Scorched

By Ashea S. Goldson

Nothing has been easy for Nila since the fire that claimed her husband's life. Unable to complete her education in the U.S., Nila returns to India, where she resorts to dancing in a bar. Being a widow and single mother is hard enough, but being accused of her husband's murder has made life almost unbearable. When she runs into Malcolm, a handsome, womanizing, and ambitious acquaintance from her college days, a friendship emerges that sends Nila on a journey of self-discovery.
Nila's mother-in-law is still determined to have her incarcerated for murder, and Malcolm and Nila soon find themselves drawn into a battle of good versus evil. Malcolm feels torn about jeopardizing his future and his fortune because of Nila's problems. His conflicted feelings make him the perfect target for the rich American runway model who attempts to steal his heart.
Nila must re-evaluate her relationship with Malcolm, and her newly found faith is tested. When the heat is turned up, will Malcolm and Nila be able to overcome their conflicting cultures and ambitions to finally find real love, the kind that only comes from God?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Urban Books
• Release date: Jul 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781622861668

Ashea S. Goldson

Ashea S. Goldson, originally from Brooklyn, New York, now resides in Metro Atlanta. She is a wife of twenty-five years, a mother of two, and an active member of Word of Faith Light of Joy, as well as a devoted partner with World Changers Church International. A graduate of Fordham University, Ashea is both an educator and the co-owner/principal of a Christian preparatory school. She dedicates much of her time to writing for online and local publications, as well as promoting other authors on her Blogtalk radio show, WordThirst Literary Journal. Armed with a passion for the written word and the support of her family and friends, she considers it a privilege to call herself a Kingdom writer.

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ministry.

Prologue

Two Years Ago . . .

Nila barely escaped the inferno, coughing and choking on the smoke that surrounded her. It stuck like tar in her throat, making her breathing sporadic. Although she felt the heat of the flames behind her back, scorching her exposed skin, she kept moving toward the light, clutching her miracle daughter to her heaving breasts. Sweat trickled down her face and neck like raindrops because it was so unbearably hot. She thought of Me-shack, Shadrach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace. Would God allow her to be spared? Despite the swelling of her face and around her eyes, she could see a crack in the door ahead of her but she could barely focus on it through her tear-blurred eyes. She heard his gruff voice calling her name but she couldn’t turn back. She crawled through the blackness, not to save her own pathetic life but to rescue the daughter, whose days had been numbered just hours before. She scrambled through the fire, sliding across the floor, as her lungs struggled against the smoke. She had to get her daughter out of the fire, and out of this unforgiving place. She held the limp baby tightly in her arms, praying that it wasn’t too late, knowing that her chances were slim.

The flames flickered behind her as she stumbled forward, taking her first breath. Once outside, she checked her daughter’s breathing and felt her faint heartbeat before summoning enough strength to run. Nila ran deeper into the deciduous forest with its dry, thorny bushes until she finally reached the river, the same river by which she was born. Desperate to live, and mindful of alligators, Nila waded right through it and didn’t turn back. She was drenched, yet the stench of the smoke was still on her clothes. Deeper and deeper into the river she went until the water reached her waist. She looked back at the burning house, clinging to her daughter for dear life. Her eye still stung from the hit she withstood earlier. Her little bones ached as she ran farther from the flames. She could still hear him screaming her name but she didn’t dare turn back. She had come too far from the fire and she was too afraid.

The light from the moon flickered against her skin. For the first few minutes after stepping out of the water, she sat huddled under a tall lemon tree, shivering and waiting for someone to rescue her. Nila ran her fingers through her long, tangled hair. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her legs but she couldn’t run anymore. Had she been burned? She was so numb from the pain she couldn’t tell. She could neither scream nor could she move. Nothing she’d experienced in her life thus far could’ve prepared her for the fear that ran through her veins now. Would he come for her? Would she and her daughter be safe through the night?

She looked up and she could still see smoke rising from the side of the hill. Nila still had the charred taste of fire in her mouth and nostrils. No sound of fire trucks, just fire everywhere.

No howling. Just monkeys jumping across rooftops and migratory birds flying over the sugar cane and mustard fields. Nila prayed to God to put out the fire and it started to rain, washing away the smell of smoke, washing away the debris and purging her soul. The rain came and went. Nila emerged from her huddle, took up her newborn daughter, and ran. She ran barefoot through the trees, grasping at branches to clear a path. Her eyes were focused on the light. The starlit sky led her on and kept her on the path.

