“Or someone really evil,” a voice shouted from the crowd. “Someone who has spent a lot of time with the devil himself.”
Hatred coursed through Tara as she recognized the voice. She turned around and spotted Layla; a small, fat toad nestled between the villagers. Layla looked at her steadily, the corners of her mouth upturned.
“This is not yet open to discussion,” said Raka, frowning at Layla. “When we ask for everyone’s opinion, you may speak then.”
Layla pouted, but no one paid attention.
“What was the result of your investigation regarding the dead animal in your temple, Raka?” asked Kripan. “Surely for something this serious you would have put all your efforts into it?” The contempt in his voice was unmistakable.
“We did and we’re still working on it,” said Raka. His voice was firm. “However, Tara has already paid for it, despite the fact that other than her dupatta, there is no further evidence to suggest she did it. There’s no motive, either.”
“And your own well?” said Kripan. “How did the dead cat get in there? You keep it covered just as we do. How could an animal get inside unless it was deliberately thrown in?”
“We have no idea how it happened,” said Raka. All of the wrinkles in his face were rigid. “It’s possible that someone might have been careless and is now too scared to admit it.”
“Have you anything to add to this, Tara?” said Kripan, staring at her with open dislike.
Tara was glad he was not Morni’s chief. He was so rude and he had barged into their village in the middle of the night, demanding a resolution. Already the tension between him and Raka was mounting. But was Raka strong enough to protect her and Morni? Of late he seemed so easily swayed by people’s opinions instead of following his own heart.
“We’re waiting, Tara,” said Kripan. “We don’t have all the time in the world.”
Mirthless laughter bubbled up inside Tara at his words. She almost laughed aloud at the truth in his words, but caught herself in time. “At the time our well was contaminated, I was in the temple day and night, scrubbing every inch of it in preparation for the pooja. You can ask Punditji if you like.”
All eyes turned to Punditji, who sat in the front row with an umbrella. The sun climbed higher, scorching the ground and cooking the people who squatted on it.
“Punditji?” said Raka.
The priest wiped his flabby face with a white cloth that hung over his shoulder, but did not say a word.
“We need an answer, Punditji. Could Tara have contaminated the well?”
“She could have sneaked away while I was asleep …”
“That’s not true!” said Tara. She glared at Punditji. “Each time you came back from your numerous naps, I was cleaning a different section of the temple. You even mentioned that it was going faster than expected. If I had sneaked away, you would have known.”
Punditji’s face resembled an overripe tomato.
“Yes … hmmm, she probably did stay in the temple all the time,” he replied. “She couldn’t have done it.”
“So then let’s talk about our well,” said Kripan.
Tara looked at Raka. “I didn’t do it. I was nowhere close to the well.”
“Then where were you all of yesterday?” asked Raka.
A loud silence filled the clearing. Tara stared at him, remembering the events of the last few hours; the cold desolation of the Underworld, the whispers of the dead, the cuts on her palms, and the words of Zarku and Kali. All of that had been futile. She had still lost her brother.
“Our house had just burned down,” said Tara. Her eyes flicked to Layla, who stared back unblinkingly. “We lost everything and Suraj …” Her voice faltered as his small body, covered in her sunshine-yellow dupatta strayed into her mind. “Suraj was badly burned and NOW HE’S DEAD!”
A fly buzzed overhead. No other sound broke the silence. Tara hadn’t meant to say that, not here, not in front of everyone. It had just burst out of her.
Raka shot to his feet. “Are you sure, Tara?”
“Would I lie about my brother’s death?” she replied, deeply regretting having mentioned it now. Almost every face was devoid of sadness or emotion.
“Where is he?” asked Raka.
“With mother, where … where you last saw us,” said Tara. It had been at the tip of her tongue to say it was where he had locked them up. But she needed his support right now. It would be foolish to anger her only ally.
Raka sat down with a deep sigh. “I’m so very sorry to hear this, Tara. We will take care of things as soon as this is over.”
