Asha & the Spirit Bird

by Jasbinder Bilan

  The guards stare up, keeping their distance from us, mumbling prayers, pointing at the bronze cloud of birds.

  One of the birds swoops down, landing right next to me, just like it did the first time in our garden in Moormanali.

  ‘Nanijee!’ I say. ‘I know it’s you.’ I stretch my hand towards the tips of the bird’s vast wings and for the very first time I touch it. A wave of power like static electricity shoots down my arm, making it tingle and shiver. Even though I was scared before, all I feel now is closeness, awakening a memory from a long time ago.

  ‘It is you, isn’t it? You watched over Jeevan in the forest, and made me strong enough to help him and you’ve come now because I’ve been calling you.’

  She stays by my heels while the other birds gather in the sky, forming a wide circle all around the perimeter of the yard.

  I clutch my pendant and study them, feeling the rhythm, which is stronger than all the times before, filling me with new hope and confidence.

  My nanijee beats her wings, resting one gently on my shoulder, making me feel just like Durga, a warrior princess from the mountain kingdoms ready to fight the demons!

  ‘That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,’ says Taran, shifting his gaze. ‘I-I’m sorry I ever doubted you.’

  With a tremendous rush of air, my nanijee glides off my shoulders and joins the other lamagaias hovering in the sky.

  All day long the lamagaias circle the dump as if they’re the guards now, sometimes flying higher, sometimes lower, but always visible.

  We keep our heads down, quietly discussing the plan through the water breaks.

  For a change, the guards keep well away from us, their usual taunts and violence buried in their confusion and unease over the birds circling above.

  ‘The sun’s going down,’ I say to Jeevan and the others. ‘Tell everyone that it’s nearly time for the collection truck.’

  The message is relayed, like whispers in class, until it ripples over the entire dump, reaching all the children.

  Dark silvered clouds are gathering overhead and the sun disappears behind one of the tall buildings. I scan the circle of hovering birds, searching for my nanijee, and feel a strange sensation, as if I’m up there too, watching myself.

  Nanijee, please help me if you can.

  I grip my pendant, feeling the rhythm surge through my body like a thunderbolt, my heart racing, the charge of electricity filling the air.

  The sky darkens, crackling with thunder, and lightning streaks across the clouds, filling the air with a tremendous noise, making everyone – including the guards – stop what they are doing and stare.

  ‘What is it, Asha?’ asks Attica, pulling at her thin dress to stop it flapping about.

  I shield my eyes from the flying dust. ‘Don’t worry,’ I shout to them all. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

  The wind begins to blow more fiercely, gathering speed, sending loose paper wrappers and pieces of plastic shooting high into the air. Everyone’s clothes stick to their thin bodies, hair whipping around their faces.

  Am I making this happen?

  I put my arms around Attica, protecting her from the spiralling rubbish, and feel the red-hot rage deep inside me . . . how did the guards get away with treating them like this for so long? Just like the men on the train, they think they can push us around, they think children have no power.

  They’re wrong!

  I gather all my strength, every drop of misery and stifled scream, and bellow at the top of my voice, ‘We’re going to pay you back. Whatever happens now, we’re leaving. We’re not scared of you any more.’ The words pour out of my mouth like boiling lava. They roar out of me in an explosive war cry.

  The lamagaias continue to circle above us, their wings flashing golden against the silver grey of the billowing rain clouds and Nanijee leaves the circle, swooping down and landing close beside me. She raises herself up as if standing on her claws, puffing her chest, making herself as tall as my waist, and I feel I could climb on to her back, ride into the skies like the goddesses from the ancient texts, breathing fire and ferocity.

  ‘What’s happening?’ screams one of the guards.

  ‘Look,’ says Attica. ‘It’s the truck.’

  The gates fling open, the driver skids to a halt and gets out, looking at the scene in disbelief. It’s the perfect distraction.

  Jeevan runs towards the truck, Sami, Attica and the rest of us following as fast as we can.

  The driver notices what’s happening and grabs hold of Jeevan just as he’s climbing into the driving seat.

  ‘Let him go!’ I shout, sprinting towards the driver.

