Jaya and Rasa. A Love Story. Sonia Patel
didn’t seem convinced. “What if she forgets about us?”
“Oh Ach, don’t worry. She won’t.”
Ach’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s what you said last time.”
He was right. Last time their mother said she’d be back later in the day, she was gone a week.
Rasa blinked. “Hey, I’ve got an idea! Let’s go to the library and get some books, ok?”
Lucky for them their bus passes hadn’t expired yet. They took the next bus to Kahuku Public Library.
Ach and Nitya ran right to the children’s section. Rasa sat down and rocked baby Shanti. She thought about their mother—Kalindi, the Tupi-Portuguese-African woman who moved to Hau’ula from Rio de Janeiro, with stops in Miami and San Diego along the way.
Kalindi was always moving. Transforming. No one could tie her down. No one could hold onto her. Not even her children.
Rasa stroked Shanti’s patchy straw-colored hair.
A decade and a half before, Kalindi had once told Rasa, she had changed her name—Julie Santos—because she didn’t think it captured the goddess-like beauty and power she knew she possessed. She thought she required a singular name. One name. Like Madonna. Or Prince. But also something more sacred. From an ancient language. Rasa thought that the Sanskrit name her mother chose—Kalindi—suited her well. It meant “sun.” She was hot and fiery alright. The name also referred to a holy river in India, Kalindi said. And like that river, she flowed. Her locks. Her curves. Her guile.
But Kalindi’s attention to her children didn’t flow—it trickled. Her maternal instincts percolated only in the time she took to give them strong Sanskrit names and provide them with basic care as infants. Once her children could walk, she left them on their own, preferring to spend her time either in the company of men or in the solitude of the Hau’ula mountains.
So it was Rasa who took care of Ach and Nitya. And sometimes Shanti. She prepared their meals. She made sure they bathed and brushed their teeth. She took them to school most days. She splashed in the waves and built sand castles with them at the beach.
The beach.
Rasa remembered the books on free diving she wanted to check out. She’d heard Kalindi talking to Paul about it. Rasa was curious.
At one time the ocean was their literal backyard—and babysitter. Though they had a bit of a further walk to the beach nowadays, Rasa, Ach, and Nitya were in the waves more than they were in their shack. Why not make the most of it? Plus free diving was exactly that—free. And money wasn’t something they had much of.
“We’re done,” Ach said, holding out a stack of picture books. Nitya stood next to him with a couple of board books in each hand. “Ok, my little hobbits, follow me. I wanna get a few books,” Rasa said. She cradled Shanti tight in her arms as she stood up.
An hour later they got off the bus and ambled down the dirt road to their shack. Inside, Rasa went to Kalindi’s room to lay sleeping baby Shanti in her crib.
Rasa did a quick check of the shack. Their mother wasn’t back yet. Rasa headed outside again. She surveyed the neighbors’ house. Their car was gone. They didn’t appear to be in their house either. She crept into their yard and picked two papayas from their short tree. She crouched down a bit, her eyes darting around to make sure no one saw her. Relieved, she slunk out of the yard with the yellow-orange booty.
She burst into the kitchen where Ach and Nitya stood biting their nails. “Lunch is served,” Rasa said. She held out the ripe fruit.
Ach dropped his hand and bit his lip instead. Nitya half smiled.
Rasa cut both ripe fruit in half. She scooped out the shiny black seeds. She found a half dry lemon wedge in the refrigerator and squeezed the remaining tart drops onto the papaya halves. “This will make it sweeter,” she said. The three of them ate their halves in silence, chewing slow to relish every bite. Rasa finished scraping her half clean first. She cut the remaining half in two. She pushed the plate towards Ach and Nitya. “Have a little more.”
They hesitated but then took their extra serving.
Rasa got up to wash her plate. Looking over her shoulder she asked, “How about I read you two a couple of your new books before naptime?”
“Uh-huh,” Ach mumbled mid-chew.
Nitya nodded.
Just then baby Shanti started crying. Loud. Louder.
Rasa got the powder formula from the cupboard. She smiled at Ach and Nitya. “Wait for me in our room, I’ll be in after I feed Shanti.”
She prepared Shanti’s bottle and brought it to Kalindi’s room. Shanti sucked it down fast. Rasa burped her, then changed her. Baby Shanti started in on some cute babbling. Rasa giggled. She kissed her sister’s little nose.
She carried Shanti to their bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the floor and propped Shanti on her lap. She motioned for Ach and Nitya to scoot to either side of her.
“Give me one of your books, Ach,” Rasa said.
Ach examined the spines and selected one. He handed it to Rasa. She flipped it open and started reading aloud. Her siblings were fast asleep by the time Rasa got to page six, their heads on either of her knees. She laid Shanti on the floor in front of her and then wriggled out from her under her siblings’ heads. She carried Ach first, then Nitya, to the bed they all shared.
As was her custom, Rasa confirmed that their little chests were rising and falling before she let herself do her own thing. Satisfied they were okay, she laid down next to Shanti. She picked up one of the books she’d borrowed—How to Free-Dive.
Shanti squealed, waving her arms and kicking her feet.
Rasa caressed her baby sister’s arm and turned to page one.
A purple-and-white taffeta dress hung on the door to Jaya’s bathroom. She hated it! Despite her mother’s demand that she wear it to their formal housewarming party that evening, she was not about to let it touch her body. She’d find a way out. Maybe some spilled fruit punch? Jaya giggled to herself at the thought.
She shifted her eyes from the dress to the wall mirror. She studied the reflection of her naked nine-year-old body.
Chestnut brown skin. Wide brown eyes. Coarse, shoulder-length black hair. Gujarati Indian girl. Gujarati Indian girl? Why not a Gujarati Indian boy?
Back when they lived in Niu Valley, Jaya always wore clothes selected by her mother, even though Jaya thought those dresses, skirts, blouses, and Indian outfits her mother preferred were too girly, too dainty.
But Jaya wanted to please her mother.
The move to the Kahala mansion changed everything abruptly. Jaya and her parents spent much less time together. In Niu Valley, Sanjay was home every evening. These days, he rarely came home at night. And Jayshree seemed fixed on her husband and his whereabouts. Her attention to her daughter waned. As for Jaya, she didn’t feel like she had to do what her mother wanted so much anymore.
She studied the gaudy dress. It reminded her of a straight jacket.
I’m not wearing it!
Her mother—and everyone for that matter—wanted Jaya to be so very feminine. It was too much, she didn’t want to be like that.
I don’t want to wear that dress!
Jaya shook her head.
Why can’t I wear a button-down shirt and long pants to the party? Because it makes me look like a boy? Well, guess what, people? Maybe I am!
Jaya tugged on her hair,