Tamarind and the Star of Ishta

by Jasbinder Bilan

  I feel a tugging on my sleeve and when I look down there’s a tiny hand wrapped around my fingers.

  ‘Hello again!’ I let out the tight breath at last. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  He seems tired and slowly pulls me along through the thinning mist, making high-pitched chattering noises. When I glance down I see the arc of impossible gold dust as he flicks his tail through the night air.

  I let the monkey lead me further into the undergrowth, further into the unknown.

  Black shadowy tree limbs appear on either side, spreading their branches low. The monkey and I walk hand in hand through the milky darkness where a white owl crosses our path, shuddering its wings, making my heart rap harder.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I tell him, clutching his hand more tightly. ‘But where are you taking me? Are we even in the garden any more?’

  He gives me a little monkey grin and squeezes my hand back.

  The sky above us brightens and a full moon spreads jagged shadows across the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

  There in front of me, lit up by moonbeams, is a crumbling stone archway smothered in spiralling plants, the entrance to a neglected part of the garden. On top of the arch is a worn statue of a majestic-looking woman, standing tall with vast wings behind her. To either side sit two stone owls. Her feet are talons and she rests them lightly on two lions who lie beneath her. One hand is raised as if she’s beckoning me forward.

  Suddenly the monkey chatters and disappears into the trees.

  Sweat beads across my forehead. Where am I? I need to turn back – this is stupid. I can’t even see the house any more. There are wolves out here – maybe other things too. An icy wind lifts the leaves gathered at the foot of the archway, swirls them until they lift off the ground and rise to the top, falling through the air like dark snow.

  An echoing giggle from behind me makes me jump and I hear the tune I heard when I arrived, but the humming, lilting voice is closer this time, closer and closer . . .

  The song stops and the silence, somehow, is even more unnerving.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I spin round, trying to stop my heart from pattering. I can’t see anybody. But I definitely heard something. I think it’s the song, the melody from the first night and the one I keep dreaming and hearing all around me. ‘Is . . . is there somebody out there?’

  I glance over my shoulder again but everything has been gobbled up by the night, while ahead of me the archway is filled with a shaft of silver moonlight. Did I imagine it? I start to walk forward.

  But then a musical voice comes again, and this time it’s not singing: ‘Hurry up . . .’ The trilling voice is right behind me now and it stops me dead in my tracks. Butterflies begin fizzing through my stomach – like something exciting and maybe nerve-wracking is about to happen. That’s it: I’m not waiting for whoever – whatever – it is to jump out at me! I run under the archway, veering to the left, sliding about on fallen leaves until I’m heaving for breath.

  I don’t need the torch any more – the moon is like a huge spotlight illuminating the overgrown garden, full of tangled paths. Scratching sounds in the undergrowth make me dart behind a decaying wooden structure overloaded with scented flowers, their drowsy smell reaching my nose, almost making me swoon. I hold myself steady and look around, searching for whoever’s following me, listening for their footsteps.

  Arjun warned me to keep away from here; he told me it was dangerous and now it’s too late.

  I hear the high sing-song voice again. ‘Race you to the swing.’ My heart stammers and I’m about to stumble backwards but an icy hand grabs mine. I startle, terror flooding me. ‘Careful . . . what’s wrong?’ A smiling face appears through the darkness. A girl, about my age. ‘I was getting sooo tired waiting.’ She wraps her arms around me and gives me the biggest hug ever.

  I wriggle away from her, feeling confused and still half afraid, but she slings an arm across my shoulder. ‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ she says, as if we’re long-lost friends. Who is this girl and what is she doing in the family garden?

  I can’t stop staring. She’s just a bit taller than me and her long plaits are twisted across the top of her head. She’s wearing an embroidered flowery dress with loose trousers underneath, and a thick sheepskin waistcoat over the top, with a dagger in a leather sheath slung around her hips. I’ve never seen anyone dressed like this before.

  She curls her arm into mine and before I can ask any questions, she starts running, dragging me alongside. ‘Slow down,’ I say, my breath rattling out of me. ‘Who are you?’

  I hear a scream and the monkey appears from nowhere, his gold dust shimmering the night.

  ‘Hanu,’ she laughs. ‘There you are, naughty monkey.’

