Читать книгу The Tara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle - Mahtab Narsimhan - Страница 12

When Tara awoke, all was still. Pale light filtered through a swaying green roof and it took her a moment to realize she was in the forest. The angle of the sun was all wrong. It should have been overhead, but instead it came from somewhere to the side.

The setting sun.

It was evening.

She had slept the day away.

She was tired and aching all over. Why was she so tired and why had she slept all day ...?

“SURAJ!” she screamed as everything came flooding back.

HE WAS GONE!

The bedding on which he had lain next to her was empty.

She was all alone.

“SURAJ!” she screamed again as she jumped up and ran, panic-stricken, first in one direction and then the other.

Silence.

“Please, Suraj, don’t play games. Be a good boy and come out.”

Silence.

No, he couldn’t be gone. He was playing hide and seek again. But he was too ill and weak. That meant ...

“Noooooo!” she moaned.

She envisioned a wild animal dragging him away as he lay unconscious. And she had slept through all of it. She had let him die. It was all her fault. She rocked back and forth, sobbing loudly, her chest heaving as grief poured out of her in waves. How could she have been so careless? She was responsible for the death of her brother.

“Why, Lord Ganesh, why him? Why my brother?” she sobbed. “Why did you let this happen?”

Tara covered her face and sank to the ground, devastated. For hours she sobbed, oblivious of the waning day, the mosquitoes, and that she had not eaten anything. Finally, her tears were spent. She felt so alone and empty. It seemed as if her own shadow had deserted her.

She sat on Suraj’s bedding and clutched his blanket. She inhaled its fragrance: that particularly sweet, sweaty smell that she knew so well. Wrapping herself in it she let the memories of Suraj wash over her.

Tara did not know how long she sat staring as the sun slipped below the lip of the horizon. She had no recollection of the day turning to night. All she could think of was the previous night, when Suraj lay burning with fever while she kept vigil. Now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a bittersweet fragrance. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and lay back staring at the stars, which winked at her, as if laughing at some private joke.

“I want him back. I want my brother back,” she said over and over again. She knew it would not help. If only she had not fallen asleep last night. If only ... but it was too late for regrets. Maybe if she made a bonfire, wild animals would be attracted to her and then ... and then she’d be with him sooner.

Tara dragged herself up wearily. She groped her way to the bundles, dug out a candle, and lit it. She pushed it into the soil in the lee of a rock and searched for firewood. In the light of the flickering candle Tara gathered as much wood as she could and piled it on top of the ashes of last night’s fire. There was no wind and the candle burned straight and tall, throwing her gigantic shadow on the trees behind her. Once she had a big enough pile, she stepped back to survey it. This would burn through the night. Who knows, if she was lucky, she might not have long to wait.

As if on cue, a growl sounded in the distance and was followed by a long, low howl. Not long now.

She plucked up the candle to light the bonfire when a totally unexpected sound reached her. Tara froze, straining to hear the sound. There was silence. My imagination is running wild, she thought.

Tara had just bent to light the wood when a faint breeze stirred the leaves, bringing the same sound — again. Her hand shook and hot wax dripped onto it. She yelped and dropped the candle, which went out. She was in near-complete darkness. A sliver of moon peeped from the edge of a cloud. Who was sobbing in the middle of the forest? Tara did not relight the candle. She stood still and heard the sobbing start again. She walked toward it.

Don’t go, said the small voice inside her. Don’t go. But she kept walking. The sound was reeling her in, like a fish on a line. The faint light of the silvery moon barely lit the way but she was following her ears and her heart ... her heart? She was surprised that the sound of sobbing could move her so much. She walked deeper and deeper into the jungle and the voice grew louder.

“Mother, I miss you so much,” said a male voice, and Tara’s heart skipped a beat.

That voice. She’d heard it before, but never like this. She crept forward. A dark shape loomed directly ahead. Tara stuffed her knuckle in her mouth to stop from screaming. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that the shape had not moved. She reached out a trembling hand. Her fingertips brushed a rough surface. She pressed her palms against it: cool stone. Her panic subsided a bit as she went on. Her heart ached and tears pricked her eyelids. The sound of sobbing had died away but she felt like crying, too.

What was it about this place? It was some kind of building, or temple. Suddenly she remembered that Parvati used to speak about an abandoned temple in the heart of the forest. Long ago it was used frequently. But something had happened that had caused the villagers to remove the deities of the holy trinity — lords Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva — move them to another location, and abandon this temple. The path to it was overgrown and most had even forgotten it existed.

