But not warm enough to thaw the sea of unshed tears frozen inside me.

SWOLLEN.

After Pa leaves with Paati's body for the cremation ground, others leave but Chandra stays.

She helps me and Ma clean the house.

Ma is afraid I'll slip and hurt myself but I mop the floor of what is now just-my-bedroom.

Crawling on hands and knees I dip a sponge in soapy water, scrub the tiles, wring it dry.

Chandra's cheeks glisten.

Wet as the mopped floor.

I'm a soaked sponge.

Swollen with tears.

A TIME.

to

DANCE.

I mail Govinda and akka a note to say I won't be at our dance school until Paati's twelve-day mourning period has ended.

A condolence card arrives signed by akka, Radhika, and Govinda.

Govinda alone also sends a letter.

Dear Veda, The verse below is from the Bible, not a Hindu text, but it helped me when my favorite aunt died.

To every thing there is a season,

and a time to every purpose under Heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to reap;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance . . .

Whenever you feel it's time to dance again, I'll be here, waiting.

Love, Govinda.

I sleep with Govinda's letter under my pillow.

HOLDING ON.

For twelve days, priests light a ceremonial fire in the center of our hall.

For twelve days, priests guide Pa as he performs Paati's final rites.

They pray to Shiva, creator of worlds, destroyer of evil.

He is bliss, they say.

From joy were we made, by joy do we live, and unto joy do we return.

Pa mouths the prayers.

I can't tell if he takes any comfort in them.

The words fall with dull thuds on my ears.

On the thirteenth day, Pa's family from far away joins us.

We feast together and then they leave and the priests leave.

Pa says, "It's time we collected all of Paati's things to give to the poor."

But when he comes to my room to take Paati's trunk away, I throw myself over it, shouting, "No!"

Tears burst out of me.

"It's the custom," Pa says, gently. "Giving her things away to charity is a tradition she'd want us to follow.

It doesn't mean we'll forget her."

An endless stream of tears pours down my face.

Ma rubs my back.

Pa returns the trunk to its place under Paati's bed.

But I can't stop sobbing.

VISITATION.

A ghost visits me that night.

Not Paati. I'd have welcomed her.

Instead, the lost length of leg beneath my knee p.r.i.c.kles.

An invisible reincarnation taunting me.

Worse than any ghost story Paati told, this haunting phantom flesh.

My moans bring Ma and Pa rushing to my bed.

They can't exorcise my pain.

Not even Paati could.

But I long to feel her touch.

FIGHTING PHANTOMS.

Our doorbell rings. I hear Govinda's voice.