I stare in wonder at the seedling beside the bed, which has grown overnight and now is at least as tall as my arm, with dozens of new leaves and blossoms. Its roots have spread through the bottom of the pot, covering the table in a network of fine spirals. The room fills with the scent of sweet, ripe mango, and when I look closer, hidden behind the leaves is a small oval fruit, yellow striped with red.
A tapping on the window startles me but I leap off the bed and pull aside the curtains.
“Nanijee! It’s you! You came to see Papa …” I stretch my arms out flat against the cold window, but still her wings are way longer. I press my face so close to hers that I see her golden-flecked eyes. “But he doesn’t know me, Nanijee … He just can’t remember.”
She taps three more times with her smooth gray beak.
“What can I do?”
She beats her wings, arcing high above the trees, and swoops off into the sky. I watch her until she’s a tiny dot, until I can’t see her anymore, but I know she’s still there somewhere, that she won’t be far away.
“R-Rohan?”
I rush to Papa’s side and he sweeps his fingers across my head. “What are you doing here?”
“No, Papa,” I laugh. “It’s me, it’s Asha.”
He cups my face in his hands. “Asha—of course—how could I mistake you?” His voice is raspy, each word forming slowly. “I feel … so tired.”
I fling my arms around him. “Papa … my papa,” I cry, burrowing into the blanket. “You’ve been ill for a long time, but you’re going to get better.” The ancient rhythms sweep through me and I know that all my ancestors are with me.
“Why did you cut your beautiful hair?”
“Papa, I went to the highest temple in the world so I could find you. I cut my hair and made a sacrifice.”
“I’ve been in a dream,” he continues, still speaking carefully. “I dreamt about a fire.”
“There was a fire in the factory but we didn’t know why your letters stopped … I read your last letter over and over again.”
He puts his arms around me and I curl my body against his—the moment I’ve waited for is finally here.
“My darling Asha.”
“Jeevan and me,” I say between sobs. “We came to find you together.”
He pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head. “No more tears now.”
The nurse pushes open the door and nearly drops the breakfast tray. “Your papa’s speaking to you?” she says, putting the tray on the side table. “I can’t believe it, that’s incredible. I don’t know what magic you did in here last night”—she smiles—“but it’s definitely worked— What’s that huge mango plant doing in here?”
“Does that mean we can go home?” asks Papa. “How is your ma—my beautiful Enakshi—and Rohan and Roopa?”
The nurse pushes him gently back onto the pillow. “Don’t overexcite yourself—I’ll still have to check with the doctor.” She puts some pills into a container and hands them to Papa with a glass of water.
“We all missed you so much. Papa, we met people in Zandapur who helped us. Lakshmi and Raj.” I take a big gulp of air. “A-and they say we can stay with them for a few days before we go home.” I rest against the pillow, trying to catch my breath.
“I think that’s enough information for the moment,” says the nurse, handing Papa a small see-through bag with a dirty folded envelope inside. “It was in your pants pocket.”
“Thank you, nurse,” says Papa. “It’s the wages I was saving to send home.”
I tuck my head into Papa’s shoulder. “It was hard for Ma, but she did her best …” I whisper.
“My … little Ashi.” He strokes my hair.
Every time I look at him, he seems more and more like my old papa. I hold on to him as tightly as I can.
“I’m never going to let you go,” I say. “Ever.”
It’s early morning, and Papa and I are taking our daily stroll around the garden of the street shelter while Jeevan and the others mill about, helping to keep everything clean and tidy. Lime-green parakeets swoop through the coconut palms, whistling to each other.
Raj bustles out of the house. “Hey, Mr. Champion, look at you,” he laughs. “We’d sign you up to the Zandapur Charity Run if you could stay any longer.”
“I can’t believe it was only a few days ago that I was still in the hospital … Lakshmi’s been fattening me up with her amazing rice and dhal,” jokes Papa.
“Well, it’s definitely working!” says Raj, heading over to his rickshaw and starting to clean it.
“Are you ready for a rest now, Papa?” I ask as I unhook my arm and we sit down at the breakfast table.
“Lakshmi sent some chai and jelaybia,” says Attica, carefully carrying in a small jug and pretty tea glasses on a tray. She pours the sweet chai and offers it to us.
I take a sip. “You make the best chai, Attica.”
“I only helped with collecting the spices,” she says, giving us a smile that reminds me of the white bakul flowers back home. “Thank you, Asha.” She beams before running off to collect the eggs.
I haven’t told Papa about Meena and the loan yet—not while he’s been awake—but I know I should. I’m scared of worrying him, of somehow setting back his recovery. My stomach twists in case he’s still not strong enough, but I grip the table and launch in. “Th-there’s something important you need to know, Papa. Ma … She had to borrow some money,” I blurt out.
His face tenses and he grows pale. “I … Of course. The money would have stopped. My poor Enakshi.” He takes a deep breath and places his hand on my arm and I can feel it trembling. “What happened?” he asks. “Tell me everything.”
“Ma borrowed the money from a woman called Meena,” I
