Uma brings a small dish covered with a lid and puts it proudly in front of me. ‘This is the special dish I was talking about.’
Sufia looks the other way and crinkles her nose.
I ignore Sufia and lift the lid. It’s yellow rice with fat raisins scattered over, chunks of chopped coconut and slices of orange mango. My stomach lunges. It’s the opposite of plain. ‘Thank you, Uma.’
‘It’s sweet,’ says Uma. ‘You are a sweet one. Try it.’
I take a spoonful and slowly take a bite. To my surprise, I like it. She’s right: it is sweet. ‘Yum,’ I say, surprised to find myself preparing another mouthful.
‘You taste the cardamom? The leaychi?’
‘Yes . . . it’s crunchy . . . it’s nice.’ I glance up at Uma, who’s beaming. ‘I really like it!’
After dinner, I tell everyone I need to catch up on more sleep, so go up to my room early. Instead, as soon as it’s dark I creep into the garden again. Aunt Simran thinks I was imagining that girl but I’m going to prove to myself that she’s real.
I take out the long seed pod she gave me as a present. It feels solid as I hold it between my fingers and give it a shake, the tiny treasures inside making a rattling sound as the seeds hit the shell. And I know I didn’t imagine her: she’s a real solid girl, just like the gift she gave me, and I feel a warm buzz spread through me.
The midnight sky is ablaze with scattered stars, the curve of the moon bold and bright. I take Mum’s ring from my pocket and put it on my finger – I hold it ahead of me and it seems to glow as if it’s lit from the inside, the vivid green stone stirring me awake.
I hear the song again, faint and echoing, mingling with the breeze – Taaaamarind . . .
I hurry through the garden filled with new energy, stamp across the nettles, past the rock and finally through the copse until I’m right by the hut, where dear little Hanu, Ishta’s golden monkey, seems to be waiting for me. He takes my hand and leads me under the stone arch with the goddess perched on top, tripping further until we’re deep in the tangled wild garden, where we follow the path round just as before.
My heart gives a little leap, because she’s there as clear as anything, standing under the tree. Hanu leaves me and, giving a squeal of joy, rushes to Ishta’s side.
‘I came back,’ I say, trying to catch my breath, ‘just like you wanted and I brought you a present.’ I’ve been thinking about something I can give her in return for the pretty seed pod. I unpin my Arsenal badge from my sweatshirt and hold it out to her.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s my special football badge. I got it when I made the First Team.’
She takes it and smiles, looks at it closely. Ishta pins the badge to her waistcoat. There’s a moment of stillness and then she glances up to meet my eyes. ‘Thank you.’
‘When I first got here,’ I begin, ‘I was playing football with my cousin Arjun and I chased the ball almost to the wild garden.’
She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, I heard something – like a song. It was strange. I was wondering, w-was it you? Singing, I mean?’
She crinkles her nose thoughtfully. ‘The breezes in the Himalaya carry for miles, perhaps it was the song of some bird.’
I nod – but I’m not convinced. I think of the song now . . . it definitely sounded like a human voice to me.
After a pause, Ishta asks, ‘So . . . you like football?’
‘Yeah! I love it. I play it all the time back home.’ I grin and pretend I have a ball, dribble around her, tapping her foot. ‘This is how you tackle, now try and get the ball from me.’
She laughs and plays along, running a little circle around me. ‘Like this?’ She jostles forward, knocking the imaginary ball from me, and running ahead a few paces before stopping. ‘You must be fit,’ she pants. ‘I’m all puffed out!’
‘You weren’t bad,’ I say, laughing. ‘I think the Arsenal badge helped.’
Ishta steps towards me and puts a hand on my arm. ‘You’ve got kind eyes,’ she continues, ‘hasn’t she, Hanu? And lovely long hair. My ma likes me to tie mine up, but maybe I could wear it all out and flowing like yours one day.’
She’s wearing the flowery embroidered dress again with the loose trousers underneath, a sheepskin waistcoat over the top and her dagger in a sheath slung around her hips.
