Nothing Like Love by Sabrina Ramnanan Read Free Book Online

failing him, and by extension, he, Pundit Anand Govind, was failing.
    Anand gave up trying to sit and meditate. As he lay back in the dappled sunlight beneath the lattice window, his mala fell across his throat like a noose and pinned itself beneath his left shoulder. He raised his head, slipped the mala off and began moving his fingers deftly over the rough beads, his gaze trained on the ceiling. But the prayers wouldn’t come. They got lost, or discouraged somewhere between his soul and his mouth, so he fiddled with his prayer beads thinking of things other than God.
    Anand didn’t fret about his mortality the way most other men his age in the district did. He had always led a virtuouslife, beginning and ending his day with prayers and facilitating pujas for other people in between. He saw himself as a holy middleman, a liaison to the Lord, and naturally received a bountiful cut of the common man’s blessings. His body, a vessel for his pure soul, was equally immaculate. Never had a drop of alcohol or morsel of meat touched his tongue. He was devoted to his wife, Maya; he had passed everything he knew of Hinduism on to Krishna. He had done good karma in the physical world, and when
Bhagwan
, God, decided to take him, he was ready. That’s how he had thought of death. Up until last night.
    Anand had even been willing to leave the matter of Krishna’s marriage to Maya should he pass before that time came. He never doubted there would be an abundance of eligible young ladies from good Hindu families, eager to marry his son; never imagined that Krishna would do anything to befoul the Govinds’ good name. But Anand had been wrong. Now there was no room for complacency in his life. He could not afford to slip quietly into his golden years. He had to ensure Krishna married well and that his family’s good name was restored. Hadn’t this been his life purpose?
    “Hello?”
    Anand heard a rap at the door. He stiffened.
    “Baba? You there? Is me, Gloria. I come to do my morning prayers!”
    Anand lay still and continued to stare at the ceiling. It was black with smoke and the old fan was coated with a film so thick he could mark his initials in it. And he should. That fan was as much his as this temple was. He was Pundit Anand Govind of Chance, after all. He chewed his lip. Had he asked Krishna to wipe down that smutty fan? He couldn’t remember now.
    Gloria jiggled the door handle. She rapped on the door again. “Well, this is real strange.” Her voice glided in through the window. “Since when the pundit does lock up the mandir in the morning?” The door rattled in its frame and Anand grimaced; she was throwing her weight against the old wood.
    “Ba-baaaa!” Gloria sang as she walked around the side of the building.
    Anand held his breath. He wished she would go away and leave him to his thoughts. He would never hear Bhagwan’s answer with all the racket Gloria was making.
    Suddenly the pool of sunlight in which Anand was lying was eclipsed by a long shadow. “Baba?” Anand shut his eyes. Gloria was kneeling on the ground, peering through the diamond latticework at Anand’s prostrate body.
    Anand knew he should sit up and greet her, but for the first time in his life he did not feel like fulfilling his duty as village pundit. He couldn’t when his own life wanted mending, when he was in as much need of Bhagwan’s grace and guidance as Gloria or anyone else in Chance. Anand remained still.
    “Oh gosh!” Gloria shrieked. “Pundit Anand sleeping in the mandir.” Gloria fitted her mouth into a diamond cut in the concrete wall. “Ba-ba! Ba-baaaa! Wake up!”
    Anand began singing Bhagwan’s praises in his head to distract himself from breathing.
    “Baba? Pundit Anand?” Her voice grew small. “Oh shames! This pundit gone and dead in the mandir!” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “All that sexy-news about Vimla and Krishna must be kill the man.”
    Anand felt sunlight flood over his