The Magic of Hobson Jobson

by Soyna Owley

  S. Owley

  THE MAGIC OF HOBSON-JOBSON

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Contents

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1. Jaadu’s Prediction

  2. Hobson-Jobson

  3. Alone in This World

  4. Grief

  5. Twickenham 3.01 p.m. to Durjipore Souks

  6. It’s Hobson-Jobson—Anything Is Possible

  7. Yama Forest

  8. Balsam and Ela

  9. The Inkling Room

  10. The Tannycatch

  11. The Prophecy

  12. Merman’s Charpoy

  13. The Waterfall of Faces

  14. The Mutchaan

  15. The Second Task

  16. The Peerless Race

  17. Century Forfeited

  18. Shaitana

  19. Full of Promise

  20. A Good Enough Mother

  21. The Rogue Wave

  22. Volcano Brim

  23. The Final Question

  24. Forget-Me-Not

  Copyright Page

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  THE MAGIC OF HOBSON-JOBSON

  Soyna Owley is a member of the Society for Children’s Book Writers and Editors, British Isles. This is her debut novel.

  She lives in London with her family and keeps a jar of mint humbugs on her desk for when writer’s block strikes.

  To all Rhodesian Ridgebacks and the people they own, and

  especially to my dear heart Cedric whose flight is eternal.

  Jungles, fakirs, dancing girls, prickly heat,

  Shawls, idols, durbars, brandy-pawny;

  Rupees, clever jugglers, dust storms, slipper’d feet,

  Rainy season, and mulligatawny …

  —George Franklin Atkinson, Curry and Rice on Forty Plates, 1859

  Prologue

  Before the Beginning

  Kulwant Rana Maternity Hospital,

  The Commonwealth Island of Durjipore,

  Union Territory of Bharat Ganarajya (Republic of India)

  26 January 2000

  1400 hrs.

  ‘The solar eclipse is a bad time to be with child,’ the old woman murmured, clucking her tongue as she stared out of the window, her eyes raised to the heavens.

  ‘Don’t worry, Banu auntie.’ Maya smoothed the wrinkled cotton of her green sari over her bump. How strange that she would be having not one baby, but two, at the same time.

  She mulled over the names she and her husband had chosen. If they were boys, they would have Parsi names, like their father, who belonged to the ancient Zoroastrian community. If girls, they would have Hindu names, like hers.

  A fresh bout of pain interrupted her thoughts. She turned over on the narrow hospital bed, breathing in ragged gasps as she shifted the position of her swollen belly, now damp with sweat. A diya flickered on the bedside table, casting long shadows. Outside, her husband, Regent, paced the corridors like a captive panther in a hunter’s pit.

  ‘It’s almost time. May Garuda bless you with sons.’ Banu patted a stray silver hair back into the tight bun knotted at the nape of her neck as she invoked the name of the legendary celestial bird revered by Durjiporians.

  Almost time, Maya thought. She grasped the bedrail and raised her head to look out of the window. The solar eclipse hadn’t started yet. A shining waterway twinkled back at her and she smiled as a catamaran floated by, looking cheery in a coat of green. Oh, wasn’t she just the luckiest woman in the world? Mad with love for her husband and her unborn children. She had prayed fervently at her shrine that morning, washed all the deities’ feet with fresh milk and honey and strewn newly-budded marigolds and jasmines before leaving for the hospital. Soon, she would look over this shiny web of waterways as she nursed her babies. Like her, they would grow up here, on this beautiful, forgotten island. They would travel to school by catamaran, marry and some day, have children of their own. Yes, then another generation would be born on this small land, nestled quietly in the Bay of Rhunnjee, forgotten by both its past and present owners.

  The British had come to these islands as traders and then ruled India for nearly two centuries. All six Commonwealth Islands, including Durjipore, still retained many English customs and a unique style of Anglo-Indian cooking. Their present owner, India, seemed like a distant cousin that the Commonwealth Islands felt increasingly alienated from because of its bustling progress in the modern world.

  ‘Don’t look outside!’ Banu cautioned, interrupting Maya’s thoughts, her voice almost a hiss. ‘How many times to tell you?’

  There was a loud knock. Banu glared at the intrusion, her crisp blue cotton sari rustling as she moved.