Other members of Morni’s Panchayat murmured their apologies.
“That still does not answer my question,” said Kripan. “Where were you all of yesterday?”
“I told you,” said Tara. “I was upset and worried. We had lost everything. I went for a walk, alone, to think things over. I was far away from Pinjaur. I must have lost track of the time because when I returned, I heard Suraj was in a bad state. I ran to get the vaid and when he refused to come, I went to Rakaji to ask for help.”
“Then how do you explain your cooking pot, which was found near the well, and that someone saw you run away,” said Kripan.
“Someone saw a child run away,” said Tara. “Call Layla. We’ll find out the truth in a minute.”
“What is she talking about?” said Kripan. “Who’s Layla?”
Raka looked at Tara for a moment. Then he spoke. “Layla, come up here, please.”
Layla jumped to her feet and bounded to the front, as if she’d been summoned for a performance. And Tara was sure it would be a performance to remember, complete with tears, dramatics, and anything else she could think of, to gain the sympathy of the villagers.
The only good thing was that Layla was now within reach. Tara stared at her fat neck as Layla strutted up and stood beside her. All she needed was a few minutes without any intervention and it would be over. Tara squinted up at the blinding sun. She still had a few hours to carry out her plan.
“Layla, don’t you have a kurta in the same green material as I do? Mother had it stitched for both of us at the same time,” said Tara. She knew the answer, but she asked the question anyway.
“No,” said Layla.
“You’re lying!” said Tara. “Where have you hidden yours?”
“I knew you would take that line,” said Layla. Her lips quivered and her hands trembled as she spread them, beseeching the crowd. “Why would I lie about this? Parvati and Shiv took me in, but they treated me like an orphan. They fed me crumbs, made me work in the house all day, and gave me Tara’s old clothes to wear …” Layla paused to wipe an imaginary tear, sniffing hard.
Tara snorted. “Two of me would fit into the clothes you wear, and as for crumbs, they must have been very large if you could grow to this size.”
“Enough of this drama,” said Kripan. “What’s the point of calling her here, Tara?”
“She’s the one who should be punished, not me. Our house burned down. Everything that wasn’t destroyed was lying in the open. Anyone could have picked up a pot and dropped it near the well. Layla has a green shalwar-kurta, but she’s probably destroyed it by now. Has anyone asked Layla where she was yesterday? And did the villager who claims he saw a child near the well get a look at the child’s face?”
Tara glanced over at Layla and thought she looked a bit pale. A tiny bubble of hope blossomed inside her. She might still be able to clear her name before she left Morni forever.
“I saw her,” said someone from the crowd. All eyes turned toward the speaker.
An old, stick-thin man rose from the crowd. His face was badly scarred and disfigured with burn marks, reminding Tara of Suraj. She shuddered and looked away.
“You saw her face?” asked Kripan. “Are you absolutely sure?”
The old man hobbled to the front with a pronounced limp. His thumb and forefinger rubbed against each other; an involuntary gesture that he was quite unaware of.
His long, greasy hair framed his gaunt face. Tara stared at him. Why did he seem so familiar?
The old man returned her stare as he passed. She had seen this man somewhere before, but she just couldn’t remember where.
“What is your name?” asked Raka.
The old man bowed and folded his hands. “Dayalu.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Odd jobs. I grow vegetables in my garden and sell or trade them for food.”
“What happened to your face?” asked Raka.
“Ahhh, that’s a long story. It was a terrible fire.”
“Continue,” said Raka.
“I am willing to swear before God, and may I be afflicted with the worst disease possible if I have lied, Tara is the person I saw. This is what happened —”
“NO!” said Tara. “He’s lying.”
“Shut up,” snarled Kripan. “One more word out of you and we’ll pronounce you guilty without listening to anyone else.”
Tara looked toward Raka, but his face was blank. The bubble within her burst. If Raka believed she was guilty, then there was no hope for her.