  But before I reach him, the spirit bird swoops down and lands on the driver’s head, scratching and clawing at his hair. He screams, tumbling to the ground, struggling to get the gigantic bird off.

  We cover our ears as thunder roars and lightning flashes across the sky and my nanijee rises again to join the other lamagaias.

  ‘Look!’ shouts Sami. ‘The metal on the dump looks like gold in the sunlight!’ His voice echoes through the air. Gold in the sunlight . . .

  ‘Gold!’ one of the men shouts. The others turn from us and scramble on their knees, digging into the rubbish with their hands, stuffing whatever they can into their pockets.

  ‘They’ve gone crazy,’ says Sami, staring at them.

  I try to gather my own wits. ‘Quick, everyone – climb in the back of the truck.’

  Everyone piles in, one on top of the other, squeezing to make sure there’s enough space.

  ‘Sami, Attica, get in the passenger side,’ I shout, leaping in next to them.

  Jeevan turns the key, pressing the accelerator, making the truck leap forward.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I say.

  Jeevan pushes his foot down, but the truck judders to a halt and stops. It’s stalled.

  ‘The driver’s coming,’ cries Attica, looking round.

  Jeevan twists the key again, trying to get the screeching engine started.

  The driver runs up to the stationary truck, trying to grab my arm through the open window, rain lashing down on him.

  ‘Get off,’ I cry, my throat raw. ‘Quick, Jeevan.’ I push hard on the handle to close the window, almost trapping the driver’s hand. ‘Start it again.’

  ‘You can’t get out,’ yells the driver, banging on the window, rain streaming down his face. ‘The code’s changed.’ He twists the handle, trying to open the door.

  ‘Come on, Jeevan,’ I say desperately.

  He twists the key again, stretching his legs towards the pedals.

  ‘They’re coming!’ Sami cries – and he’s right, the other men have regained their senses and are rushing towards us.

  Suddenly, the truck starts moving and jerks towards the gate – but they catch up with us anyway, banging the sides with rocks and batons.

  The birds swoop on to them, making the most ear-piercing noise, scratching at their eyes, swarming them with their immense wings, bombing them from all sides, the thunder and lightning reaching a crescendo.

  ‘Drive as fast as you can!’ I cry. ‘It doesn’t matter if the code’s changed – we’ll smash through the gate if we pick up enough speed.’

  ‘Look at that,’ says Attica.

  A halo of lightning the size of the whole dump flashes above it, hitting the razor wire above the wall with a blood-curdling bang.

  ‘You were amazing, Asha,’ cries Jeevan. ‘You did it!’

  ‘Put your foot down,’ I yell, looking back. ‘They’re piling into a car . . . they’re following us!’

  The gate splinters into pieces as we ram through it.

  ‘Faster,’ I shout above the noise of the traffic. In the side mirror I can see the lamagaias still following, swooping low in front of the windscreen of the pursuing car and landing on its roof. The car zigzags from one side of the road to the other, weaving behind us.

  Crowds of people stand at the roadside, pointing and gawping.


  Jeevan’s teeth are clenched, the knuckles on his hands white from gripping the steering wheel.

  ‘Watch out!’ I cry.

  He swerves, just missing a cart loaded with marigolds, a look of shock on the owner’s face.

  A huge cheer rings out from the back.

  The wind is so frantic now it’s practically a hurricane, the trees bent, tossing backwards and forwards, branches cracking. An ear-deafening bang shakes the road as another almighty crack of lightning hits a tree, bringing it down just behind us, blocking the road.

  ‘Go, Jeevan,’ I yell, until I think my lungs will burst.

  There are whoops and cries from the back. ‘Yeah . . . GO, Jeevan!’

  I glance in the rear-view mirror and see the car following us swerve to miss the tree, but it’s going too fast and smashes into it with a metallic crunch.

  Sami bangs on the roof of the truck as if it’s a drum . . . a massive victory cry explodes from the others.

  ‘I told you we’d do it.’ I punch the air, a smile spreading across my face.

  Sami looks over at Jeevan. ‘Where did you learn to drive like a racing star?’

