The Deadly Conch

by Mahtab Narsimhan

There was grumbling and muttering as the crowd got to its feet and started shuffling away. Raka was talking to Kartik, and Kripan consulted with his team.

  They seemed to have forgotten that Tara was still standing there waiting for instructions. And so was Layla.

  Tara took a step toward Layla, one thought burning in the darkness that filled her soul: kill her. She even had Zarku’s dagger to finish the job properly.

  Layla must have sensed her thoughts. She took a step back, eyeing Tara warily.

  The men were still busy talking. Tara grabbed Layla’s arm. “Come with me, quietly,” she said, her heart doing the Tandav in her chest. If only she could walk Layla a short distance away from anyone who might intervene, she would be able complete what she’d set out to do. After that she would accept her fate happily. “I have to talk to you about … about your mother. It’s urgent.”

  Layla ripped her arm out of Tara’s grasp. “Leave me alone. HELP!” she yelled.

  Immediately a couple of villagers pulled her away and Tara bit her lip to stop from crying. Her chances of carrying out the plan were fading fast.

  “Take her to an empty hut and lock her up,” said Raka. “Make sure she gets some food.”

  Tara dug her heels into the ground as they started to drag her away. “Please, Rakaji, can I see my mother? I-I need to talk to her.” She almost added, “for the last time.”

  Raka shook his head. “Tara, you’re on trial here. I don’t know if it has sunk in yet, but you’re in a lot of trouble. Because of you, thousands of lives are in jeopardy, and the punishment for that is death by stoning.”

  Tara stared at him mutely. Her skin crawled as she imagined stones flying at her from all directions, the pain in her body and soul as she died in the street like a rabid dog, watched and reviled by all.

  “Five minutes is all I need,” said Tara, hating the pleading note that had crept into her voice.

  “No,” said Raka. “You will remain in the hut until we have made our decision. You will have a chance to say your goodbyes after the sentencing.”

  Tara lunged forward and grasped his arm. “You don’t understand, Rakaji. I also have one last job to complete. I must speak with Layla alone and after that I promise, I will do whatever you ask of me. Please, trust in me one last time.”

  Raka shook her arm off and walked away. Tara stared after him, curses teetering on her lips. Her heart was a stone in her chest. He was not the strong, fair man he used to be. Time and circumstance had weakened him.

  Tara turned to run, but the villagers grabbed her once more.

  “Let me go,” she screamed. Their grip tightened.

  Around her, everyone watched the spectacle; some with pity and some with disgust. Layla stood a short distance away, well out of reach. There was a look of such triumph on her face that Tara’s insides churned with misery and all the fight seeped out of her.

  As they made their way through Morni, more villagers stopped to ogle at her. Tara looked neither left nor right, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  When they reached the hut, the men pushed her inside a little harder than was necessary. She stumbled into the empty room and turned around. The door slammed in her face.

  Tara ran into the second room. It was bare and the back door was boarded up. The only way in and out was through the front door. She stared at the lone window in the room, high up on the wall. No one could have escaped through that. Not even Kabir. Thinking of him and her friends made her lonelier than ever.

  Tara slid to the ground, hugged her knees to her chest, and closed her eyes. The day flashed through her mind. She had lost Suraj forever, she had stood trial for crimes she had not committed, and had earned the hatred of every single villager at the meeting today. And now she was locked up, unable to carry out the one task she had come back to finish.

  A ray of sunlight slid across the floor and touched the tips of her mojris. Tara watched the golden finger through blurry eyes. Everyone had taken leave of their senses, but what about Ananth? He must believe she was guilty, too, because he had not shown his face at all. The thought was like a punch to the stomach. She didn’t care if all of Morni and Pinjaur found her guilty, but not her own brother! How could he have given up on her without even hearing her side of the story?

  The tears came then, soaking her shalwar. She lay down, her cheek pressed to the mud floor.

  The front door opened and there was a metallic clang. “Eat!” someone said. Almost immediately the door banged shut.

