In the morning, she woke up feeling ill. Her head hurt and her body felt as if it had been filled with lead. He was already out of bed, and she could hear him in the kitchen. She made her way to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stood under the stream of hot water until it began to turn cold. He was leaving for a month, and she wasn’t sure if she was glad or terrified.

They had fallen asleep on the floor together, and she had only woken up when she rolled on her back and felt the throb of her upper buttock. She went to the bathroom and looked at the damage. From her lower back to above her knees, she was bruised and swollen—welts the size of thick fingers peppered her skin and when she ran her hand across her backside, she could feel the swell of purpled tissue like Braille across her fingertips.

She turned off the water, got out of the shower, and he was standing in the bathroom.

“I made you some chai,” he said.

He hadn’t made her tea since the day she had appeared on his doorstep, wet and unexpected.

“Thank you.” She took the cup and sipped. “Not enough cardamom,” she said.

He smiled.

She put the cup on the counter. The towel dropped from one hand, and he looked at her thigh and grimaced.

“Oh, God, Josie.” He reached and turned her around. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” she said.

“Oh, bunny,” he said and pulled her into him.

“I know, Devesh, I know. Please. Please, let’s not talk about this. You’re leaving in a few hours.”

He closed his eyes and rested his head on hers. “I want you to come with me,” he said.

She stiffened and pulled slightly. “No,” she said. The thought of going to a country of penetrating stares, and knowing gurus, and gods with hands and eyes enough to see into every crevice of her heart was enough to make her turn physically away from him. “You should finish packing,” she said. She wrapped the towel tightly around herself and walked into the bedroom.

When the cab picked him up at the house, he hugged her close, kissed her forehead and told her to be good, and for a moment it felt as if last night had never happened, but when he slammed the car door and left her standing there all alone, the reality of yesterday returned, and she wanted to run after the cab and breathlessly beg him to get her as far from here as possible. He could wrap her in saffron and dip her in the Ganges, and she would be forgiven—all karmic sins washed clean—but that was silly, another ridiculous ritual. Redemption did not come from a river and it did not come from a belt.