Читать книгу The Tara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle - Mahtab Narsimhan - Страница 6

“People of Morni, the Panchayat have an announcement. Come now.”

The announcer ran past Tara’s hut. She immediately abandoned the weeds and stood up. Suraj was already by her side. Hand in hand, they followed the crowd to the banyan tree in the village centre to be closer to the Panchayat. Tara had a feeling this was going to be a very important announcement. “Kamlaji,” Tara addressed her neighbour respectfully, “do you know what’s going on?”

“No,” said the lady, quickening her step before Tara could ask another question.

Tara looked at the receding back with an ache in her heart. Kamlaji had been a lot friendlier when her mother had been around. Once again her lips moved involuntarily, in prayer for her mother’s return.

They reached the banyan tree and sat down close to the raised platform that encircled it.

Raka and the four elders that made up the village Panchayat were already seated in a semi-circle, looking grim. As soon as everyone had settled down, Raka began without any preamble.

“I saw the mor this morning. The bird came at dawn and danced for a long time before it disappeared.”

“Are you sure?” asked a wizened old man who appeared to be a hundred years old.

Raka nodded.

“What does this mean, seeing a peacock?” asked a villager. “I thought seeing a peacock was a thing of joy. It’s a beautiful bird, no?”

“Not in this case,” answered Raka. “Our village is named after the peacock for a reason. As legend goes, whenever Morni is in danger, a peacock comes to the village and warns us. It has been so long since Morni has been in danger that the legend was forgotten ... until today!

“You’ve seen a peacock’s tail, haven’t you?” asked Raka.

The villager nodded, looking perplexed. “Have you noticed that the circles on its tail resemble eyes?”

The villager raised his eyebrows. “I never thought of it that way.”

“The mor is called ‘the bird of a hundred eyes,’” said Kartik, one of the Panchayat.

“And this is a warning that we have to keep our eyes open. Danger is approaching ... or already here,” said Raka. “I have heard that the Vetalas have been sighted at Ropar, not too far from us. Be very careful when going to the forest. Don’t venture there alone and never go after dark. Is that clear? Now, go back to your chores.”

Everyone looked worried. There was a moment of silence. The villagers dispersed while the Panchayat continued chatting. Tara was slow to get up and heard one of the men say, “It was good of you to warn the villagers about the Vetalas, Raka.”

“What have we decided about Zarku?” asked another member of the Panchayat.

The word “Zarku” made Tara’s skin crawl. She gave Suraj a little push.

“Go on home, Suraj. I have something important to take care of,” she whispered.

Suraj opened his mouth to say something, but Tara’s expression shut him up.

“Yes, Didi,” he said and ran off.

Tara circled the tree to the spot directly behind the Panchayat and squatted below the platform so that she could hear them unseen.

“It is odd that he turns up from nowhere and knows the affairs of our village so accurately,” said Varun.

“It seems like he has an informer inside Morni,” said Raka. “Have Dushta bring Zarku here.”

Kartik called out to a passing villager, asking him to convey the message to Dushta. The villager returned with Dushta — a short man with oily black hair parted down the middle. His eyes had a shrewd look in them as if constantly searching for the opportunity to make money. His hand alternated between stroking his pot belly and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

“What are you doing here?” snapped Raka. “We asked Zarku to present himself.”

“My respected elders,” said Dushta, folding his pudgy hands. “Zarku wishes to speak with Raka, after which he will present himself in front of the Panchayat.”

Raka looked annoyed at being counter-summoned. He got off the platform and strode off in the direction of Dushta’s hut. Dushta sat down on his haunches next to the others to wait. A long time passed and the remaining members of the Panchayat were starting to get restless.

“What is happening?” one of them said. “Why is Raka taking so long? We should investigate.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when they saw Raka striding back. He reached the group and announced, “I have had a long chat with Zarku. I believe that he is an accomplished healer and much better than Prabala.”

Everyone gaped at him. Tara felt a jolt in her chest at the words. Morni was going to replace her grandfather. She had to bring him back.

“Raka, are you sure?” asked one of them.

“I am sure,” he said in an expressionless voice. “I want no further discussion or argument.”

“In that case, we should give him Prabala’s hut and make a formal announcement to the village,” said Kartik.

“Yes, we should do that as soon as possible. Send messengers throughout the village and let them rejoice that Morni has a new, more powerful healer,” said Raka.

They all dispersed and, a few seconds later, Tara crept away.

