Lovers have carved their names in the walls. The only other tourists are three American backpackers with long hair, baggy pants and sandals, and a group of Spanish tourists. The Muellers find a shady spot and lean against the cool white marble. The way it should be. Sharon puts her hand tentatively on her husband's forearm.
Yellow butterflies flit from golden lantana bushes to the pink and white oleander blooms.
A squirrel scrambles up the thick, twisted trunk of a mango tree. Crickets chirp and twittering swallows skitter across the sky. Sharon drowses, her head just touching Mueller's shoulder. In the afternoon they hire a car to drive them to the Ellora Caves. The road cuts through green, rolling hills.