by Zuni Chopra
But was I? I didn’t know. I’d been speaking with them for as long as I could remember. They were my family, weren’t they? I couldn’t just let them go!
Tathi interrupted my twisted whirlpool of thoughts, in which our conversation, a rotted old sailboat, had caught and been dragged to the depths.
‘Who would die, Zuzu?’
‘Um . . . well . . . you and me! Or me, at least. I couldn’t leave our house, Tathi! I couldn’t leave Kashmir!’
She smiled. It was a bit too knowing.
‘I know. Neither could I. I would always wish to remain with the scented, flowery wind . . . the soft blossoms and shikaras of spring . . . the fires of winter . . . the leaves of autumn . . . the mountain range to marvel at each sunrise . . . the snow, gentle as a kiss, blanketing the year’s failures underneath fresh beauty . . . oh, I could never live anywhere else.’
It was my turn then to break her reverie.
‘Exactly. So we can’t just let the house get sold, can we? Can I tell Ma you’ve said that? She said we had to move because you were getting old, but I told her you’d never choose to leave.’
Tathi gave me a curious, unsmiling glance. She thought for a little longer than a moment before saying, ‘Yes, you tell your mother that. Tell her that I surely cannot leave. And I don’t know . . . if you . . . hmmm . . .’
I stared at her. What was she talking about? Cannot leave? Why wasn’t she meeting my eye? Where had her smile gone? Where had her wits gone?
She leapt up suddenly, as though trying to negate what had just happened.
‘Well, after that piece of news, I should think you’d want some leftover yakhni from last night! I shall get it right away!’
And she bustled off towards the kitchen, her hands clasped tight together.
The rain had stopped entirely by the time I walked back home. I squelched my feet alternately through each puddle I came across on the mud-soaked streets. Occasionally, I came across one with a bit of dark red, which I surmised was blood, so I did not step in those. I passed the banks of a small tributary of Dal Lake, the water still and quiet. I waved at those I passed, who were few and deadened, and did not wave back. The chana stand was empty, a few grimy wrappers sliming across its wood.
Lameeya Auntie was tending the few wisps of garden left to her, and waved as I passed. I smiled in return, wondering vaguely about Altaf. The houses lay mellow and silent, hidden within the valley.
Finally, I reached the old, worn gate of my home. I rushed inside, eager to warm my chattering teeth and chilled bones. My eyes flicked towards the chinar as I felt my limbs grow warmer inside my frosty shirt. And that’s when it first hit me. The dull auric tree was looking . . . well, not smaller—I knew that was impossible—but sick somehow, as though it didn’t really feel like standing up as straight as before. As though it couldn’t. My feet had gone on without my mind, and before I could think through the thing properly, I was at the door. Labelling it as another product of this dreary day, I pushed it open.
As soon as I entered, taking off my chappals near the umbrella, Ma came over with a lit diya and a bit of halwa in our metal tambri.
‘For Puranmashi,’ she murmured as she passed me some halwa.
The atmosphere began to uncoil itself as she fed me. My anger at her seemed to soften at the edges. The fireplace murmured a sleepy welcome from the living room. I accepted a bit of warm halwa from her hands, and it melted delightfully on my tongue, leaving me with the gentle, cosy contentment of home.
We walked over to the small clay figurine of Kheer Bhawani Mata, once in a deep red sari with long, black hair and a powerful chakra in her left hand, then chipped horribly at the sides so that it no longer resembled a god so much as a mound of putty. Ma began aarti, and softly sang a mountain prayer, formed long ago in the winds of the hills, the pulse of Kashmir beating loudly through the music.
I couldn’t sleep. My stomach seemed intent on lurching, as though at sea, my brain set on providing as many reminders as possible of how little I’d accomplished in the way of stopping the sale. Finally, sick at heart, I began to turn slowly in bed, moving like the hands of a clock, slipping my bare, chilled feet into my too-large chappals and leaving my mother in bed.
