Asha & the Spirit Bird

by Jasbinder Bilan

  We work all day until my hands, blackened from touching the dirt and rubbish, are scratched all over, until the sun hovers overhead and burns an orange hole in the grey sky, and all I know is that I must think clearly. I must make a plan to get away from here and find Papa.

  A shrill siren sound fills the air and suddenly everyone stops working. A crowd of children surges forward, pushing and shoving each other, shouting to get ahead.

  My feet are barely touching the ground as we get carried along with the others towards a barrel of water at the foot of the mound.

  A boy elbows Jeevan hard in the ribs. ‘That’s my spot, newbie,’ he yells, shoving himself in front. ‘And you – get out of my spot, both of you.’ He glares at us.

  I pull Jeevan back. ‘Just leave us alone.’

  ‘Yeah, leave them alone, Taran,’ says a skinny boy wearing a filthy T-shirt and tatty shorts. He turns to us. ‘My name’s Samir. Don’t take any notice of him.’ He forces a smile. ‘My friends call me Sami . . . and this is Attica.’

  A girl who reminds me of Roopa pushes forward. ‘Hi,’ she whispers.

  ‘But you’re too young to be here,’ I say.

  Attica wipes her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I used to live with my uncle but he lost his job and said he couldn’t afford to keep me any more, so he sold me . . . that’s how I ended up here.’

  ‘Sold you?’ I can’t believe what she’s saying – but I guess that’s what happened to us, isn’t it? The lady in the car exchanged us for money.

  ‘I don’t ever think I’ll get out,’ she replies, her voice on the edge of tears.

  ‘But I look out for you, don’t I?’ says Sami, putting an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘We look after each other . . . it’s the only way.’

  We move along the queue for water, all the children jostling and grabbing each other.

  ‘Keep going,’ cries one of the men, stomping up and down, using a long stick to jab anyone who takes more than a few gulps of water.

  I push Jeevan forward. ‘You go first. You’ve been working for longer than me.’

  He doesn’t even bother to argue. He finishes quickly, gives me the cup and I pour the water into my mouth. I’m so thirsty I don’t want to stop, but I barely start the first sip before the man pushes me away.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘what are you, an elephant? Get back to picking . . . useless mongrels!’ He snatches the drink away.

  I clench my jaw as we walk back to the mound of rubbish and carry on picking things off the ground.

  We’re not allowed to stop or rest; we keep looking for wires, cans, anything metal from the dump, and stuff it into the sacks on our backs.

  The sun disappears behind the tower blocks and the grey sky starts to darken. There’ll be no moon tonight, and I remember how each Divali we celebrate at home is always on a moonless night. We still have four weeks. A pair of flickering floodlights turn on, and I realise we’ll be working for hours yet.

  A few hours later, I brush myself off, wipe the sludge off a tin and examine it closely in the semi-darkness. ‘Jeevan, look,’ I whisper.

  ‘What are you going on about?’ says Jeevan, looking confused. ‘We’ve got more important things to worry about than some silly old tin.’

  ‘No, Jeevan.’ I shove it under his nose. ‘There’s a lamagaia on it.’ I think of Nanijee straight away, convinced that I was meant to find it. ‘It says Himalayan Tea. Maybe it’s from one of those plantations near Galapoor and it’s been sent as a sign to keep us strong.’

  Jeevan pushes the hair off his eyes to get a better look. ‘That is quite a coincidence . . . I think you could be right.’ He sounds animated and for the first time he might actually believe it’s a sign.

  I slip the tin into my pocket and think of the spirit bird that watched over our journey, feel for Nanijee’s pendant and plead for it to keep me strong . . . I will find Papa in time and won’t let anything stop me from getting out of here.

  Just when I think they’re going to make us work all through the night, the high-pitched siren wails again, and everyone finally stops. My back aches and my legs feel like they might give way as we shuffle towards the crumbling old building where I spent the night.

  My arms are so weak that I can barely lift them but I’m not giving in – I have to get out and find Papa. We have to make a plan.

  The guards herd us through a dimly lit corridor like cattle and I try to count how many of us there are . . . around fifty, I think. Right at the end they push us into a room reeking of soiled, damp bedding and lit by a gloomy bare light bulb, and lock us in.

