The Deadly Conch

by Mahtab Narsimhan

  Tara didn’t answer. She threw her stone, which landed barely a few feet away.

  “You throw like a girl,” said Ananth. “Useless.”

  “I am a girl!” growled Tara. Then she looked into his eyes and saw the twinkle.

  They were sitting at the edge of the forest. The fierce rays of the afternoon sun beat down upon them, and, in spite of the shade of a sal tree, Tara felt as if she were sitting in a tandoor. A dry and dusty wind gusted through the trees, reeking of smoke, overripe fruit, and manure. Most of Morni slumbered in their huts; it was too hot to work in the fields and risk sunstroke.

  Not a cloud marred the blue expanse above them.

  “So, answer me!” said Ananth.

  “You know why,” said Tara. “The villagers are behaving badly toward me, and now they’re shunning my family, too. When mother was able to look into the future, they drove her away, but when she and Prabala returned to help them out, they were sorry. And they’re doing it all over again.”

  “They’re scared,” said Ananth. “There’s been no rain. We’ve just managed to clean up our well and now have to wait for it to fill up again. And even then it might be too late for the crops. Morni is facing a very bad year and they need someone to blame.”

  “What about you?” said Tara. “Do you believe I’m bringing bad luck to the village?” She picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle through her hands. She did it again and yet again. Finally Ananth spoke.

  “Tara, you know I don’t believe in superstitions. It makes my blood boil when they shun my mother just because she’s a widow. She’s the one suffering. I wish I could do something, anything to lessen their anger toward her! But you have to admit that a lot of terrible things have happened in Morni all at once. It was bound to cause some fear.”

  “But everyone is in the same boat,” said Tara. “No village for miles around us has had rain. Their crops are failing, too.”

  “Yes, but they still have water. And no dead animal was found in any of their temples.”

  “You forget one special thing we have which no other village has,” said Tara. She yanked a handful of weeds and shredded them into tiny pieces. “Layla.”

  “Oh come on, Tara. What can a child do?” said Ananth. “You’re giving her way too much credit.”

  Tara stared at him. “You don’t know her like I do, Ananth. I’ve lived with her. I know what she is capable of. She’s evil and more dangerous than Kali because no one will take a child seriously. That is why she gets away with it. There’s more ill-luck coming, I just know it.”

  “The heat’s fried your brains, Tara. You’re getting paranoid.”

  Tara shot to her feet. Sweat popped out from every pore with the exertion. “In that case, I won’t trouble you any more and take my paranoid thoughts home where at least Suraj and my mother will listen to me. You’ve changed so much, Ananth. There was a time when you believed in me.”

  “Tara, wait. I didn’t mean that. Don’t go … please.”

  Tara ignored him and kept walking.

  “You’re just acting childish,” Ananth called out after her. “Stop throwing tantrums and come back.” His voice had a hard edge to it.

  Tara wanted to march back and slap his head for even suggesting it. She hoped he’d come running after her but he didn’t. So she kept walking.

  “All right, go!” said Ananth. “Don’t come back later when you need to talk. I’ll be too busy throwing a tantrum of my own to listen to you.”

  I don’t need anyone, thought Tara as she strode home without a backward glance. The baked earth scorched the soles of her feet through her mojris. Her scalp prickled with heat. She prayed for rain, but the sky remained cloudless.

  “Is that you, Tara?” Parvati called out from the kitchen as soon as she stepped into the hut.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I hate to ask this now, but can you fetch another pot of water? The tulsi needed watering and I still have to fill Bela’s bucket.”

  Anger pulsed within Tara at the thought stepping out once again into the searing afternoon heat, and walking two kilometres for a pot of water. Even the walk to their well would have been torture. All she wanted to do was put a cool cloth over her head and lie down.

  “Do I have to go now?” asked Tara, trying hard not to let the anger spill into her voice.

  Parvati appeared at the kitchen door. She looked hot, tired, and dishevelled. So unlike her usual self. “Yes. It’s a long walk and I want you home before dark. That’s why you have to go now.” Her eyes were puffy and red.

  Tara rushed forward and hugged her. “Of course I’ll go.”

