Nisha

“Nisha, come. Look at the sky.” Alan called from the veranda looking up. What was Alan doing in that freezing cold?

       “I am scared of the dark.” I screamed and flicked the light switch. "Come inside, Alan."

  “Why? What are you so afraid of, Nisha?” Allan came closer.

  “Worries. They take advantage of the darkness. They creep up on me like bugs, like a line of ants. Black ants with huge eyes.” With a pause I added, 

  “Like the eyes of my boss. Droopy huge eyes hovering on me showing his gritted teeth, exclaiming ‘FIRED!’ Like those hooded headlights of cars. BANG! head-on crash!.”

“Okay, drama queen!” He laughed and mimicked looking at me with wide eyes.

“You don’t understand, Alan. When I feel sleepy, my eyelids get heavy, I feel I am falling. Falling in a deep, deep pit. A bottomless dark hole. Dark, dark, oh so dark. And then, Alan, I feel like I am dying. Falling down, deep in the dungeon. I can't just go to sleep .I see my baby, little Shayan, only three years old, cringed in a fetal position, lying on a cold concrete floor, abandoned, orphaned, like the picture of the child I had seen recently on Facebook. It was a picture of an immigrant brown child, just like my Shayan, separated from his mom, imprisoned in a camp.” I panted.

But it felt better. My shoulders relaxed. I felt lighter, opening up to Alan. My eyes went blurry with tears, but his eager eyes were on mine. 

  “I can’t sleep, Alan. I sit up and light up all the switches in our apartment to make sure I am alive. Shayan is not an orphan. I can take care of him. But what if I can’t meet deadlines and I am fired? Do I have the guts to set me free, quit my job and follow my dream of being a writer?”

 I felt a warm soft pressure on my palm.

  “You’ll be fine, Nisha. You fear yourself. Your name, Nisha, means night. Dark night. Doesn’t it? Dark, beautiful, night. Tonight I have a surprise for you. In the dark!” He grinned. Alan’s eyes have iolite-blue hue. Peaceful. I have never noticed before.

What surprise could he have for me in this cold, dark night, I wondered and then fell asleep.

***

     Next day we were on our way to Tekapo. Alan focused on driving.

Clouds gathered like scales of fish near the horizon. Gray, silvery clouds, almost translucent. Then they changed to puffy, cumulus ones with darker splotches of steel and slate. 

  “The cloud is worrying me.” Alan squinted. 

  “It is beautiful. Seems like it might rain.” I said.

  Tekapo twenty kilometers - read a sign. Lake Tekapo would be our night stay before we head out to Christchurch tomorrow. 

  “Do you know what’s so special about Tekapo?” Alan asked and I shook my head. 

  “It is one of the rarest places on earth free of light pollution.” 

  “You mean Nisha, or darkness is respected?”

  “Yes.” Alan gave that killer smile when the dimple on his chin deepened. 

   We saw a lake, pristine, surrounded by snow drizzled mountains.

*** 

  Inside the cafe a delicious smell of caramelized onions invited us. We found a table beside a big window. 

The drama of the clouds began. Though it was not raining, now the cumulus clouds formed a tower almost starting from the ground at the horizon. Orange, yellow, burnt sienna streaks splashed on the gray mounds. The sun was setting. Across the lake, lightning struck, and then it was like watercolor pouring from the sky. It rained there, but not here. 

  “That’d clear it. Phew!” Alan blew a sigh of relief. Gradually the rain came to our side too, pitter-patter, and when it was over Alan took me to my hotel room. “Take a nap, rest and meet me around nine at the lobby,” he said.

  I still did not understand what surprise he had in store for me. When I asked, he laced his fingers in mine, “Just trust me. The darkness will not kill you, Nisha, I promise. We will travel through the dark, you’ll see.”

***

  A van came. There were no headlights. The guide descended and helped us climb. It drove in total darkness. Though we bundled up well, steam emerged from our mouths and nostrils. 

  The van stopped. It was pitch dark. With a red flashlight the guide directed us to a hall. He gave us hot cocoa and warm blankets, then took us outdoors and directed us to look up. 

  There was no moon in the sky, not a trace of cloud. Just stars. I had no idea there were so many stars up in heaven.

In the beginning, I could only locate the big dipper which I call the Big Question. Then the hunter guy, Orion. Through the telescopes, I could see the Alpha Centauri, our closest star, (not considering the Sun), only four light-years away! And the Southern Cross over the horizon.

"Nisha, you won't be able to see these stars once you're back to California" Alan pressed my hand.

"Of course my dear, the Southern sky is only for you." I chuckled.

  A huge imaginary canoe floated in the sky; the guide told us the Maori legend associated with it and the Greek mythology that the goddess’ breast milk spurted and sprayed when baby Heracles fussed and that was the story of the Milky Way.

  The more I stared at the sky the more stars appeared. The more I wished to see, the more I wanted to know, the more it gave. This abundance and the vastness gave me chills, not the freezing cold temperature. It was a mesmerizing feeling I had never experienced before.

  I remembered that seeing the Southern sky was in my father’s bucket list and it didn’t happen. But it happened through me. 

  “It’s strange that I felt my father’s presence in that infinite ambiance, in that darkness, among the stars, Alan. Thank you!”  I told him on our way back.

***

       Later, in front of the fire, at the hotel lounge he asked, 

  “Are you scared anymore, Nisha?"

             Outside, the night was crisp, beautiful. Star kissed. I had to go out. Alan joined me at the veranda. We both looked up.