Tara moved forward cautiously as thorny shrubs tore at her blanket. She rounded the corner, gasped, and ducked behind the temple wall. Her heart was hammering so loudly that she thought he would definitely hear it and come running at her.

She took a few deep breaths and the roaring in her ears lessened. She peered round the corner once again. Sitting on the stone steps was Zarku. He had his head in his hands and was sobbing uncontrollably. Tara shook her head. She closed her eyes and popped them open again, hoping the vision would disappear. But no, there he was. Except that Zarku was not sobbing anymore. He was holding up a silver thread, which glinted in the moonlight. Zarku held it up and watched it sway in the breeze. Suddenly, he made a fist and the silver thread disappeared into its depth.

“Mother, if you could see me now, you would be so proud of me. I am Zarku ... the best healer in all of India ... and I made it, all on my own.”

Zarku opened his palm and the silver thread glistened.

Tara strained to hear what Zarku was saying in a low voice. Maybe if she found out something about him, a weakness, she would be able to help Prabala defeat him.

“When you died, Mother,” continued Zarku, “you left me with Father, who blamed me for your death. He HATED me. Hated me so much that he wished I would die too. He told me so. The only thing he gave me freely and with love were curses and beatings.”

Zarku’s voice was hoarse as he said it and Tara felt tears pricking her eyelids. She was feeling sorry for this monster?

“And what did you give me, Mother? An ugly outgrowth on my forehead that people thought was another eye. Everyone teased me about it and beat me up over it.”

Zarku stood up and paced the clearing in front of the temple. Hidden by the stone steps, Tara prayed that he would not sense her presence. She held her breath as he came within a few steps of her and strode away, still ranting.

“I was ready to join you, Mother, tired of the beatings and the jeering. I went to the old well to drown myself ... but then ...,” Zarku giggled.

Tara cringed at the cruelty she heard in that soft giggle.

“Then I met him, my saviour, Kubera, the Lord of the Underworld. He promised me revenge. Revenge on all those who had mocked my deformity. He helped me, Mother. He turned my deformity into my greatest strength.”

Zarku caressed his third eye.

“This, Mother, is the eye that can see into the heart and mind. I can sense strength and weakness in people. And I can make then bow to my will.”

Tara sank to the ground trembling as she continued to clutch the blanket tightly. Now she understood why Zarku was destroying the villagers. He had made a deal with the Lord of the Underworld to avenge himself. They were all doomed unless someone could stop him.

Zarku had stopped pacing and was standing in front of a wooden post directly in front of the temple. He hung the silver thread from a sliver of bark and ran his fingertips along it, still talking.

“Mother, I’ve missed you. If you’d been here, things might have been different. But there’s no going back. I promised Kubera that in return for this gift, I would give him the souls of the undead. Once I had the villagers under my control, they would do my bidding and their souls would be Kubera’s. Only if someone turned them back to their human form would they be free. But that’s not going to happen, is it? Only one person can stop me: Prabala. And he’ll be dead soon.”

“NO!” yelled Tara.

Zarku’s head snapped in her direction.

Tara was aghast. She had not realized that she had yelled out and stood up at the same time.

Suddenly, she was staring into the deep, dark pools of Zarku’s eyes.

“Well, well, well, what have we here? Tara, isn’t it?”

Tara stared at him. How did he know her name?

“Yes, I know your name. And who your grandfather is, though he won’t be around for long,” said Zarku as he grabbed Tara and dragged her to the wooden post, flinging her against it.

The back of Tara’s head cracked with such force that she saw stars. She barely felt something cool slip past her cheek.

“You little busybody. Thought you could hear my secrets and tell everyone?” snarled Zarku.

The sobbing little boy was gone. In his place stood Zarku, the monster who only lived for revenge. Tara stared at him, unable to speak. His third eye started to open. She cringed and hugged the post for support, waiting for the searing heat that would turn her to a mound of ash.

Nothing happened.

She turned to look at Zarku, who was staring at her with those whiteless eyes.

“My third eye won’t open,” he breathed. “I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS!”

Tara released a deep and shaky breath.

For a moment, they stood staring at each other in the silent moonlit clearing. Tara stood frozen while Zarku studied her with his eyes narrowed. Suddenly, she turned and ran. Zarku did not follow.