  He runs to her and she lifts him up awkwardly, struggling to hold him. ‘You’re too big for this now,’ she says affectionately.

  ‘So he’s your monkey?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says happily. ‘You’re mine, aren’t you, little Hanu?’

  He gives us both a cheeky grin as the girl takes my hand again and together the three of us chase through the garden, the girl tugging me onwards.

  We seem to have done a big loop of the wild garden, ducking under trees, kicking through fallen leaves and twigs until I just make out the house again in the far-off distance, its twinkling lights peeping through the darkness.

  We shoot backwards and forwards, round tree trunks and spiralling paths, and finally stop at the tree I saw from my window. There’s a rope swing hooked on to the branch, just like the one in Mum’s photo. I stand beneath the enormous tree, its branches spreading like a canopy above me, the green feathery leaves waving in the breeze. Mum was here, I think. I press my palms against its thick bark, try to work out what to feel or think.

  ‘Get on, daydreamer,’ laughs the girl, gesturing to the swing seat. But as she catches sight of my face, a deep crease appears between her eyebrows. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully. ‘Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you disappear, before, when I heard you calling?’

  The girl smiles. ‘So many questions! Come on, let’s get on the swing first.’

  The night is becoming stranger with each turn, and I don’t know why, but I do as I’m told and sit on the swing. She leaps on behind me, slots her feet either side and stands up, pushing until we’re zooming so fast through the twinkling moonlit sky that I have to grip the rope tighter. The house lights flash in and out of view as we arc through the air, cool midnight dew settling on my skin. It’s like we’re under a magical green bubble, better than any fairground ride, pinpricks of silver stars shining through the arching branches.

  I give myself up to the flow, excitement pumping through my veins as we go faster, higher, until we’re so high I think we might shoot into the night.

  She lets out a throaty sound that’s halfway between a yodel and a song. ‘Shall we go even higher, Tamarind?’

  ‘W-what did you say?’ How can she know who I am? Suddenly I feel a little bit scared. ‘How did you know my name?’

  She doesn’t reply. Each time the swing flies through the air the wind whips the leaves on the tree so they make a loud rustling sound . . . The garden stretches out below me, spreading into the shadowy distance and the house with its turrets sitting up on the mound, a long way away.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I call to the girl.

  It’s as if the garden is holding its breath, and she pushes the swing even higher. ‘Ishhhhta,’ she sings.

  A cloud of shimmering fireflies flutter past my head, lighting up the garden with their iridescent glow.

  The swing begins to slow down and the girl – Ishta – jumps to the ground. She whistles. Hanu leaps out of the tree and grabs hold of her hand. She tickles him under the chin.

  I bite my lip, trying to work things out. ‘It must be nice to have a pet monkey.’

  Ishta slides her arm through mine again. ‘Yes . . . he’s my buddy, but
he’s an old monkey now.’ Hanu chirps as if in protest. ‘Anyway, let’s do something nice. Shall we go for a swim? Find some berries? We could be friends if you wanted.’ Her eyes glow. ‘I’d love to get to know you.’

  ‘Mmmm . . .’ I’m not sure; after all, I don’t know anything about her and she doesn’t seem to want to answer my questions. But clearly she knows the garden really well. She must live somewhere close by.

  Without warning, tiredness comes over me like a rain cloud and I flop on to the ground, yawning, the soft sounds of frogs soothing as a lullaby. I’ve been out for ages tonight – and I haven’t slept yet. It’s got to be three or four in the morning, maybe later. ‘Actually . . . I’d better get back. And you. You’ve got to get home too, haven’t you?’

  She doesn’t reply. Instead, she gazes up at the stars and gives a long sigh.

  We walk back together, skirting the edge of the wild garden, heading towards the house. As we near the hut she stops, looks towards the darkened paths that lead to the house beyond with something like longing in her eyes. Suddenly I feel bad for not playing with her more.

  ‘Maybe you could come to the house in the morning,’ I suggest. ‘We can play then.’

  ‘I can’t.’ She leans against the trunk of a tree, as if she’s suddenly exhausted. ‘But I’ve got something for you.’ She dips a hand into her pocket and holds out a long dark pod about the length of my palm.

