“Ananth told me that a villager of Pinjaur saw a girl throw something into the well and run off,” said Gayatri. “It was in the middle of the afternoon and so hot that even the guard by the well was taking a break. The villager said he didn’t get a good look at her face, but he remembers the clothes she wore. It was a parrot green shalwar-kurta with a yellow dupatta.”
“You have a green shalwar-kurta, Tara,” said Parvati “Everyone’s seen it.”
Tara clenched her hands. The cuts throbbed viciously, bringing tears to her eyes. She unclenched them, breathing hard, trying not to run screaming from the hut.
“Why would you even think I could do such a thing?” said Tara. “Because I like being thirsty? Because I want to walk even farther away to haul back a heavy pot of water? Or is it because I hate Morni so much that I want to make its people suffer? I didn’t do it, Mother. Layla or someone else in this village is framing me. I have to get to the bottom of this. We have very little time.”
“Rakaji was here earlier today, asking for you,” said Parvati. She smoothed the wisps of hair that had escaped from her plait with shaking hands. “I said I didn’t know where you were and he looked at me in a funny way. Tara, do you realize how bad this is? It’s not safe for you out there. Gayatri, Ananth, and I are probably the only ones who believe you might be innocent.”
“I know,” said Tara. “But I have to get the vaid. Once I know Suraj is all right, I’ll go and explain everything to Rakaji. He’ll know I’m speaking the truth.” She tried hard to smile, but it was impossible. She was tired and thirsty and so very scared that all she wanted to do was sit and bawl her eyes out.
“I think you should listen to your mother and stay here,” said Ananth. “You’re safer indoors. The villagers are in a very ugly mood. I’ll take over whatever needs to be done outdoors.”
Ananth had appeared so suddenly that Tara suspected he had been standing just outside, listening to both women berate her. Anger twisted her guts. Instead of helping her, he was siding with the adults.
“And let Suraj get worse? No!” said Tara. “If you wanted to help, you would have done it ages ago instead of waiting for me to return. You’re useless!”
Ananth’s eyes flashed and a vein throbbed in his temple. “You think you’re smarter and braver than everyone, right? You always like to do things alone even when someone offers to help. Well, not this time, Tara. This time, you’re in deep trouble and time is running out.”
Spit flew out of his mouth as he spoke. Gayatri was desperately trying to shush him and pull him away, but he brushed off her hand and glared at Tara defiantly.
Anger and sadness filled Tara, making it difficult to breathe, or speak.
“You have no idea how right you are, Ananth,” she finally managed to say. “My time is running out.”
— seventeen —
Hated and Alone
Tara stepped into the night. A searing wind swept down from the Shivaliks, creating dust devils around her. Visions of a tall glass of cool water taunted her and she clamped down on it before the image drove her mad. She had more important things to worry about.
She strode towards Prabala’s hut, occupied by the vaid in his absence. She deliberately kept to the shadows, not keen on meeting anyone just yet.
The contamination of Pinjaur’s well had to be Layla’s handiwork. She had to be stopped and Tara had less than a day to do it. With a jolt, Tara remembered what had been bothering her ever since Gayatri had mentioned this latest incident. Layla had the same green outfit as Tara. She rarely wore it these days because Tara’s had been stitched first, but she was sure Layla had worn it yesterday and destroyed it by now!
Tara seethed quietly. Layla could not have thought of this by herself. It had to be Kali. And there was no way to stop her except to kill her. Lost in thought, she hurried on, praying that the vaid would agree to come at this late hour.
“Try the well at Ramgarh and see if they’ll let us have some water,” a woman said. “I’m dying of thirst. What bad times we’re going through; it seems as if Kalyug is upon us!”
“Enough, woman. Go back to sleep,” the man replied. He stepped out of the hut and walked straight into Tara.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t see you —”
“You!” the man said. “Don’t you dare come any closer. I’ve had enough bad luck to last a hundred lifetimes.”
