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448 pages, Hardcover
First published December 1, 2005
"You don't understand at all. It doesn't matter what's true and what's a fairy tale. That's not what matters. The dividing lines aren't as straight and simple as you think.”


“life is worth so little in india”
“in india, all stories are outlandish”
“life in itself isn’t valued highly in india”
How does a story about India begin? Does it begin with the three great rivers? The Ganges, The Yamuna, the unseen Sarasvati pouring her dreaming waters down from the snowy mountains to the hot, dry plain. .. With a leap right into the midst of chaos? Yes, that is how it should begin.
Her lips were not like rose petals, not like silk and velvet, not like the tender colors of dawn over the desert, or like the breath of the evening wind.
Her lips were rough as her hands, rough from the desert sand.
Lips like the storm that blinds you among the dunes, like the desert’s unbearable heat, like the trunks of palm trees in the oases, like the blasting sun at noon, like the sky just before it darkens with the rain that so seldom comes.”
And the heart of the hero who wasn't a hero felt both light and heavy.
...the clouds have left behind a sky washed blue and full of birdsong.
He had something terrible with him, but he did not believe it was terrible.
Fields reach out to the sky with longing… water cascades from the clouds as if the ocean turned upside down… a bodhi tree stretches against the sky like a ghostly creature with outstretched arms and hands full of leaves.
...wild as the desert, brave as a tiger, lonely as the sun, and timorous as the rain.