As she disappeared behind the temple, she heard him call out.

“My Vetalas will find you, Tara, and they will complete the job I was not able to do. Watch your back.”

•••

It was more luck than anything that guided Tara back to where she had left her things. She felt as if she was in some kind of weird dream and unable to make sense of anything. Tara stumbled to the bedding, lay down, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

She awoke once more to the cacophony of bird calls and sunlight glinting through an undulating green ceiling. And she was still alive. She sat up and clasped her knees to her chest, deep in thought. The sun was still shining, the birds still singing. She had been through so much in the last day and night. She had lost her beloved brother and then discovered Zarku’s past. What was more shocking was that he had been unable to kill her. I wonder why? she asked herself.

Tara stood up and shook out Suraj’s blanket to put it away. Something dropped out of the folds and sparkled in the morning sunlight. Tara bent to retrieve it. It was the silver thread Zarku had been talking to last night: an anklet. It was heavy and the beaten silver was in an intricate design. It must have been his mother’s and when it had fallen into her blanket, it had protected her. That seemed to be the only reason she was still alive. Tara said a prayer to his mother, slipped the bracelet into the bundle, and finished packing.

She sat down to think. It was now more important than ever to find Prabala before Zarku and the Vetalas did. But could she do it alone? Suraj and she had set out on this journey believing that their mother and grandfather were alive. She would carry on alone and find them. Suraj’s death would not be in vain.

Tara headed north. She gathered edible roots and berries to munch. The food she had packed was long gone but she still had a bit of water left. She would manage till she reached a village.

Tara was deep in thought as she continued walking. She hated doing anything alone, always seeking out Suraj’s companionship. Now she had no choice. And she found that she was not as scared as she thought she might be. A small frisson of pride shot through her. I can do this, she thought. She marched on, keeping a sharp eye on the moss-covered forest floor. Then she saw it: a small path made by bare feet. She hurried along it. The trees started thinning around her and sunlight poured through in large patches of liquid gold.

All of a sudden she stopped. She heard a faint chant in the distance. The voices came closer ... still closer ... and her heart started thumping. She stepped off the path and cautiously dodged from tree to tree. Had Zarku sent his Vetalas? But she knew they only came out at night. Had her wicked stepmother sent a search party to haul them back home? It couldn’t be; she was miles away from Morni. Was her father searching for them? Not possible — he did not care about them at all.

Who could it be?

“Ram Nam Satya Hai.”

“Ram Nam Satya Hai.”

The chant for the dead. Now she understood, and her heart slowed its frantic beat. A group of villagers were carrying one of their dead to the burning ground outside the village. She had never seen a funeral pyre and she was curious. Children were normally not allowed to watch a Sati ceremony, though she had heard about it in the stories that their father had told them. Most of the villagers believed that cremation purified the soul of the dead. The ashes were then scattered by the eldest son of the family into the holy Ganges River so that the soul would be one with the Gods.

As the voices drew nearer she hid behind the trunk of a large tree. The procession passed her by and she saw four men holding the legs of a cot, on which lay a body covered in white cotton from head to toe. Many men followed the cot and its bearers, calling out the chant of the dead. A lone woman followed, dressed in a dazzling white saree. Her long, black hair framed a pale face. She seemed to be completely oblivious of her surrounding and was half dragged, half carried by two villagers.

Tara squeezed her eyes shut. The woman was the widow of the dead man and was being forced to perform Sati.” Her blood ran cold and she clamped her hand to her mouth to prevent herself from crying out to stop them. Sati was the destiny of any girl or woman who had the misfortune to become a widow. It was an age-old tradition where the woman was forced to burn herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. It was such a terrifying ordeal that most women (and sometimes mere girls) had to be drugged into submission so that they did not rebel, or so that they wouldn’t realize what was happening till it was too late. Tara shivered, despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.

She turned back to look at the procession, which was moving away rapidly. Suddenly, she noticed a tall, thin boy trailing behind, desperately trying to push through the men to get to the woman. He seemed to be twelve or thirteen, slightly older than Tara. He wore a muddied white kurta and his pyjamas were torn at the knee. She must be his mother, Tara thought. And it was evident he was trying to prevent her from committing Sati.

“Mother, wake up! MOTHER, it’s me, your son Ananth. Please, Mother, look at me,” he sobbed in a hoarse voice.