Tara trembled with shock and anger when she realized it was Rohan’s father who had yelled at her. When she had returned with Suraj and Sadia he had thanked her, weeping tears of gratitude and sorrow. Ananth had shown him the spot where they had buried his son’s body so the animals wouldn’t get at it and told him that it was Tara’s idea. They had brought the body back and given their son a proper burial so that his soul wouldn’t wander this earth eternally. Now would not be the time to tell him she had seen Rohan again.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” said Tara. She took a step back, hating herself for it. “But please don’t say that. I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Nothing wrong?” said Rohan’s father. He spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. “Your entire family is bad luck! My sweet Rohan was friends with your Suraj. Look what happened. Suraj survived and my son didn’t. Oh no … your type will always go unscathed while everyone around you will fall like dead flies. Get out of my way.”
Tara stared at him, so shocked she was unable to think, let alone answer him. Unscathed? She wanted to wave her slashed palms in his face. She wanted to drag him to Ananth’s hut to see Suraj’s condition. She wanted to scream that she was so thirsty she was willing to drink tainted water just to quell the raging beast within her.
And she had less than a day to live.
But she said nothing.
Rohan’s father spit on her. “Never show me your face again, Tara.” He walked back into the house and slammed the door shut.
The saliva slid down Tara’s face. She wiped it away with her sleeve, her throat tight, tears threatening to spill over. Rohan’s father had been like a second father to her. He used to come over so often with his wife and little Rohan. He would keep them entertained with stories over dinner. And now he had spit in her face. If he, who knew her, could turn against her, what about the villagers who didn’t know her well enough? How would they react when they saw her?
She finally understood the deadly seriousness of the situation and it was frightening. Going away with Lord Yama to the Underworld would not be such a bad thing after all. She had nothing to look forward to here but more insults and accusations unless the truth came out soon.
Tara stood outside the vaid’s hut, staring at the dim glow of the lantern within. She walked up to the door and hesitated, surprised at herself. It had been a long time since anything had scared her, but the encounter with Rohan’s father made her quail at facing another villager.
Should she come back with Ananth or perhaps Parvati? But there wasn’t enough time, for her or for Suraj. His wan face flashed through her mind and stiffened her resolve. She knocked on the door sharply. After all, he wasn’t just a normal villager; he was a healer and it was his duty to help the villagers in Prabala’s absence. Surely he would be guided by his profession and not his superstitions!
“Who is it?” a woman called out.
Tara rapped again by way of answer, louder and sharper this time. “I’m coming; don’t break the door down,” she said.
Footsteps approached. The door opened a tiny crack and the vaid’s wife peered out, obscuring the light.
“Please can I talk to Vishnuji —”
The woman gasped aloud and slammed the door in Tara’s face.
“No, please,” yelled Tara. “Suraj is ill and I need Vishnuji to look at him right now. Suraj might …” Tara took a deep breath. She could not complete the sentence. It was too painful to think about, let alone speak out loud.
There was a low murmur from inside. Then silence.
Tara pummelled the door wi
th her fists. “Open up! I’m not going until you come out.”
“Go away, Tara,” said the vaid. He must have been standing just behind the door because she heard him very clearly.
She stopped banging and listened hard.
“I’m not coming anywhere with you. Just leave me in peace and go!”
“Please, Vishnuji. Suraj’s fever is very high and his burns are terrible. You need to come now … please …”
“Bathe him in clean, cold water,” said the vaid. “That is, if you’ve spared any wells in the vicinity.”
Tara heard the anger and bitterness in his voice. He had heard about the well at Pinjaur. The whole village must have.
“I didn’t do it,” said Tara. “But please, Suraj needs your help now. If our house hadn’t burned down, my mother would have brewed the medicine.”
She wanted to add that her mother made a much better potion than he ever could, but decided not to. She needed him right now and was willing to beg if it would help.
“God is punishing you for your sins,” said the vaid in a stern voice. “Never thought that you would need water desperately when you threw those filthy animals in, did you? Now suffer along with the rest of us!”
