Throwback Thursday: ‘Poor Thing’ by KM Vaghela

The sun blazes, soaks into the delicate skin of my neck. My lips are charred. My eyes squint upwards at the destination: the Temple. How majestically it stands. Its white, carved walls incandescent. Silence made its presence so loud. Oh, to be in its shelter! To dip my feet into the ocean of cold marble. To fold my hot, red hands in respect, if only to feel the cool air caressing through my fingers. I have been there before, as a little six year old. Six years past and I am almost there again. This temple was the same one Gandhi-ji visited forty-three years ago. But my family has been going for longer. Each year, my father makes a pilgrimage up this very mountain, following or leading a whole trail of others. My mother goes most years, and sometimes the youngest brother gets a turn. But this time, it’s only us three, with a crowd of worshippers. A fly buzzes. I ride on a mule.

The dust from his hooves sprinkle the air, making me sneeze every so often. I never sneeze. Or if I once did, I don’t remember doing it. But today, I can’t stop. My mother peers back at me, her eyes as dry as mine, blinking rapidly to keep them from getting too red. A smile plays at her lips, as if she had some secret crawling under them, making them ticklish, but giving no way to come out. I frown, reminding her of this morning. She did not let me ride at the head of the line like my father promised I could.