But with his sharp, curious mind, Suresh realized that he needed to see the world beyond the confines of his family, their wealth, and the ancient kingdom of Cotis.
Against the entire Tietien council’s demands, Suresh chose to go on a pilgrimage, to see the world beyond their simple ways, beyond their forest home of temples and nature. His father begged him to stay, explaining that he had glimpsed his future and feared for him losing his spirit to the darkness of the outside world. But Suresh explained that if he was one day to rule, then he needed to do so with a global perspective, not one of isolation.
The open-air market was abuzz with life early in the morning on a cloudless day in the small town of Rashivia, just over the Cotis border in India. Sitting at the foot of the Parshia Mountains, the town was middle to lower class, except for the northeast section, where enormous lakeside homes were built for the wealthy who spent their summers away from the chaos of Delhi, Mumbai, and Calcutta. Vendors with pushcarts piled high with produce, dried meats, breads, clothing, spices, orchids, and tools filled the crumbling makeshift sidewalks and alleyways. Small shops with open windows and doors lined the dirt roads. Crowds of people swarmed about; the singsong voices of the merchants hawking their wares filled the air. Suresh walked among the sea of people, feeding off of the energy, feeling the vibrancy of life around him. He marveled at the diversity, at the differences between this part of the world and his home just a short distance away. He reveled in his new freedom, cherishing his escape from the ritual, from the routine that he now saw had stifled his understanding of the world.
Stepping under the woven tent of a produce merchant, Suresh flipped a coin to the hunched-over old man behind the cart and grabbed an apple. Taking a bite, savoring its sweetness, he looked out across the sea of people to see a young woman racing through the streets, her long, lithe legs seeming to make her float above the unpaved dirt road. Suresh watched as her long black hair drifted behind her, bouncing in rhythm to her every stride. Her face was pure and innocent, like a fresh orchid.
But he was shaken from the moment as he realized that she was on the run. Two men, large and equally fast, were ten strides back and closing. Without thought, Suresh charged from the bazaar, cutting through the aisles and past the merchants out into the open streets. People turned to watch, but their attention was distracted by the competing chaos.
The young woman led her pursuers down the road, kicking up a small dust storm with her long, quick strides. Suresh was ten paces back and closing when the woman cut down an alley bordered by two six-story decaying buildings, the two men right behind her.
Suresh rounded the corner to find that the trail to freedom was suddenly cut short by a high wall covered in razor wire.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the woman leaped onto a Dumpster, launching herself up onto the rusty fire escape that climbed the side of one of the brick buildings. Her hands caught the ladder, and she swung herself in a perfect arc, like an Olympic gymnast, forward, backward, gaining momentum.
But her long legs were her downfall. The first pursuer jumped and caught her by the ankles. She desperately clung, but his two-hundred-pound weight was too much. They both came crashing down to the filth-covered ground, the girl’s head hitting the pavement hard. She rolled around, dazed and confused, as blood began to blossom through her ink-black hair.
The second man grabbed her roughly by the neck, seeming to ignite a new fire within her, and she rolled up her fist and hit him squarely in the eye, kicking him hard in the stomach as she turned to run. But the first man was there, stumbling to his feet, reaching into his jacket, and pulling a stun gun. She dived to the right to avoid the two metal prongs, but it was too late as they jabbed her in the neck and ended her struggle.
She fell to the ground in a heap as the two men paused, gasping for breath.
They never saw Suresh come up behind them. They never saw the snap kicks and round-house punches that came from his oversized fists. Both were unconscious before they realized they were under attack.
Suresh crouched and examined the woman, checking her pulse, examining the wound on the back of her head that seeped blood.
He turned and flipped open the first man’s jacket to find a holstered Glock pistol and a cell phone strapped to his belt. Suresh rifled through his pockets and pulled out a small amount of cash, keys, and his wallet. The man’s name was Arthur Patel, and his address was fifteen hundred miles south in Mumbai. His ID said he was a special envoy to the Indian government.
He took both men’s guns, popped out the clips, quickly dismantled them, and scattered the pieces. Without knowing the circumstances, he had no intention of hurting these men any further.
The young woman sprang up from the bed as if she had just woken from the dead.
Suresh sat in the corner, his hands raised, his eyes passive. “It’s OK.”
The girl stared at him, her dark brown eyes darting around the room. It was small, only the bed she lay on and a single table off to the side for furnishings, with a galley kitchen in the corner opposite Suresh. A kerosene lamp filled the room with an orange dancing glow.
“You’re free to go,” Suresh said as he pointed at the door. “I just brought you here to get you off the streets in case anyone else was looking for you and to give you a chance to recover.”
The girl looked around the room while rubbing her neck and finally noticed the bandage on her head and the ice pack on the pillow.
“Eleven stitches. I made them small. I did need to shave a very small amount of hair, but no one will notice. The ice will help with the swelling.”
“Are you a doctor?” Her voice was soft and innocent.
“No,” Suresh said as he shook his head, “I have had a bit of training.”
“In more than just medicine,” she said. “Those men had training, too.”
Suresh slowly stood, picked up a tray from the lone table in the room, laid it before her, and took his seat back on the floor in the corner.
She looked down at a plate of fresh fruit and a loaf of bread. A lone white orchid lay next to the simple meal. She picked it up and took a long sip of water from a tin cup. “Is this your place?”
“For the moment.” He smiled.
She again looked at the food and at the bag of ice on the bed as she ran her hand over the wound on her head. “Thank you.”
Suresh nodded.
“You haven’t asked me a single question.” She tilted her head in curiosity.
“No,” he said simply.
The moment hung in the air, a connection beginning to grow.
“My name is Nadia,” she said with a hint of a smile.
Nadia Desai had been on the run for almost a month. Men who had been tracking her for the last week finally made their move that morning. Tasked with bringing her home with no limits on their methods, they were to return her to Mumbai to face charges.
She was nineteen, two years Suresh’s junior. She did not speak of her childhood or upbringing beyond saying that it was hard and filled with violence, although her perfect teeth and refined speech indicated that her difficult youth may have been more emotional than physical.
With no plan beyond escape, she had ventured up to the mountain region to start a new life, to find love and adventure. And she did with Suresh. He took her on jungle excursions, taught her camping and how to live off the land. He taught her how to defend herself more effectively and the importance of avoiding aggression and physical confrontation when possible.
It was a week before their first kiss, another month before they made love, and when they did, Suresh knew that he had found a partner to spend his life with.
Their passion was primal, their lovemaking rough yet tender. Their existence was simple, spent in the outdoors, the apartment used for expressing their undying passion, sleep, and showering. They were able to live off money earned from selling their jewelry, including Suresh’s ruby ring and Nadia’s gold necklace, and felt no need for the materialistic aspects of life. The world around them and their own company offered all of the entertainment they needed. Truth be told, though, Nadia indulged her one interest-photography-taking pictures of the vast jungle, of Suresh, of them dining, swimming, holding hands. She photographed them in bed, naked, within each other’s embrace, photographs they shared only with each other.
In the third week of their relationship, Suresh found the note on his door. Sitting in the cafe fifteen minutes
