Page 30 of A Kiss in Kashmir

“I’m an art professor and I can’t paint anything,” he said. “We all have our talents, and you have so many. I would love to hear the poetry.”

Their last few walks were filled with her reciting her poetry about love, longing, and finding peace. He asked many questions, but more than anything encouraged and praised her hidden talent. “You have the ability to paint with a brushandwith words. Just keep doing what makes your heart sing,” he told her.

Now, he was here, at her door with a big smile on his face and holding flowers for Alina.

“Alina, come here, please. George is here,” Sharmila called. Alina was on the bed, talking to Emilio on a video call.

During the past week, George and Emilio had talked frequently on video calls and had taken an instant liking to each other.

“Hopefully we can convince your bride-to-be to have her wedding in our valley. She’s a hard lady to convince.”

“I understand she is softening her stance now and is going to stay a bit longer?” Emilio asked.

After hanging up the call, Alina turned towards the others. “So, George, I was telling Emilio that I’m going to be doing something different today. I met a bunch of hikers last night in the hotel lobby. They’re heading out for a trek and I think I may join them. Sounds like fun.” Alina shrugged and pulled out her phone as it buzzed nonstop.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it, Alina? Your stomach is okay?” Sharmila asked.

“Ma, that was over a week ago. Yes, I’m fine. And I’ve done enough shopping and eating. I just need to do something different. Okay?” She disappeared into the bathroom.

Sharmila sighed but knew Alina well enough to know when she needed a break. George stepped close and lowered his voice.

“She’s fine now. Let her go. I think I found a link to Vikram’s family. We can check that out today, and then tomorrow, if all goes well, we can take Alina there.”

Alina returned and saw that her mother’s face had a peculiar, almost bewildered expression. “Ma, are you okay? What happened? Are you upset that I’m not joining you? You can do one more wedding thing without me, right? George, what’s on the agenda today?”

Before George could take a breath to answer, Sharmila was firing questions at Alina about not having trekking gear, not having the right clothes, and she began to worry out loud.

George said, “Sharmila, we have to visit a few resorts today—you and I can do that. Let her go on her adventure. Kashmir does have shops where she can buy what she needs. I can take you to the other valley that I want to show you.”

Sharmila ordered some tea from room service. Soon, Alina was dressed and ready. As she opened the door to leave, there was a waiter outside who brought in the tea service. He set it up on the main table, then left.

“Do you really think you found something? Where?” Sharmila poured tea into cups. She tried to steady her nervous hands and hoped George didn’t see her hands shaking. She couldn’t tell if she was nervous being so close to him and alone again in a room or because he had found a contact for Vikram’s family—or both.

“You mentioned that they were in Lal Mandi, right? For the last few days, Wajid and I have been calling and meeting many people who were here in the early nineties. Finally, I found an old friend who remembered something. You recall my telling you, many Pandits left that area and moved to Jammu? My friend, who works for the city, found a record of a Pandit family that had two sons, that they lost one of the sons, a painter, and then moved to Aru Valley. The ages and the timing seemed about right. I actually confirmed all this with Wajid’s father-in-law, who is a judge in the courts here.”

Sharmila sipped her tea, taking in the information. “I’ve tried to find them on and off for years now. Every lead was a dead end. How can you be sure it’s them?”

George pulled out his phone and showed her a picture. He had taken a photo of the entry in the record book. It clearly stated that the people at the Lal Mandi address she had provided had moved to Aru Valley under the auspices of the local government after their son was possibly gunned down and reported missing in crossfire on the Gawkadal Bridge.

“That’s a lot of coincidences, I know. But I think we can drive up there and see what happens,” George said.

Sharmila looked at the image in disbelief. She stood up. “Yes, let’s go. I’m ready.”

George checked his phone again for weather conditions and looked at her. “Sorry, but you need to change. Aru Valley will be colder than here, and you’re going to need sturdy walking shoes.Andwe can ride horses part of the way. You can ride, I hope.”

A few minutes later, dressed in jeans and her warm black sweater, Sharmila joined him in the Jeep. He was on the phone, talking a mile a minute with someone trying to figure out the best way to drive to the Aru Valley. Sharmila gathered it must have been Wajid on the other end.

“It will take a good three hours to get there. I think we can make it there by lunch time,” George said as he began the drive. At first, the two of them were quiet as the Jeep made its way through the crowded streets of Srinagar. Sharmila was answering texts from Alina, who was now on her way to the trek and very excited to be doing something not wedding-related.

Once they were out of the noisy city, Sharmila broke the silence.

“I have to admit, I am more than a bit nervous about this. I don’t even know if they know that I or Alina exist. I just don’t know how they will react to us. What if they hate us? Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“Yes, I can imagine you are nervous. But you know, I have lived here on and off for half my life, and most Kashmiris are gentle and soft-spoken. Even when they get upset, it sounds like they’re giving you a blessing. Anyhow, I am sure they will want to learn more about how you both met and of course, how he taught you to paint.”

Sharmila smiled despite her nerves.

“You know, George, I was so young then, I had never met anyone like him. He was intense and in love with his craft. His paintings were vivid and captured the most visceral of emotions. I liked his landscapes, but when he painted a face, it took my breath away. That is what I remember mostly. We were together for less than a year and a half. Young, happy, carefree, and yes, mostly covered in paint,” Sharmila said.

---