‘I like your outfit . . . it’s fun,’ I say.
She touches the Arsenal badge, like she’s really proud to be wearing something I gave her. It looks a bit weird against her outlandish clothing and I giggle.
She laughs too. ‘Let’s explore the garden, do something exciting like real friends?’
Even though I hardly know this girl I want to be her friend so badly. I feel the same as I did the first time I met Rafi; I knew we were going to be friends for ever through everything. Fire blazes through me, like an electric buzz going all over, right to the tips of my fingers.
‘Come on, take hold of Hanu’s hand,’ Ishta says.
I do as she asks, feel the monkey’s little hand clutch mine. ‘Let’s go,’ I shout, kicking at a giant pine cone as if it were a football. ‘Passing!’ I yell, dribbling it towards Ishta. She traps it with her toe, giggles, and kicks it back. ‘Not bad,’ I say, pushing Aunt Simran’s warnings, of wolves, tigers and other wild animals away again.
We continue through the garden, passing the pine cone between us.
Hanu joins in and grabs it.
‘Hey – handball.’
He chatters and rolls the pine cone ahead and we rush forward, ducking under low branches, jumping over pyramids of leaves, kicking the pine cone into new corners I didn’t know were here last time, until we’re out of breath and have to stop.
‘You’re getting pretty good at football,’ I say.
‘Maybe if I practised I could get as good as you,’ says Ishta, watching as I show off some of the tricks I learnt at camp.
I kick the pine cone and it goes off into the distance, landing between two thick tree trunks. ‘Goal!’ I jump up and down and Ishta does a victory dance.
She holds her side, her breath puffing out of her. ‘That was fun.’
We’ve ended up beside a dilapidated old greenhouse, and when I shine the torch towards it the light bounces off its shattered windows.
‘Shall we climb it?’ Ishta says. ‘Be careful though, I don’t want you to cut yourself.’
Weeds have threaded themselves, serpent-like, around the broken door and run riot all over its sloped roof, in and out of the cracked glass.
Hanu leaps on to the greenhouse and Ishta follows him, nimble as a mountain goat, hooking her foot into a glass-less window frame to push herself up on to the fragile roof.
I hesitate for a second, watching shadows shifting with the moon. Even though I’ve climbed trees since I was little, this seems a bit more dangerous.
‘Come on, you can do it.’
I shake off my worries and feel the wind whipping through my hair.
‘I’m coming,’ I laugh, hoicking myself up, avoiding the jagged panes of glass. Hanu claps his hands, jumps down to the ground and watches as I climb higher until I’m sitting beside Ishta. The monkey hurries back up, sits between us and strokes my cheek.
‘Do you want to see something special?’ asks Ishta, excitement blooming across her face.
‘OK,’ I reply, following her as we climb carefully down from the roof of the greenhouse and leap back into the garden.
Holding Hanu’s hands between us again, we sprint to the very furthest end of the garden, where a high hedge runs all the way round, protecting it from the mountain wilderness beyond.
Ishta drops Hanu’s hand and begins searching for something in the hedge, scanning low down between the fine twisty stems. ‘Lend me your torch. It’s down here somewhere.’
‘What is?’
‘Just wait and see,’ she giggles. ‘There!’ She shines the torch on a gap in the hedge and drops to her knees, shuffling towards
it. ‘We can get out this way and explore the mountains. I know a shepherd’s hut we can shelter in if we need to. Come here.’
I crouch beside her and peer through the hedge at the mountains, the rugged landscape that has a different scent, a cooler breeze.
‘Look,’ she says, pointing the torch into the distance.
Swirls of grey mist hangs above a wide dark lake where a small rowing boat tied to a tree branch not too far from us shifts in the breeze, the water flapping against its hull.
‘Come on. Not scared, are you?’
Only now do Aunt Simran’s warnings bang at my brain and I suddenly come to my senses.
‘No. O-of course I’m not scared. I just . . . I’m not sure this is a good idea, that’s all.’
‘It’s OK, you know, you’re allowed to be scared. After all, it’s your first time this far. We don’t have to go through, not this time anyway.’ She puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘But look, over there.’