  “Be careful, Tara. It’s far away and in this heat …”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take Suraj with me. We’ll be fine,” said Tara. “It’s only for a few days anyway. Father will be back with Grandfather soon and then everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Everything’s going to be all right … everything’s going to be all right …” Tara chanted the mantra softly over and over again as she lay on her cot, staring out at the patch of cloudless night framed by the window.

  The air was so hot and heavy that even the thinnest of sheets was unbearable. She threw it off and fanned her face with the edge of her dupatta.

  Tara relived her walk to Pinjaur that afternoon. The villagers had taken to whispering when she passed. Once she had caught the words, “Shiv” and “Prabala.” So they knew her father had gone looking for him.

  Something else nagged her like a persistant toothache. She squirmed on the cot, fanning herself harder. What was it? Tara had learned to follow her instincts and went over the day, slowly, carefully, trying to figure out why she felt so uneasy.

  She and Suraj had managed to bring two pots of water, each from a different well, and painstakingly carried them back home over kilometres of dusty road. Tara had been so tempted to sit by the wayside and gulp it all down, but somehow she had restrained herself and so had Suraj. They allowed themselves a cup of water each when they finally staggered home, sweaty and pungent. Parvati had given them both a laddoo as a reward; a sweet moment that was over too soon!

  Their stores were sufficient for a few weeks, though their mother was being very careful with the food. The village grocer still sold vegetables to them and they had been able to supplement these with the harvest from their vegetable patch at the back of the house. But with the intense heat and lack of water, the brinjals, beans, and potatoes were shrivelling fast.

  All they could do now was to wait for Shiv and Prabala to return. “Keep a low profile,” her mother had instructed her at dinnertime. “And stay out of Layla’s way!”

  Layla! That was what was bothering her. Her skin prickled at the thought of her stepsister. Layla had not been near them since the last chat at the temple, preferring to stay with Rakaji and Sumathy, who had believed her lies and taken her in.

  Tara knew that this was far from over, but try as she might, she could not figure out what Layla or Kali would dream up next. She dozed at long last, trying to ignore the oppressive heat, the terrible thirst clawing at her throat, the coil of the cot biting into her back, and her clothes stinking of acrid sweat.

  She wandered through the barren land. There were no trees or huts. Huge boulders dotted the landscape. Cliffs stood like sentinels in the distance. A red sun lay dying on the horizon, its lifeblood staining sky, earth, and even her hands, a vivid crimson.

  She was all alone.

  “Over here, Tara,” someone called out. She whirled around. The landscape was still deserted. Where was the caller hiding? The sun sank lower. Shadows slithered over the rocks. They came from every direction now, converging on Tara, lapping at her heels with black tongues.

  “Here, Tara.”

  The voice seemed to be coming from a crevice between two large boulders, a fissure darker than night. And very narrow. She ran toward it.

  “Anyone in there?” asked Tara. “Come out where I can see you.”

&n
bsp; “Come in, I’m waiting,” someone said. She thought she recognized the voice, the name hovered at the edge of her memory, elusive as smoke.

  Tara looked around her. The shadows had all but devoured the light. Sullen stars hung in the inky sky. They seemed to be glaring down at her, unrelenting in their gaze. A cold wind caressed her cheek.

  Tara stepped into the crevice and started walking. The narrow walls grazed her arms, a dank smell filled her nose.Deeper and deeper she walked. “Are you still there?” she asked. “Show yourself.”

  “It’s over, Tara,” said the familiar voice. “For you and your family.” Then there was silence.

  A trap! She had to get out! Tara turned to leave. A wall of flames erupted in front of her, growing taller and fiercer, reaching for the sky. She screamed and turned around. Fire behind her, too. Fingers of flame reached out for her, scorching her skin. Smoke filled her nose and her lungs, choking her.

  “Help!” Tara shrieked.

  “Help!” a voice echoed hers. “Fire!

  ”

  Tara’s eyes flew open. In front of her was a crackling wall of fire. Flames shot out, singing her skin. Had Lord Yama transported her to the Underworld already or was she in a very real dream? She stared at the flames, paralyzed by the orange and red swirling within its depths.