  She couldn’t even think of eating, but she got up anyway, and peeked into the front room. A thali containing a single paratha, and crowned with flies, sat by the door. There was no water. She was not surprised. They were already punishing her by keeping her thirsty.

  Tara sat down again, thankful for the solitary ray of sunshine that kept her company when everyone else had abandoned her. Something else was nagging her: the old man. Why had he lied for Layla? Had Kripan and his Panchayat colluded against her? But why? She had never harmed them. It made no sense.…

  Tara closed her eyes and drew in a deep, long breath of humid air. She thought of Dayalu again, with his greasy hair, and the curious movement of his thumb and forefinger rubbing against each other, as if he were counting money. She jerked upright, her eyes snapping open. Of course! There was one other person who used to do this; Dushta, the moneylender, Kali’s father. They all believed he had perished in the battle between the Vetalas and Lord Yama, but he had somehow escaped! Because of his disfigurement and the amount of weight he had lost, no one had recognized him. But when Tara recalled his face, she was sure it was him. Of course he would lie for his daughter and granddaughter. It made perfect sense now. And it was proof that she was innocent.

  Tara jumped to her feet, raced to the front door and pounded on it, ignoring her palms, which throbbed painfully. “Open up!” she yelled. “I have very important information for Raka.”

  No one answered her. Where were they all? Tara ran to a small window beside the front door, pressed her forehead to the bars and peered out. There was no one around. They had locked her up and gone away.

  “I have some important information!” yelled Tara. “Someone call Raka. Get a message to him, please.…”

  No one answered her plea and even if they heard her yell, they chose to ignore it.

  Tara screamed until she was hoarse, but not a soul appeared. It was like being in the Underworld again where the louder she screamed, the less her chances of being heard. She shuffled back into the room and lay down, tired beyond belief. She looked at the scabs on her palms; stark reminders of what she had done for Morni. No one would ever know.

  Grief and anger pummelled her insides so that she was unable to rest or sleep. She lay on the floor, watching the ray of sunshine move higher and higher up the wall as the sun sank into the horizon.

  She had failed. Miserably.

  — twenty-five —

  The Final Verdict

  “It’s time to go.” The voice came from far away. “Up, now!”

  Someone prodded her roughly and Tara sat up, her heart beating wildly. “Wha-what happened?”

  “The Panchayats have reached a decision,” said the villager.

  Tara got to her feet and glanced outside. Night was upon them. She had slept the day away. Lord Yama would be coming for her in a few hours. Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours came flooding back, along with the crushing disappointment that it was too late to carry out her plan. Layla would live and she would die.

  “Come on, move,” said the villager. “We can’t keep them waiting.”

  Tara ran her hands through her messy hair, trying to control their shaking. “Let’s go.”

  Lanterns were placed at regular intervals on the raised platform in the centre of the village. Flickering torches circled the periphery of the clearing. Smoke from the torches rose into the air and hung in a black cloud over them.

  Morni’s Panchayat was alr
eady seated on the platform. Kripan was there, too, but a couple of members of his Panchayat were still missing. Most of the villagers had gathered and more poured in. It seemed that no one wanted to miss her sentencing.

  Row upon row of curious onlookers craned their necks as she walked to the front of the crowd and faced them. Some jeered and spit at her while others followed her with accusing eyes.

  Tara was once again reminded of Kali’s trial. The crowd had been half the size then. Little had she known that the decision made on that day would come to haunt her years later. If only her mother could have predicted this, they would have banished Layla, too. Instead, they had raised a poisonous snake in their midst who had turned on them at the first opportunity.

  Once again, she scanned the crowd for the one face she longed to see, the one person who could not fail her. And this time she saw Ananth at the back of the crowd. Her heart leaped. He had come out to support her!

  As Tara stared at him, an idea took shape in her mind. Why shouldn’t she ask him to finish the task? Kill Layla to rid them of Kali’s evil legacy once and for all. The huge boulder that sat on her chest became lighter. There was still a chance that this could work out.

