A Whole New Beginning

A/N: I do not own any of the characters seen in the Gemma Doyle Trilogy.

Chapter Nine

Kartik's POV

Sanita, an old yet wonderfully kind woman, has instructed me to chop up logs for bathing and cooking. Today, of all days, has to be the most scorching hot. I round the corner and pick up an axe. Holding it with both steady hands, I impale the logs one by one. The sun shines down on me, perspiration starts at my brows.

With a grunt, I put the chopped woods and the axe down, feeling my trousers for a cloth or a handkerchief or anything that I can use to wipe my forehead. There is none. I cannot find my favourite red cloth since two and a half months ago.

"…Kartik! Mr. Karik!" Failing to find any means of fabric, I wipe the beads of salty water with the back of my hands. "Mr. Kartik, Ms. Sunita informed me that I will find you here. She told me that you'd be chopping woods and she also told me that you are free after this task." I let her continue her ramblings. I know there is much more to come. "Perhaps, after this…perhaps you can teach me –…after this –…can you teach me how to read?"

Nikhita, two year younger than I, is one of the first people who approached and befriended me since I arrived in India two and a half months ago. She has a juvenile atmosphere that I cannot help but indulge myself with since I have never gotten that kind of liberty when I was a child. She is enthusiastic to learn, especially reading and writing. Arithmetic? Not so much.

Since I arrived here from England, she knows I can speak proper English, thus asking me three weeks later to help her learn. I like spending time with her – she reminds me of the childhood I never had – and helping around my neighborhood. Although the pay is not much, I think this job is better than the one I had in England.

Sanita took me in after I discovered that the place where I used to live had been destroyed by a land slide. There was no one important to me there, I was living alone. My brother seldom came home, but when he did, we rarely talk. Nevertheless, I still loved him.

"Just give me a minute or two, then I'll wash up. Wait for me by the front stairs."

-o-

Gemma's POV

Three days from now, the ship that traverses between England and India will be ashore. I defeated the Tree of All Souls two months ago. Two months this vessel I am currently in takes to make the trip between two countries. Two months I have longed for a company. Two months to reason out why this idea is not irrational. And two months to ponder about a certain Indian boy I could not help to fall in love with.

In what ways would Kartik think of me now? Would I be Miss Doyle of the Order? Lady Doyle of the Doyle household? Or Gemma…just plain Gemma?

Oh, how I miss him so. Ten weeks I spent without his overwhelming presence. Without the cinnamon and evergreen scent of his. Without those dark, inky eyes and dark, large hands that consumes a terribly large space. I dwelt and grieved for the treacherous creature I was.

There was no choice. No other choice, but to do what I did. It was either betrayal or death. I cannot cope with death. His death. So the very likely choice was to betray him. Turn his trust against me. Turn his love to hatred. Use his hatred to save him.

Yet…how can he ever feel those emotions when I am the very reason as to why all those memories were slain? Not quiescent, but slain? To evaporate like water to air, or to disappear like a stolen good?

And since I robbed him of his memories, is there someone who holds a special place in his heart? His whole heart? From top to the deepest bottom?

I hurt, just thinking about this. Yet, what right do I hold in him? I stole his memories, broke his heart, almost sent him to his death when I pleaded for his alliance and killed his only brother.

I know we initiated a friendship on an unpredictable and tremulous ground. Yet, we continued to construct it until we conquered an unfamiliar territory – a territory where no one explored, where a commoner and a lady associate and an Indian and English become lovers. But does it have to end the same way? Us being strangers? Nothing more and maybe something less?

I have thought about this for nearly two months. Yet, every time I think I have the answer to these questions, I always end up without anything. Always being lead to a dead end. The path of no answer.

I have learned so much this past year as I grew from one age to the next. I let myself explore and wander and delve into the unsung verse of our relationship until I discover that there is no way to unlearn what is learned. Yet, no matter how much I educate myself, this situation will remain unanswered.

Sometimes, having known that there is no turning back from the infinite love, the pain of having it divided eats me inside out. The confusion and the guilt fill that chasm. And sometimes I wonder why I made that inevitable choice. And sometimes I remind myself of the answer. That no matter how much I desire him – desire to be with him, I cannot take chances of the unexpected future.

The choice. There has to be more than two. And there was. My choices and his. But I did not consider his…at all. I am terribly selfish to only think of myself, when I thought that I am thinking of his affairs. A relationship consists of more than one person, so…why did I take over ours? Everyone involved has a contribution to make in that relationship, so...why didn't I give him his privilege to do so?

