Amarnath Ravva
FICTION
 

Excerpt from American Canyon


When my mother returned from India, she pointed at the house, at history. Do we know who lived here before? She asked if any Native Americans lived in this part of California, in Benicia, on this hill. She knew I went to the Maidu Bear Dance on the third weekend of June, just before the summer solstice. The Indian-American had met the American-Indians in the Sierras and found some kinship. Why was she asking about Benician history? She would rather buy a new track home over an old Victorian, and through rituals and the burning of spices, through wall hangings narrating myths, through the planting of her thulsi plant that is always found around houses in India, she would make it her own.

My mother said she wanted to move into a house that followed vastu shastra. It’s like feng shui she told me. Vastu is derived from the Sanskrit word for house or shelter, while shastra means system. Of the five main points one should adhere to, our house violated four of them—houses should not be shaped like ours in an L, there should be no bodies of water in the north or south, ours being situated between Lake Herman and the Carquinez Straits, no irregular shaped plots, and the open space around the house should be on the north and the east. What will happen if we don’t live in a place according to all these rules? All of our troubles are tied to this house, she said. We have to move.

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