  She stared at Ananth and jerked her head slightly, hoping he’d understand her and come closer. He stared back at her with a blank face. A boy in the front row spat on her. Tara glared at him. When she looked up again, Ananth was gone. She searched the crowd, unable to believe what she was seeing. But it was true. Ananth had vanished.

  It was as if someone had put a lit match to her heart. Ananth had abandoned her, too.

  Tara faced the Panchayat. All ten now sat on the platform, staring at her with grim expressions. Her gaze travelled along the front row and there was Layla smirking at her. Tara looked away, too miserable to even muster a glare.

  “Is everyone here?” asked Raka.

  Someone replied that more villagers from Pinjaur were expected.

  Tara scanned the crowd for Dayalu and was not surprised to find him missing. He had helped his granddaughter; his job was done. Why hadn’t she recognized him earlier? Things might have turned out differently for her. Would anyone believe her if she told them now?

  “I have something to say,” said Tara, addressing Raka. “It’s very important.”

  “You had your chance earlier, Tara. I don’t want to hear a single word from you. Now you will listen to what we have to say.”

  Tara looked away, her face burning. She blinked back tears, refusing to let him or anyone else have the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Someone coughed loudly, drawing her attention. It was Layla. She mouthed the word suffer and smiled. Tara longed to stick the dagger, which was still in her pocket, into Layla’s heart and twist it.

  But the thought of attempting it in front of so many people made her sick. And she knew she’d never succeed.

  The crowd swelled and the clearing was at bursting capacity. How could so many people hate her?

  Raka stood up and raised his hand. Immediately the villagers became silent. A few children raced up and sat in front of Layla, who was now safely ensconced within the crowd. It would be impossible to get to her and Tara forced herself to drop the idea and focus on Raka. Her heart was working extra hard and she was afraid it would stop beating any moment.

  “Thank you all for your patience. We have finally reached a decision.”

  Tara clasped her sweaty hands together. Up until this moment her one desire had been to kill Layla. She had not given a second’s thought to her own fate. And now she was about to find out how she would die unless Lord Yama claimed her first. Either way she was doomed; to a painful death or eternal misery in the Underworld.

  “Kripan will make the announcement,” said Raka.

  Kripan stood up. His eyes travelled the crowd slowly, so slowly that it seemed he was looking at each and every person. Tara wrung her hands. The tight knots in her neck and shoulders ached. She wished he would hurry up.

  “We have decided that Tara’s crimes have seriously affected us all; our families, our crops, our very existence,” said Kripan. “That is a grave sin.”

  “So what’s the verdict?” someone called out from the crowd.

  Kripan looked straight at her. “Tara will be stoned to death.”

  “NOOOOO!” someone screeched from the back of the crowd. “You can’t do that to my child!”

  Tara’s head whipped round though she knew exactly who had yelled out. “Mother!”

  Parvati pushed through the crowd and stumbled into Tara’s arms.

  “Oh my poor child,” she said, hugging Tara tight.

  A spiraling panic seeped through Tara and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She held on to her mother, wishing she had the power to make time stand still. She didn’t want to die … not by stoning. And definitely not now!

  “Parvati, you should not be here,” said Raka. He got off the parapet and came toward them.

  “Stay away from my daughter, you senile old man,” screamed Parvati. “You have no idea how wrong you are about this brave child of mine. She wouldn’t harm a fly.”

  Raka’s face turned grimmer. He nodded to two villagers close by. “Take her back to my hut and make sure she stays there.”

  The men advanced on Tara and her mother. Tara tightened her grip. They caught hold of Parvati’s arms and pulled her away, but it felt as if they had torn Tara’s heart out. Parvati was sobbing like a child. Tara knew that if she cried or showed her despair, it would drive her mother mad.

  She swallowed the bitter taste of fear and tried to control the panic that now raced through her veins, becoming part of every breath she took.