•••

As soon as Tara got back, she continued with weeding the vegetable patch. Suraj was nowhere to be seen. Raka’s words echoed in her mind. Morni was in danger and Prabala was gone. Now Zarku would replace him. It was not fair. Her grandfather had done so much for the villagers. The least they could do was wait for him to come back or send someone to find him. He was alive and so was her mother. She knew it in her heart.

Two thin arms encircled her neck.

“Didi, I worked really hard and made all the vessels gleam, so Mother told me I could go and play till lunchtime, so I came to help you,” Suraj said, all in one breath.

Tara stood up and hugged Suraj, feeling her throat tighten.

“Thank you, Suraj. If you finish weeding this patch, I’ll wash the clothes in the back. Then we can leave a bit earlier to feed Father.”

Suraj squatted on his haunches immediately, his small, brown hands tugging at the weeds. With a last look at him, Tara went to the back of the house, collecting a pile of dirty clothes along the way.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Tara scrubbed and beat the clothes into cleanliness and hung them to dry on a string in the backyard. The water was all used up but she was too tired to get some more. A cot resting against the backyard wall beckoned to her but she knew rest was impossible. It was time to take father his lunch. She decided to pack a few extra chappatis so they could all eat together.

“Didi, I’m done,” sang Suraj, skipping toward her.

“Shhhh! If Mother hears you, we’ll both get more chores,” said Tara. “Fill a pot with water to take, and wait for me.”

Suraj pinched his lips shut and did as he was told. Tara tiptoed into the kitchen. Kali was in the front room, gossiping with a neighbour and sipping a cup of tea. Noisy slurping and hushed voices reached her ears. Layla was nowhere around. She grabbed a few chappatis and packed them into a steel plate with some leftover vegetables and dabs of mango pickle. She covered the meal with extra plates, tied a clean cloth around the package, and crept out stealthily.

Suraj was waiting for her in the backyard. Sneaking backward glances, they raced toward the banyan tree. Their father’s fields were on the far side of it.

As they reached the clearing, they saw a group of people standing and talking in hushed voices. A woman stood to one side, sobbing. Tara slowed down.

The woman’s sobs grew louder. Keeping her head down, Tara walked past as slowly as she could. She gestured to Suraj to slow down as well. He stuck his tongue out at her but did as he was told.

“Shakti, oh my dear husband Shakti,” wailed the woman, sitting on the ground, beating her chest with the palms of her hands. A couple of women passing by stopped to comfort her.

“He went out yesterday to catch hares for our dinner,” she sobbed. “He has still not returned. Someone please bring my husband back to me.”

The men walked out of earshot of the women. Tara followed them, straining her ears.

“What happened? When did he disappear?” asked one villager.

“Yesterday,” replied another. He frowned and raised his head, staring into the distance. All the men followed his gaze to the Shivalik Hills. The dense forest that covered their slopes came right up to the edge of their village.

“Did Raka send a search party?”

“Yes. All they found were his slippers and his lantern. There seemed to be some black liquid and a bit of blood on the ground near the peepul tree not too far from here.”

“Sister, don’t cry,” said one of the men returning to the sobbing woman. “We will find him.”

They walked off and Tara heard no more. But she knew it was serious. Rakaji had just warned them all about the Vetalas. Men were disappearing into the forest from the other villages, never to be seen again. Shakti was the first from Morni.

And Tara was contemplating running away. Was she mad? Were they destined to starve at the hands of Kali, or should she take her chances and escape? Her head ached trying to decide. What should she do?

“Come on, Didi, what are you waiting for?” said Suraj, tugging at her sleeve. “I’m so hungry.”

Tara nodded and sped up.

•••

They ran all the way to their father’s fields, where rice and wheat crops undulated in a green ripple, stirred by a faint breeze. Shiv was still working in the fields and Tara saw a brown speck moving in the sea of green in the distance.

“Go run and get him,” said Tara, giving Suraj a gentle push. “I’ll unpack the lunch.”

Suraj sprinted toward Shiv, a blur of dark brown darting between the lush green paddy. By the time Tara had divided up the food into three plates, her father and Suraj had arrived.

Tara held out a glass of water, which her father took without a word. After splashing his face, gargling, and drinking the rest, he sat down in the shade of the tree and pulled his plate toward him. Tara and Suraj started eating.

Only the harsh cry of a crow disturbed the afternoon. No one spoke. Tara stared at her father, each bite sticking like a bit of coal in her throat. Where are you, Father? Why won’t you talk to us anymore? At that moment her father glanced up at her. Tara stared at the brown eyes that had once brimmed with love. Now they resembled a dried-up well. It’s almost like Lord Yama, the God of Death, visited you, Father. He took your soul but he forgot to take your body.