  Jeevan’s mouth curls into a little smile and he bashes the horn before concentrating back on the road. He looks straight ahead, crossing through traffic lights flashing green and orange, carrying on and on through what seems like the whole of the huge city.

  ‘Look at the birds,’ shouts Jeevan, as we exchange a quick look. ‘One of them is Asha’s nanijee, you know.’

  I feel my cheeks turn hot; at last Jeevan finally believes in the power of the ancestors, and more importantly, believes in me.

  The birds form a line above us and we wave at them, before they rise further into the rain-darkened sky, disappearing into the clouds.

  The storm gradually subsides and the littered streets become quieter, with fewer people and less traffic.

  ‘Jeevan, you were incredible,’ I say. ‘You just kept going!’

  I pull the mango seedling from my pocket and wave it under his nose.

  ‘I can’t look now,’ he says. ‘I’m driving!’

  ‘Well, the shoot’s as long as two of my little fingers . . . and it’s got two bright shiny new leaves growing.’

  ‘You didn’t give up with your watering, even in there.’

  ‘And Jeevan, look – there’s the very start of the tiniest bud appearing.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get a mango growing before long!’

  Attica wraps her arms around me. ‘That was like a miracle, Asha.’

  I put the seedling back safely in my pocket. ‘See what happens when we all work together?’ I stroke Attica’s hair, thick with dirt and full of knots, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘I’ve got a little sister back home . . . she’s just like you. Her name’s Roopa.’

  She snuggles closer and my whole being aches for home.

  ‘We’d better make sure we get far enough away,’ says Sami. ‘We don’t want them tracking us down.’

  ‘Yeah . . . keep going,’ I say.

  ‘We should report them,’ says Jeevan angrily. ‘So they get closed down and put in prison.’

  ‘Taran already told you,’ says Sami. ‘The police take bribes . . . there’s no point.’

  ‘But there must be somewhere safe . . . not all adults are like those crooks,’ I say.

  ‘There was a place where I used to live,’ says Sami, his eyes lighting up. ‘It was for street kids . . . like us. That was before they grabbed me in the market.’

  ‘Can you remember where it was?’ asks Jeevan.

  Suddenly the truck starts making a spluttering sound, slowing down and jolting to a standstill. There’s a huge uproar from the back.

  Jeevan bangs the dashboard. ‘Oh no! It’s run out of fuel!’

  ‘We’ll just have to walk,’ I say. ‘It’s fine.’ We climb out of the truck. ‘Don’t worry, everyone – we’re miles away from the dump now and we’re going to find this shelter for street kids that Sami knows about.’

  Taran shuffles through the crowd of children.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t believe we could do it,’ he says. ‘We showed them though, didn’t we?’

  ‘Sami,’ says Jeevan, ‘lead the way. We need to find this place before it gets dark.’

  ‘It’s been so long . . . I . . . I don’t know if I’ll remember.’

  ‘You can do it, Sami.’ Attica slips her hand in his. ‘We all worked together to escape, so finding the place won’t be so hard.’

  ‘Taran,’ says Jeevan, taking charge, ‘you go right at the end, I’ll go in the middle and Sami, Asha and Attica can go in front . . . stick together, everyone . . . we don’t want to lose anyone after coming this far.’

  Seeing Jeevan in control and full of enthusiasm makes my heart sing. I flash him a smile, take my place beside Sami and grab Attica’s hand. We make a line and follow Sami through the streets, past shops and high-rise buildings.

  We snake through the edge of a park with trees waving feathery branches in the breeze. ‘I . . . I really recognize this,’ says Sami, slowing down. ‘I’m pretty sure the street shelter is on the other side of the park. I remember on Sundays they used to bring us to play kabadi here . . . come on!’

  We pick up speed, everyone chatting with excitement, almost running to keep up with Sami as he strides ahead.

  He stops in front of a red-brick building with gates and a high wall around it and a buzzer to one side. A huge sign above the gate reads

  Zandapur Shelter – Home for Street Children

  ‘This is it,’ says Sami, his voice trembling.

  ‘But we’re not coming with you,’ I say. ‘Our journey doesn’t end yet . . . I have to find Papa.’

  Attica grabs my sleeve. ‘You’ve been like my sister.’

