My gaze falls to his hand, to the quarter of the fruit he still cradles. The white of the pith gleams in the moonlight, stark against the fleshy darkness of the arils. “Would you like me to take the seeds out for you?” I’m ready to crush them between my fingers for juice if he wants, ready to indulge any whim.
“You don’t have to do that.” Although it’s too dark to see, I can tell he blushes when he says it. Perhaps the same sultry memories have welled up in his mind, the same desire to reenact past nights, and he doesn’t quite know why. Perhaps I should confess the connection, spill out all the cures prescribed by Uma, the love potions, the aphrodisiacs, the Kama Sutra myths. As we scoff and giggle at the fantastic claims together, I can coyly point to their validation, at least in our case. What refutation will his scientist mind come up with? How will he feel about my long-drawn-out campaign to mesmerize him?
“Actually,” he says, continuing in his shy tone, and I lean over to kiss him again. It’s worth it, I want to assure him, all the losing and recovery, all the hunting and games, whether or not Uma and her coven of old wives are correct in their tales. All I need is for him to forget what lies outside the shed even for a moment, and I will feel vindicated, relief will pour in. The pomegranate will have delivered its answer, fulfilled its long-heralded promise, reassured me about where I stand with him. I wait for the words that will bind just the two of us, wait as they emerge even now from his lips.
“Actually, Jaz might like some, too. I thought I’d save this piece for him.”
WE ARRANGE THE mats side by side to form one big rectangle. I feel uncomfortable sleeping together with Jaz like this, but it’s the only way to defend my interests—lying apart would leave Karun completely exposed to his wiles. Karun has already parried my hints that Jaz remain outside—claiming it’s too open, too sandy, too unsafe. “All I can think of is how amazing it is that we’re all alive, that we all escaped. Let’s just concentrate on sleep tonight, celebrate that way. Leave any problems for tomorrow—we’ve endured enough for one day.”
The mats are very thin, each reed presses separately into my skin. Jaz finds pieces of gunnysack in a corner to fold into pillows for our heads. Neither he nor I say much—we repose on either side of Karun, the status quo configuration inherited from the elephant. I want to be close to Karun, feel my body tingle against his. But I refrain even from putting my arms around, for fear of touching Jaz, or worse, provoking more aggressive maneuvers by him.
Even with the sea so close and the roof so compromised, the air inside the shed feels hot and still. I lie on my back and try to make out the mosquitoes I can hear swarming above my head. Karun curls his hand around mine and rubs it, more in reassurance, I believe, than anything else. Is he also rubbing Jaz’s hand the same way?
I must doze off, because I have the sudden sensation of waking. The moon is lower now, its rays so oblique they now form a patch on the wall. The mosquitoes circle and hum as before. Perhaps the heat has roused me—sweat drips down my neck, soaks through the layers of my sari. I notice Karun has removed his shirt, so I unwrap the fold of material covering my blouse. This doesn’t cool me much, so I decide to rid myself of the entire sari. Slowly, quietly, I ease out the pleats tucked into the waistband of my petticoat.
Despite my efforts at soundlessness, Karun stirs. He reaches out to squeeze my fingertips, then draws closer to snuggle against my chest. Perhaps my blouse is too moist with perspiration, because almost immediately, he lifts his head off. I stiffen as he starts undoing the hooks—after all, Jaz reposes only inches beyond. Karun kisses the space between my breasts once he frees them from the cloth. “Your petticoat is damp too,” he whispers.
We both end up naked. I feel too exposed with Jaz in the same room, so I draw back my divested sari to spread like a sheet over us. Every rustle and scrape gets amplified in the confines of the shed, and I keep worrying we will awaken Jaz. But he dozes through it all—the kisses and nestling and exploration as Karun and I reacquaint ourselves with each other’s person. “So long since I slept next to you,” Karun says, and I wonder how I could have mistaken his earlier dispassion, misread the pomegranate’s call. As his excitement reaches its usual modest plateau, I realize I can’t sustain it. We don’t have enough room for free movement, for gymnastics like Jantar Mantar. My body ignites just as his fades. He embraces me in a cuddle that promises only affection, unaware of the chemicals that surge through my blood ways.
Karun nuzzles against my body. I caress his neck as he drifts away. It takes me a while before I can calm myself enough to follow him.
Neither the night nor the heat has lifted when my eyes next open, but something has changed. Karun’s breath comes in rasps—he still holds me, but his body seems further away. Abruptly, he arches back his neck, and I feel the fullness of his manhood press into me. I think he’s in the midst of a dream, but through the darkness, I glimpse his eyes are open. He subsides, then pushes forward again, his whole body arching this time, his legs and torso meeting at the focal point of his groin. Seeing me awake, he buries his face in my neck and covers it with kisses. As he presses forth, he pulls me to him, so that my body bends against his in the same arc, like in the yoga asanas we once practiced. I feel his penis climb up my thigh.
His hands caress my breasts, his lips work down the hollow of my throat to my chest. Thrown off by his movements, my body nevertheless responds to his touch. He groans as I take him in my hand. I’m unsure what drives him, but I want him to continue, I will help any way I can.
That’s when I glance beyond. At first I think it’s just an aberration, the darkness massing together into a shadow more substantial. As my eyes adjust, I realize it’s Jaz. Naked and awake, engaging Karun in what way, I can’t exactly tell. Instantly, I retract. Karun tries to hold on to me. “Wait,” he gasps.
Jaz wraps an arm around Karun’s chest and draws him away towards his own body. “Wait,” Karun says again. “No, not yet.” His eyes close and his words trail off as he leans his head back. Jaz twists around as if preparing to devour him—clamping his mouth over Karun’s, silencing him before he can utter anything else.
For an instant, I watch as Karun lolls helplessly in Jaz’s control. Limbs flash, chests strain, muscles flex. This is the image I never had: what it looks like between the two of them. Not content to be just a spectator, I latch onto Karun’s waist. As their conjoined bodies thrust towards me, I grasp Karun again and guide him into myself. He cries out my name, his pelvis pushing forward, his shoulders tilting back.
Matching their rhythm proves elusive. I lose Karun, have to repeatedly tuck him back in. To my amazement, he neither wilts nor fades, unlike any of our previous attempts.
Perhaps Jaz decides my lack of synchronization hampers his efforts as well. He positions Karun prone over me, caging him against my person, splaying his hands on the floor as if he might escape. Lying under Karun, I now feel the sensations reach deep inside me—every time he presses in, every thrust that drives into his body. I try not to think of these thrusts, try to ignore the sounds from Jaz’s heaving frame. Instead, I concentrate on the rising throb of pleasure and pain within me, the same interplay I see mirrored on Karun’s face. The realization that he feels every stimulus when I do, endures a version of every sensation he inflicts, fuses my experience with his. As the tides gather and the wave begins to build, I have a flash of intuition. I suddenly know what it feels to be Karun—the passivity at the core of his being, his need to be a conduit, the passion he can experience only when thus initiated. I want to share this insight with him, assure him that I empathize, that I accept and forgive. But the wave is already too close, its waters too high—before we can slow down, its obliterating form thunders in. Karun’s features dissolve, my insides turn liquid, and as Jaz labors on, the two of us are simultaneously swept away.