“I didn’t do it, Vishnuji. Why won’t anyone believe me?”
The vaid did not answer her. The air turned hotter and stickier. Tara’s clothes were plastered to her body and her skin prickled with heat. Just a few hours earlier she had been freezing to the core, sure she would never feel warm again and now she was burning up. She ignored it and pounded on the door once more.
“It’s no use, Tara. I’m not going with you. I’ll give you the herbs if you like. Boil them yourself and give him the brew. That’s the best I can do. Don’t ask for anything more.”
“But what if he needs something for the burns, some salve, a poultice? You can’t practise medicine from a distance. Do you want his death on your hands? What kind of a vaid are you?”
There. She’d said it aloud.
“The kind that would like to live out his life without being plagued by bad luck. Gayatri’s presence in Morni was bad enough, but now you lot have joined her. Nothing will make me come to that house, Tara. I value my life. Layla warned me that …” and he stopped. “Just go away and leave me and my family in peace. I beg you, Tara. Just go!
Tara sank to the ground. Layla … always Layla. Everything came back to her stepsister. “Kill her,” Zarku had said. “Just place your fingers around her neck and squeeze hard.” Tara closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. Angry as she was, she still couldn’t see herself squeezing the life out of Layla. But before she could think of her stepsister, she had to take care of Suraj.
“You’re chosing to believe lies instead of saving my brother’s life?” Tara screamed through the closed door. “You’re a disgrace to the name of healers! I’ll make you help us if it’s the last thing I do!”
— eighteen —
Layla
Tara jogged to Raka’s house, her anger keeping exhaustion at bay. Once more, she was careful to keep within the shadows, not wanting to face any more taunts or curses.
A strange feeling hung in the air, as if a thunderstorm were brewing. Tara prayed it would erupt and douse all the resentment and hatred of the villagers. The dark horizon was outlined in deep orange. Tara stared at it for a moment; was someone else’s life going up in smoke? Their village should be slumbering right now and yet it seemed like sleep had vanished from this part of the world. All of Morni was awake and uneasy. It made her uneasy, too.
The sooner she got to Raka’s house, the sooner she could insist that he ask Vishnuji to help Suraj. Then she could focus on why she was really here.
Tired, tired, tired, her mind chanted in time to the pounding of her feet on the parched earth. She reached the clearing in the centre of the village and collapsed on the parapet, gasping for breath. If only she could rest awhile and sleep.
A child wailed in the distance. Tara got to her feet wearily, aware that each heartbeat, each breath, was counting down the twenty-four hours she had left on earth. She couldn’t waste a moment of it. She ran on.
Involuntarily, her feet slowed as they passed the spot where her home had once been. This time she took a good look. Someone had started to pile up the debris, but then abandoned the job. Soot coated the vessels that had once gleamed like a full moon in the night sky. They would all have to be scrubbed hard before they could be used again. Nothing else had survived; not a stick of furniture, nor a scrap of clothing. Even the medicinal herbs her mother had painstakingly gathered from the forest were all gone. They used to have such a huge supply that villagers were always dropping in for a potion for their ailments. And just when they needed the herbs desperately, they were gone.
And so was her home.
Tara stared at the empty space; one thing less to miss when she returned to the desolate Underworld. She didn’t want to go. Her heart ached at the very thought. And yet a part of her realized that things had changed. Changed drastically and forever. Even if she cleared her name, she would always remember how badly Morni had treated her and the family because of their superstitious beliefs. If only her grandfather were here, things might have been very different.
Tara turned to go. A thought arrested her steps. There was something she had to do, something important. She squeezed her eyes shut focusing on the thought, which, like smoke, kept slipping away the harder she tried to grasp it.
She took a step and cried out. A shard of glass had poked right through the sole of her mojri and jogged her memory, too.
Tara yanked the shard out and ran through the rubble to the end of their courtyard. The pile of debris there was even larger. Tara dropped to her knees and started digging. The smell of burned wood and melted rubber assailed her nostrils, but she ignored it. She was looking for Zarku’s dagger and this is where Suraj had kept it last.