“Go away,” growled a ferocious-looking villager. “This is your mother’s destiny. No one can change it and it’s no use throwing a tantrum. Now behave, or you will incur the wrath of Lord Yama.”

He shoved Ananth hard, and Ananth fell to the side of the road, struck his head against a rock, and lay there dazed. The procession sped on and disappeared round a bend.

The boy sat up, hugged his knees, and sobbed quietly. Tara dropped the bundles and ran to him, wondering what to say. She had never seen a boy his age cry and was unsure of how to deal with it. Finally, she sat next to him and patted his shoulder.

For a few moments, the boy was completely unaware of Tara. After a while, his sobs subsided. He looked up and noticed Tara. Brown eyes looked into black ones.

“I’ve lost my father and my mother,” said Ananth without any preamble.

“I know,” said Tara, squeezing his shoulder.

Ananth started sobbing again, soft low sobs that seemed to rise unbidden from deep within him.

“Get her back. Please, save her,” he wept.

Tears welled up in Tara’s eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. She wiped them away. She left the bundles near Ananth and raced after the funeral procession. Maybe she could squeeze through the crowd and grab his mother just before the men set her on fire. She did not even know how they went about it, but she had to try.

“Aaaaargh,” someone yelled out from the head of the procession.

Everyone came to an abrupt halt. Tara froze. She peeped out cautiously from behind a tree and turned icy cold at the sight. A huge tiger crouched in front of the procession. Saliva dripped from his bared fangs and his tail flicked from side to side in agitation.

The men holding the cot threw it down so quickly that the body almost rolled off. They scattered into the jungle like shards of a smashed pot, one villager passing so close to Tara that she felt his warm breath on her skin. Within seconds, the road was empty except for the widow and her dead husband. The woman stood in a trance, unaware of the danger that faced her.

The tiger advanced toward her with a menacing growl. The chilly air and the growls of the tiger finally penetrated the widow’s stupor. Tara saw her eyes widen in shock as she shuffled backward and collided with her husband’s cot. She sat down at the head of his body, quivering. Tara was unable to move. Horrified, she continued to watch.

The tiger took one step forward and then another. Tara could see every whisker on its face; all its yellowed teeth were bared as it advanced on Ananth’s mother, and then it roared. The widow screamed in terror and fell back on the cot.

Tara could not watch anymore. She ran back to Ananth, trying to wipe out the image of the tiger and his mother.

Coward, a voice inside her said.

But what could I have done? she argued back. Give the tiger another juicy tidbit?

I can’t tell Ananth about this, she thought. He has enough to deal with already.

She reached Ananth, panting hard. He looked up at her, a question in his moist eyes.

Tara shook her head.

“I could not catch up. They were too far ahead.”

Ananth’s head sank back onto his chest.

Tara reached out, took his hand in hers, and gently tugged it. She helped him to his feet and led him to where the bundles lay. Once she was sure he was steady on his feet, she stooped to pick up the bundles.

“I’ve lost someone too,” she said. “My brother. I know what it feels like.”

Ananth shuffled quietly beside her. There was a deep silence.

“My name is Tara. You’re Ananth aren’t you? I heard you call out your name. I’m from Morni. And you are from ...?”

“Ropar,” answered Ananth in a husky voice. “We were so happy,” he continued. “Then Father died and our world fell apart. I lost a father and now I’m going to lose my mother. It’s so unfair.”

His grief overwhelmed him again and his feet crumpled under him. He sat down and covered his face as if ashamed to be so out of control. Tara sat quietly beside him, remembering yesterday.

After a while, Tara stood up and paced, shooting glances at Ananth. Spending the night in the open was making her jittery again. Wasn’t he ever going to stop crying? She had to do something.

“Ananth, you have to help me. We need to find shelter. The forest is too dangerous.” Her eyes glistened with tears and her voice trembled. Ananth sat there staring into space.

“Ananth, GET UP,” she said, shaking his shoulder. “We can’t sit here. We have to move, NOW! Let’s go back to Ropar.”

“NO!” he yelled.

“Why not?” asked Tara

“I-I can’t go back. There’s nothing there but memories. Where are you going?”

“To find my mother and grandfather.”

“Why?” said Ananth

“I’ll tell you later. Can we start walking?” asked Tara, an edge to her voice.

“Where to?”