‘I don’t see anything.’
I follow Ishta’s finger through the hedge, to the far side of the lake, lit up by the moon.
‘You have to squeeze your eyes together and really look.’
I do as she says and concentrate hard and then I see a shifting of shapes like a dark moving clump, a silhouette of hunched animals, like dogs but bigger. One throws back its head and lets out a deep howl.
‘Wolves. They’ve got cubs,’ says Ishta excitedly. ‘When you’re more used to it here, we can go and see them . . . Don’t worry.’ She brings her face close to mine. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ve got my dagger just in case.’
Hanu begins to whimper and wraps his arms around Ishta’s waist. ‘Don’t be silly, they’re only wolves – wild animals just like you.’
My heart speeds up. ‘M . . . maybe next time.’
Ishta nods, then says, ‘I know! Let’s go on the swing again.’
We leave the gap in the hedge and go back to the safety of the garden, back the way we came until we’re beside the tree, the house lights in the distance welcoming us home.
We rush under the canopy of dark leaves and Ishta climbs on to the swing, like she did before. I sit, grasping the rope between my fingers and we begin flying through the air, the soft wind blowing against my face.
‘I wish I could leave,’ she cries, making the swing go higher and higher. ‘I’d love to explore the world, see what’s out there. It would be so exciting.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘I can’t.’ She lets the swing slow down until it comes to a stop and she jumps off. She lifts Hanu on to her hip. He’s quite big and she struggles to hold him. ‘We can’t leave, can we, Hanu? This is our home.’ She puts the monkey back on the ground. ‘For ever.’
‘But no one else lives around here,’ I say, stepping closer. ‘Only my family. My aunt said so. Where did you come from?’
She stares at the moon, at the bright star that sits next to it.
‘I’m not lying,’ she says, as though the words are snagging her throat.
‘I think that’s Venus,’ I say, joining her, looking up at the sky. The morning star, Ishtar, I think, remembering the line in the book. I’m about to tell her what Aunt Simran told me about her name but she interrupts.
‘I like your ring. Can I see?’
I’m not sure that I really want to part with it, especially after what happened with Sufia, but I really like Ishta and I’m sure she’ll give it back.
I take it off my finger and hand it to her. It’s glowing in the clear night sky, the beams of light illuminating her pretty face, her high cheekbones and straight nose. She looks familiar somehow, in a way I haven’t noticed before.
‘Can I try it on?’
I nod.
She puts it on the exact same finger as I wore it on. ‘Perfect fit,’ she smiles.
‘It belonged to my mum.’
She peers at the ring. For a moment, I think she looks older than she is – her expression is really serious and grown-up. ‘It’s beautiful. An emerald, I think. The Himalaya are famous for emeralds and some people say there are a few special stones that carry a magical power. Maybe this is one of those.’
I open my eyes wider. ‘It does seem to glow . . .’ I say softly. ‘Almost like it’s pointing somewhere.’
Ishta nods. ‘And look at the work that’s gone into making the stone sparkle. A very special person would have made this for your ma.’
She holds the ring towards the starlight, its eight-pointed silver star mirroring the one shining in the sky. Ishta brushes her arm close to mine and I feel her warmth. She has blood pumping through her veins just like me and I know she’s real, not a part of my imagination as Aunt Simran seemed to think. I give her a huge smile and move even closer.
The emerald stone lights up her face and she gives me a smile. ‘Look how the ring shines, Tamarind. This was made with such love.’
Me and Ishta step outside the canopy of the tree into the wild garden. She takes off the ring and hands it back.
Ishta looks up at the sky again, at the clouds scudding across the stars. And suddenly she frowns.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her. ‘I thought you were happy.’
‘There’s a storm coming,’ she says, narrowing her eyes and holding tight to Hanu’s hand. ‘We won’t be able to play once it’s here. I am happy though,’ she continues. She steps close, looking into my eyes as if she’s searching for something. ‘Tamarind, some nights I might not be here . . . and sometime, I don’t know when, I might have to go away . . . for ever. But I need you to know that no matter what, I’ll always be your friend. Do you understand?’