These questions often haunt me, making me more vulnerable than I was against the Tree of All Souls.

I sigh. Another half a day wasted thinking. What I must do is to think of a plan. A plan that will prepare me for my search. I sit up from my bed, and look around the plain white room I am assigned in. Not so much, except for a double bed, a vanity mirror and a desk with a quill, ink and stack of papers.

I walk towards the desk and pull out the chair. I sit down, looking for a comfortable position. With the tidy space in front of me, I lean over and take one of the papers carefully designed with a heron on the right top corner. I dip the quilt in the black ink and settle it on top of the paper, not quite touching it.

What shall I write?

A carefully calculated plan or a letter to Tom?

I decide on the letter. Tom will announce that he got a letter to grandmamma and father anyway. Thus, I can tell him whatever I want, not like to father or grandmother where I have to watch everything I write.

Sighing, which seems what I do plenty of lately, I tilt my paper and stroke the quill I hold in my hand on it.

I begin:

Dear Thomas,

I am almost at India now. Just three more days before I reach the country. How have you been? Is father well? How did grandmamma take the news of me leaving to India? I –

I do not particularly know how to continue with the letter. I do not also think that I started it well. I crumple the paper and start with a fresh one.

Dear brother,

I am still in the ship for India. There is no mail carrier located here so I will drop this off when I find one in India –

That one does not sound right either. I throw it in the thrash and start over again, frustration coming to me.

To my beloved brother, Tom,

Well…I am writing to inform you that I am safe and sound. Although I do not think that you are concerned, but you might as well pass the message to father and grandmother. I have spent about two months in the ship, and three days from now, we will be landing in India. I assure you that I will tell you all my adventures, and perhaps the secret I was willing to share with you.

Speaking of father and grandmamma, how are they doing? Be sure to hide the bottle of alcohol from father. I believe that it his in his antique cabinet. Keep an eye on him, Tom. Do not let him go outside alone. Grandmamma, well I am even afraid to ask (laughs). I want you and father to persuade her that this is one scandal I am willing to risk. All my life, Tom. I will risk all my life for this.

Now that I've touched the aspect of secrets and risks, I might as well tell you the rest. Hopefully you understood what happened when I rescued you in the abandoned bodega. Come to think of it, I wonder why a high, all mighty brotherhood has a meeting in a bodega of all places (laughs). All is over now, the thing with the Order and Rakshana. Yes, thing. I do not know how to explain it in any other simple words. I guess incident would do. But the word is a bit…restricting.

I have avenged mother's death too. Tell father that mom has moved on happily. No, I do not have any gifts in seeing ghosts, but I know that she has.

I believe father has told you why I am making this permanent excursion. He told you that I have more freedom here in India than in England, correct? That is part of the reason. The other part is…well…I am sure that you know about the employed hand father hired. Kartik. Yes, him.

Karik was part of the Rakshana until he betrayed them for my safety. Hopefully that will gain your opinion of him. Continuing, Kartik and I…we…during the whole episode of the realms and magic and the Order and Rakshana, Kartik and I…well…we have gotten closer. I seriously hope that you can read between the lines since I will not be telling you any more than that (laughs).

It does not matter to me whether or not you tell grandmother and papa any of this. I hope you are doing well.

Yours truly,

Gemma

P.S.

Perhaps you might want to give Ann Bradshaw a chance.

I fold the letter and close it with a stamp. I finger the edges, breathing deeply, thinking nothing. I sit there, staring at the paper in my hand and doing nothing. I am oddly calm. With a shake of my head, I bring myself out of the stupor and insert the letter in my luggage. I will drop it when I get to India, along with another letter regarding how I fare during my settlement in the hot country.

Another task done, now move on to another matter.

-o-

Kartik's POV

I terribly miss the afternoon in India. The sun, while not burning, is hot against my back; the rays softly flitting like a butterfly, touching ever so lightly.

I sit on the stairs, Nikhita beside me. I finished my entire chore; I already have taken a quick cool bath in the creek about half a mile behind the small, packed village. I flip the book open, reading the lines and words. It is a novel between what seemed an unrequited love, or a love between two people, fate playing with them like pawns on a chess board. I close the book and take a quick peek at the title: Wuthering Heights.

I cannot say I read the book before. It is familiar though. I thumb through the pages, Nikhita eagerly waiting for me to start. I take a deep breath and prepared myself.

