Tiger's Voyage by Colleen Houck Page A

uncover Ren’s memory trigger, spent many hours with him trying to figure it out. Ren dedicated himself to that effort with a fervor he hadn’t possessed before. Kishan always took those opportunities to lure me away. We either watched movies or went for walks or a swim.
    When I spent time with Ren, we just talked or read. He watched me often, and his face lit up with a smile whenever I looked up to see what he was doing. He often switched into a tiger and sat with me, napping in the afternoons. I was able to hug him then. He would rest his head in my lap while I stroked his fur, but he didn’t try to kiss me again. It must have been a painful enough experience that he didn’t want to repeat it just yet. I stubbornly ignored the voice in my mind that wondered what I’d do if his pain
never
went away.

    I helped Mr. Kadam research the third prophecy for the next few weeks. It was obvious we’d be going to a temple of Durga again and would be receiving two more weapons—this time a trident and a
kamandal
. Mr. Kadam and I read a few bits out loud, and I took notes on important facts. During one session, I discovered something interesting.
    “Mr. Kadam, this book says a
kamandal
is a vessel typically used to hold water, but in myths, it is said to hold the elixir of life, or holy water, and is also a symbol of fertility. The sacred Ganges is said to have originated in a
kamandal
. Huh. Do you have any water from the Ganges? It says here most Indian households keep a vial in their home, and they consider it sacred.”
    Mr. Kadam sat back in his chair. “No, I don’t, but my wife did. The Ganges
is
very important to the people of India. It’s as religiously important to Hindus as the Jordan River is to Christians. It’s as economically important as the Mississippi is in America or as the Nile in Egypt. People believe the Ganges has curative properties, and the ashes of the dead are sprinkled in its currents. When my wife died, her ashes were spread on the Ganges, and I always thought mine would be spread there as well, but that was a long time ago.”
    “Were Ren’s parents cremated?”
    Mr. Kadam sat back in the chair and rubbed his palms in slow circles. “They were not. When Rajaram died, Deschen began to grieve. I had planned to cremate his body and take the ashes to the Ganges, but she wouldn’t let me. She couldn’t bear to be so far away from him. You see, the Hindus believe that the soul immediately departs the dead. They cremate the body as soon as possible so there is no temptation for the soul to linger among the living.
    “But Deschen was Buddhist, and in her culture, the dead body is left in repose for three days in the hope that the hovering spirit might change its mind and decide to reunite with its body. Together we watched and prayed over Rajaram, and when three days had passed, I dug a grave and buried him near her garden.
    “She spent all her time in the garden working and speaking to Rajaram as if he could hear her. When Kishan wasn’t hunting, he rested near his mother and watched over her. She soon became ill and as I cared for her, I carved a marker for her husband’s grave out of wood. By the time I finished the marker, I knew I’d soon have to create another one.
    “I buried them side by side near our little house. It’s not too far from the waterfall Ren took you to. Shortly after that, I left in search of Ren. Their jungle is a peaceful place. I’ve been back several times to lay flowers on their graves, and I’ve replaced the wooden markers with permanent headstones. Though Rajaram’s burial did not reflect his beliefs, I do know he would have given anything, done anything, to make his wife happy. I suspect, had he been able, he would have asked me to do exactly as I did to give her a sense of peace.”
    He blinked unshed tears from his eyes and shifted a book on the table. “Ah, I apologize. I did not mean to get so emotional.”
    “You loved them.”
    “Yes. I’ve often