  The room is just slightly bigger than our cowsheds at home, and has steps leading up to a platform to make another floor, so they can squeeze everyone in.

  ‘Over here,’ says Jeevan, shoving past the crowd of bodies in the semi-darkness, stepping over the children too tired to move. ‘Let’s sit next to Attica and Sami.’

  Suddenly the door swings open. Someone throws in a tray full of rotia, drops a container of water on to the floor, turns the heavy lock and leaves.

  Everyone rushes over to the food, pushing and shoving others out of the way. Jeevan joins in, elbowing his way to the tray.

  ‘Here, I got a few,’ he says, fighting his way back through the scrum. ‘They’re a bit stale but at least it’s food.’

  ‘It’s everyone for themselves here, isn’t it?’ I say, taking the hard bread from him.

  I get the shrivelled mango seedling out of my pocket and examine it. I gently trickle some water on to it, close my eyes and say a silent prayer, willing it to recover.

  ‘Look!’ I show it to Jeevan. ‘It’s getting better already. There’s a new shoot if you look closely.’

  ‘Where? I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Jeevan, you have to believe in things if you want them to happen.’ I put the seedling back in my pocket. We sit with our backs against the wall, dipping roti into a cup of water to soften it. The other children are a tangle of jutting ribs and filth-streaked hair, grabbing at each other, trying to get a bit more food. Attica and Sami smell terrible, their cheeks are hollow and sunken . . . this is what will happen to us if we don’t get out.

  ‘I’m not staying here,’ I say, a growl throbbing in my throat.

  Neither Sami nor Attica speak, they just look at each other.

  Attica retrieves a stub of candle and a small box of matches from behind a loose brick in the wall, and lights it. The others in the room fall silent and, out of curiosity I suppose, gradually gather around us.

  ‘Has anyone ever tried to get out?’ I ask. They still don’t say anything. ‘Well, have they?’

  Sami speaks first. ‘Don’t think about it. You can’t get out of here. They lock us up and keep us in order with the whips . . . and worse.’

  I look at Jeevan and imagine the beating he must have taken. ‘They don’t have a right to keep any of us here,’ I say. ‘If we work together we could do it.’

  ‘Asha –’ it’s Attica who speaks this time – ‘you probably think we’re cowards, but we were all like you in the beginning . . . we think Sami’s been here longest but there’s no way of telling and every day is like the next. If you make any trouble, they just get rid of you.’

  ‘I can remember most of you arriving, and the ones who disappeared,’ says Sami. ‘There are plenty of children on the streets who will trust someone with the promise of a warm bed and food . . . you came, didn’t you?’

  ‘Asha didn’t want to—’ starts Jeevan.

  I interrupt him. ‘Yes . . . you’re right, Sami, we did, but we don’t have to stay.’

  ‘There are a few hidden holes under the high wall,’ says Attica, taking a bite of roti and looking at Sami and the others. ‘A while ago a group of kids decided to make a run for it. They watched the routine of the guards and then one day they tried, while we had water break.’

  ‘They got caught,’ says Sami. ‘The guards lined them up in the sun, tie
d them to posts, beat them and left them for us all to see. Then one evening they loaded them on to the dump truck . . . we don’t know what happened after that.’

  Attica wipes tears with the back of her hand. ‘So you see, nobody will risk that again. We just do what we’re told and try to keep out of their way.’

  I speak in a low strong voice, and everyone’s listening. I stand up to face them. ‘I know you’re all scared and I am too, but sometimes you have to act together. My friend Jeevan and I have travelled all the way from our village in the foothills of the Himalayas to find my papa in Zandapur.’

  ‘And we went to the highest temple in the world,’ says Jeevan, ‘and lit deevay for all our friends and family . . . if you listen to Asha we might have a chance.’

  ‘It’s too risky,’ says a boy in the crowd of faces.

  ‘You can try if you like, but I don’t want to be tied to a post and beaten,’ says another. ‘Anyway . . . they’re all in on it. Haven’t you seen the police coming in for their cut? There’s nowhere to go for help.’

