Page 31 of A Kiss in Kashmir

George nodded. “Oh, to be young and in love. I remember those days well. Goes by fast, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed. My family was very conservative and I knew they wouldn’t accept Vikram.” Sharmila went quiet for a few moments as though debating whether she should share anything else about her family. It had been ingrained in her never to speak about them in public.

The trees on the side of the roads were starting to shed their golden leaves. Winter wasn’t too far away, but the sun was warm so the open Jeep convertible was still good to travel in.

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to pry,” George said, then asked her to open the thermos of hot tea.

“It will take something a lot stronger than hot tea to get me to talk much about them,” she said as she sipped the tea.

Sharmila had been born into a deeply conservative family with roots in the Rajasthani royal bloodline. Both her parents were strict and followed the rules of the royalty even to their detriment. While her father did want her to go to college, her mother was determined to get her married at a young age. Sharmila had revolted. She wanted to study, but there was no way it was going to happen. Then she met Vikram. She hesitatingly told George about how her parents looked down on Vikram in every way. Vikram’s family was from a poor background and her father would not even deign to talk to him.

George stopped the Jeep and the two of them got down and tried a roadside snack, an all-India favorite, spiced noodles. The unusual touch, George told Sharmila, was that this vendor added scrambled eggs to the noodles—a taste that had to be tried to be believed.

He stretched his legs and sat down on the side of the road for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry about the difficulties. It is hard with conservative families. My own never accepted Daneen, so I just moved away from them. Such hatred towards her because of her religion. Yours was for money reasons. I guess to each his own.”

Sharmila nodded.

George pulled the top over the Jeep since it looked like it was going to start raining, and the weather had already started to cool down as they approached Pahalgam.

They got back in the Jeep and continued on their journey.

“And your pregnancy? That was difficult for them, right?” George picked up the conversation again.

“They were so angry. I was already the black sheep and then, you know, pregnancy out of wedlock,” Sharmila said, adding that Vikram wanted to marry her as soon as possible. He felt sure his family would be very accepting if he told them in person and so he’d gone back to Kashmir to inform them. “I remember pleading with him not to leave, but he had a point. This wasn’t the type of news he wanted to break to them over a long-distance call. His father was ill, and his mother was not quite herself. He thought a call like that would really upset them. The plan was for him to bring them back to Jaipur, but that never happened.”

“How did you find out what happened when he came back here? I remember the communications infrastructure back then was terrible,” George asked and, seeing the pain on her face, instantly regretted the question. “I’m so sorry.”

She explained that someone had called the painting studio to inform them that Vikram had been involved in some attack. But there was no other information to be found. She said she regretted not getting any information from him before he left. She had never imagined that she would never see him again.

They had already entered the picturesque area of Pahalgam. The narrow roads into the valley had been filled with green fields, but it seemed like the two of them were more involved in each other and their stories than in looking at scenery.

For Sharmila, the memories flooded in. Her father was even more furious after the phone call. He ordered her to his study, from which he ruled his family as though it were his kingdom. “You have ruined the family name, and there is no forgiveness for you now. I will not have an unwed mother in this house. I have arranged for you to go to America, to Washington, and to stay in our house there. You will be provided a sufficient amount of money from your trust fund. Now leave.” She never saw her mother or father again.

“They died without even seeing Alina once. I tried to contact them, but you know, according to him his word was law. My sister, I’m trying to see if she will attend this wedding, but—”

Before Sharmila could finish, George had stopped the Jeep in a parking lot near the main tourist center in Aru Valley.

“Come on. We have to get on the horses here to go up from this point. There is another paved road up on the other side, but I think you will enjoy the horse ride as you will get to see the heart of this Aru this way.”

As the horse ride began, Sharmila gasped as she looked around. Lush green meadows were dotted with a sprinkling of wildflowers. The snow-capped peaks of the mountains just in front of them stood majestically against the bright blue sky. The young man who had provided them with horses pointed out the clear water of the Lidder River.

“Can we stop a minute?” Sharmila said. “George, can we stop, please?”

“What is it?” George said, and asked the young man who was leading their horses to stop.

“George, I don’t know if I can do this. What if they hate me? What if they aren’t the right people? I’m getting anxious. I’ve dreamt of this moment half my life, but now I’m not sure I want to go through with it.”

“Sharmila, I don’t know if I have the right people, but I can assure you, if they are, they will love you. Who can not love you? I mean, youandAlina,” George said, flustered.

The ride up to the main village continued. Sharmila saw kids from the local Gujjar tribe cutting grass, presumably gathering it to feed their livestock in the coming winter. The few wooden houses in front of them were small, with blue tarps on the roofs in preparation for the oncoming snowstorms.

The young man who had rented them the horses said something to George in Kashmiri. George handed him some money and turned to Sharmila.

“We’ll walk from here on in.” George offered Sharmila his hand without saying anything else. She didn’t hesitate and, with a gentle smile, placed her hand in his. As their fingers intertwined, their unspoken connection comforted her and calmed her nerves. But as soon as he pointed to the house, she pulled her hand away.

“Thank you for doing this with me, George. I appreciate you,” she whispered.

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