When Love is Lost

Arjun Shah

His mother stood at the edge of the Ganges, her hair fowing solemnly in the wind. He stepped forward, the icy water attacking, sinking its teeth into his feet and reminding him frequently that he wasn’t entirely numb; that part of him still hurt and that an even smaller part still loved. He watched her, careful not to wander too close. The box hung precariously in her wide arms, accented with drawings of deities, their ferce expressions contrasting awkwardly with the plain face that his mother wore. He remembered when he had frst come to the Ghanghes at the age of seven. He had remarked to his parents that the holiest place on earth seemed to be flled, no, overfowing with garbage. They hadn’t paid any attention to his words and scolded him when his frail 7-year old body splashed around in the water, rejoicing, while women in colorful saris held wooden boxes and conducted silent prayers. She had put a bright red powder on her scalp, painted the tips of her fngers a vibrant orange color, and hung all of her gold on crooked wrists. It was rare that she would get the opportunity to stand in the very blood of her country, one that she had said goodbye to many years earlier along with a slew of relatives, friends, and memories that had begged her to stay. Her own son had only recently grown to love the land that had birthed him, sometimes she thought that it was only recently that he had learned to love her.

In the distance, she watched as men leaned against a metallic bridge with yellow paint chipping of. Fresh out ofthe coal mines, they smoked cigarettes, their ashes falling slowly into the river under them. They talked of cricket, politics, wives who they complained were bad cooks and sons who went out too much and studied too little. Sometimes, they would bring fried bread and eat hastily as they watched the sun descend over the solemn widows and garbage heaps. As she observed them, she turned to her own son and held out her hand, her orange fngertips extended towards him. After pausing for a moment, unsure of whether to accept he took her hand and joined her in the knee-deep water. The cold pricked at his feet and legs, and he stared at the water as small gusts of wind caused miniature tidal waves that lapped calmly against the shore. Without warning, she put his hand against the box and instructed him to close his eyes. He obliged, and for a moment she was silent. Suddenly, like an orchestral swell, she began to recite a deep and rhythmic chant. He tried to follow along, but the incantations stored infections that he couldn’t quite muster. She transitioned to a smooth but somber melodic tone. Though he didn’t understand the lyrics, he knew it was about love that had been lost, reduced to mere ashes in a harsh and swirling sea. Tears began to line his sun-stained cheeks and he wished that she would cease her melancholic singing. But despite his desires, she continued, and he began to think of the moments that he had with his father, moments that were now mere fashes of emotion that flled his heart and caused it to sink deep into his chest.

He remembered the black mustache that so often adorned his father’s face and the smile that he wore sparingly, but when he did, he seemed to light up the entire room. The two of them had once spent an entire evening together

practicing multiplication tables when he was in the 1st grade. Whenever he would get a wrong answer his father would smack him with a newspaper, telling him that in India they would do it with a ruler. But when he succeeded, his father would smile unapologetically and tell all the other Indian families about his son’s accomplishments. His mother had fnished her ballad and now stood next to him not saying anything at all. Without communication, but somehow knowing that now was the right time, they both lowered the box and carefully undid the metal clasp. Immediately, ashes fowed out of the box and grazed his fngers. For a moment he wanted so badly to cling to it and hold onto his father; he wanted to apologize for all of the things that hadn’t been said, and time that hadn’t been spent. But it was time to let go, so he allowed his father to be free, knowing that one day he would see him again.