"Nikhita…I haven't read this specific book before. Would you mind if I read it tonight and help you out with it tomorrow?" She shakes her head, slight disappointment reflecting in her eyes. But she covers it immediately that I doubt I saw her disappointed face.

Five days pass by. It is so quick! Like the hare in the fairy tale where it has to race against the tortoise.

I read the novel over and over, sometimes confusing myself as to who is retelling the story. The housekeeper or the guest? I finished the book twice and now I am going through the parts where all emotions inside me just swell up and bound to burst.

'"Come in! come in!" he sobbed. "Cathy, do come. Oh do – ONCE more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me THIS time, Catherine, at last!"…There was such anguish in the gus of grief that accompanied this raving…and vexed…nightmare… produced that agony…'

I feel this way sometimes. I lay at night, my head resting on my arms as I stare up at the wooden ceiling. When I am awake at the middle of the night, sleep has not visited me, I will suddenly feel a deep churning in my chest. As if I am falling, down, down, down the darkest secret of the earth and no bed supporting me. In those times, I will jolt forward, my hands will grip the edges of my mattress and I will look around, seeing that I have never left, that I have not fallen into that secret place.

Sometimes I dream. I dream of a faceless red head girl. I dream of a garden, a black knight on a steed, a cave. I dream of kisses utterly surreal, caresses from white dainty hands, whispers of hope and love. Sometimes I wake from the delicious pain beneath my stomach that I had to get up in the middle of the night and take a cold dip in the creek.

It is dawn. The sun reflects gold in the dark night sky. Neither pink nor purple appears for the smooth transition of the sky. Before the sun completely takes over the sky, I want to visit a place I always do once every three days. A Hindu temple not far from here.

I garb myself with trousers and collared shirt, the outfit I had when I returned from England. This is the only suit I have in my possession that is considered formal. I sneak around the house, keeping my footsteps quiet, thus not waking up the residents. If I calculated the time properly, I will be back about four to five hours before noon.

I walk, savouring the cool breeze against my skin, rustling my hair. I am in dire need of a haircut. My locks, when I do my chores, sometimes fall in front of my eyes. Bothersome. I look at the sky, watching the remaining stars twinkle. I need not look at the path since I remember every twist and turns I make.

Once I reach the temple, I see the Hindu idols perched in the shrines along the side of the temple. I walk down the middle of the vast, spacious room. My footsteps echo inside, seemingly thunderous compared to the quietness and the stillness of the environment.

I stop. Before me is the large statue of our god. I raise my head and look up at him and his eyes appear to stare back at me. His face is illuminated by the rows of candles on either side of him, giving him a magnificent eerie glow. I kneel in front of him and pray.

-o-

Gemma's POV

When we landed in the crack of dawn two days ago, I saw Sarita, our housekeeper, waiting for me by the dock. She took me to our house we previously inhabited in about a year ago. Perhaps Tom or father contacted her in relation to my arrival. On our way home, she helped me carry the bags I brought and offered me foods she prepared. I was famished. The foods the ship presented had a peculiar taste in my tongue.

She asked me what I was doing, and I recognized the implied question – she wanted to know the reason for my arrival. I explained to her that I already had my debut, and now I am considered an adult in the society. I can now make decisions on my own and thus I decided that I will live in India as I had been living in it for the past fifteen years.

As soon as I woke up from my nap on my first day, I immediately started my search, with a few helpful advices from Sarita, one in which where the mudslide buried the market place and a few houses meters underground months ago.

The market place. That was where my mother had been devoured by a shadow…a monster. That was what I used to think of then. Now, I know better. I know it was Circe who killed her and Amar. Circe, whom I trusted as Miss Moore, who I sealed in the Temple and who gave me back the dagger to finish off the Tree of All Souls.

I walked around in my first day, trying to feel a sense of familiarity now that a year has passed. I could feel the curious stares of the Indian citizens because I am different. I am a sophisticated English lady to their eyes, but what they do not know is that I used to like – and there is a chance that I still do – running around, climbing trees like a child bathing in mud, instead of sipping tea, munching on crumpets and listening to Mozart and Bach.

The first place I went to is the new location of the marketplace. It is not any different; nothing has changed except for the items on sold. I still had to move with the throng of people covering every inch of the frenzied place, had to listen to shouts as bargains were yielded and watch the pink tongue of the cobra slither between its poisoned fangs.