  ‘Banu?’ Regent’s voice echoed as the door creaked open. ‘The doctor was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.’ He stood in the doorway, a tall man in the pale orange uniform of the Durjipore police, his shoulders blocking the light.

  ‘Regent, get out. Men aren’t allowed in here.’ Regent’s feet shuffled at Banu’s admonishment and then went silent.

  ‘Is your husband the first man in Durjipore to become a father?’ Banu muttered, wiping Maya’s forehead with a damp towel. Durjipore tradition dictated that ‘confinement’—the process of giving birth—was to be attended only by women. Regent had initially been incensed at Banu’s insistence on observing this outmoded tradition, but had relented on Maya’s pleas. After all, Banu was Maya’s last living relative.

  Banu took Maya’s hands into her trembling ones. ‘Please, beti, Maya, don’t touch your belly for those few minutes when the sun is black,’ she said, her lips pale, her wrinkled skin like crushed, tea-stained velvet.

  ‘You really believe in those old superstitions, auntie?’ Maya asked, but moved her hands away from her abdomen. She shot a covert glance at the window. The sun became a ripe, half-eaten peach as the sky darkened.

  ‘Maya, this is old island culture, not some silly superstition,’ she said, kissing the top of Maya’s head. ‘May the protection of the Ressuldars be with your children, every minute of their lives.’

  Maya smiled. Whether you believed in them or not, the notion of magical forest folk who protected Durjipore brought a feeling of comfort to even its most sceptical citizen.

  ‘The doctor is on his way,’ Regent’s voice called as he knocked on the door.

  ‘Remember … no touching the womb. The eclipse is upon us. Now, let me manage Regent.’ Banu left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

  Maya watched the moon pass in front of the sun from her window, unable to tear her eyes away.

  I really shouldn’t. Bad for the babies or not, it’s bad for the eyes, she thought, averting her gaze as the moon moved to blot the entire surface of the sun. When she looked up again, a feathery halo of flames was all that was left of the golden orb, and a deep purple curtain of twilight descended on everything in sight. The birds twittered and an uneasy wind blew outside, scattering leaves in its wake.

  A small contraction quivered through her body. She quickly grabbed the bedrails. She would not touch her belly. She hated to admit it but the superstition scared her. The contraction passed and she relaxed but then, without warning, another bigger bolt of pain throbbed through her. Reflexively she put her hand on her abdomen. Banu burst through the door, Regent behind her.

  ‘Maya, hai! What have you done?’ She slapped Maya’s hand off. ‘If you hadn’t come around like a raging ox, I could have prevented it,’ she said to Regent.

  ‘Stop that superstitious nonsense.’ Regent rushed to Maya’s side. ‘Nothing’s going to happen.’

  ‘Regent, leave, now! Have you no respect for our traditions?’ Banu shouted.

  Maya screa
med as another contraction shuddered through her. There was a knock at the door.

  ‘He’s here. The doctor’s here,’ Banu said.

  Eight hours later, Maya stirred and looked at her newborns, who lay swaddled in a crib by her bed.

  ‘Congratulations, Deputy Inspector Foxwallah! Two perfectly healthy Durjipore boys. Mother is doing fine.’ Dr Mohandas’s black, curled moustache twitched as he shook the new father’s hand. How happy Regent looked!

  ‘How will I tell these two rascals apart?’ he said, smiling.

  ‘You’ll have no trouble,’ Dr Mohandas said. ‘They might look similar but their personalities are already unique. The older one, he’s a bit timid. His brother—bold as a langur.’ He nodded at Banu. ‘You can examine them now.’

  Banu scrambled to the crib and removed the swaddles. She bent her head, counted each twin’s fingers and toes, and looked up with a smile.

  ‘Every digit intact,’ she declared, picking up the older twin. ‘Thank the planets they’re not affected by the eclipse. By the vermilion on my forehead, I swear this one looks just like his father.’ She rocked the baby gently until he opened his eyes. ‘This is the older one, no? Farook? A name fit for a prince.’

  Banu put Farook down and picked up his twin. ‘My precious ruby, Floyd,’ she cooed. The baby opened his eyes and the woman stifled a cry, almost dropping him.

  Maya felt her insides go cold.

