The children watch me quietly. They seem mesmerized, as I once was, by this ritual. I don’t know how long we stay this way, the three of us.
Horse hooves, louder this time, closer. Then a whinny.
I turn to see the sleek head of a chestnut horse being jerked to a halt by his rider at the entrance to the gorge. I grab Chullu and snatch Rekha’s hand and lead us to the shelter of a nearby boulder.
“Nimmi!” My name echoes across the ravine.
Cautiously, I go back to the clearing. Across the way, I see Neela chewing grass. She stops and looks around to see where the noise is coming from.
It’s Lakshmi. The small mountain horse she’s riding is the color of wheat. As she gets closer to us, the horse sees Vinay’s mangled body, and rears back, startling Lakshmi. She bends to pat his neck, then dismounts, holding tightly to his reins. She looks over at the body, then at me, her eyebrows raised in a question.
I blink. “It’s Vinay,” I tell her.
She comes nearer and says, quietly, “I’m so sorry, Nimmi.”
Rekha is staring, openmouthed, at Lakshmi, who is wearing a man’s wool pants, the legs stuffed inside short boots. Her dark brown wool coat is too large for her frame; she must have borrowed her husband’s. She has a woolen shawl wrapped over her head and around her shoulders. I’ve only ever seen her in saris. I didn’t know she could ride a horse. But then I remember the day Dev died and Chullu came into the world. She and Dr. Jay must have ridden horses to reach us in the mountains.
Lakshmi’s face is flushed. She had to have been riding fast. She offers a reassuring smile to my daughter, then to my infant son, who has stopped fussing long enough to stare at her. I know that if she turns that steady, consoling gaze on me, I will start to cry. As if she senses this, she walks the horse to the other side of the clearing and ties him to a scrawny tree. Then she steps around me and approaches my brother’s body. As she crouches, she studies Vinay’s wounds—like I’ve seen her husband, Dr. Kumar, do.
Now I see that Vinay’s fingers have been gnawed on, by some animal, as he lay dying. There are bite marks on his ears. The toes of his exposed foot have been chewed.
I tremble, thinking of it. How much pain did he endure? How alone he was in his suffering!
Lakshmi raises her head and scans the steep slopes to the left and right of us. I follow her gaze.
“How do you think this happened?” she asks.
My mouth is dry. I ponder for a moment, take in the scene. “He might have stumbled—most likely, fell—and hit his head. This crevice is so rocky. His leg looks broken, and I think his hip might be broken. When I found him, he couldn’t move. I’d say he’s been here for at least a day or two. It’s possible his back is broken, too.”
It’s one thing to think these thoughts, another to say them out loud.
I wipe a hand across my mouth.
“Could bandits have done this to him?” Lakshmi asks.
Those of us who have grown up in the Himalayas have long known that gold is being carried through the mountains. Our elders always told us gold is the elixir of life for many people, and there is never enough to go around. Our country has so little of it that it has to be brought in from elsewhere—legally or illegally. Bandits and the authorities are always on the lookout for a lone shepherd who might be transporting the precious metal using his goats or sheep. Our people know this. My brother Vinay must have known the risks, which is why he would have taken this trail off the main path.
“The sheep droppings here are fresh,” I say, pointing to the ground away from my brother’s body to avoid looking at him. Then I see Neela, across the clearing, nibbling at the dry foliage growing between the rocks. “She knows this place. She’s been here before.” I look up at the ridge again, imagining how the accident would have happened. “See that pile of stones that reaches up to the top of the ridge? It looks like a rough path. Vinay could have been bringing the flock down from there. Or...maybe Neela slipped on that path, fell on her side and skidded all the way down. The gold bars have sharp edges, which would have gouged her skin. The wound on her side was deep.”
A memory comes to me, unbidden. Dev sliding down the ravine. I blink back my tears. “Vinay might have come down the slope to get to her. But, after falling, she was probably scared and might have bucked and kicked him. He could have lost his balance, fell and broken his nose along the way. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.”
Lakshmi must know I’m talking about Dev. I’ve just described how my husband died last year, trying to save a goat from falling down the mountain. I look away from her, again, to keep from showing her how much this memory upsets me. I take Chullu’s milk rag from him and wet it again with my milk. He grins at me, flashing his tiny front teeth. At least he will never suffer a fate like his father’s—or his uncle’s.
I hear Lakshmi sigh. She stands, walks to the horse and pulls a goatskin bag from the saddlebag. She pulls the drawstring open and holds the bag in front of the horse’s mouth while he drinks.
“What will you do now?” she asks.
I don’t know how to answer her. I expected to find my brother and return the sheep to him. I hadn’t given any thought to what I would do next.
I smooth Chullu’s hair. I remember Vinay’s final words as if he’s standing next to me and realize I must act quickly now. I turn to Lakshmi.
“The flock,” I say. “I have to find them. Then I have to see that the gold is delivered to the next relay point.” How I’m going to make any of this happen isn’t clear to me.
Rekha looks up at me; again, she sucks her thumb. I stroke her hair to reassure her. In my arms, Chullu gurgles.
Lakshmi ties the goatskin bag closed and puts it back in the saddlebag. She’s facing away from me, when she says, “Is this about the gold or your brother’s family?”
I tighten my hold on Chullu. He squeals and wriggles, trying to get out of my arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She turns to face me. Her gaze is direct, but there is softness in her voice. “You could profit from the gold, couldn’t you?”
Does she think I’m doing this so I can sell the gold? That all I care about is me? “You think I’d take advantage of my brother’s death to claim the gold for myself?”
She answers in a gentle tone. “Or for your children. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“Those goondas would do to me what they’ve done to Vinay.” I glance at Vinay’s body sprawled a foot away. “My brother made a mistake. He must have been desperate. Our life is not easy. The work is hard and there’s no money in it. He wanted to send his sons to school, so they could have a different life, away from herding and shearing—” I have to stop myself from babbling. Tears have blurred my vision.
Lakshmi looks, again, at my brother’s body. “What about...” She pauses and lets her words hang in the air. Her expression tells me what she’s thinking.
“We burn our dead like all Hindus,” I say. “But...”
I look around me, at the rocky landscape. The proper thing to do would be to burn his body where he died. But there’s no way to make a platform, or to cut the wood. I have no tools with me. In this moment, I feel an intense longing for my tribe. If we were all together, we could have—would have—made it happen. It’s what we always do when someone dies on the trail. It’s what we did when Dev died.