Father and daughter

The train traveled for a day and two nights before reaching Varanasi. As dawn approached, it finally stopped.

Mary woke with her hair a tangled mess and no trace of luster in her golden-green eyes. She struggled down from the upper berth and stared blankly out at the gray-blue sky and the densely packed platform.

Outside the station, Mary's eyes were vacant as Aditya led her along.

The crowd swarmed over like leeches, pressing close to them and shouting, "Sir! Madam! Hotels! Sunrise on the Ganges! First-class rooms!"

Mary ducked behind Aditya. He cursed in Hindi, "Get lost!" while hurriedly pulling his sacred thread out from under his clothes.

The clamor immediately died down considerably. Aditya picked a young cycle-rickshaw driver.

They climbed aboard, and the driver pedaled furiously.

The wind smelled of incense ash, cow dung, and burnt wood, but it was far better than the smells of Mumbai.

Mary uncovered her nose and mouth, sniffed lightly a few times, and asked, "Why does the air smell of incense ash?"

Aditya smiled. "This is a holy city. Life and death are both here. You'll understand someday."

Mary said, "My mother said Varanasi was like another world."

"That's right. This is the city of light. The answers you're looking for are beside the Ganges at night," Aditya replied with a nod.

Mary fell silent, gazing vacantly ahead. The alleys grew narrower, and the sky grew brighter.

The rickshaw stopped at the mouth of an alley. Aditya got off and unloaded the luggage.

The alley was only wide enough for two people. A dark puddle lay on the ground, and a tabby cat leaped down from the top of a wall.

Mary got out and looked at the dark alley as though she were looking at a black hole waiting to devour someone.

"Come on," Aditya said. "Your father lives in there."

Mary stood motionless, her thoughts in turmoil.

Aditya patted her gently. "Don't think too much. He's still waiting for you."

Mary tied the blue gauze scarf around her wrist and walked into the alley. Aditya followed, carrying the suitcase.

At last, they stopped in front of an old wooden door.

Mary knocked softly. There was no answer, so she knocked a few more times.

"Come in."

An extremely faint voice came from inside. It was Solomon's voice.

Mary turned to look at Aditya, and he nodded.

Mary pushed the door open. An oil lamp was still burning inside. Solomon was not in the sitting room; he was probably lying in the inner room.

Mary stood in the sitting room with the blue gauze scarf around her wrist, then headed into the inner room.

Aditya sat in the sitting room without following her. The inner room's door did little to block sound, and voices drifted out from time to time.

That was how houses in Varanasi were. Even the neighbor's dog knew your secrets.

Aditya shifted position and stretched his legs, accidentally kicking an old tin box with a clang. He froze for a moment and hurriedly looked toward the inner room.

The father and daughter paid him no attention. They were still saying something inside.

Aditya simply stopped moving, like a statue of a god seated in a ruined temple.

Coughing came from the inner room, bout after bout.

Aditya heard Mary's voice. "You always said you wanted to go back. But even when she died, you never did."

Solomon said nothing. He coughed and gasped, as though searching for words that would keep him from crying.

"I couldn't go back," Solomon said. "I have no passport, no nationality, and everything I do is in a gray area."

"But she missed you," Mary said.

"I know," Solomon said. "I've owed her all my life. And I've owed you, too."

It went quiet inside for a few seconds. Aditya heard the bedboards creak.

Solomon's voice came again. "No, I want you to stay. Not for the money. Whatever happens to the company is fine. It's because I don't have many days left. I just want to see you."

In the sitting room, Aditya looked up at the ceiling and suddenly felt like laughing.

That old man Solomon was so sick he was nothing but a bag of bones, yet he had managed to say the hardest words of all. Mary, that stubborn-mouthed girl, had probably cried her face into a mess by now, but she surely didn't want the old man to see.

Voices drifted out in fragments. Aditya thought he heard Mary sniffling, very softly, like a cat.

Solomon added, "Your mother sent me a scarf you wore when you were little. I still have it, in that tin box under the bed."

The sound of a drawer being pulled open came from the inner room.

Aditya sighed inwardly. How is this a family reunion? A daughter sulking at her father, a father who keeps silent and never explains himself. This is clearly two people who have been silent for twenty years and can't hold on any longer.

When Mary came out, her eyes were red, and two tracks of tears marked her face.

She did not look at Aditya, only walked up to him and said quietly, "He wants you to go in."

Aditya nodded and went inside.

"Aditya, thank you," Solomon said.

"Mm." Aditya walked to the bedside and sat down.

Solomon looked at him, then toward the doorway. Mary stood by the door without coming in, merely leaning against the frame.

Solomon said slowly, "Aditya, I don't have many days left. In all these years in India, there haven't been many people I could trust. You're the younger man I have the highest hopes for."

He took two labored breaths. "I'm leaving that company in Mumbai in two shares. One for Mary, one for you. Don't refuse just yet. That company will definitely be useful to you. Besides, Mary can't take it on alone. She needs your help."

Aditya did not answer. He knew the old man was making his final arrangements. But he was not ready yet.

"I don't want it," Aditya said.

Solomon raised his eyes and said angrily, "It's not enough for you?"

"No," Aditya said. "It's your company. I can't take advantage of you like that. Besides, Diya still needs me. Only once I've got Diya sorted out can I talk about Mumbai."

Mary stood by the door, watching Aditya.

Solomon stared at him for a while, then suddenly laughed, laughing until he began to cough. Between coughs, he said, "Good. You're better than them. Even when a company is handed to you, you won't take it. You're every bit the young man I thought you were."

Aditya said, "That's because I'm not ready yet. If I really didn't want it, I wouldn't have come today."

Solomon's laughter slowly subsided. He nodded. "I understand. Go back. I can still wait for the Mumbai business. If I can't, someone will take you there."

Aditya said, "You'd better live a few more days. Once I'm done with Diya, I'll come see you."

With that, Aditya stood and walked to the door, but Mary blocked his way without moving aside.

Mary's golden-green eyes were moist, as though she had just woken from a very long dream.

Aditya said, "Spend some time with your father."

Mary murmured assent and stepped aside.

Aditya said nothing more. He walked out through the old wooden door, and Mary followed him all the way to the mouth of the alley to see him off.

It was fully light now. Aditya walked through Varanasi's morning market. Flower sellers, milk-tea vendors, and cattle herders were all crammed together. Aditya threaded through the crowd. He had to return to Kanpur.

He hopped onto a bus. Varanasi's wind blew in from the Ganges, carrying moisture and a trace of fire.

The bus picked up speed. Varanasi gradually receded behind it, and the sugarcane fields beside the road stretched into an unbroken expanse.

Aditya did not look back. Ahead lay Kanpur and the Diya Textile Factory, where the diligent Dipti was waiting for him.

Aditya was preparing to expand. The Diya Textile Factory was too small to hold his hopes.