Every step I took down the stairs seemed to echo in the gathering black. Ah, what a relief it was when I leapt down the last couple of stairs and saw the enchanted living room, bathed in moonlight, shimmering in the deep blue velvet of night.
All was silent, the carpet muffling not only my steps but also the fury of the thoughts within me, so that I felt distinctly calm as I moved towards the fireplace.
My wrist flicked involuntarily, and I heard the window give a slight rattle. I turned towards it, curious, and twisted my wrist again, but this time, it did not move. The wind, I supposed. Ma had brought in fresh wood that morning. Its scent, warm and comforting, drifted about the living room.
I had expected the fireplace, despite his age, to wake up excitedly as soon as I hopped down next to him. But he stayed asleep, snoring loudly, shifting the small piles of ash every now and then, his crest quivering with every breath. I poked him hard, a decidedly difficult task to accomplish, given that he was marble. He grunted, began to mutter something about radishes, then became still again.
‘Wake up!’ I hissed.
‘Hmm? What’s happened?’
‘We need to talk, log-head!’
‘Oh . . . yes . . . I’m sure . . . it’s just . . . the quill’s been waking me up so many . . . many times . . . to tell me . . . his vague . . . philosophies . . . but . . . oh, yes. Happy . . . happy birthday, Zoons . . .’
I stared at him incredulously, and then kicked him as quietly as I could manage. My toe hurt terribly.
‘What? What?’
‘My birthday isn’t for two days! Now wake UP, you worthless thing, WAKE UP!’
‘All right, all right, I’m up!’
‘The house is going to be sold.’
‘Hmm?’
‘This house is going to be sold.’
‘Oh . . . that’s nice, Zoon . . . okay . . .’
He gave a great sigh, his mixed murmurs becoming incoherent once more.
My irritation bubbled over. I picked up a beautiful, freshly cut log from the fireplace.
‘Hey . . . what’re you doing to . . . that’s my best log!’
‘What? This mangy old thing?’
‘Yes. THAT MANGY OLD THING. Drop it!’
‘No. It will stay in my lap until you listen to me, do you understand?’
The fireplace huffed irritably, then alert.
‘Did you hear what I said? About the house being . . . sold?’
‘SOLD?’ the fireplace roared, his slightly croaky voice growing even hoarser as he did so, spluttering a little on his ashes. I rolled my eyes. It always takes a while to get his fire going. ‘Who’s selling it? Why? Where will I stay? Where will YOU stay?’
‘Calm down and be quiet! Ma’s asleep!’
Suddenly a silence fell upon us.
‘What?’ I whispered.
The fireplace was still for a second too long.
‘Nothing. So what’s up with this sale?’
I stared at him for a moment, and then continued briskly, ‘Well, Ma wants the house to be sold, for some unfathomable reason. She didn’t even ASK ME what I thought, before she called the realtor over to our house as though he was her long-lost childhood friend or something . . .’
‘A realtor? What did he say?’
‘Not much, just that he’d be glad to sell and that we already had a few potential buyers.’
‘Of course, he’s going to make a lot of money. Glad to sell . . .’ the fireplace muttered darkly. We sat in an angry silence. My teeth tugged fiercely at the inside of my cheek. ‘And he said there are already a few people interested in the house?’
I nodded gravely, all hope dampening.
‘But if no one has actually been determined yet . . . Hmm . . . this could work . . .
You see, if there are many potential buyers, then, from what I remember, each one of them will probably want to come over to see the house, right?’
I groaned. I hadn’t even thought of it. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right. They probably will. Ugh! I couldn’t bear it! That stuck-up realtor . . . We have to do something!’
‘I know! Exactly my point! So, I think I’ve come up with a way to keep them out.’
I stared sceptically. The fireplace, despite being the oldest member of the house, often had these strange ideas that needed to be burnt out of him.
‘If you’re talking about barricading the gate or something—’
‘No, no. Just listen. For the next couple of days, I think you should go about making the house as dirty as you can.’