“Do you know a safe place to spend the night?”

“Yes,” Ananth said after a moment’s silence. “It’s a bit of a climb into the mountains. There are some hidden caves where my friends and I used to play. Let’s go.”

He stood up and held out his hand for one of the bundles. Tara handed it over gratefully. Her back was sore with the extra weight. They started walking away from the village and the path that the procession had taken. Ananth took a last look in the direction that his mother had disappeared. He stared at the brown smudges in the mud almost as if he could see the footprints of his mother’s small feet. He stooped and picked up a handful of mud and let it trickle slowly through his hand.

Tara stood silently, an ache in her heart. She had not even had the chance to say goodbye to Suraj.

Abruptly, Ananth stood up and started walking. Tara followed.

•••

“How did your father die?” asked Tara.

Ananth marched silently. Now and then a tear trickled down his cheek. His pace did not slacken and Tara matched his stride in spite of the stitch in her side.

“There is something very evil in the forest,” said Ananth. “Men from our village have been disappearing. No one wants to go into the forests now. Food and firewood are becoming scarce.”

“It’s happening in Morni, too,” replied Tara in a listless voice.

“So, what happened to your father?” she asked again.

“He was hunting hares in the forest. He came back late one night. We could barely recognize him; there was a deep gash on his forehead,” said Ananth taking a deep breath to steady his voice.

“And his skin was a translucent green and his feet were at an awkward angle?” finished Tara.

“How did you know that?”

“The same happened to a boy named Ravi in Morni,” replied Tara.

“A man who called himself one of the best healers in these parts appeared and took my father to his hut. That was the last time we saw Father alive,” said Ananth, his chest heaving with anger and sorrow. “My mother wanted to go with him, but the healer refused her. He said no one could see him healing the sick or it would not work. Father died and we were given his body back to perform the last rites.

“I’ll never forget his evil face: that shark-like smile, that bald head, the black robe. He called himself —”

“— Zarku,” said Tara and Ananth simultaneously

“You know him?” asked Ananth.

“Yes. He took the place of my grandfather, Prabala, who used to be the village healer. Since he came, many men have disappeared, especially the ones that openly challenge his skills. The ones that have accepted him are unharmed,” said Tara. “I think he only preys on the strong ones likely to stand up to him. Did your father oppose Zarku in any way? Question his authority?”

“Yes,” said Ananth bitterly. “He tried to tell the Panchayat that Zarku was evil. Soon after, he died. You think the disappearances are related to Zarku?”

“I am sure of it. I saw him last night.”

Ananth stopped and Tara walked straight into him.

“What? You saw Zarku?”

Tara nodded, and quickly recounted everything she had seen and heard.

“I felt sorry for him when he was sobbing,” she said “He missed his mother just like you and I do.”

“Are you mad, Tara?”

“What do you mean?” asked Tara in a cold voice.

“You’re sorry for a monster that kills people?”

Tara shrugged.

“Zarku’s father blamed him for his mother’s death and beat him often,” said Tara. “Many others made fun of the deformity on his forehead. That is why he wants revenge ...”

“You think I care?” said Ananth, his face red, his chest heaving. “He should be captured, tortured, and killed.”

“So how does that make you different from Zarku?” shot back Tara, equally angry.

“Oh shut up!” said Ananth. “Girls don’t know anything!”

The air shimmered with a tinge of red as Tara faced him, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t you dare say that to me again! You think you know more because you’re a boy? HA!” said Tara, her eyes flashing ominously.

“Let’s not get into this now,” said Ananth. “So his mother’s anklet protects you?”

“It did last night. But I don’t know how long it will work. That’s another reason we have to find shelter. He is going to send the Vetalas after me,” said Tara in a shrill voice.

“Don’t worry,” said Ananth, pointing. “It’s not too far now. We must find your grandfather. Prabala is well known in my village. He is said to be the best healer in all of India. He is probably the only one who can stop this monster. Do you know where to look for him, Tara?”

“The Devi Temple in the Shivalik Range that separates the two lakes. It was the place where Grandfather often went to meditate. It is definitely a place to start.”

“I’d like to help, Tara. I’ve become an orphan, but at least I can prevent my fate befalling other children,” said Ananth, his mouth a thin line.

“That’s what my brother and I set out to do,” said Tara, her face clouding.

“And that is exactly what we are going to do, Tara. I just hope we are not too late.”