessing.’

Her eyes sparkled. I could tell she meant it. Reminded of Ma’s cosy warmth, a lump swelled in my throat.

‘Mom, you’ll have to teach Priya hindi,’ laughed Sunil.

‘She will pick it up. I’m sure she’s a clever girl, like her sister Seema.’

My smile faded. Hearing her name made me stiffen like a matchstick. It was no surprise Ma had sung her praises. Until her recent fall from grace which crept up from nowhere – answering back to Pa, staying out late – my sister had been the golden girl. I was the bad egg; less smart, less beautiful, less endearing. I dreaded to think what Ma had said about me.

Aunt had cooked up a feast, or rather, her cook had. A young darker-skinned woman entered the room carrying plates of chilli cheese toast cut into squares. Her oiled hair was tied in a topknot, wisps of jet-black escaping over the nape of her neck. Her oval eyes looked as if they hadn’t shut in weeks.

Her name was Diana. She laid the plates on the coffee table with an elegant air. ‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to pull my gaze away, or to understand why. Something about her.

The main meal looked like our dinner table back home, adorned with corning ware dishes steaming and sizzling with lamb kofta, maa ki dal, bhindi curry and baingan bartha. Masi kept loading my plate. I buried my nerves, too starving by now to refuse. A sweaty-faced Diana brought in uber soft chapatis, racing back and forth.

Noone mentioned why I was in India, or why Seema wasn’t. That tied me up in knots. I tried my hardest to smile, to say the odd word. But however nice they were, it couldn’t make up for being oceans away from home, because my real family didn’t want me.

All I’d ever wanted was to feel part of a loving family.

Be loved without conditions.

Belong.

Be close to Seema.

‘Is the chicken too spicy for you, beti?’

I hadn’t realised I’d stopped eating. ‘It’s fine, Masi. Thank you.’ I gulped down the ache in my chest.

Sunil observed me. ‘I have a day off college tomorrow. Let the Mumbai extravaganza begin. First stop, Haji Ali.’

Masi tutted. ‘Why would you take Priya to a mosque, when the Mahalaxmi Temple is right next door? Priya, I’m sure your Ma would like you to visit the temple.’

‘Mom, let it go, yaar. You’re always saying God is One.’ He gave his mother a cheeky grin.

My eyes stretched wide. Sunil asked me to hang out even after the way I’d treated him in London. ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m alright here.’

‘Nothing doing. It’ll be fun showing you around our famous town. And you’ll meet my humble friend, Aaryan. He’s a regular at the mosque.’

I sucked in my breath. I wanted nothing more than to be back in my own bed at home with a romantasy for company. Meeting strangers wasn’t my strong point. Then again, I’d have to face a shedload at the new school soon enough. ‘Cool,’ I said, trying my best to smile.