No sign of Kartik. Yet, I still spent most of my day looking around and purchasing items that I seem to be quite fond of. Like the Indian deity statuette. Kali, the destroyer. The one my mother accused me of having her as a constant company as I stubbornly dwell on the choice of going to London.

The second place I went to in my second day is the newly built homes for those who were struck with ill fortune of having their humble abode buried.

I was hoping, with my fingers crossed, that I will stumble upon Katik there since he used to live in that area before the whole new episode of my life began. In the remote and quiet place where families star anew, I still did not find Kartik.

I asked around since I heavily lean on my knowledge that Kartik has to be around here. I saw a girl with a frown on her adorable face. She reminded me of Ann. Perchance she is only a year or two younger than I. I already turned seventeen last month on June the twenty-first. And I spent it solitarily on the boat.

The girl looked up when I approached her. I saw that she was reading Wuthering Heights. I thought that maybe she was fluent in English. I smiled at her and greeted her, "Good afternoon."

She looked hesitant, her gaze dropping shyly to the book. She saw that I was wearing the same dress as the woman in the picture on the front cover. Thus, glancing up at me, to the book and back at me once again, her face slowly transformed to a hopeful grin. I just continued to smile down on her. She opened her mouth, but her mother's voice, I assumed, calling her inside the house, abruptly ended what she was planning to tell me.

And now, for the third day. Today. 'Three times' is a charm; therefore on my third try – today – I am terribly hopeful that I will find him.

I did not get a deep sleep last night. I was busy committing the image of the girl in my memory so I can ask her today.

I get up from my bed, the sun has not gone up yet. It is dark and cool, an absolute contrast of the day. I take off my flimsy nightgown, so translucent that if light is held behind me, everything would be seen. I blush, remembering the first time Kartik saw me in the church by Spence Academy. I was only wearing my nightgown, regrettably sure that no one is around. But he was there. He was always there.

Instead of donning my usual corset and dress, I hold out a choli complemented with a sari and a dhani. The choli is vaguely tight, coming to end at my midsection. Then I wrap my sari around my body, covering all places that I have never bared before. It brushes my legs and abdomen, stroking, waving like the calm currents of the sea. It is cool to touch, soft to feel. Like silk and cotton merging. Lastly, covering my red, bulbous hair, I pin the dhani around my neck, securing it in place. Instead of my shoes that covers every part of my feet, I put on a pair wooden sandals, my toes and ankles hidden.

I walk around, staring up at the sky, my arms crossing to protect me from the chilly air. If any one is not asleep, they would not recognize me as the girl from England. The stars twinkle and I continue to walk, following the path they made for me.

I am calm. I have never been this calm before. Everything is cool, quiet and…peaceful. It seems that in the vast universe out there, I am the only living one, dwelling on the phantasm I created. I walk endlessly, not seeing, not thinking. Only feeling. Just feeling.

I look down from the sky when I noticed that orange start to emerge out in the horizon. The stars are still clear, but they lessen in number. I have lost track of time, but right before me is a tall, magnificent building. Endless curves and mazes are carved architecturally. Colours fly and blend into one. I walk, in daze. Slowly approaching the building. I am besotted by the beauty and undying glory of the edifice. I mounted the steps until I am taken in front of an arched doorway.

Inside is capacious, and along the sides are little houses for the mannequins of Hindu gods and goddesses. I look around and finally setting my sight on the big effigy, and I spy a boy bowed down to it.

He is praying. He is kneeling, his head tucked. Black curly hair tumble down his head, ending at the collar of his shirt. Wait…collar? My eyes traveled further down. Pleated pants…trousers?

Is this boy English? It is hard to tell. I see a prospect of him being a brunette. I walk further down, my wooden sandals clacking at the paved floor. I stop, bending down to retrieve my footwear. Again, this time silent, I approached the boy, wanting to have a closer look at his face. I peer at him in the shadows, his face half glowed as the flame on the candle wick dances.

I keep my eyes on the face, running them on the cheek, the closed eyes and parted lips. I get closer, the lights glow brighter, helping me look at the boy.

I lick at my lips, suddenly they feel dry. I stop walking, meters still away from him. But I make no sound. I dare not to breathe. Then, ever so slowly, I see the eyes open, his head tilt to look at the statue above him. And my heart stops beating.

A/N: Please Review!!

Next on A Whole New Beginning:

Kartik and Gemma meets face to face. Gemma is in a turmoil of emotions: would Kartik remember her, or all is forgotten, even their love? And as Gemma tries to face her chaotic world, would she fail or succeed?

Stay Tuned!!