She scanned the crowd for a friendly face, but there was none. Gayatri would definitely not be here, not unless she wanted to be insulted by the Panchayat yet again. And Suraj would never go anywhere, ever again. Tara thought of him lying in Raka’s kitchen, with only one person to mourn his brief life and almost broke down. She tried to focus on her elder brother who was still alive.
But why wasn’t Ananth here? She scanned the crowd, again and again, but no, he was missing. Had she lost two brothers instead of one? Had he turned against her, too?
The old man was going into infinite detail about his day’s activities and the crowd shifted restlessly. With great effort, Tara focused on listening to him wondering who would vouch for her because it seemed like there was no one left in the village who would stand by her side.
“Hurry up, Dayalu,” said Raka, reading her mind. “Get straight to the part when you saw Tara.”
“All right,” said the old man in a huff. “It was afternoon and my water had run out. I had barely a cupful left. It was so hot that I hated to get out of the house. But it was that or die of thirst. How was I to know that I would be thirsty for a long, long time?” He licked his cracked lips and paused. His thumb and forefinger rubbed against each other.
“Then?” prompted Kripan.
“I stepped out of my hut. The earth burned my feet. The streets were deserted. No one was stupid enough to venture out in the heat. Even the villagers who guard the well were taking a break. I walked toward the well.” He stopped again. Everyone leaned forward.
How elaborately he was spinning these lies and the crowd was hanging on to his every word! For the umpteenth time, Tara wished she hadn’t promised Lord Yama that she wouldn’t tell anyone about their journey. How simple it would be if she could tell them the truth and see the shock and shame on their faces when they realized she was a hero and not someone to be hated.
“That’s when I saw her,” Dayalu said. “She was leaning over the edge, looking in. I was happy there was someone to help. I can’t lift heavy things these days. I walked as fast as my old legs would allow me.”
Layla listened intently to every word the old man uttered and so did all the villagers. How had she put a stranger up to it, thought Tara, and why would he lie for her? There had to be a connection somewhere and she had to find it before it was too late. She observed the two of them closely, especially Layla. The looks between them were neutral, but Tara was sure they knew each other. Now and then Layla would nod, almost imperceptibly, as the old man spoke. It dawned on Tara; they were enacting a well-rehearsed play. If the Panchayat chose to believe the old man, she would be dead before Yama came for her. The thought made her go icy cold.
Would that be such a bad thing? the small voice within her asked. At least you won’t spend the rest of your life in the Underworld. But that also meant Layla would go free. No, that couldn’t happen. Layla had killed Suraj and she would have to pay, even if it meant Tara would have to spend the rest of her life in limbo. But she would have to move fast.
“I drew nearer. I saw her lean over. There was a loud splash,” Dayalu continued. “Stop, I called out to her. What are you doing?’ The moment she saw me, she dropped the pot she was carrying, covered her face with her dupatta and ran away.”
“That’s a lie!” said Tara.
Kripan and Raka both glared at her.
“When I reached the well, she was gone,” said the old man. He swept his sleeve over his damp forehead. “I looked inside and couldn’t see anything. My eyesight is not what it used to be. I pulled up a bucket of water. Nothing came up, but I knew she had thrown something that shouldn’t be in there. Surely no one would throw rocks into the well in the middle of the afternoon for the fun of it.”
He paused again, his hand on his chest, but Tara knew it was an act. He was enjoying every moment of this, drawing it out as much as he could.
The rocks are all in your head, thought Tara, but this time she dared not speak aloud. The sun scorched the back of her neck and sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. She was starting to feel light-headed.
“I knew something was wrong,” said Dayalu. “I threw the water back into the well and drew out another bucketful. My back was aching and my arms were ready to fall off, but I could not rest. The second bucket brought up nothing. It was the third bucket that brought it up …” He stopped mid-sentence and surveyed the crowd. No one shifted. No one spoke.
