Free Under the Jeweled Sky by Alison McQueen

Jai Hind! Jai Hind! Long live India! , whereas the Britishers seemed all at once strangely uncomfortable, as though fearing that every brown face in the room might turn against them as the Union flag was lowered for the very last time. As the clock urged toward midnight, every wireless set that could be gathered was tuned in to All India Radio to listen to Nehru’s broadcast to the nation. Voices hushed, tinkling glasses were silenced, and Sophie slipped quietly away.
    â€¢ • •
    Outside, the rain had stopped, and for a moment the clouds parted, casting a lamp-bright moon on the surface of the lotus pool. From beneath the wide leaves settled low to the ground, frogs sang to one another, insects humming through the heady evening jasmine, the nighttime alive.
    â€œLook.” Jag pointed up to the sky, to the tiny white clustered constellation overhead. Sophie followed the line of his outstretched arm.
    â€œThe Seven Sisters,” she said.
    â€œNo,” he replied. “They are the six sisters. The seventh, and wisest, married the star that sits there, in Ursa Major.” She stood close to him as he pointed to the heavens again. “Up there, beside the one that twinkles at the joint where the handle meets the saucepan. Look closely. There is another star there.” He waited as her eyes searched the darkness. “The story of that sister is traditionally told to couples on the day of their wedding.” Jag felt embarrassed suddenly, lowering his hand and turning away. He left the stars to the sky and sat by the lotus pool. “We should offer each other congratulations,” he said.
    â€œI should be congratulating you really,” replied Sophie. “It’s your country. I expect you’re glad that the British are finally out.”
    â€œIt won’t matter when we are old.” He smiled at her. “I doubt anyone will remember or care any more.” Jag became quiet. “But nobody will ever do that to us again. India will be far too great a country, even for the mightiest of conquerors.”
    â€œIn that case, I shall offer you an early apology on behalf of my King.” Sophie made a small, unsteady curtsey.
    â€œApology accepted.” Jag took a bow.
    â€œThen let us shake hands and be friends.” She offered her hand to him formally.
    Jag took it, and in that moment, Sophie felt something give way inside her, a shift from deep within. She looked down at his brown tapering fingers, seeing her own, pale and delicate in his hand, the two of them all at once reluctant to let go at this moment of transition. She heard her heart beating.
    â€œI will remember this moment all my life,” she said quietly.
    â€œSo will I.”
    Together they sat, hand in hand, watching the mirror surface of the pool.
    â€œJag?”
    â€œYes?”
    She hesitated. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
    He looked at her hand in his, appearing to gather his thoughts.
    â€œNo,” he said. “You are not pretty at all.” He glanced up at her. “You are beautiful.” His smile faded, and he looked away.
    At the stroke of midnight, a stream of fireworks flew up into the blackened sky, exploding into a vast cascade of brilliant, glittering shards, lighting up the water garden, the magical spectacle reflected in the lotus pool. Sitting at its edge, it was as though the fireworks were above them and below them all at once, suspended in space as the colors burst out and around them in a shower of stars. Sophie reached her hand to the pool and touched its surface with the tip of her finger, sending the fireworks scattering across the water. Without warning, her eyes brimmed with tears. She turned to Jag, overwhelmed, and kissed him.
    â€¢ • •
    She felt his arms around her, beneath her, above her, her body dissolving, her dress open. He glimpsed her alabaster skin and looked away, his throat tight. His eyes came upon her again, her body, a