The Wonder of Shastri

 The midday sun over the Caura River was a blessing Shastri felt in her bones. She waded into the cool, dark water, the muddy bottom squishing between her toes, her thick, curly hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head. Her swimsuit, a riot of fuchsia and orange, stretched comfortably over her beautiful, full body. She didn't check to see if anyone was looking. She never did.

"Shastri! Girl, you going in already? We just reach here!" Parbatie called from the bank, struggling to set up a cooler.

"The water ain't going to wait for we to lime all day!" Shastri called back, her laugh a warm, musical roll that echoed off the mangrove trees. She lowered herself until the water lapped at her chin, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Allyuh taking too long to decide life. The river decide already. It done telling we 'come'."

This was a "river lime," a sacred Trinidadian ritual of friends, food, and fresh water. For Shastri, it was church. The dappled sunlight filtering through the overhanging immortelle trees, the distant call of a black bird, the feeling of the current tugging gently at her, this was where she felt most connected to everything.

On the bank, her friends were a perfect snapshot of Trinidad. There was Parbatie, whose family still spoke Hindi at home; David, whose grandfather came from Portugal; and Amina, whose great-grandparents arrived from Africa. They bickered good-naturedly about whose roti was better, whose mother made the best chow, whose cousin was the biggest bacchanalist. Shastri, floating on her back and looking at the sky, heard it all as one beautiful song.

"Allyuh does argue 'bout difference too much," she said, her voice carrying peacefully across the water. "Look at we. Parbatie, you does season your chicken like my mother. David, you does lime by the Savannah just like we. Amina, your grandmother and my nani used to buy fabric from the same man on Charlotte Street. Is the same sun we under. Is the same water we swimming in."

Her friends paused, looking at her. Then at each other. And then they laughed, not at her, but because she had, once again, stated the most complicated thing in the simplest way.

Later, as they sat on a large, sun-warmed rock eating doubles and pholourie, a group of younger people arrived, blasting soca from a portable speaker. One of them, a thin girl in a tiny bikini, glanced at Shastri and whispered something to her friend, a smirk on her face. Shastri caught the look. It was a look she’d seen a thousand times. A look that measured her body against some invisible ruler and found it lacking.

Most people would have felt a sting, a flicker of self-consciousness. Shastri felt a gentle wave of something else entirely. Pity. Not for herself, but for the girl. Imagine, she thought, having eyes and not being able to see beauty. Imagine being at a river lime and being more concerned with how someone else looked than with the miracle of the cool water and the warm sun.

Shastri simply smiled, a genuine, open smile, and raised her paratha in a little toast towards the girl. "Blessing!" she called out cheerfully. "The water sweet today, nah! Allyuh must come in!"

The girl’s smirk faltered, replaced by confusion. Her friends, however, smiled back, a little hesitantly at first, then waved. The moment of potential judgment dissolved into the humid air, absorbed by Shastri's unwavering warmth.

As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that matched her swimsuit, Shastri waded out of the river one last time. Water streamed from her skin, and she stood there, arms open wide, looking at her friends, the river, the sky.

"Allyuh ever realize," she said softly, "that the river does wash away every little thing and just leave you feeling like... pure love?"

They didn't answer. They didn't need to. They just watched her, this beautiful, plus-sized Indo-Trinidadian woman who cared nothing for what the world thought, because she was too busy loving it. And in her presence, they felt it too. They felt like pure love. They felt like a blessing.