Nila ran with her daughter until she stumbled and fell. Then she crawled until she reached a clearing in the trees. She followed it, although her body was tired, and her mind was weary. She had to leave her village. Finally, she reached the nearest town where she continued to run, passing cows and goats running across lanes, wild dogs, mud huts, and smelling the stench of urine-soaked streets. She didn’t stop running until she reached the police circle.

Within minutes, the police, dressed in their khaki uniforms, listened to her story. They allowed her to explain how she managed a narrow escape, how she had been on the other side of the family house, and how she was forced to leave her husband behind. They nodded their heads and spoke among themselves before leading her outside. She was escorted to the headquarters, a separate building within the circle, and brought to the sub-inspector, who was always the one in charge. By the time the IPS, or Indian Police Service, finished questioning her, and had completed their initial investigation, she was taken into custody for further interrogation. Somewhere along the line she was treated for first-degree burns on her back. Her daughter was taken and treated for smoke inhalation. Finally, she was arrested for arson and for the murder of her husband.

No one believed that the fire had been an accident, that the incense her mother-in-law burned in the home every day must’ve overturned somehow.

Nila remembered her Aunt Padma’s voice saying, God will never leave you nor forsake you. She hoped, for her sake, that it was true.

Thankfully, after examining her husband’s charred body, the postmortem report showed no evidence of foul play. In fact, due to the lack of evidence, Nila was acquitted. Still, everyone in the courtroom, except her mother and the defense attorney, looked at Nila suspiciously as they delivered the verdict.

Thank you, God, she whispered in her smallest voice as she left the courthouse.

Nila knew that scandal in a small village was never easy, but it was particularly difficult for an Indian woman who had been accused of murdering a man, especially her husband. After over a year of experiencing the sting of imprisonment, isolation, and her mother’s frequent tears of anxiety, she knew she had to leave her home state of Haryana. With a little coaxing from her cousin, Bhakti, Nila decided to move to Bangalore. Dressed in her white sari, she covered her scars, dusted off her pain, and headed out to New Delhi to catch the train to her new life. She hoped when she arrived in Bangalore, with her broken heart and broken dreams, that she’d be able to build again, and that no one would be able to tell she’d been scorched.

Chapter One

And when the sun was up, they were scorched: and because they had no root, they withered away.

—Matthew 13:6

Nila knew from the start of the conversation that she and her daughter were in danger of being on the street again. She just didn’t know how soon. Since the fire two years ago that almost claimed her life, she was used to hearing bad news, so she leaned back against the chair, took a deep breath, and waited for the bomb to be dropped. Her heart beat faster as the words dripped from her cousin’s glossy lips.

Like I said before, Bhakti said. I need to talk to you about something. Bhakti circled around her, poking out her lips, and squinting her eyes, which was what she usually did when she had bad news to tell.

Bhakti shoved a pile of mail into Nila’s face but Nila didn’t sort through it. Instead, Nila put the mail down, stood up, and pulled back the fancy dining room curtains. She peered out at the balmy summer day, wishing she were outside enjoying herself. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why bad things kept happening to her, but she decided not to pay her feelings any attention just yet. This first day of April marked the beginning of summer and it was much too beautiful to start worrying ahead of time. Sunlight peeked through the clouds at daybreak. A pinkish orange haze stretched across the open sky while a calm settled over Nila’s soul. Nila hoped that all of April and the next two months of summer would be as pleasant. This was undoubtedly her favorite time of year. Nila opened a window and put her delicate hands up toward the midday sky in an attempt to absorb the sun. She had to admit to herself that since she’d moved from the remote village of Khurampur to the big city of Bangalore, over 1,300 miles away, she’d felt more of a sense of peace. Not that she’d known what true peace was, but she did know what it wasn’t.

The city of Bangalore, although it had its problems with both structural and moral urban decay, still had more to offer than her hometown. Thankfully, she had learned English well while she was in America because the language was popular in Bangalore. There was more opportunity here and more of a sense of freedom. She knew that things weren’t perfect by a long shot but she was happy to have escaped the class and caste system she was accustomed to, along with the sentence of a lifetime of snickering behind her back and suspicious stares. Coming to Bangalore, after being accused of murdering her husband, had made all the difference. She had her cousin, Bhakti, no matter how difficult she was, to thank for that.

