“Yes, he did.” Mom smiles as she takes Karina’s hand in both of hers and grips it tightly. “And he is always with us.”

Karina meets Mom’s eyes and nods, sharing their first moment of true understanding in a long time. Dad looks uncertain, but his eyes are brimming with tears and he picks up her other hand and grasps it. For a few silent moments, the three of them, enjoined, look back at Prem’s smiling face.

* * *

Keith excuses himself from the room, and Jaya takes in the image of her daughter. It has been only five months since she last saw Karina, but in that time, her body has grown leaner, her face colored by the sun, and there is something new behind her eyes that Jaya can’t quite place.

“It’s okay now, honey. We’re going home.” She squeezes Karina’s forearm and sees her flinch. Jaya thinks this is a response to her words, but when Karina pulls her arm away, she realizes it is her touch. Recalling the officer’s words, Jaya gently pushes up the sleeve of Karina’s white shirt and sees her inner forearm covered with fresh cuts and scratches. It first seems like a disorderly mess, but when she looks closer, there is a grid of parallel lines underneath that can only be intentional. She looks up at Karina’s face, but her daughter won’t meet her eyes. Jaya moves the sleeve back down and Karina pulls her arm close to her chest, protectively.

Jaya recognizes her daughter has chosen the physical pain of hurting herself to mask the internal pain she suffers. Physical pain can often be easier to tolerate, Jaya has learned through the discomfort of traveling with the Guru and working at the ashram—sleeping on floors, traveling on buses, fasting for periods of time. Inner suffering is harder to endure, but only when you face those emotional and psychological demons can you truly find peace. After suffering the worst loss imaginable, she has spent years struggling with her interior terrain of guilt, pain and sorrow to find meaning in the world and her life again. She can even find beauty now. Karina will find those things too, she knows.

What Jaya sees when she looks at her daughter now is the fierce young girl at her core, the girl who fought for the runt of the litter, who loved her brother intensely, who has always forged ahead for what she wants, never seeming to need anyone else. But Karina needs her now. Her daughter is reaching a hand above the surface of the water, flailing for something to hang on to. And this time, Jaya will not let her fall.

“Do you remember,” Jaya says, gently taking her hand, “when Prem was seven years old and woke up early to make us breakfast on his birthday?”

Karina smiles, her brow wrinkling. “Didn’t something catch on fire?”

Jaya nods. “The toaster oven. He put the butter on the bread first—you know how much he liked butter—so it dripped down and the whole thing went up in flames. Poor thing, he tried to reach in to save the toast and burned his hand.”