SHIVANIE wiped the tears welling up in her eyes, which were caused by the smoke from the large iron fireside she was cooking on. This was normal when cooking a large amount of food in a big kahari. She was among a few older women and two men from their mandir on the East Coast preparing food for a religious function.

She smiled slightly as she turned the pumpkin, always helping wholeheartedly, for she loved being part of her deeply cherished Hindu religion and culture. She glanced at her young son, who was a short distance away on a low stage, assisting the kirtan group in setting up the musical instruments.
He was only eight but skilled with the harmonica and sang beautifully, a talent that filled her heart with pride. As a struggling single mother, she had worked hard to give him a good life, for he was her richness, her joy, and her comfort.

The puja began as invitees started arriving, and Shivanie refocused on her cooking. She moved back and forth from the kitchen, listening to the devotional prayers and softly singing along to the sweet bhajans.
The songs and Indian classical music always filled her being with a beautiful feeling. Eight years ago, however, that feeling was different when she hadn’t known if she wanted to live or die. The pain and disappointment she faced since becoming pregnant with her son had left her mind in despair.

“How do I get through this, dear Lord?” she had cried in desperation. At only seventeen, her father, angry and disappointed, had often insulted her, forcing her to leave home. Her mother’s elder sister took her in, offering her the care and comfort she needed at that difficult time. Her aunt had a small mandir in her garden, and every morning at sunrise, Shivanie would pick a single hibiscus flower and place it at the feet of the Goddess.

In her immense pain, she needed strength to face the struggles and challenges before her. It had not been an easy road, but her faith and belief gave her the mental strength she needed. Today, after eight years, she had become a successful, independent woman—no more tears, pain, or regrets.
It’s amazing, though, how the past can unexpectedly appear to disturb one’s peace of mind.

Shivanie took a break after cooking the seven curries and sat with the other women, listening to the puja.
“There are several overseas invitees here,” one of the women observed.
“The family has many overseas friends and relatives,” another added. “And there are a few new faces this year.”
Shivanie smiled slightly, uninterested in the ‘who’s who’ from New York and Toronto attending the function. After a short while, she got up and wandered a little into the garden, taking photos of the flowering plants. Suddenly, a deep male voice said behind her, “Hello, Shivanie.”

She froze on hearing that voice she knew so well—the voice of someone who had caused her deep heartache. For a heart-stopping moment, she stood unresponsive. Then, hearing her son’s sweet voice singing, she regained her composure and slowly turned around.
Standing behind her, smiling pleasantly and looking as handsome as ever, was the man she had hoped never to see again. Yet here he was—the one who had broken every promise he made to her and left her when she was five months pregnant.

She looked at him standing there, without a hint of regret on his face for his betrayal, and he still had the audacity to say, “It’s nice to see you again.”
She felt a storm brewing in her mind, and if her cold look could have frozen him, it would have. But she remained calm. Her son’s sweet voice continued to carry across the garden where she and his father stood—a father her son had never seen, a father who knew nothing of him.

She smiled wryly and walked past him into the kitchen. Once there, she took a few deep breaths. “What is he doing here?”
Two of the women followed her into the kitchen, asking in curious, hushed tones, “Who was that?”
“Not sure,” Shivanie replied, showing no interest.

The women looked at her curiously but let it go as the puja was coming to an end, and they began preparing to serve the food smoothly. Shivanie didn’t want to stay longer because of his presence, but her help was needed, and she couldn’t abandon her principles by leaving.
She managed to stay strong, ignoring his presence and not even glancing at him or his American wife as she served one of the curries to them. However, he kept looking her way, which was somewhat unsettling, and he asked three times for the curry she was serving.

“I think he likes you,” one of the women whispered.
“He has a wife,” she whispered back.
“Oh dear,” was the surprised response.

Shivanie busied herself in the kitchen, waiting to leave with her son and the kirtan group to avoid him speaking to her again. But, to her dismay, the mistress of the home came in with him and his wife to present monetary gifts to all who had helped with the cooking.
“He’s showing off his wealth,” she seethed. “I don’t have to wait for this.”
As she turned to leave, the mistress called, “Shivanie, your gift.”
“Thanks,” she said with a forced smile. “Please give it to the Pandit for the mandir.”

She left with the Kirtan group, breathing a sigh of relief as the bus drove away.
That night, as she lay in bed, memories of her high school days came to life—the joy, the fun, the friendship she had shared with him. He had been tall, handsome, and the captain of the school’s cricket team, which had won her heart. He had graduated two years before her, but their relationship continued, and they grew close—too close, leading to her pregnancy. She had been scared but held onto his promise to stay by her side.

Her parents had been angry and disappointed, and his parents were unsupportive of him fathering a child at such a young age. They were left with only one option: to terminate the pregnancy. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Despite her family’s disapproval, she took comfort in Kevin’s support. As her pregnancy progressed, though, his visits became fewer, his responses delayed, and he often ignored her calls.

A growing fear gnawed at her, and by the fifth month of her pregnancy, he informed her that he had accepted an opportunity to work overseas.
“What about our baby?” she asked, heart sinking. “I can’t do this alone.”
“You’re in good hands,” he consoled her. “And I will return.”
He left that day despite her pleas, leaving her heartbroken and in tears.

“What am I to do?” she had cried.
Life had become a serious challenge, but somehow, she had managed to make a good life for her son. Now, after eight years, the father had returned, but with his wife.
Shivanie sighed deeply and closed her eyes to sleep. There were no more heartaches, no more tears. She was free, like a butterfly, ready to find her own happiness—if she could learn to love and trust again.
“One day, maybe.”
To be continued