Page 41 of These Godly Lies
Anna nods, pulling her coat closer to ward off the chill. Their guide brings them deeper into the monastery. Pale white-washedwalls give way to buttery yellows and rust reds that are nearly hidden in the shadow of the large yawning mouth of the cave’s entrance.
“Shoes must be removed before entering,” Khiran murmurs, his voice soft. “It is against their religious vows to be alone with or touch a woman. If something needs to be passed between you, I will do so. Out of respect, do not turn your back to the statues of Buddha.”
Anna glances at him, worry gnawing at her stomach. “I’m not supposed to be here at all… am I?”
Khiran doesn’t return her gaze, nor does he meet her eyes. It’s enough an answer as any.
The young monk pauses at a doorway, gesturing with an open hand and soft words that Anna understands in context alone.
Khiran responds with what must be a thank you, but instead of reaching for the door, his feet remain planted while their guide enters. He must feel her questions because he answers before she can speak them. “Dawa will return to tell us if the master will see us.”
“Is there a reason he wouldn’t?”
The stretch of silence is as telling as the last. “Outsiders are unwelcome at the moment,” he mutters, wincing. “If I didn’t know him personally, I wouldn’t have chanced coming.”
Except, he doesn’t know him. Not in this body. Not with this face. She wonders how much a name could be worth. Wonders if it will be enough. Thankfully, Dawa returns before she can dwell on it for too long. Khiran nods, reaching down to unlace his boots in what Anna interprets as a sign that they’ve been granted an audience. Anna follows his example, sighing in relief when her foot escapes the confines of leather, and follows Khiran through the door.
Master Tenzing is older than she expects.
He stares at them with milky eyes, pale shadows of cataracts so thick they obscure the color beneath. With how advanced it is, she expects he sees the shape of them more than anything. Still, his eyes follow as they take a seat on the floor across from him—linger in the direction of Khiran as he speaks in low tones.
“Welcome,” he says, in accented English.
Khiran pauses, unsure. “I am fluent in Tibetan. There’s no need—”
“But your wife is not, correct?” His pale gaze stares through her as his lips pull into a smile that deepens the laugh lines on his face like folded paper. “It is a lonely thing, being talked around.”
The tension coiled in Anna’s chest loosens. “Thank you.”
He dips his chin, sweeping a sun spotted hand over the three steaming cups of tea between them. “I took the liberty of asking Dawa to pour for us. I’m afraid my eyes and joints are not what they used to be.” He wraps an arthritic hand around one of the stoneware cups, offering it to Khiran gingerly. Once he passes it to her, he repeats the motion again until they all have a cup warming their hands. “I find conversation to be much like cold mornings. A cup of chai goes a long way to ward off the chill.”
The spiced aroma is warm and smooth, the heat of it spreading in her chest after the first few sips. “Thank you,” she says, an echo of Khiran’s gratitude. “It’s wonderful.”
Tenzing smiles, delighted. “I’m glad. Now, Dawa tells me you are friends of Daivika?”
“Yes,” Khiran answers. “When he discovered we needed shelter, he suggested we come to you.”
“Shelter?” he echoes, turning the word over as if it holds the key to their secrets. He turns his face toward the window. “I assume you mean more than the weather.”
“Yes.”
His lips thin around a low hum. “You come at a troubling time.”
Khiran cringes, hands fisting on his lap. “I’m aware.”
“Yet you still decided to brave the journey.” Master Tenzing’s head tilts. “Why? What does this monastery have that your home does not?”
Khiran holds his milky stare, as if willing the elderly man to hear the truth in his words. “There are few people I trust. Daivika knew you to be a good man. Afairman. I trust you to hear our request for sanctuary and judge it with your heart above all else.”
Silence falls between them, but Khiran doesn’t drop his gaze. Then, a chuckle falls from Tenzing’s aged lips. Rough as gravel, itescapes him like a landslide—building in momentum until his rasping laughter fills the room. “You must have known Daivika quite well. If your voices weren’t so different, I’d mistake you for him. Very well, then. You are welcome to join us.”
Relief is instinctual, but the grave expression on Khiran’s face stills it before it can take flight. “Thank you, but I’m afraid we misunderstand each other.” Gently, he sets his cup on the floor. “I am seeking shelter, not religion. I will not sacrifice my marriage to devote myself to a belief I do not share.”
Tenzing’s thin brows rise. “You understand that we practice celibacy here? You put your marriage above your faith?”
“For me, they are one and the same,” he says, turning to face her. His eyes are warm, his smile soft. “Loving her is the closest I will ever come to enlightenment.”
“I see…” Tenzing frowns, the furrows in his brow deepening. “So you wish only to be guests here?”