Bhakti—a tall, slender woman with pale skin, huge, dark eyes, and a sleek, shoulder-length haircut—had been the driving force behind Nila’s move to Bangalore. Since Bhakti had a high-paying job in information technology there, she had allowed Nila and her daughter, Jasmine, to stay with her. Bhakti’s home, complete with a seventy-inch high-definition television set, a seventeen-inch Macintosh laptop, and a top-of-the-line home stereo system with surround sound, reflected her sense of style. Likewise, her display of the latest in cube-range furniture, which consisted of a multi-function sofa ottoman and a vast array of contemporary American art, boasted of her rebellion against their family traditions as well. For the past two months, Nila had been able to ignore her cousin’s unpredictable behavior and live her life without worries, grateful that she was no longer living on the street. Now Nila massaged her temple, fearing her peace had come to an end.

Look, I’m engaged now, Bhakti continued, twisting her lips. So you’ve got to go.

Engaged? Nila swallowed her spit and tried not to sound envious or bitter. May I ask to whom?

Bhakti cackled. You may but it’s really none of your business.

You’re right. Nila took a deep breath. It wasn’t easy dealing with Bhakti. I’m sorry.

I’m just kidding. I’m marrying Hari of course. Bhakti giggled.

Congratulations then, Nila said, picking up her daughter from a makeshift crib and placing the baby on her hip.

Thanks, Bhakti continued. I’ll be married in a month so I’ll need you out of here in two weeks.

Nila tried not to tremble. Two weeks?

Bhakti put her hands on her hips, tossed her hair to one side, and said, You’ve already been here for two months.

I know, Nila answered in a solemn tone. She didn’t intend to sound so desperate but her fate kept spinning around in her mind. She remembered looking for a decent job with a baby on her hip and not being able to find one. She had lived on the streets of Bangalore for three weeks before her cousin decided to take her and her daughter in. Sleeping in alleys and ducking behind garbage bins was not a life she wanted to return to.

I’m not trying to be mean, girl, but that’s just how it is, Bhakti said. I’m getting married.

I see. Nila immediately thought about her own wedding. Nila remembered being married off when she was twenty years old. She should have probably considered herself lucky since most of the girls in her family were married off much younger, but she’d had so much ambition. She’d wanted to get an education and do something special with her life. Although her mother hadn’t agreed with the tradition of marrying her daughters off without completing their education, once Nila’s father insisted that Nila marry before he died, Nila’s mother gave in.

Nila sighed softly as she pinned her daughter, Jasmine, more closely to her. Her eyes didn’t leave her cousin.

I don’t believe in the old way anymore. Bhakti shook her head. Not with the whole family living together.

Oh, Nila said, swallowing hard. Neither do I. Nila shifted the baby to her hip as she spoke.

Just like I believe in marrying for love, real love. Bhakti said.

Nila thought of her own loveless marriage, a binding contract between her family and his, one that she still regretted to this day. What is real love anyway?

I don’t really know, but I intend to have fun finding out. Bhakti giggled. And no one is going to tell me who to marry either. Bhakti buttoned the jacket to the tailored skirt suit she’d purchased from Donna Karan. She enjoyed online shopping, and contemporary fashions from the United States were her favorite.

Nila was curious. Are you in love with Hari?

I’m not sure about that, but I do know that I want to marry him, Bhakti answered honestly.

Nila looked into Bhakti’s eyes. What did your parents say?

Bhakti came up close to Nila and put her finger in her face. They don’t know yet so you keep your mouth shut about it.

I will, Nila said, but she was numb. What she had been through the last few years of her life had already deadened every nerve in her body. To Nila bad news was typical. It had characterized her life the past few years. She didn’t, however, know why Bhakti acted so uptight.

Bhakti grabbed Nila by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. The state of Haryana is a whole world away, especially our little village of Khurampur. They’ll never understand so no one there must know.

All right, all right. I know, Nila said, prying Bhakti’s fingers off of her.

Good. Just as long as you know that you and Jasmine will have to find somewhere to go within two weeks. Bhakti held up two fingers and twiddled them around as if she were joking.

Sadly, she wasn’t joking. Nila knew she was just selfish like that. It wasn’t Bhakti’s problem where she and Jasmine slept at night. It wasn’t Bhakti’s concern that the nightmares of her being set on fire had just begun to stop.

I understand. Nila held her lip in with her tongue, holding back the tears that threatened to run down her face, and letting the lump in her throat melt into her heart. But she didn’t understand how her own cousin could just dismiss her without a second thought. Didn’t she have a conscience? Apparently not. Suddenly, Nila’s body stiffened and she was in control again. After all, she was a survivor.

Before she could make another sound, Bhakti was gone and Nila was left with her thoughts.

