The house was high up on the hill, although not quite at its summit. It had an unobstructed view of its surroundings, and what a view it wa...
The house was high up on the hill, although not quite at its summit. It had an unobstructed view of its surroundings, and what a view it was.
Loya had seen many beautiful places – she had spent enough time in the hills and forests of south India – but to have such a vista before one’s own home! This was picture-postcard land.
The Brahmaputra curved languidly along the base of the hill, its blue waters glimmering in the sunlight. Boats of all kinds floated on its seemingly lazy current. In the far distance – this river was wider than any she had seen – a blue-green blur of hills lined the opposite bank. To the west, there was a bridge – the Saraighat, named after, she had read, a famous battle fought in the area.
Pleased-to-meet-you. This time the bird was closer. She looked around, peering into the dark hearts of trees around. But she had been looking too long at the bright light over the river and all she saw was a green blur. She turned away to look up at the house instead.
It seemed harmless enough, this home her mother had been exiled from.
Up here, the narrower side of the building presented...