I feel a patter of rain splash my face. I don’t understand at all, but I nod slightly, realizing she’s waiting for me to agree.
Ishta steps backwards, Hanu taking her hand.
‘I had a really nice time tonight,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
But her face has lost its glow and she looks pale and tired. Hanu gives one of his high-pitched screams and tugs at her hand.
‘So did I,’ she murmurs. ‘Come back, won’t you? When the sky is clear.’
When I look again, she’s disappeared. I run a few hurried steps in her direction, but the only thing I see is a flash of gold, like jewelled dust motes suspended in the night.
The house is in darkness when I get in, except for a warm candle glow coming from the kitchen. I’m even more confused than ever about Ishta. Why was she saying she couldn’t leave even though she wanted to go exploring? And if she can’t leave, why those ominous words about never coming back? I’m about to take the stairs up to my bedroom, but the light from the kitchen is drawing me in. Uma has been with the family for ever and she keeps telling me to come and see her – maybe she’ll tell me more about my mum. I might know the horrible truth about how she died, thanks to Sufia, but I still don’t feel like I know her at all. I twist Mum’s ring – it’s dull in the clouded night – and take a few quiet steps towards the open door.
‘Come on in, Tamarind,’ says Uma, without turning round. She carries on stirring the steaming pot on the cooker.
I kick at the floor with my trainer, the knots in my stomach tightening.
‘Tamarind,’ she says, still concentrating on stirring. ‘Why are you up so late?’ Finally she turns to face me, glancing at the floor. ‘And where have you been?’
I ignore her questions but step closer, sniffing the cloud of fragrant steam rising from the pot. ‘I . . . I know you’re not meant to talk about it, but I need to know about Mum . . . Dad will be back on Sunday and nobody will tell me anything.’ I want to say, except Sufia, but I don’t want to think about what she said.
Uma looks doubtful.
‘I won’t tell anyone, I promise . . . it’s important.’
She holds my hands between her smooth palms. ‘Oh, Tamarind . . . it’s such a sad story. When I was a girl, I used to live in the mountains around here . . .’ She brings me towards her and snuggles me in her shawl
. ‘When Chinty was small and woke with bad dreams, this was the only thing that would soothe her.’
The shawl is soft and the sweet scents in the kitchen comforting; for a moment I feel safe, but then I remember about how Mum died and think that even Uma must hate me for taking her away.
‘What was she like?’
She tightens the shawl and cups my face in her hands. Uma is lost in her thoughts, her wrinkled forehead set in a deep frown.
‘When she was young she was so sweet and loving,’ she begins. ‘She would always collect fruit and flowers from the garden and bring them to me. And as she got older she became quite independent.’ Uma looks at the dark door even though it’s closed, as if expecting someone to walk in.
I take a deep breath of air and feel a tickle twitch up my spine.
‘She was a bit like Sufia.’
My chest tightens and I’m disappointed that Uma didn’t say she was like me.
‘Go on,’ I say, my throat grazed.
She lowers her voice. ‘And then the arguments started. The teenage years brought lots of fire and later – and not just when she met Raju, your papa, while he was on holiday here from England – she wanted to leave home. Even before,’ Uma pauses, ‘before she had you. She made your papa promise that they’d go away and live together in England, but instead of taking her, she died, and he took you.’
I bow my head, feeling sad and tired.
‘But let me tell you about the happier times,’ Uma continues, hugging me close. ‘Chinty loved playing in the garden and she loved to go exploring . . . she even used to go out at night. She was out all hours, a real adventurer.’ Uma laughs. ‘She even persuaded your babajee to teach her to shoot arrows. And she was really impressive – with her papa’s teaching she could shoot even further and higher than him.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘He loved her so much. We all loved her, tantrums and everything.’ Uma stares down at my hand and touches the ring. ‘You found it then? Chinty’s ring.’
Tamarind and the Star of Ishta Page 7