  ‘So we have to help ourselves! You need to start realizing how long you’ve all been here. Look at the sky – every night the moon changes. It can tell you how the time passes if only you’ll notice it. There’s no moon tonight, but tomorrow it’ll be like a tiny nail print and in seven days it’ll be half. Do you really want them to decide your future, treat you worse than animals day after day, and get rid of you when you can’t work any more?’

  Nobody answers.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ asks Jeevan.

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ says Sami. But he doesn’t look convinced.

  ‘What makes her so special?’ says Taran, scowling. ‘Why should we listen to what she says?’

  I slump down beside Jeevan. Suddenly my doubts of the night before have come flooding back – it’s hard to be hopeful in a place like this. ‘Taran’s right,’ I say, the fight slipping away from me. ‘Why should they trust me? All I’ve done is put you in danger.’

  ‘You can’t give up, Asha . . . not now.’ Jeevan makes me look at him. ‘Like you keep telling me, if you really want something you have to make it happen . . . we have to try at least.’ Suddenly he stands tall, facing the crowd of children, while I cower further into the corner.

  ‘Th-there’s something else you should all know.’ Jeevan throws me a glance and gets on to an upturned water bucket. He waits until they’re all looking at him, raising his hands to stop the noise. ‘Asha has special powers. She dreams what’s going to happen . . . this journey was written in her lines . . . she feels the spirit of her nanijee.’

  ‘None of us believes in spirits, do we?’ cries Taran, looking around at the others.

  Everyone shouts at once, causing a huge uproar, some kids taking Jeevan’s side, others gathering round Taran.

  Jeevan raises his arms. ‘Shhh . . . quiet, everyone. Come on, Asha, tell them.’

  I can’t believe how Jeevan’s changed his mind, but it’s come too late and I sink further into my misery. ‘No.’ I turn away from everyone, bury my head into my knees. ‘I can’t do any more,’ I say, tears streaming down my face.

  ‘I won’t let you give up,’ says Jeevan, putting an arm around my shoulder. I shrug him off. ‘You heard them. How can I make them listen when they’ve lost all hope . . . when I’ve lost all hope.’ I think of home and crumple a little bit more. I’m never going to see it again.

  ‘Asha, come on, remember what you told me about the spirit bird . . . the things you saw in Chitragupta’s house . . . I know you believe them, they’re the things that make you different . . . make you strong. Asha, please, I need you – they need you. Think of your papa, your family.’

  I cautiously lift my head, wipe my nose on my sleeve and begin to stand up. I feel like an emptied husk of wheat, my trembling insides threatening to cave in.

  Jeevan heaves the bucket across and stands on it again. ‘Listen,’ he shouts above the noise. ‘You have a choice: you can stay here and suffer for ever, or you can try to escape. Asha, tell them.’

  As the room gets quieter, their eyes turn to me.

  ‘They’re waiting.’

  I nervously pull at my clothes, twisting my hands together.

  ‘She’s gone all shy,’ laughs Taran. ‘She’s only a normal girl, after all. I’ve had enough of this.’

  He sparks my anger and I feel it rising like an unleashed tiger after its prey. ‘And he’s only an idiot,’ I blurt out. ‘Listen to me, everyone. If we all act together we can be strong – think about your ancestors, call on their spirits to help us.’

  ‘The feather,’ whispers Jeevan, nudging me. ‘Show them the feather that links you to the lamagaia.’

  I clasp the long golden feather from my pocket and lift it high in the air. ‘This feather is from the reincarnated spirit of my nanijee – she lives on in the form of a lamagaia and she gave it to me as a sign. I also went to see the village witch, Chitragupta, and in her house I saw tigers and a whole jungle appeared to me. She showed me the things I’d only seen in my dreams.’ As I revisit my memories of that powerful night, I begin to feel more certain. ‘She gave me the confidence to believe in myself . . . she told me that I have magical powers and that I should use them for good. She said I would know when the time was right.’ Jeevan hands me a piece of string and I tie the feather to my arm.

  He and I stand side by side like warriors, waiting for the signal to fight. I jut out my chin and feel a steely strength rebuilding inside me. Some of the children start talking among themselves, getting louder as they quibble and snipe at each other, but we stay firm.

