She of the Mountains (4 page)

This is what still pains me, and this pain turns to speech.

How could you not recognize me in him? How could you hurt me?

I am sorry
, he says, though he smiles a little out of relief.
I had been in a brutal battle, and when I finally reached home, this unknown boy refused to let me in. To our home!

So you cut off his head?

That's not how it happened.

Tell me then, Shiv. I want to understand.

I don't know how to say this. To admit this.

Admit what?

He is silent, save for the hissing of the snakes around his neck. We are standing face to face, and I notice his attentive third eye is closed. Is it hiding from me?

The truth is, I did recognize him,
he says softly.
Or rather, I saw you in him. How could I not?

He pauses.

You see, in those few moments, I was overcome with love for this beautiful child. For if he had somehow come from your body, I had to love him as I do your eyes, your laughter. Just as I love every extension of you. But, my dear Parvati …

But?

This was not just love.
He turns his back to me and sighs.

If he had … somehow come from your body, he had to be closer to you, more precious to you. Once you had him, wouldn't you always be aware of our distance? What use could you have for me? What love would you have for an outsider?

Shiv …

I am sorry.

Shiv, I love you precisely because I didn't create you.

He liked watching her from a distance.

He admired her indifference to her environment, as though everything and everyone existed only in relation to her and she alone determined their value. She would sing loudly in her office as though she was in her shower, completely unaware that her employees were listening, giggling. And yet, by being truly the centre of her own world, she seemed able to witness and appreciate the world around her—every structure and fallen leaf—with a genuineness that only someone who wasn't preoccupied with a constant internal dialogue of insecurity could possess. So when she complimented a friend, her motive wasn't secretly to elicit a compliment in return, and when she pointed out the tiny gargoyles seated on top of the Arts Building, it was with sheer curiosity and marvel, the kind he didn't have because he always looked down when he walked. And when he worked.

If only he had looked up, he might have noticed that she was watching him too.

They developed a morning ritual at the beginning of his shifts. She would sit down at the long table in the centre of the office and paint or file her nails as though this was just another task in her day's work. But they both understood that she was there, instead of in her office, to talk to him. He made efforts to file and photocopy—because he was somewhat invested in making a good impression as an employee, her employee—but his work was often derailed by an ever-growing, limitless list of questions he wanted to ask:

What is your favourite colour? Where have you travelled outside of Edmonton? What are you thinking? Where do you like to shop? What is your sun sign? Where were your parents born? What book are you reading? What do you do on Saturday nights? What are you thinking? What are you thinking? What are you thinking? What are you …?

He liked hearing her speak, the way she e-nun-ci-at-ed ev-er-y syl-la-ble, as though each one meant something. Their exchanges warmed up with the innocent
I did such and such on the weekend
, moved to the slightly more personal
I have this many siblings and pets
, and built to the existential
This is why I left my religion
.

Occasionally, the topic of her boyfriend Morty would surface, and he would listen attentively to every detail to learn as much as he could about the kind of creature that could captivate the captivating.

So, what did you do this weekend?

Oh, Morty and I went to a toga party at his frat house.

What's a toga party?

A stupid party where everyone wears togas and gets drunk and high.

I can't imagine you in a toga. Though I suppose it's probably like a white sari?

She laughed.

I didn't wear one! But Morty did, of course.
She rolled her eyes.

He wasn't convinced of Morty's ordinariness by her description or even by Morty's any-white-male presentation when he came to visit her. Watching them walk away, hand in hand, he felt a sharp dislike, the kind he reserved for people he didn't know and therefore had the freedom to impose the worst qualities upon. But this dislike was coupled with a certainty that beneath his oversized, worn out, dried-ketchup-coloured waffle sweater, Morty possessed an exceptional quality, an old magic or skill found in the kind of book that was large, leather-bound, and printed in a Gothic font.

Eventually, their morning ritual extended to her walking with him to his psych class, after work. This didn't strike either of them as out of the ordinary because there was still so much more to say. Nor did the pace of the walk itself—the way their feet intuitively slowed down, stretching seconds into minutes, as they approached his class. Getting to know each other better and deeper in short increments led them to discover a shared love of movies.

Have you heard about the new Baz Luhrmann film?

He has a new movie? Who's in it?

Nicole Kidman! And apparently she sings?

I love Nicole Kidman. And I loved
Romeo + Juliet.
It's one of my top five. And the soundtrack!

That Garbage song …

They nodded in unison.

Do you maybe want to see the new movie together when it's out?

I have always wanted a movie friend
, she said.

He imagined playing this role—sitting next to her for two hours in a dark theatre, sharing licorice and popcorn and laughter, and the riveting discussions that would inevitably follow about what he liked and what she didn't—and wanted nothing more.

Destruction has a reputation for being chaotic and random, but the wisdom of Shiva tells a very different story. I know this better than anyone.

A long time ago, an uncomfortable alliance was established between demigods and demons. They were in search of the omnipotent nectar that was buried deep in the Ocean of Milk, a nectar that could restore some of the brilliance they had lost after years of battling each other. They understood, without fully grasping its breadth and mystery, that it was a risk to disturb the Ocean, but their thirst was greater than their caution. They churned the stubborn waters for days, and many surprises and secrets emerged, including the Wish-Fulfilling Tree and even Goddess Lakshmi. But no one had anticipated their search would trigger the release of the ancient poison that guarded the nectar, although, when I consider it now, it makes sense that the Ocean wouldn't surrender its greatest treasure without a fight. The mission halted as everyone panicked, understanding the danger they all faced if the poison wasn't contained. Then Shiv appeared and, without deliberation, drank the poison, holding it in his throat. Just like that.

Centuries later, during the Great Drought, the children of the Earth begged for Mother Ganga to descend from the heavens. Knowing that the planet was not strong enough to withstand the force of her passage from sky to land, Shiv agreed to be an intermediary between the two worlds, carrying Ganga's crushing, crashing weight in his hair.

Why do you always say yes? Why do you always show up?
I once asked him.

Death must happen in its own time, my love
, he responded.
Until then, I remain vigilant.

This is why he spends so much time alone—because he is. No one, including myself, can comprehend the burden he carries, the balance that he holds, gracefully and without complaint. Has he ever thought of letting go? If he were to open his mouth and release the venom, take a break from the burning for just one day, everything would end. My body and all of my creations would ignite.

Today is the first day I have seen him cry.

Around the time his friends and family began to comment on how often he mentioned her—
Her this
and
She that
—she proposed that they meet outside of work, off campus. Hours before their meeting, he phoned his friend Geoff for a pep talk. Geoff listened as he swooned in phrases that sounded stolen from early '90s R&B slow jams:

I can't get her out of my head.

I can't wait to see her.

She's so lovely.

But it's not a date or anything
, Geoff interrupted.

No. She has a boyfriend.

No, I mean, you can't actually
like her,
like her, right?

I guess not? I don't know. I can't get her out of my head.

He arrived at the coffee shop on Jasper Avenue exactly sixteen minutes before she did and took a seat facing the door so that they could see each other the moment she entered. But when she arrived, he looked down to give the impression that he was preoccupied with a very important thought. He slid his hands under his knees.

He looked up when her scent reached him. She smiled, and he jumped up to embrace her, a standard greeting amongst his
friends, but when their jackets briefly touched, it felt more than friendly.