  “TARA, MOVE!” Parvati shrieked.

  And then it hit her; their hut was aflame. It wasn’t a dream at all.

  Tara jumped off the cot and ran to her mother, who stood in the centre of the room, hugging Suraj. The fire was all around them, greedily feeding on their home, growing taller and wider. Any moment it would devour them, too.

  “What do we do?” said Suraj, gripping her hand. “We’re all going to die.”

  Parvati stared at the fire, mesmerized. Black smoke billowed up and they coughed and choked, trying to draw breath. Tara snatched her dupatta off the cot. “Cover your mouth with this,” she said throwing it at Suraj. Flames were licking at the walls, moving rapidly toward the back of the hut.

  “Let’s go through the kitchen,” said Tara. “We can make it.”

  She willed her legs to move, but they refused. Another cloud of smoke filled the room as a corner of the hut gave way. Tara lost all sense of direction.

  “This way,” yelled Parvati. “Follow me, Tara. Don’t dawdle.”

  Just then, the roof caught fire and burning straw rained down on them. Parvati ran toward the back of the hut, pulling Suraj along.

  “Mother, wait!” yelled Tara. But Parvati didn’t hear her. Tara watched in horror as a large piece of burning roof fell straight on to Suraj. A huge chunk of beam crashed down seconds later.

  Both Suraj and Parvati screamed and then were silent. Her heart pounding, Tara ran around the burning beam, fanning the air. Suraj lay still on the floor, covered with embers. His clothes were starting to smoulder. Parvati was on her knees, coughing and retching. A large gash on her forehead oozed blood.

  “Tara,” she gasped. “Run. Save yourself and Suraj.” Tara felt her consciousness slipping away. Smoke filled her lungs with every breath, clouding all coherent thought. It would be easier just to give up and die. She coughed so hard, it seemed as if her heart would pop out of her mouth.

  Yes, said a voice. Give up. If you don’t, I’ll just keep at it. It was the same voice she had heard in her dream. Layla’s voice. Tara saw her face clearly now; smiling, nodding. Give up, said Layla. Or I’ll get you some other way.

  “No!” yelled Tara. “You won’t win, Layla. I won’t let you.”

  She dragged Suraj from the charred heap of wood and straw and beat the smouldering patches on his clothes with her bare hands. He was unconscious, which was good. He would be easier to handle. The flames had reached the door between the main room and the kitchen. A few seconds more and that escape route would be blocked, too.

  Tara pulled Suraj to his feet and threw him over her shoulder. She staggered as his dead weight settled on her. Give up, Layla’s voice taunted her.

  Tara tottered over to Parvati, who was still on the floor, her face streaming with blood from the gash on her forehead.

  “Mother, come on,” said Tara. She tugged at her.

  Parvati looked at her with a blank expression.

  “Mother, I’ve got Suraj, let’s go!” Tara screamed so loud this time that Parvati snapped out of her daze. She scrambled to her feet. They dodged more bits of fiery roof and ran the few steps towards the doorway. Golden-yellow tongues of flames tried to lick them as they ran.

  Tara clasped her mother’s hand, and, before fear could arrest her steps, they jumped. Flying embers singed her skin, her clothes, but she ignored it all. They had to escape the fire, alive. Or Layla would have won.

  The back door was aflame. The bars on the kitchen window prevented them from escaping through it. Tara turned back to look at the way they’d come. A curtain of flames obscured the front room.

  They were trapped. More bits of roof fell on them and Tara jumped out of the way just in time. Suraj was getting heavier by the second and Parvati was swaying on her feet. They were going to die in this inferno if they didn’t get out within the next few minutes.

  “Help!” Tara screamed. She stood below the window set high up in the wall and screamed once again. “SOMEONE HELP US!”

  But there were no answering cries, no pattering of feet, and no sizzle of water, dousing the fire. Couldn’t the neighbours see their house was burning down? A few seconds was all she needed to realize that no one was coming. It was up to her. If they died, Layla would be ecstatic!

  And Tara was not about to make Layla happy. Or to let her win.