  Tara walked up to her and cupped her face. “Mother, I’ll be all right. Go back to Suraj. Please.”

  Parvati’s face was contorted with pain as she stared at Tara. She opened her mouth but no words came out.

  “They’re making a huge mistake but they will realize it very soon,” said Tara. “We Lalls are strong and I’m not going to beg or plead for mercy.”

  “Then I will,” said Parvati. “I’ll do anything to save your life.”

  “No, Mother. I don’t want you to let go of your dignity in front of these people. You must go. Lord Ganesh is with me.”

  The two villagers Raka had summoned stood close by, looking ashamed. Neither could meet her eye. They tugged at Parvati once more. She broke free and lunged at Tara, embracing her fiercely. This time Tara did not return the hug though she inhaled deeply, capturing the scent of her mother within her heart. Then she took another deep breath. She was not going to give this blind, superstitious crowd the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

  “Please go, Mother,” said Tara quietly. “And don’t come back, no matter what you hear.”

  Parvati fainted and Tara had to use every bit of willpower to keep from rushing to her side. The villagers carried her away, leaving Tara with the memory of her stricken face.

  “When are you … when will this happen?” said Tara trying to control the tremble in her voice.

  “Now,” said Raka. He could barely meet her eye. Tara glanced at the villagers who had once been like family, but no longer.

  Think of the upside, the little voice piped in. You’ll be like all the other dead in the Underworld instead of wandering around, alive and lonely. And yet, this was not the way she wanted to go. Her pride smarted as she realized that she was the first child in the history of Morni to die this way. Forever after, her family name, the name of the Lalls, would be despised.

  The crowd was moving back. Some of the villagers from Pinjaur were tossing something into the air, catching it again deftly. Rocks! They were already armed.

  Tara clenched her hands. A voice she hated intensely whispered into her ear.

  “Told you I’d win.”

  — twenty-six —

  Death by Stoning

  A low hum started within the crowd and spread rapidly like a forest fire.

  Tara tensed, her stomach heavi
ng, her head spinning. Who would throw the first stone? How much would it hurt? The villagers, armed with rocks, now pressed closer. The members of the Panchayats were also standing. Tara had never experienced a stoning before, but that was about to change.

  For a moment there was hushed silence. Were they waiting for a command from the Panchayat? Were they waiting for her to cry, to run? Then the rumbling began.

  ‘Kill her,” someone said.

  “Stone the witch,” another yelled.

  “She must die!” A woman shrieked.

  Tara’s knees turned to jelly as the voices grew more strident. Her lungs seemed empty even though she took deep breaths. The edges of her vision start to blur.

  The next moment Tara’s head exploded with pain. She screamed and clapped her hand to her head. It came away moist and red. Someone had thrown the first stone.

  She scanned the crowd, blood streaming down her face, and wasn’t surprised when Layla stepped forward.

  “What are you all waiting for?” screamed Layla. “This evil person deserves to die!”

  The floodgates opened and rocks flew at her from all sides, connecting with bone and tender skin. Tara shrieked and fell to the ground covering her head. Tears of anger, pain, and shame coursed down her cheeks as a monsoon of rocks rained down. She was on fire and prayed one of the rocks would knock her unconscious.

  “STOP!” roared a voice filled with rage.

  The voice boomed through the village centre. Immediately the shower of stones stopped. Tara tried to stand, but it was too painful. She managed to sit up, all of her screaming in agony. Blood trickled into her right eye so that she could barely see clearly.

  The clip-clopping of hooves and loud gasps that rippled through the crowd gave away her rescuer’s identity. Villagers jumped aside and Lord Yama rode straight up to her. He dismounted and helped Tara to her feet. “You’re late, Tara and now I know why. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Oh my dear child, just look at you …”

  Tara shook her head, unable to say a word. His kindness was too much to bear and the tears continued to flow. He shook his large head sorrowfully and wiped her tears.