‘Dirty?’
‘Absolutely filthy.’
I stared at the fireplace as though he’d finally lost one log too many.
‘Morning everyone,’ the quill interrupted. ‘My gosh! Have you seen the size of that eclipse?’
Ignoring him entirely, I replied, ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Your mother will only invite people to see the house if it’s clean and pretty and, well, sellable! She won’t call them till she thinks the house is tidy enough,’ the fireplace explained.
It began to dawn on me, slowly, like the mist of a rising sun in the haze of winter.
‘I’d use a telescope, but I find they’re not reliable at the best of times. No, I met one once that told me I’d come from the head of an eagle. Completely inaccurate, of course; I come from the mane of a unicorn.’
I pressed on.
‘So if the house is never clean enough to show them . . .’
‘Then they never come to see it, and hopefully they never buy it either,’ the fireplace finished, pausing for a moment to cough up some ash.
I thought for a minute. It wasn’t a bad plan. It seemed logical, and not too grand or convoluted. Perhaps a few buyers may become disinterested.
‘It wouldn’t stop her indefinitely.’
‘Of course not. But it would buy us time.’
I was silent. Time . . . with which to convince Ma that this wasn’t the right path. With which to get Tathi on my side. With which to find a way to get that realtor out of here permanently.
‘Make sure you go visit Tathi when you can,’ the fireplace interjected, disrupting my tumble of thoughts.
‘I already did,’ I responded dully. ‘She didn’t help as much as I thought she would. But on the bright side, she did say she’d never leave here.’
‘That’s a start,’ said the fireplace encouragingly, and his embers brightened like flakes of gold amidst the deep brown of the wood, lighting up the crest.
‘Shocking, I know. But you know what they say! “Once a unicorn, never a leprechaun,”’ quoted the quill.
I yawned, so long and loud that I felt my eyes begin to water with fatigue. My thoughts drifted vaguely to a soft, cosy bed and mornings spent sleeping in, dreaming to the sound of the rain.
I put the log carefully back into the fireplace. I’d never admit it to him—I might lose a valuable bargaining chip—but I cared about the beauty of his flames just as much as he did. I’d never truly have the guts to damage his wood.
‘Goodnight!’ he whispered.
With steps as silent as a ghost ship gliding amongst the waves, I swept upstairs. I took one last look at the moon, seemingly full yet riddled with craters like a round of cheese, before leaping into bed and letting my eyes slip shut. A wave of stillness washed over me before another thought could enter my mind.
Chapter Four
My eyelids fluttered open. The sun was rising like a phoenix, shining light over the darkened countryside. I turned over and went back to sleep.
When morning finally came, it brought with it a great sense of purpose. I brushed my teeth with unnecessary force and grim determination while staring, unfocused, out of the foggy window. Shankaracharya Hill was barely visible, even from this distance. Impatiently, I ran a hand over its glass—I couldn’t recall a time when it had ever been this distorted. I longed for the sight of the baby-blue sky, flushed with activity, clouds mischievously twirling around the steady mountains. It was a sight that brought beauty in its simplicity, and in its need for nothing but unspoken happiness.
The first thing to do, I decided, was to make sure everyone was fully briefed on our course of action, so that it could be carried out with the utmost efficiency.
I knocked sharply on the frame of each portrait in the bedroom, causing their inhabitants to grumble sleepily.
The Mughal warrior opened his eyes at once when I reached him. He seemed to have been on the alert all night. For a moment, he peered at me questioningly. Then, as though something had flashed red-hot against the inside of his temple, he started.
‘The house! The realtor! What are we planning to do?’
I waited until he had ceased his frantic muttering of various prayers, interspaced by the snores and snorts of the kisan, before continuing.
I filled him in with short, quick, hushed sentences. Slowly, his eyes hardened and shone with a sense of pride and duty. ‘I’ll wake the others,’ he said. ‘You tell the rest.’
