The trio sat to drink some tea for one moment of calm on the edge of a gritty swirling hourglass. Some vague thoughts and plans stirred the silence at times. But for the most part the people were... quiet. What words existed for such a time as this? Aaranya could think of none in English, Hindi, French, or Russian - though it's possible that learning any more than basic Russian could reveal one with time.
Kabir finished his tea quickly. He stretched as he stood up and looked at the women.
"Well, you keep thinking about where to go. I'm going to pack. Aaranya, gather anything small that's really important to you. Danielle... help us pack some things for you, too. Maybe you'll be able to stop by your house later... I'm sorry."Aaranya took a little longer to finish breakfast while Kabir began to find out how many survival items he could cram into a formal business suitcase. She could barely look at Danielle, unfortunate enough to get swept up in this mess.
"Sorry too," Aaranya mumbled, gazing just past Danielle's face. Then she went to her room and closed the door.
It was strange... standing in a dead woman's room. The blankets, the collection of candles, the bookshelf. It seemed like her things should be covered in dust and cobwebs, ancient artifacts of a long gone civilization. Only yesterday had they been lived with, and let go. And after Aaranya had already said goodbye to all her possessions, she somehow found herself in the same situation just about 24 hours later. What could she have the right to reclaim now?
The only thing Aaranya really wanted from her room was a change of clothes. She changed out of her formal sari, fit for a special occasion, and hung it in the closet. As if it mattered at all where she put it. She then donned a casual pink sweatshirt and jeans, a more typical and practical outfit for her. She swapped her dressy gold shoes (thank the gods) for some grey tennis shoes.
As Aaranya took one last look around her room (again), she noticed something new on her desk. The overflowing collection of poems she had left by Kabir's door the previous day. The woman breathed deeply as her arms were drawn to the precious journal like a magnet and she held it to her chest.
<Are you really going to take that thing with you? It's big and heavy and worthless.>Aaranya's eyes squeezed shut and she hugged the book of poems even harder.
So nice to know the voices had evaded the grave, as well.
<You're so selfish. Everyone knows you're selfish. Are you seriously going to add even more burden for them to carry?>Aaranya furrowed her brow and took a shaky breath. Well, he did have a point. The journal was big and heavy, and they needed to pack for survival. The woman slowly lowered the poetry collection back to the desk and walked away with a quivering frown.
<...You're still selfish, you know.>The small woman stopped in her tracks right before the door, frown morphing into gritted teeth. Aaranya stormed up to her desk and grabbed some pages between two clenched hands. MAYBE the voice had a point, MAYBE she shouldn't bring such a big journal, but that didn't mean she had to throw away every last ounce of joy in her life! Like a monstrous wave crashing over a doomed boat, Aaranya forcefully ripped a dozen or so pages out, some filled, some blank. She took the pages and a pen and left the room before she could change her mind.
"Thank you, Vishnu, for trying to protect me with your great wisdom," Aaranya whispered.
"I can take it from here."Aaranya sat down on the living room couch with the new, very loose leaf version of her poetry notebook. She looked over her chosen poems to represent the previous few days. From another lifetime ago. Then, Aaranya turned over a new page and began to write.
Day -1
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "A Psalm of Life"
