Page 95 of The Henna Artist

In the pupils of his eyes, I saw what he saw: a sapling of a woman, wet strands of hair dangling like snakes around her shoulders, the thin sari. Neck and arms scratched and bleeding. I realized that I seemed so pitiful to him thathe, who had so little, was refusing the food I offered.

I thrust thechapattisin his hand, roughly, and ran back inside, slamming the door. I leaned against it and closed my eyes, my heart hopping wildly in my chest.

When my breathing returned to normal I moved to the worktable.

With shaking hands, I unfolded the letter that had arrived yesterday.

October 10, 1956

My Dear Mrs. Shastri,

Our current situation is best described by Mr. Dickens: it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness. Alas, the migration of the hill tribes and their herds to southern climes has brought our local clinic to an abrupt halt—and, with it, our consultation agreement (at least until the season changes). There is, however, light in the darkness: the opportunity to begin planning the herb garden.

Were you to commit to an extended stay in Shimla, you could study our climate, soil conditions and the indigenous herbs here, talk to the city’s residents (you’ll even find herbal enthusiasts among our staff) and draw up a plan for developing the Lady Bradley Healing Garden.

Say you will consider my proposal and help me minister to the people of Shimla. Of course, I intend to do everything in my power to persuade you to settle in our fair city once you’re here. Are our environs not beautiful enough? Our people not adequately hospitable?

Undeniably, you have a valuable service to provide the ladies of Jaipur, but if I am to believe Mrs. Agarwal, some untoward and unjust accusations have been leveled at you. Let me speak plainly here. Pride should not get in the way of sharing your gift with a larger public. (Mrs. Agarwal should be held blameless for sharing your plight with me; when she paid your sister’s medical bill, I was compelled to ask her how you were. If she hadn’t told me, I might have lacked the courage to write to you with this request.)

You have much to teach us. Your work could help—and has helped—save more than a few lives and given our patients comfort. The hill people have not forgotten you. (Our pregnant patient from the Gaddi tribe whom you helped can’t stop raving about your bitter melon recipe. Her baby is due any day now!)

I, for one, hope you will consider, and accept, this invitation. I eagerly await your arrival, both as a keen and willing student and as your devoted friend.

With great respect and anticipation,

Jay Kumar

Kanta’s generosity brought tears to my eyes. She’d known that if she had told me what she was going to do, I would have stopped her. Radha’s medical bills were one less worry now.

I thought about what Malik had said. Not for the first time, he suggested I move away from Jaipur.

Jay Kumar was offering me a chance to heal, to work with people who wanted what I had to offer. Who believed my knowledge was sacred. It was a chance to do the work mysaastaught me. She lived in me, still. I could make her proud once more. Be proud of myself again.

But...my house! I had dreamed it, worked hard for it, built it. I’d loved knowing that all the decisions were mine. Moving meant I would have to leave it behind.

Yet, what had the house brought me but debt, anxiety, sleepless nights? Did I need it to announce my arrival in the world of the successful, as I once had? Success was ephemeral—and fluid—as I’d found out the hard way. It came. It went. It changed you from the outside, but not from the inside. Inside, I was still the same girl who dreamed of a destiny greater than she was allowed. Did I really need the house to prove I had skill, talent, ambition, intelligence? What if—

All at once I felt lighter. It was the same weightlessness I had felt in Shimla. I breathed deeply. As if I could already smell the bracing air of the blue Himalayan mountains.

Before I lost my courage, I tore a fresh sheet from my notebook.

October 15, 1956

Samir,

It is with great regret that I must leave the city I have called my home for eleven years. Rest assured, I will not leave without settling my debts. In order to repay your loan, however, I must sell my house. Estate agents are loath to represent female owners, so I must ask you to do this for me. If you are amenable, I would appreciate your subtracting my loan from the sales price and forwarding the remainder to the address below.

Had circumstances been different, our association might have continued. But as they say: What is the use of crying when the birds have eaten the whole farm?

I leave for Shimla in a month. Please let me know your decision in the coming week.

Lakshmi Shastri

c/o Lady Bradley Hospital

Harrington Estate

Shimla, Himachal Pradesh

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