  ‘His eyes … they are pied,’ Banu whispered, her face as pale as wax.

  Maya picked up her son and looked into his eyes. One was blue and the other brown. She felt a mix of emotions. An overwhelming need to protect this tiny creature … and a fear like she had never known.

  ‘How many times did I tell you, Maya?’ Banu wailed. ‘Don’t touch your belly during the eclipse! Now look what’s happened!’

  Regent’s mouth had thinned and was white around the edges. He folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot on the floor. ‘Banu, really. His eye colour was decided a long time ago, by his genes.’

  ‘Oh no. No one listens to Banu,’ Banu sobbed softly. ‘As old as an owl, and as stupid, they say I am.’ The old lady put her hands on either side of her head. ‘But you will see. He is inauspicious!’

  1

  Jaadu’s Prediction

  Spring Festival of Hobson-Jobson

  The Commonwealth Island of Durjipore,

  Union Territory of Bharat Ganarajya (Republic of India)

  Present Day

  Floyd cursed himself. Why had he disobeyed his own motto? A.E.C. Avoid Eye Contact. His right eye was as brown as a ripe almond; his left was blue, bright as the Indian Ocean on a summer’s day. Not a good thing in a superstitious country like Durjipore, where people would blame anything or anyone for the fact that the island was slowly sinking into the sea.

  He should know better by now.

  ‘Unnatural eyes. Unlucky boy,’ Jaadu, the old soothsayer, said. A bony hand darted out from under a tattered sleeve and Floyd suddenly felt his chin in a tight, throbbing grip. Jaadu’s eyes darted over Floyd’s face with the expertise of a mother monkey examining her young for lice.

  Floyd twisted his face away, and shot the soothsayer a withering glare. Behind the old man, Ma exhaled softly and shuffled her feet.

  ‘Misfortune harkens,’ the soothsayer intoned.

  Floyd clenched his hands and took a deep breath. Misfortune indeed. The purple velvet tent, with its mirrored walls, felt like a giant jewellery box. Their family had barely avoided death-by-elephant-parade by diving into the tent, only to be stuck with this Jaadu character. Myrrh-scented smoke pouring from a bronze floor-pot made the air hot and hazy, but it still smelled stale. And now, by gum, Papa, Ma, his twin Farook and he would be trapped for goodness-knows-how-long.

  ‘Are you okay, Floyd?’ Farook asked, his forehead crinkled with worry.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ Floyd mumbled. Even though they were only fifteen minutes apart in age, Farook acted like he was years older. Freakishly alike, they were thirteen years old, five foot-seven, with white teeth, wheat-coloured skin and treacle-shiny hair. Indistinguishable, except for the left eye. Why, oh why couldn’t both his eyes be like Farook’s?

  Outside, delighted shrieks arose as the ceremonial elephants trumpeted, thudding along the narrow path the Foxwallah family had just escaped from. Gondolas carrying costumed revellers would have started their float down the congested waterways that riddled Durjipore.

  It was Burra Din, the first day of Hobson-Jobson—a festive fortnight when, it was said, ancient legends came to life and magic older than even Durjipore was revealed. A cloak of golden happiness settled upon everyone during this auspicious time.

  Almost everyone.

  Jaadu the soothsayer hunched closer to take a second look at Floyd’s face. Floyd squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear Ma’s breathing getting heavier. His pulse quickened. This crackpot soothsayer was stoking her fears—not that she needed any confirmation that he was unlucky.

  ‘I need air,’ Ma gasped. Floyd opened his eyes to see Papa rubbing Ma’s back. Ma’s petite frame was bent, and her neck was hollowed. Her breathing droned like a thousand mosquitoes. Farook rummaged through Ma’s purse, pulled out her inhaler and handed it to her. She puffed, two quick ones, and her breaths became more even.

  Floyd swallowed the leaden lump forming in his throat and clenched his fists. All her tension was because of him, because of his stupid eyes. He looked at her and a wave of love washed over him. A hundred mirrors on the tent walls reflected the thoughts that flitted across his face. Ma was so pretty, so vulnerable somehow, despite her ferocity. She looked stellar tonight in an orange silk sari. Her waist-length black hair was tied in a knot at the nape of her neck, to which she had pinned a small bunch of fresh jasmine flowers. On her right forefinger sparkled a single ring with her favourite stone—a light green peridot that someone, no doubt an astrologer, had told her would keep bad luck at bay.