Nila picked up the mail she had tossed aside earlier and started to look through it. In it she noticed a letter from the family court of Bangalore. What could they possibly want? Instantly, she figured it couldn’t be good either. She ripped open the letter while her hands were shaking. As she read the words, she could hardly believe it. Her mother-in-law was petitioning the court for custody of her Jasmine. Ha, she laughed. Had she lost her mind? Did she really think that she would just give up her daughter, and to a woman who never cared about her in the first place? Jasmine was two years old now and yet her mother-in-law had only visited her once, at Nila’s insistence. She had never attempted to visit the child while Nila was in prison or even months after Nila’s acquittal. It was a week before Nila was scheduled to leave for Bangalore that she invited her mother-in-law over to see Jasmine. During the visit the woman was so cold and distant toward both of them that Nila gave up on trying to reunite Jasmine with her paternal grandmother. That had been months ago. What did she expect to prove by doing this? Surely this was some kind of joke.

Nila’s heart beat faster as she recalled the fire, the smoke rising up around her, filling her airways, choking her. She could almost feel the burning sensation as she fixed her eyes on the flames of her memories. She blinked her eyes and her thoughts returned to the present.

It had been hours since Bhakti had left for work. Since then Nila had fed, bathed, and sang to her baby, neatened her bedroom, scrubbed the kitchen, and contemplated her nearly hopeless situation. Nila stopped any tears that threatened to come, reasoning that her mother-in-law was only trying to intimidate her. Nila refused to be overly concerned. After all, she knew her feeble mother- in-law did not really want another child to raise. She had already raised five boys, including Nila’s deceased husband. Why would she start to stir up trouble now?

Nila remembered Padma’s words: The Lord will never leave you nor forsake you. She got on her knees to pray, although she felt awkward in doing so. She hadn’t prayed in so long. Nila thought God had surely forgotten her. Lord, what am I supposed to do?

When Nila first arrived in America a little over six years ago, as a foreign exchange student, she stayed with Aunt Padma, her oldest aunt on her father’s side. Padma was a wise older woman who had been living in America for almost two decades. After living with Aunt Padma, Nila came to know her secret of success and vowed not to tell the rest of the family. Aunt Padma had become a devout Christian who served at her community church without fail. Although everyone on American soil knew of Aunt Padma’s devotion, no one back home in India knew. After all, what would a Hindu-bred family think?

Aunt Padma’s faith had influenced Nila while she was there. With the weekly visits to Aunt Padma’s church, the late-night discussions on the Bible, and the light she witnessed in Aunt Padma every day, Nila had given her life to Jesus at a campus Bible Study and hadn’t looked back since. Unfortunately, she was forced to return to India less than a week later.

Even when she married her husband, and lived with him and her mother-in-law in that hole, Nila was a different person, although she couldn’t say so. She often wanted to reach back and touch Aunt Padma’s God, the one who had stirred something in her heart a few years ago. But she didn’t dare bring a Bible into the house, and she couldn’t share her faith or longing with her family. They wouldn’t understand. Her family was unapologetically Hindu. Only Aunt Padma would understand, but she was still in America, an ocean away. Nila knew that if she turned her back on Hinduism, she would be ostracized, and would subject herself to even more public ridicule than she already endured.

She waited for a few moments while she was down on her knees but she didn’t hear an answer. Nila couldn’t remember what her aunt had said about not hearing God’s voice. So she stumbled to her feet, then got dressed for work in her traditional Indian garb: a stanpatta with a long sari wrapped around the rest of her body. She had just two weeks to find a place for her and her daughter to stay. Here in Bangalore they were safe from the accusing stares and judgmental tongues of her people, so she didn’t dare consider returning home to her mom’s house. Not to the village that had almost destroyed her sanity. No, she’d almost rather die in Bangalore than go back to that village. The pain she felt inside was so real and she didn’t know how much more she could take. Where are you now, Lord?

When the babysitter arrived, she kissed her daughter good-bye. She stopped to take a quick look at herself in Bhakti’s full-length mirror, pushed her long, silky black hair out of her face, frowned at how pale she was, checked the makeup over her dark, oval eyes, adjusted her sari, and walked out of her cousin’s apartment, half dazed. She took the crowded bus to work.

Nila walked into Tamarai with her head down. Tamarai was a busy little pub that had become popular in the past couple of years, despite its eleven-thirty curfew and the law against bar dancing. Dinkar, the owner, who was originally from Mumbai, didn’t agree with the law, saying that it was unfair for Bangalore. Yet Nila was ashamed of how low she had fallen. Not only had she been reduced to the degrading job of waitress