They all continued eating steadily and within a short while the plates were clean. Shiv washed his hands and then lay down under the tree for a nap.

“Didi, we don’t have to go home right away, do we? There’s an anthill I want to explore.”

His sparkling eyes and smile, as rare as the peacock she had sighted, were too much to resist.

“All right, Suraj. But you have an hour or so at the most. Okay?”

He nodded and zipped away.

Tara lay down a distance away from Shiv, gazing at his face. He had not spoken a word to them all afternoon. She could remember the time when he spoke so much, especially the stories he told them. She had been fascinated by the one about Lord Yama when he came to claim Satyaban, the young prince. She loved the way Savitri outwitted the God of Death.

Tara put an arm over her eyes to block out the sunbeams dancing between the shimmering leaves. From the depths of her memory, the strong deep voice of her father washed over her.

“In the days of old it was said that there lived a beautiful princess named Savitri, the daughter of King Aswapati of Madra Desa. She was unparalleled both in virtue and beauty. Her father was unable to find a suitable husband for her, and so she was given complete freedom to choose her own. With a band of wise ministers she traveled to many countries but couldn’t find anyone she wanted to spend her life with. While returning home through a jungle, a handsome young man cutting wood caught her eye. The young man was none other than Satyaban, a prince in exile who was living in the forest with his blind parents. Savitri selected him as her husband. But Narada, a musician and sage, forecasted that he would die young.”

Tara felt her pulse quicken even now, as it had then, whenever she heard about “death.” Her father’s voice continued.

“The king pleaded with his beloved daughter to select another husband. But Savitri was firm in her decision and ultimately married Satyaban. She left the palace and lived with her husband and in-laws in the forest. As a devoted wife and daughter-in-law she looked after them very well. Gradually, the ordained time for Satyaban’s death drew near. One day, while cutting wood in the jungle, he fell into a swoon and died, his head cradled in the lap of his beloved wife.”

A sharp stone dug into Tara’s shoulder blade. She shifted her weight, closed her eyes, and drifted back to her father’s soothing voice as he continued the story.

“As Savitri sat weeping, she saw a large, green man astride a red bull come up to her. He towered well over Savitri and carried a mace. He was Lord Yama, the God of Death. He told Savitri that he had come to take her husband away. She refused him and clung to Satyaban’s body. Lord Yama lifted Satyaban’s body, put it on the bull, and rode away. Sobbing, Savitri followed. He could hear the silvery tinkle of her anklets as she followed him toward Taksala, the Gates of the Underworld.

“‘Go back, Savitri. You cannot get your husband back,’ said Lord Yama.

“‘I cannot leave him, my Lord,’ she answered.

“‘I will grant you three wishes. Ask for anything but your husband’s life,’ said Lord Yama, taking pity on a woman who was widowed at such a young age.

“For her first wish, she asked that her father-in-law regain his kingdom. For her second wish, Savitri asked that her in-laws be granted their eyesight. Lord Yama granted both her wishes immediately,” Shiv’s voice, warm and full of love and wisdom, continued.

At this point, Tara remembered, she had put her head in her father’s lap and he had stroked her hair. She felt her chest tighten.

“‘You have one more wish. Ask for anything but your husband’s life,’ said Lord Yama.

“‘I wish to be the mother of a hundred sons,’ said Savitri promptly.

“‘Granted,’ said Lord Yama, equally promptly.

“Then he realized what had happened and he smiled at her cleverness. Savitri’s religion did not allow a widow to remarry and Satyaban’s soul was in his hands. He had no choice but to restore him to life to fulfill the third wish he had granted Savitri. Lord Yama, in spite of being outwitted, was moved by Savitri’s devotion. Satyaban came back to life again and both of them lived happily ever after.”

Tara awoke to a harsh caw and felt something wet on her forearm. She sat up. Was it raining? There was not a cloud in the sky. She felt her face. Her cheeks were wet. She shot a glance to where her father lay. The spot was empty.

She dragged herself up with a deep sigh. She had dozed off and it was late in the afternoon. She would get an earful from Kali, she was sure of that. Calling a reluctant Suraj to her, they gathered the empty dishes and headed home as fast as they could.

As they entered the hut they braced themselves for a torrent of abuse.

Silence.

“Tara, Suraj, you’re back already? Come here my children,” called out Kali in an unrecognizably sweet voice.