  The kitchen was now hazy with smoke. Her eyes roved the room and stopped on the earthen pots of water. She galloped over to them and flung off the lids. She slid Suraj to the floor and emptied some water over him. Then she raced over to Parvati and flung some over her.

  Parvati gasped as the water revived her.

  “Mother, help me,” said Tara. “Douse me with water.”

  Parvati picked up the pot and dumped the remaining water over Tara. The coolness on her skin after the fierce heat of the fire was almost too painful to bear. Tara scooped up Suraj again and moved toward the back door. The metal clasp securing it was red hot and there was no way she could touch it. They would have to force it open.

  “As soon as I kick the door down, we’re going to jump through, Mother,” said Tara. “Okay?”

  Parvati nodded, wiping the sweat and blood trickling down her face.

  Tara approached the wall of fire, took a deep breath, and kicked hard. Her mojri caught fire, but the door did not open. She kicked the shoe off, sobbing with pain as embers scorched the sole of her unprotected foot.

  “What do we do now, Mother?” wailed Tara. She was almost at the end of her strength. “We need something stronger.”

  Parvati pointed to the mortar and pestle by the door. “Use that.”

  Tara snatched it up. Sweat poured into her eyes, making it difficult to see. Her clothes were almost dry. If they didn’t get out now, they’d go up in flames even if they did manage to jump through the door.

  “Hang onto Suraj, Mother,” said Tara.

  She passed her brother over and then, using the long pestle as a battering ram, she charged at the door. The clasp broke and the door flew open. Cool air rushed in fanning the flames. They leaped higher.

  “Now, Mother!” said Tara.

  Holding hands, they raced through the doorway. Hot flames grabbed at Tara as she passed. They kept running until they reached the edge of the courtyard and collapsed, coughing and trembling. There was no crowd around them screaming, yelling, or helping to put out the fire.

  It was then Tara realized; they were truly alone and utterly unwelcome in a place they had called home all their lives.

  — eleven —

  The Deadly Conch

  Adeliciously cool sensation woke Tara. She opened her eyes and stared into a face she knew so well, but for a moment he
r mind was completely blank as to the name and identity of the person.

  “How are you feeling, Tara?” said the woman.

  The moment she spoke, it all flooded back.

  “I hurt all over, Gayatri-ma.” Hurt did not come close to describing how she felt. It was as if someone had scrubbed every inch of her skin with a rock. Her hands and feet were particularly painful and burned every time she shifted. The stench of charred flesh lingered in the air, but she was so tired that she didn’t even have the energy to retch. All she wanted to do was sleep for a very long time.

  A sudden thought shot into her head. She struggled to sit up and realized she was on a makeshift bed in the kitchen. Gayatri was the only other person in the room with her.

  “Suraj, Mother, where are they? Are they all right?”

  “Relax, Tara,” said Gayatri. “They’re both fine and sleeping. Ananth managed to get the vaid to come here. He gave them both a sleeping draught so that the poultice can take effect.”

  “Vaid?” said Tara. She sat up higher, ignoring the dizziness. “So the villagers know?”

  “Yes,” said Gayatri. “Raka was here to take a look at all of you. He just left.”

  “I have to see Suraj and Mother, now,” said Tara. “Please.”

  “They’re in the front room,” said Gayatri. “I’ll let you see them for just a minute, but then you must promise to come back and rest.”

  Tara nodded and stood up on shaky feet. The kitchen see-sawed in front of her eyes. Gayatri put out a hand to steady her and slowly the room levelled out. Every step sent shooting pains up her spine. She could barely put any weight on her right foot. It was heavily bandaged and the bottom of her shalwar was singed and torn.

  With Gayatri’s help, she hobbled into the front room and stopped in the doorway. Parvati and Suraj lay on cots. The spotless white bandages stood out starkly against their filthy, soot-encrusted clothes.

  Tara knelt by Suraj’s bed first. He was asleep, but part of his face had raw burns that were still bleeding. He was dressed only in shorts. His torso was an angry red, weeping pus and blood. Tara wept, too, as she gazed at the little body. This must be so painful for Suraj. How long would it take to heal? How long before he would be all right again?