  I hold out my hand and she drops it in there. It feels rough and slightly warm. It’s really pretty. I’ve never seen anything like this before and examine it closely. ‘Thank you. I-I don’t have anything for you though, sorry.’ I give the seed pod a shake and it rattles as if it has treasure hidden inside.

  Her face lit up by the moon seems paler. ‘It doesn’t matter, but it means we’re real friends now.’ Her mouth curls into a smile.

  ‘That’s really kind.’ I put it in my pocket. Suddenly I don’t feel so alone in this strange place.

  Beyond the mountains the sky is turning to light and the stars are beginning to fade. I start to panic, remembering everything that happened tonight with the family. I have to get back before they find out that I’ve sneaked into the garden.

  ‘Come back soon, won’t you? At night. Meet me by the swing.’ She turns back towards the archway, little Hanu, her monkey tripping along behind her, the flash of his tail disappearing into the trees.

  ‘Wait . . . where are you going? Where do you live? Why can we only play at night?’ I start to follow, but she’s much too quick, and when I try to work out which way she went, I can’t see her at all.

  I sling my muddy trainers outside and slink back into the house through the unlocked verandah doors. It’s still early and I’m sure there’s no one about so I should get away with it.

  Brushing the dirt from my hair, I tiptoe across the hallway and reach the bottom of the stairs. I’m just about to sprint up, but Uma’s voice makes me freeze.

  ‘Tamarind?’ She shuffles round the corner carrying a tray piled high with starched napkins and a silver bowl full of golden globes that smell sugar-sweet. ‘Look at you.’ She tuts and lowers her eyes, resting them on my grubby clothes. ‘You’ve been somewhere?’

  ‘Um . . . no. I just wanted a drink of water.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ She narrows her eyes and comes closer. ‘Chinty, too, liked to go out at night or early in the morning. You girls.’

  I lean towards her. ‘W-where did she used to go?’

  Her eyes turn watery and she looks away for a moment and I think she’s about to tell me more. ‘Maybe we’ll talk later, beta – come to the kitchen, like I said. Now . . . go and get clean before your nanijee sees. And here.’ She picks up one of the globes of sugary dough soaked in sticky syrup and holds it under my nose.

  I sniff it and eye it suspiciously. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Only gulab jaman. Very sweet, very yum.’ She smiles. ‘Try and I think you’ll like.’

  It smells like warm caramel. I take it from Uma and stick out my tongue to try a teeny taste. ‘Mmmm . . . like doughnuts.’

  ‘Go on,’ Uma urges, smiling.

  I take a little bite and lick the sticky syrup off my lips. ‘Nice.’ I pop the small treat into my mouth. ‘You said before that Mum liked them – I can see why.’ Of everyone in the family, Uma appears to be the most open to talking about Mum . . . so I ask her straight. ‘Why won’t anyone talk about Mum, Uma?’

  I think I’m about to discover something when she lowers her voice and glances back towards the kitchen – but all she says is: ‘Your nanijee doesn’t like it. Tamarind, you need to stop asking questions.’

  Disappointment comes crashing down like an almighty wave. I’m so fed up of this. So fed up of asking about Mum and getting only silence – it’s like throwing myself against a brick wall.

  ‘Tamarind?’

  I ignore Uma’s gentle voice and sprint up the stairs to my bedroom as quietly as I can. I shut the door softly, afraid of waking anyone up, and pull a chair across it, suddenly desperate to be alone. I sit on the bed and try to bring the whirling events of the past two days to some sort of order, but they stay stubbornly inexplicable . . . nothing makes any sense, not the hushed voices surrounding Mum, not the girl in the garden, and not hateful Sufia who snatched the only thing I ever had of Mum’s.

  If I only had the ring, I don’t think I’d feel so bad about everything else. I think I’d feel less lost. As soon as I put Mum’s ring on I felt something shift, like memories awakening after being trapped inside that box for so long. It’s as if it had been waiting for me to find it, to wear it like she did. And now . . . Sufia has it!

  I fall into bed without bothering even to wash and, despite the rage, somehow I do sleep for a few hours. When I wake, I fling open the bathroom door and fill the tub with steaming water, stare in the mirror at my wild knotted hair, my scratched face, and vow again that I will get Mum’s ring back.