Tara and Suraj looked at each other in amazement.

“Is that Mother?” he asked in surprise. “I’ve never heard her speak this way to us. Do you think she loves us all of a sudden, or has a demon possessed her?”

Tara shook her head and shushed him as they entered the kitchen. Kali sat in front of the fire preparing dinner. To one side of the stove lay an open vessel that gave off the most delicious fragrance.

“Mother, is that rice kheer?” asked Suraj, smacking his lips.

“Yes, Suraj. Let me put it outside to cool and then you can have some. I made it especially for you and your sister. I have been very bad tempered lately due to my ill health. I thought I would make it up to both of you,” she said, smiling.

She looked like a jackal grinning at the sight of a meal. Tara shivered. Why was Kali doing this?

“Come sit by me, Suraj. Tell me what you did today,” said Kali, still using that sugary-sweet voice.

Tara walked out to the backyard to complete her chores. Unease churned inside her stomach. As she cleaned the yard and sprinkled water to settle the dust, the village stray dog, Moti, wandered in. He looked starved as usual. Engrossed in her thoughts, Tara did not pay any attention to him as he roamed their backyard sniffing at various things and occasionally urinating. In the kitchen, Suraj still chattered away about their morning.

A shrill voice piped in, “Mother I want some kheer. I’m hungry.”

“No, Layla. This is only for Suraj and Tara.”

Tara stiffened in surprise. Layla refused food on their account? Something was very, very wrong. She stood in the courtyard chewing her lower lip. Something was going to happen! But what?

In the meantime, Moti had circled the courtyard and stopped outside the kitchen door where the fragrance of the cooling kheer on the back step beckoned to him. He looked around furtively and, seeing no obstacle to a free meal, he put his face into the vessel and lapped up the kheer.

The instant Tara took a step forward to drive him away, an image of Lord Yama astride his bull exploded in her mind. She stood paralyzed. What did it mean? Her mind went round in circles. She stood still and watched as Moti lapped up the kheer with great haste. Within minutes it was gone and Moti slunk off.

Tara continued sweeping and the image faded away, like a strong wind through wisps of smoke. Scared and extremely puzzled, she tried to sort out the thoughts in her mind. Why did she see that image?

“Hai Ram! Who ate the kheer?” shrieked Kali.

Tara snapped out of her reverie. She looked up and saw Kali at the back door, hands on her waist, her face like a thundercloud. Kali narrowed her eyes and her huge bosom heaved.

“Tara, did you eat it?” she yelled.

Tara put down her broom and walked toward Kali.

“No, Mother,” she said with a straight face. “I was sweeping the yard.”

“LAYLA,” Kali screeched. “Come here.”

This should be fun, thought Tara. It was not often their stepsister was yelled at.

“Yes, Mother,” said Layla as she came running from the front room where she had been playing with her dolls. One was still tucked under her arm.

“Did you eat the kheer when I told you not to? I had left it out here on the back step to cool and now it’s gone.”

“No, Mother.”

A giggle escaped her, which seemed to infuriate Kali. She shook Layla hard.

“Are you sure you didn’t eat any?” she demanded.

Layla shook her head and Kali exhaled noisily.

Suraj stood cowering behind Tara. He had been with Kali all the while and was spared her wrath.

“Mother, why are you so angry? I am sure we can make some more kheer. What was so special about it anyway?” asked Tara, observing Kali very closely.

Kali turned pale and sweat stood out on her forehead. She dabbed it in quick, jerky movements with a trembling hand. Large patches appeared at her armpits and rapidly spread on her blouse, giving off an acrid smell.

“You STUPID girl! It took a lot of time to make. I thought you ungrateful children would appreciate the effort. Instead, the kheer has disappeared and no one knows who ate it. Hai Ram ... what liars I am surrounded with.”

Kali glared at the three children as they looked up at her innocently and slightly puzzled.

Suddenly, a loud and agonized howl rent the air. Kali clapped her hand to her mouth, eyes darting right and left. Tara, Suraj, and Layla looked at her and then all of them turned and raced in the direction of the howl.

Moti lay at the edge of their yard, thrashing his head and uttering the most heartrending howls of agony. Green froth drooled from his mouth, gathering in a pool in the dust, and his body jerked in spasms. Within seconds his yelps and howls became weaker as he succumbed to the intense pain that racked his thin body. Finally, his head lolled and he lay still. They all rushed closer. Even in the fading light of the evening it was unmistakable. Mixed in that green vomit were undigested grains of rice.

Tara looked up in horror.