Minutes flew past. Her hope diminished along with the dwindling pile. Tara’s hands were black with soot and her fingernails were torn and bleeding, but there was no sign of the dagger. It was gone! At last she stopped. Someone might have seen it lying here and taken it. She wouldn’t be able to use it on Layla. Her bare hands would have to do. But would they be enough?
Tara hurried on, resisting the urge to look back. She was thirsty, her foot throbbed, and the cuts on her palms burned with all the dirt and ash she’d dug through. She ignored it all, focusing only on Suraj.
Soon she stood outside Raka’s hut. Golden light spilled out from the open window and lay in bars on the mud porch. She was not at all surprised. Tara almost expected to see a full Panchayat in session even though the hour was late. Good! If they were all here, she could tell them she was innocent. That Layla was to blame for everything; she and her miserable mother.
Tara stood in front of the door, once again hesitating to knock. Would Rakaji be fair as always or would superstition and pressure from the villagers cloud his judgment? She was about to find out.
Tara thumped on the door and waited. Footsteps approached. She shuffled her feet and said a prayer. Someone fumbled with the chain. The door opened and Layla filled the doorway, chomping on a laddoo.
Tara gaped at her. Layla did the same. Tara hadn’t expected to see her stepsister up this late at night, stuffing her face. And from the look on Layla’s face, she hadn’t expected a late night visit from Tara, either.
For a moment Tara could do nothing but stare at the face that had haunted her every waking moment these past few days. If it hadn’t been for Layla, Suraj would not be lying at home, delirious, while this evil child lived a life of luxury in the chief’s house. Because of her, Vishnuji had refused to help them. The injustice of it made her want to choke Layla on the spot.
“Beggars should come to the back door,” said Layla. “Sumathyji will give you leftovers if you ask nicely.” She giggled at her own cleverness, bits of laddoo falling out of her mouth.
Something snapped inside Tara and she lunged at
her stepsister. “You’re the cause of all our troubles. You and your evil mother. Your mother is gone, and now it’s your turn!”
Layla dropped the laddoo and ran into the kitchen, shrieking. “Help! Tara is attacking me. Rakaji, HELP!”
“Oh no, you don’t!” said Tara. She raced after Lalya, grabbed her pigtail and yanked it hard. Layla’s squeal of pain was music to her ears.
Raka and Sumathy who had been sipping tea in the kitchen, shot to their feet. “Stop!” said Raka.
Tara ignored him and chased Layla, who was now racing for the back door, dodging between Sumathy and Raka. Her large stepsister could certainly move when she had a mind to. Again and again Tara reached out to grab Layla, but it was as if she had bathed in grease. No sooner did Tara’s hand close over a part of Layla’s jiggling anatomy when she would wrench free and slip away, wailing loudly. Not a ghost of a tear appeared in her eyes, though. It was an art Layla had perfected at a very young age. It had got her and Suraj into loads of trouble with Kali. Now she was doing it again.
“Stop!” said Raka. His face was a thundercloud. “What is the meaning of this, Tara? How dare you barge into my house this late at night and attack your sister?”
“Stepsister,” said Tara as she lunged for Layla, who ducked behind Sumathy. “She’s made my life miserable, Rakaji. Don’t you see that Kali has returned? Or have you become too blind and scared to recognize the truth which is right under your nose?”
Raka grabbed Tara’s shoulders and shook her so hard she thought her head would snap off her neck. “STOP IT!” he yelled.
Tara stared into his eyes, which were like burning coals, and realized she’d gone too far. She had come here seeking help and yet had allowed herself to be carried away by the sight of Layla. Suraj and Parvati needed her right now and she had let them down!
All fight left Tara as she knelt at his feet. “I’m so very sorry, Rakaji. Forgive me. I-I … shouldn’t have said that. Please, I need your help.”
The Deadly Conch Page 14
