‘That was my choice to make, not hers,’ Smrithi replied. ‘She gave me no chance to get to know her, to love her … as my mother.’

Nala didn’t know which she Smrithi meant. Her anger for each of them was interchangeable, as was her love and her loss. As were they.

‘She took that away from me!’ Smrithi cried. ‘They both did. They lied and they were only protecting themselves from their lies.’

‘No, Smrithi, Dhara was afraid that if you knew, you would return to Sri Lanka—you would want to be with her. We were all afraid of that.’

‘That was still my choice to make,’ the young woman repeated.

‘No, darling, that is a mother’s choice to make—and both of your mothers love you,’ Nala replied. ‘I’m sorry we hurt you, I am. But of all the lies I’ve told, this is the one I don’t regret. We wanted to protect you.’

Smrithi clung hard to her, speaking into the folds of her sari, unwilling to move or let go of her grandmother’s spindly legs. ‘It hurts …’

‘I know, darling,’ she said. ‘Your parents did the best they could for you. We each have to choose our own dharma, our own path. We choose it and we follow it the best we can.’

Smrithi cried again and half laughed. ‘Ammamma, you sound like the Bhagavad Gita. Have you been talking to Appa lately?’

‘No, it’s from Oprah,’ Nala replied.

Smrithi dried her tears with her hands and looked closely at her grandmother.

‘Ammamma, I’m angry at Amma, even though I … love her …’ Smrithi didn’t finish her sentence.

‘Daughters are always angry at their mothers.’

‘Not just daughters—husbands and wives, siblings—we’re often angry at the people we love,’ Rajan said from the front door. He had returned from his daily walk to the Strathfield Plaza. ‘Mothers can let go of their anger more easily, I think. We constantly fail the people we love. But losing a child is far worse than failing one.’ He leaned against their apartment doorway, tired from the flight of stairs. ‘The thought of a future without your children is terrifying. Life cannot be comprehended without your children in it.’

Nala hadn’t heard Rajan say so much in a long time. She wanted to respond, but he raised a hand. ‘Smrithi, ask your mother—ask Priya—about her favourite story in the Mahabharata. It’s the marriage of Draupadi—do you know it?’ he asked.

‘I do, Appappa—her favourite story is about polyandry and blind obedience to one’s mother?’ Smrithi asked.

‘No,’ Rajan laughed a little, shaking his head. He looked at Nala but spoke to Smrithi. ‘Your great-grandfather used to say, “If you swim, swim together. If you sink, sink together.”’

‘I feel like I’m sinking, Appappa,’ Smrithi replied.