Although they have started talking on the phone again, it feels strange to see him, which she hasn’t since she returned from California eight weeks ago. When she moved out, she picked up her things while he was at work, but thanks to their lenient concierge, didn’t have far to carry them, as she was permitted to stay in one of the guest rooms in their building, the same room her father had stayed in, while she figured out her next step. For now, she is renting a one-bedroom apartment in a building close to the river. What she likes most about her new place are its north-facing windows and eleventh-floor balcony. When she’s out there, it is a comfort to gaze at the gentle slope of the Eardley Escarpment, sleeping Vishnu covered in mosses. Although she can’t see them, she knows the hawks are there too, soaring above the landscape and any earthy pain, like Sunil’s spirit.

“Nirav,” she calls out. Startled, he looks over his shoulder, smiles guardedly, and approaches them. Kavita can sense the hesitation weighing down his steps. “Mum,” he nods in greeting. “Dad.”

After a few mute seconds, her mother reaches out a cheek for him to peck. His worried expression breaks into relief. He kisses her, enthusiastically, on both cheeks, then does the same to Kavita’s father, as if frightened of losing the moment and momentum alike. But when he reaches Kavita, Nirav falters.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Okay.”

“It’s lovely to see you.” He smiles. “So lovely.”

She returns his smile, silently admitting that it is good to see him too, she needs his support, today of all days, despite the separate spheres they have occupied of late.

With greetings aside, the weight of their purpose for gathering settles upon them. As she listens to the intermittent call of the gulls, Kavita gazes at the lighthouse. When crisis befell them last year, this was the place they came to escape their troubles. A place that seemed to beckon them with its memories of happier times, like a torch through the darkness, offering a promise of how things could be for them again. This place, now the last place they spent together as a family.

Kavita peers at her mother. “Are you ready?” she asks.

Her mother looks at her father, who gives a solemn nod. Then, veiling her eyes, passes the urn to Kavita. The metal feels cold against her palms. She hugs the urn to her chest and leads them to the water’s edge.

Although this river isn’t the Ganges, somehow it feels just as holy. Kavita can sense a hum rising off the rocks and the water; the very air seems to vibrate. Her skin is alive. Her heart is beating slow.

Cool water licks her sandaled feet. Its touch is fresh and purifying, as if it holds the memory of spring showers, the victorious end of winter.