  I give her a huge squeeze. ‘Take care, won’t you?’

  ‘We hope you find him,’ says Taran.

  ‘Look at the moon and think of me . . . I’ll be watching it too, far off in Moormanali in the foothills of the Himalayas.’

  All the children surround us, pushing to say goodbye. They circle Jeevan, patting him on the back and begin chanting, ‘Jeevan . . . Jeevan . . . Jeevan.’

  ‘You were incredible,’ say Sami and Taran at the same time.

  He puts an arm around the boys, his face glowing, his smile the widest I’ve seen in ages. ‘Anytime.’

  Sami and Taran gather all the children.

  ‘I’ll ring the buzzer. They were really kind – don’t be frightened, anyone,’ Sami says.

  A large smiley woman bustles out of the street shelter. ‘What’s all this noise? Children . . . what’s happening here?’ She comes closer to Sami, peering at him from behind the bars of the gate. ‘No! Can it be? Little Samir?’ She unlocks the gate, clasping Sami’s face in her hands. ‘What happened to you? So long . . .’

  Sami brushes a tear with the back of his hand. ‘It is me, Auntie Lakshmi.’

  She pulls him towards her, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him all over. ‘Come inside . . . wait till the others see you! Dev, Puja – quick, come here!’ she calls out and two people run out of the building towards us. ‘ And your friends . . . come off the street, all of you.’

  ‘Quick, Jeevan,’ I whisper. ‘Before she scoops us up too!’ I duck and shuffle back on to the street, mingling further into the crowd of children, pulling Jeevan along with me.

  We stand outside the street shelter, a fierce pride blooming in my chest when I think of everything we’ve got through together.

  I link arms with Jeevan and when I shoot him a glance the feeling fades as quick as a blown-out candle. I’ve put him through so much; his clothes are torn, his hair is grey from the dust and dirt of the dump, his hands are covered in cuts and bruises. If his ma could see him now she’d hardly recognize him. She always used to make sure his clothes were washed and ironed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my voice small and gruff.

  ‘We’ll find your papa.’ He takes my
hand. ‘You’re strong, Asha. Look what we did. We’ll find him and the three of us will go home together.’

  Maybe if his ma saw him now, with that fearless look on his face, she couldn’t help but be proud.

  Darkness is creeping into the sky and even though it isn’t cold, a shiver trembles down my spine as we turn away from the street shelter and think about venturing back into Zandapur.

  ‘I found some rupees in the truck. Why don’t we get a rickshaw?’ asks Jeevan, sticking out his arm. ‘Look at that one!’

  A motor rickshaw strung with glowing rainbow lights is slowing down, coming towards the street shelter.

  ‘Remember what happened the last time we got a taxi?’ I say. ‘But we don’t have much choice . . . alone in Zandapur or take another risk.’

  ‘And you never know,’ he says, ‘they might come prowling for us . . . Anyway, how else will we find Connaught Place at night?’

  A sing-song voice springs out of the rickshaw. ‘Connaught Place?’ asks the driver, stepping out and yawning. ‘I was just finishing my shift and about to go home . . . but jump in and Raj will be happy to take you to your destination.’ He looks at us with sad eyes.

  His rickshaw could win a prize for the most colourful vehicle in the whole of the city, with its painted palm trees, golden sunsets and elephants. Piled high on the roof and stuffed into every window are the most beautiful cushions I’ve ever seen. Even in the semi-darkness the colours are electric. There are green and red ones, swirled ones and striped ones.

  ‘After what we’ve been through, I don’t know if we should,’ I whisper to Jeevan, my heart beating hard. ‘Let’s think about it for a minute.’ I run my fingers through my hair and try to brush some dirt out. My clothes are stiff with filth and we must both smell awful.

  ‘H-how do we know you won’t take us somewhere else?’ I ask.

  He looks serious. ‘There are many bad people in the city – I am not one of those, I promise.’ He begins to get back into his rickshaw. ‘It’s your choice . . . only if you want a safe rickshaw.’ He opens his wallet and shows us a photo. ‘This is my daughter . . . and this is Lakshmi my wife . . . and who’s this handsome fellow? Oh. It’s me,’ he chuckles.