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Prema followed a butterfly into an ashram because she didn't have anything better to do. Timothy had decided to stay inside with the baby because he wasn't feeling well. He didn't want to do anything at all, he told her. He wanted to move on. Prema had picked up train tickets, and they were breathing in her pocket, whispers of another long journey through ancient fields. She had time and nothing to do with it, so she wandered through gullies, drinking cups of chai and sampling Indian sweets. Her mother's were better, she thought. She felt a strong wave of homesickness. She missed her mother and the way she smelled in the mornings, drying her hair in the kitchen, combing oil through it as it fell around her waist. For a long moment she was saturated with longing for home, but then she s