“What was it?” asked Raka. “Stop being so dramatic and speak quickly or sit down.”
The old man sneered at Raka. “The third bucket brought up the carcass of a diseased dog. It was badly slashed and still bleeding. It’s a good thing that I did not take a sip of water or I wouldn’t be here today.”
For a long minute, no one spoke. They all stared at the old man and then at her. No one even glanced at Layla.
Raka cleared his throat. “You’re absolutely certain you saw Tara’s face before she ran away? This is a matter of a child’s life and you cannot make a mistake.”
The old man’s eyes bored into Tara’s, his thumb and forefinger rubbing against each other again. “Yes,” he said.
The crowd gasped as one.
“You may go now,” said Raka.
The old man hobbled back to his place. Tara watched his receding back, the feeling stronger than ever that she knew this old man. But her brain was so full of all the things she had to worry about, she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“We have a culprit and now we have the witness,” said Kripan, unable to conceal the joy in his voice. “Now all that remains is the sentencing.”
“Not so fast, Kripan,” said Raka. “I’d like to give Tara one more chance to speak.”
Kripan swore under his breath and glanced at the other members of his Panchayat. One of them nodded. “Very well,” said Kripan. “But she had better keep it short.”
“Tara, what do you have to say about Dayalu’s testimony?” said Raka.
“It’s a complete lie,” said Tara. The acrid smell of her sweat was making her sick.
“And Dayalu didn't see you?”
“No,” said Tara.
“Why won’t you tell us where you really were? What are you hiding from us?”
Every nerve within Tara twisted into knots. This was her very last chance. Should she break her promise to Lord Yama and clear her name, or remain silent and face a death sentence? What was the punishment for breaking a promise to God?
Help me Lord Ganesh, thought Tara, surveying the accusing faces that surrounded her. But there was no reply, no sign at all. The decision was hers and hers alone.
Raka seemed to sense her dilemma. His expression softened a little. “Don’t be afraid, Tara. Your life depends on what you say next. Can you just tell us the truth?”
Tara took a deep breath and opened her mouth.
—
twenty-four —
Framed and a Failure
“No,” said Tara. “I can’t.”
“She should be sentenced right away!” said Kripan. “How can you tolerate such insolence from a child, Raka? No wonder Morni is in trouble.”
Raka flushed. “I’ll thank you not to talk to me about my village, Kripan. Yours is in no better shape. Let’s not forget the trouble you had because of the zemindars raising the taxes.”
It was Kripan’s turn to flush. He pretended to consult one of his Panchayat members in a low voice.
“We need to discuss this one more time,” said Raka. “A child’s life is at stake and besides, Tara is Prabala’s granddaughter. We cannot sentence her until we are absolutely sure or we’ll have to face his wrath when he gets back.”
“Where is Prabala?” asked a member of Pinjaur’s Panchayat. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
“He’s in the Himalayas, meditating,” said Raka in an apologetic voice. “Tara’s father, Shiv, has gone to bring him back. He was the one who had saved us from the Vetalas. He and Tara, both. That is why I just cannot understand this behaviour. It’s so unlike her.” He massaged his temples, his expression troubled.
“People change, especially when they’re possessed,” said Kripan. “If you’re too weak, I can see this through, Raka.”
“I’m not possessed, Layla is!” shouted Tara. “Why am I the only one who can see this?”
“There you go again, trying to find someone else to blame,” said Kripan. “We have a witness, Tara, so you can’t lie anymore. If you were in my village, by now —”
“But she’s not,” snapped Raka. “She’s a part of Morni and we take care of our own problems. Let’s discuss this in private.” He stood up. “The rest of you, go back to what you were doing. The meeting is adjourned until tonight. If we reach a decision sooner, we’ll send a message to everyone.”
“Yes,” said Kripan. “Everyone from Pinjaur, go back and get some work done.”
The Deadly Conch Page 17