  The water is scalding but I plunge myself in, dunking right under, all the fury against Sufia pulsing back. She’s probably hidden it somewhere she thinks I won’t dare to go, but I want it so badly I’ll do anything and go anywhere to get it.

  After a few minutes, I grip the edge of the bath, haul myself out and throw on some clothes. I’m going to need some help. I hurry along the carpeted corridor to the room at the end – Arjun’s room. He promised to keep my visit to the hut a secret, so maybe he’ll help me get the ring back.

  I tap lightly on the door and go in. Although it’s quite late now, Arjun is still sleeping, one arm dangling from the covers. It’s a small, cosy room, painted a warm yellow. On a shelf above his bed, he’s lined up an origami zoo. I peer at the figures and make out a tiger, a swan, and maybe a dog. There are two battered skateboards hooked to the wall and a poster of a cool guy doing some sort of skate trick.

  ‘Arjun. Wake up.’ I shake him gently. ‘It’s me, Tamarind.’

  He stirs but doesn’t wake.

  ‘Come on, sleepyhead.’

  I lift the window and rattle open the shutters, letting the morning sun into his room – at last, he opens his eyes. ‘W . . . what are you doing here?’ he yawns. ‘It’s still early, isn’t it? For a holiday.’

  ‘Arjun, I need your help.’ I balance on the window ledge. ‘I need to get something back from Sufia that doesn’t belong to her. Will you help me?’

  He’s been friendly up to now but I’m not sure he’ll plot against his sister with me. I hold my breath.

  Arjun narrows his eyes like he’s thinking. ‘She’s always taking things. She thinks everything belongs to her. What’s she stolen this time?’

  I sigh out in relief. ‘It . . . it’s a special ring, that belonged to my mum.’ I don’t tell him I found it in the hut. ‘She’s got it and I think she’s hidden it in her room. I need to get in there and take a look. I only need you to distract her – will you?’

  ‘Sufia’s sleeping in the attic room, isn’t she?’ Arjun says, as we peek out of his room and into the
corridor, waiting for Sufia to emerge.

  I nod. ‘She’ll have to come down this way.’

  ‘OK, here’s the plan. Stay in your room, watching the verandah from your window,’ says Arjun, sounding excited. ‘Once Sufia’s having breakfast I’ll give you a signal and keep her there for as long as I can without it seeming weird while you search her room. She’s clever though, and she’ll wonder why you aren’t at breakfast . . . she’ll also be expecting you to be looking for the ring, so keep alert.’

  We hear a sudden creak from the top of the stairs. Sufia emerges grumpily from the attic staircase, clattering down the next set of stairs to the ground-floor hallway. Once she’s gone, Arjun turns to me and gives a businesslike nod.

  ‘Right,’ says Arjun, ‘back to your room. Watch for my signal!’

  He shoots on down to breakfast and I hurry back to my room. I stand by the window until I spy Sufia sitting beside Nanijee, her plate piled with food. When Arjun arrives, Sufia stands up and looks around suspiciously, but he tugs at her sleeve and gets her to sit back down before giving me a quick look – the signal. I know I don’t have long so I take off towards Sufia’s room. Setting the timer on my watch for three minutes, I take a deep breath before opening the door, feeling like a burglar.

  Blood thuds through my ears as I scan the room. It’s tiny, more like a cupboard with a small window to one side, shelves with spare linen and neatly stacked towels. The bed is just a narrow camp bed on the floor with the battered, one-eyed teddy sitting on the pillow. Sufia must really hate me if she chose to sleep in here instead of in a proper room with me!

  I ignore my feelings and start the hunt for the ring. Where would I put something if I didn’t want anyone to find it? Under the bed – too easy, but I dip my head and take a look anyway. Nothing there. Her unpacked bag is still on the floor so I plunge my hands in, hoping she just slung it in last night, but it’s only full of dirty clothes.

  The jolly jingle of the timer makes me jump out of my skin – has it already been three minutes? I race to check under the mattress, under the pillow, between the stacked sheets, but don’t find it anywhere. Frantic footsteps pound up the stairs and I shoot under the bed, heart hammering, but they fade without coming in – probably Uma visiting one of the other attic rooms. I know I should leave now but if it’s in this room I might not get another chance to come back.