Free Karma by Cathy Ostlere

mystery wears your opaque veil then I, Sandeep, with pen as sword will scribe your silence till you are cured.
    (or till I’m bored)
    (till I’m adored?)
    (till I am gored)
    (or deplored)
    (or suitably and deservedly well ignored)
    Rhyming diphthongs. How pathetic.

Oh, another thing
    Parvati thinks I should write in English!
    - It’ll be good practice. You’ve been out of school for a year now. And if Mother finds your notebook she won’t be able to read it!
    So here goes. Hope Lost-Girl doesn’t mind. (Not that I intend to tell her. Because it’s a pretty weird thing to do. Write about someone who has sealed their own tongue.)
    DEAR MAYA My sister insists I keep a record of the comings and goings of a troubled mute girl. YOU. (WHO, by the way, I haven’t met yet.)
    I am to be your voice until your own returns. This is what Parvati says. ( It’s simple, Sandeep. ) A little pompously?
    Oh, and no offense, Maya, but when has silence ever helped anybody?
    I think Gandhi said something like that.

Added bonus
    Parvati thinks this diary is a good way to dig up some history. Mine. My former desert life. Swept from memory by a once-in-a-century sandstorm.
    But here’s the thing: maybe some things are supposed to stay in the past. I mean, doesn’t the PAST mean it’s OVER?

Pavarti
    It’s my sister’s fault. How this whole thing started. Her phone call from Jodhpur that caused our mother to run screaming and hobbling down the street with Barindra in pursuit.
    -  And why should I keep a notebook, Deedi? You know nothing ever happens in Jaisalmer.
    -  Well, something is about to, brother. As I just told Amma, I’m sending a girl.
    Okay. I was a little hooked.
    -  Sandeep? Can you hear me?
    -  Yes. Yes. Are you crazy, Deedi? What kind of girl? Better not be a bride for me!
    Laugh. Laugh.
    -  Not a bride, Sandeep. It’s a girl who was dropped off at the Widows’ Home in Jodhpur.
    Uh, oh.
    -  A child widow? Or a child prostitute? Because either way Amma won’t have her in the house. No matter what Barindra says.
    -  She’s neither. I think she’s a foreigner escaping the riots in Delhi. The girl tried to disguise herself. Though I think she’s far too pretty to be mistaken for a boy.
    Hook sliding under the skin.
    -  How old?
    -  I’m guessing she’s about your age.
    SUPER-hooked.
    -  Her name is Maya, Sandeep.
    My stomach flipped. Just like the time I jumped across a broken parapet on a dare.
    I was either going to make it and be seen as incredibly brave or I would fall, break my neck, and be viewed as a fool.
    -  Sandeep? Are you still there?
    Maya. My heart beat like a desert drum. Palms dripping sweat.
    -  Yes, I’m here.
    -  She came to us wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt with English words: Triumph on the
    front. Never Surrender on the back.
    Now, I don’t believe in fate.
    -  And her hair is very short. Looks like it was cut quickly and badly. Maybe with a pair of dull scissors.
    And I don’t believe in destiny.
    -  Did I mention, Sandeep, that she doesn’t speak? Can’t or won’t, I’m not sure. But the girl is clearly traumatized. And that’s where you come in.
    But I was already in. My body was shuddering as if it knew. Something big was about to happen in this dull desert town. And I’d be in the middle of it. With a girl named Maya.

Sing
    My sister has a theory about me: You can make a stone sing, Sandeep.
    What she means is that people tell me stuff.
    (The butcher in the market substitutes dog meat for lamb.)
    Private things. Secrets.
    (Hari enjoys dressing in his sister’s clothes.)
    You have a gift, Parvati says . People want to reveal themselves to you.
    (Tejal aces her math tests by allowing Mr. Banerjee to touch her breasts — though she won’t let me!)
    There’s no trick to it