  Papa walked over to the entrance flap of the tent and parted the folds.

  Relief. Floyd gulped in the fresh night air and just as the flap of the tent fell, he caught a glimpse of elephants in gold brocade saddles, their painted trunks swaying between pearl-encrusted tusks. The ceremonial march was going strong and the Foxwallahs were still trapped.

  ‘Special charms could most definitely change the sahib’s fate,’ Jaadu pronounced. Floyd glared. Jaadu’s sarcastic use of the word ‘sir’ was a potshot at his age. ‘Only a small sum of eight tolas,’ Jaadu continued with a greasy smile. On the floor, his bright green parrot tried to spread its wings, rattling its dull copper cage.

  ‘My son’s fate will be determined by the choices he makes, thank you very much.’ That was Papa—sceptical Deputy Inspector Foxwallah wouldn’t believe any of this hoodoo. Papa turned to Jaadu and drew himself up to his full height, looking every inch the deputy chief of Durjipore police. ‘And, no we don’t want any charms or readings. We’re just biding our time here.’

  Floyd exhaled. Good for you, Papa, he cheered inwardly. That was Papa for you. Handsome, strong, always setting things right.

  ‘Ki hai? You don’t trust the stars? That too during Hobson-Jobson!’ Jaadu exclaimed, and blew a mouthful of pungent smoke into Floyd’s face. ‘When the planets churn and the heavens themselves are confused, one must take precautions.’ He took a drag of his peppery beedi and blew more smoke at them.

  Floyd coughed and turned away.

  Jaadu tutted. ‘I warn you. Only an official reading can help.’

  ‘So, Mr Jaadu, is Floyd really unlucky?’ Farook asked, with a tremor in his voice. Floyd felt his irritation rise. Farook was like Ma, quite superstitious.

  Jaadu released his grip and turned to Farook, narrowing his eyes. ‘Your brother is unlucky, very unfortunate. But his eyes also tell of great courage.’

  Farook pulled at Floyd’s sleeve.

  ‘What now?’ Floyd said.

  ‘Floyd, ask him,’ Farook whispered. ‘You know, about the
visions …’ Farook’s voice trailed off.

  Floyd’s irritation drained out of him, leaving behind a cold fear. His heart thudded against his ribs so hard it was a wonder the tiny tent didn’t tip over. Farook had promised he wouldn’t bring this up, ever.

  He grabbed Farook’s shoulder and turned him around. ‘Shut your gob.’

  Farook’s shoulders sagged. ‘Floyd, please. We should—’

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you,’ Floyd hissed.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Farook said, pushing Floyd’s hand away.

  Floyd’s heart still hammered from Farook’s whisper. If Ma found out about the visions, his life would consist only of a series of visits to astrologers. No more cricket practice in the evenings—some astrologer would definitely deem that highly dangerous—that too, just as he had perfected his right-handed off-spin bowl.

  The visions had started exactly a month ago, right after the Twickenham inter school cricket tournament. Every time he looked at a watery surface, he saw her—a shadowy female with a sinister smile.

  Other children had had those visions too.

  Right before something bad happened to them, a voice inside him whispered.

  Children were being kidnapped all over Durjipore. It had started a year ago, a few at a time, but now the disappearances were more frequent.

  The trumpeting elephants broke his thoughts as they continued to thud outside, making the tent jiggle.

  ‘Could you please put that foul cigarette out?’ Deputy Inspector Foxwallah glared at Jaadu.

  Jaadu smeared his beedi into a pot, billowed the final cloud of smoke towards the velvet ceiling and grinned at his captive audience with long, yellow teeth.

  ‘Curious thousands have come to see Hira, the miraculous parrot, part the curtains of the cosmos,’ Jaadu said, and bowed. ‘O Garuda, great celestial bird, if any word Jaadu speaks is untrue, may your fearsome beak gouge out my heart.’

  The parrot flapped its wings. ‘Sahibs and sahiba, or if you prefer, I say in English, sirs and madam, have your kismet revealed,’ it screeched.