Resurrection (Blood of the Lamb) by Mandy Hager Read Free Book Online Page B

camp. It was time to find out what, if anything, she knew of Lazarus's desertion, and to start the crucial search for knowledge of the mahkota bunga tree and its life-saving powers against Te Matee Iai. Maryam hadn't seen Aanjay since her return from the hospital. Usually the little woman did daily rounds; perhaps she'd been busy counselling the families who'd just been deported. In her own quiet way Aanjay was a warrior, never ceasing in her self-made mission to bring others aid.
    As they approached the hut where Aanjay and her ancient mother lived it was clear something unusual was happening. The hut was crammed with kneeling men, women and children—so many they spilled out onto the walkway, solemnly chanting some kind of prayer.
    Maryam and Ruth froze at the sight.
    “You don't think Aanjay has died, do you?” Ruth whispered.
    No! To lose Aanjay now as well would be too much. Maryam shook her head, banishing the thought, and took Ruth's hand as she edged toward the doorway for a closer look.
    The scent of burning candles hung in the air, their smoke forming dark swirls around the battered wooden image of the Buddha that dominated the makeshift shrine inside the hut. It was clear at once what was going on: Aanjay knelt next to the lifeless body of her mother, a tiny wizened woman transformed in death to little more than a skeleton draped in cloth. The flesh that once had plumped her cheeks and eye sockets was now so wasted that the bones which formed her brow, cheekbones and chin jutted like the razor-sharp pillars of barren rock that flanked the camp's remote back fence.
    Maryam and Ruth hovered at the back of the gathering. Maryam noticed how each of the arriving mourners made their way into the hut to bless the corpse by trickling water over her claw-like hand before offering Aanjay comfort in her time of grief. She edged herself into the slow-moving line, and was surprised to feel Ruth slide in behind her. Perhaps teaching had broadened Ruthie's mind and she was coming to accept that these people really weren't so dissimilar or dangerous after all.
    When at last she was kneeling alongside Aanjay, Maryam took hold of her beautiful fine-fingered hand. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
    “Ah, Maryam. It is good to see you, but you mustn't grieve for me. My mother welcomed death as the doorway to her next incarnation. I believe her soul is ready now to experience Nirvana. We should rejoice.”
    “You truly believe that we are all reborn?”
    Aanjay laughed, the sound as light and buoyant as a butterfly. “I do. It is part of the natural cycle—birth then death, death then birth, on and on until the mind learns to break free of the self. My mother understood the journey of her soul.”
    Talking to Aanjay always calmed Maryam, as if her gentle nature somehow rubbed off on those around her. Maryam longed to tell her about Lazarus's desertion, but now was not the appropriate time. Ruth, it seemed, had no such scruples. She pushed past Maryam and whispered to Aanjay, “I'm going to have a baby!” She said it with such self-importance—almost pride—as if the news would somehow raise her status in Aanjay's eyes.
    “You are?” If Aanjay was shocked, she masked it with a generous smile. “What luck for a returning soul to have a mother such as you!” She drew Ruth to her and kissed her on each cheekin turn. “Your news has added yet another reason to rejoice this day.” She turned back to Maryam and winked. “There, you see? The cycle starts again!”
    Maryam forced a smile in return, amazed at how calmly Aanjay could assimilate this astounding news. But she felt embarrassed now, stealing time away from Aanjay's grief. Embarrassed and annoyed. She grasped Ruth's hand and dragged her from the hut, awkwardly shuffling through the other mourners as her mind rejected what Aanjay had said.
    She could not rejoice in Ruth's news. Was horrified that Ruth must bear the child of such a brutal man. She couldn't understand