Rasa shook her head.
“Erotic freedom. Ancient Indian texts say kama is needed for survival. To make sure the life cycle continues. But you and I use our kama for more. You know what?”
Rasa pressed her lips together, shook her head again. Why is she talking about all this Indian stuff?
Kalindi cradled Rasa’s face. “We use it to control men. To get what we want from them.” She let go of Rasa’s face to wave her hands around the room. “How do you think we got off the beach? Got this house? The car?” Kalindi paused. She sat straighter with her shoulders back and chest out. “All thanks to my kama. Did you know our green eyes represent our kama? Just like it did for my mother. And her mother before.”
Rasa crossed one arm and let her chin rest on the hand of the other. She considered this new family information.
Kalindi went on. “I’ve watched you grow this past year. You’ve blossomed into a beautiful young woman. A modern day Nefertiti. And they’ll crave you like opium.”
Kalindi took Rasa’s hands. “Remember you’re a svairini. Just like me.”
Rasa cocked her head to the side and made duck lips. Her eyes narrowed.
More Indian stuff? What’s next? Is she gonna say we’re ali’i wahine just because we live in Hawaii and we feel like queens? I bet a svairini is an Indian queen or something.
Kalindi raised an eyebrow. “Ah, you don’t know what a svairini is?”
Rasa shrugged.
“A svairini is a sexually dominant woman. And you come from a long line of them.” Kalindi’s eyes moved up and to the left. “Sometimes I don’t even want to get anything from the guys. I just like how strong I feel when I can make them want me.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Everything is happening exactly as it should. And tomorrow, the thirteenth anniversary of your birth, will be the day you start officially wielding your power.” Kalindi’s expression was serious.
Little did Kalindi know that Rasa had already started using her sexual power—though awkwardly and unconfidently at times—to get what she wanted from men: money. Money she hid and used to buy food and supplies for Ach, Nitya, and Shanti. Kalindi had no clue because she wasn’t around long enough to notice these things. And Rasa wasn’t about to tell her mother any of that. Especially not after tonight.
Rasa massaged her temples with her fingers.
Svairini.
Black widow.
Rasa looked at her mother. “I think of you as a black widow. Because the females dominate the males.” She dropped her eyes. “I’ve been trying to become one myself,” she mumbled.
Of course Kalindi didn’t know to what extent Rasa had been trying. She caressed Rasa’s hand and said, “Then we’re both hoping for the same thing for you. Don’t worry, you’ll be certified by the end of the week.”
Rasa’s thirteenth birthday celebration began as a campout on the sandy crescent shore of Kahana Bay. Kalindi and her four children cavorted on the beach with a bunch of beatniks from the North Shore. Mostly men. The ironwoods provided a natural barrier between their bohemian beach camp and the road. In the distance, the Ko’olau mountains rose like an enormous noricolored stage curtain.
Rasa didn’t know where her mother had met these people. But she deduced why they’d been invited to her birthday week. At least why the men had been invited.
Under the shade of an ironwood later the first day, Kalindi explained.
Rasa listened.
“You’ll begin tonight,” Kalindi instructed. “With Nate.”
Rasa nodded.
That night Rasa tucked her siblings into their makeshift sleeping bags. She slipped out into the pitch black. Straight into Nate’s tent.
Rasa seduced a different man each night.
By the end of the week, her confidence in her sexual power over men was rock solid. She realized she didn’t even have to say a word. All it took was a few seductive steps. An alluring glance. A tempting touch. That was it. They were putty in her young, capable hands.
Yet something nagged her—there hadn’t been any reason to seduce men this week. Her siblings had been well-fed and safe the entire time. She’d done these things just because Kalindi told her to. And just because she could. Each of the men had desired her. But their desire alone hadn’t made her feel strong the way it did for Kalindi.
The last night of her birthday week arrived. Rasa ended up in Jack’s tent. Later, when he was in a soundless deep sleep, she lay wide awake. Her mind was noisy. She wiggled free of his embrace and crept out of the tent. The steady rolling of the waves outside didn’t calm her as it usually did. The next thing she knew she was huddled against a fallen tree trunk. Tears pooled in her eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Svairini-black widows weren’t supposed to cry. She squeezed her eyes shut but the tears kept coming.
She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth.
I am a svairini-black widow.
I am a svairini-black widow.
But she couldn’t convince herself.
Jaya was used to Jayshree tossing out suicidal threats during arguments with Sanjay. Vows to jump off a building or drown herself were commonplace. But a gun to the head?
His mother had never gone this far before. He tried to still his trembling hands. Maybe he could wrestle the gun out of her hand…
Jayshree pressed the muzzle harder into her temple.
Jaya wanted to pounce, but his feet refused to budge. Only his mind moved.
What would happen if she pulled the trigger? Would her skull shatter and brain bits and blood splatter all over? Would the heat from the shot melt part of her face? Or would she look the same except for a small hole in her temple with blood trickling out?
Jaya studied his mother’s face while keeping one eye on her trigger finger. She glowered at Sanjay, but Jaya saw the heartbreak in her watery eyes.
The day Sanjay bought the gun—a Glock—he’d said, “This is to protect us from those Hawaiian squatters in that empty lot down the street—when those criminals try to rob us.” Pointing the gun out the window, he pretended to aim. With his chin slightly tucked and one eyebrow raised he’d gone on. “I love any country that gives me the constitutional right to bear arms.”
Jaya detested his father’s haughtiness. But he hated guns even more. There were many reasons. At the top of the list was his father’s unjust rationale—self-serving executioner. Jaya