I opened the closet and dressed hurriedly. All at once, a shiny dress crammed into Ma’s side of the closet caught my eye. It was the salwar she’d worn to greet the realtor. And the tear at the side was gaping wider than ever. I frowned, and patted the side of the closet. Shouldn’t it have been mended by now? Anyhow, I was in such a rush I couldn’t be bothered to investigate.
The books had taken rather longer to come on board, given that they were so full of thoughts and words that it was difficult to cram in any more. Indeed, I only managed it with a great deal of help from the armchair, who’d predictably been the first to understand. At first, I hadn’t been able to get them to quiet down until I’d stamped my foot out of frustration. That seemed to cut instantly through their blabber, as though ripples of silence had burst forth from the spot where my foot touched the ground. This was something to be marvelled at; they normally never listened to me.
Halfway down the stairs, I stopped. There was something heavy and nauseating, like a small toad, in my belly. The air around me tasted oddly lifeless, seemingly carrying a sickness. My eyes darted around; every surface was immobile and quiet. I shivered, my body attempting to throw off the feeling, and pulled down the sleeves of my top.
Something was wrong.
I bit my lip. This warranted attention. Would the armchair know what was going on? I turned to move upstairs once more—and froze, my foot on the upper step; I’d heard the fireplace call out my name.
Letting out a small puff of air, I told myself to concentrate on this sale. Anything else, I assured my troubled mind, could wait for later; I must deal with the urgent matters first, and hurry.
Once I reached downstairs, I found, thankfully, that the fireplace had already told the desk and chair. They seemed to be caught in the throes of yet another serious debate, and I was glad not to have to explain something of such importance to either of them.
There was no point telling the quill, who was currently dozing in his inkpot. Half the time I wasn’t sure whether he was even aware of me speaking to him. Fondly, I recalled the time when he’d told me my hair smelled like almonds in spring.
‘Zoons?’ Ma’s voice came from the living room. At first, I smiled. Then, as though ice, rather than rain, had fallen from the sky, I felt myself grow sharp and cold.
‘What, Ma?’
I saw her come slowly into view from the doorway and lean against the banister. She seemed surprised at my tone. ‘Nothing, Zu, I just wanted to know what you’d like for breakfast. I’ve made—’
‘I’m not really hungry.’
As cutting as it sounded, it was true. All of a sudden, I’d lost all desire for food.
Ma pursed her lips. ‘Fine.’
She moved towards the cooking range, and I heard something creak loudly
beneath her feet, below the carpet. My brow furrowed at the unusual noise. To me, it sounded like a rusty knife grating against a metal plate.
My nose caught a passing whiff of saag, as though it had been trying to shrink itself down and escape before I smelled it. I turned towards Ma, who was adding a spoonful of cumin seeds into the mix over the stove.
‘Why are you making saag?’
‘Because.’ Her voice sounded coarse, clipped.
‘Because what?’
‘We’re going to be having some visitors today.’
‘Chandani Auntie again? She’ll be happy to see any food . . .’
‘No, Zoon. You don’t know them.’
‘Then why are they coming?’
The toad in my stomach was taking broad, clumsy leaps.
‘They’re coming to see the house. Along with Mr Qureishi. And unless you are sure that you’ve the capacity to behave, you may wait upstairs for the duration of their visit. Understand?’
I stood stock-still, shocked. She’d invited them already? It was then that I noticed a few folded chairs against the fridge beside her, borrowed, I supposed, from Chandani Auntie, and the extra cutlery lined up near the stove, no doubt unearthed from various drawers and unused cupboards.
‘Zoon. I said, do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
The word emerged muffled, struggling to pass through gritted teeth.
‘Good.’
I watched her chop up a deep green pepper, riddled with seeds, and sprinkle it on the saag. Its smell wafted leisurely across the room, not bothering to hide itself. Rather, it spread enticingly past each door left ajar, swirling through hidden corners, making my nostrils widen at the scent of seasoned spinach and greens.