  Sami stands up. ‘Shhh . . .’ he calls. ‘Let’s have a vote . . . hands up if you want this to end and try to get out.’

  At first only a few of the other children put up their hands, but slowly the room becomes a sea of fingers.

  For three torturous weeks we’ve been imprisoned in the dump, but every night when they lock us in with spiders as large as my palm and black rats that swarm every inch of floor, we hone our escape plan.

  Jeevan keeps chipping away, rallying the kids that are too scared, until only a few say it’s too risky.

  It’s taken hours of surreptitious observation of the guards and how they operate to get all the information we need, but the resulting plan is actually quite simple. Nevertheless, we’ve been through it over and over again, until we can all say it off by heart: when the dump truck comes around about 5 p.m. to collect the scrap metal, we’ll watch for when the driver gets out to help with the loading. Jeevan knows how to drive because of the tractors back home, so he’s going to jump in the driving seat. The rest of us will pile in the back. There are loads of us and only a few adults – and they won’t be expecting this. We should be able to do it. We’ve been watching the driver punch in the code for the gate and we’ve memorized it, so we’re all set.

  Last night we all watched the waning moon in the sky, ticking towards half, meaning it’s just over a week until Divali – until Meena comes for her money. But we’re ready for action, ready to escape. I still have time to find Papa and get home before Meena takes it.

  I wake early, and as the grey light seeps through the small windows I think about the danger I’m putting everyone in, but we have to get out otherwise we’ll die here. I hold my pendant, feel my courage rising and prepare myself for the battle ahead.

  ‘Wake up, everyone,’ I yell, fire whipping through my blood. ‘We need to go over things one last time, so we’re all absolutely sure what we’re going to do today.’

  The bodies writhe and stir like they’re part of some mythical creature with hundreds of stretching arms and legs.

  I shake Attica awake. She yawns and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Come on, everyone . . . get ready,’ says Jeevan.

  ‘What happens if it goes wrong?’ says Taran, looking towards the door. ‘They’ll treat us worse than ever.’

  ‘It won’t go wrong,’ says Jeevan, standing tall. ‘We s
tick to the plan, we stick together.’ He looks over to me. ‘All for one and one for all!’

  ‘Jeevan’s right.’ I think about Ma and Papa, Rohan and Roopa and Jeevan. I stand on the water bucket, speaking in a loud whisper. ‘We’ll do it together. I’m feeling stronger than ever today . . . each night when they shove us in here, I hold my pendant and I get a sign that tells me my nanijee is listening. Don’t be scared, we’re going to get out.’ As I speak, a rush of red-hot anger pumps through me. ‘They have no right to keep us here, and today we’re going to show them our power.’

  I lower my voice. ‘Don’t be scared – we’ll do it today. My ma taught me to believe in myself, and together we can fight this.’

  Jeevan is looking so tired and thin and although his old bruises have healed, I know he’s got fresh marks on his back from the guards’ whips, and I feel even angrier.

  The key turns in the lock. ‘Get up, scum,’ shouts one of the men.

  Everyone quietens down, huddling close together, and we file out on into the dump, just like we do every day, silently, eyes to the ground, but inside I know we all have a burning flame and when the time comes, it will spark into an almighty fire, sending a rush of furnace-hot anger all over the junkyard.

  As we approach the towering mound of rubbish my eye is drawn to shadowy grey shapes high in the sky.

  Lamagaias! Dozens of them!

  ‘Look, everyone,’ I whisper, amazed. ‘Look, up there, look how many there are!’

  The other children hold their arms across their foreheads, squinting to get a better look. ‘Wow!’ they all cry . . . even Taran.

  ‘That’s incredible,’ says Jeevan, smiling and squeezing my arm.

  They spread their wings, circling lower and lower, coming down to land on the high brick wall with razor wire across the top. When they take off again, the sun bathes their wings in golden light and they fly towards me, hovering right above, casting an immense shadow like a gigantic storm cloud over the entire mound.

  ‘It’s like a solar eclipse,’ says Jeevan, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.