Tamarind and the Star of Ishta

by Jasbinder Bilan

  Or maybe she hid it somewhere else, after all.

  I wriggle out, tiptoe across, have my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, when I notice a high shelf filled with little trinkets and figures that runs all the way along the top of the wall.

  With one eye on the door, my hands trembling, I drag a chair so I can stretch up to see if it’s there, but I’m not tall enough. I fling Sufia’s stuff from the small side table on to her bed and balance it on the chair. It wobbles as I try to stand as still as I can and look beyond the trinkets but there’s nothing on that side. It feels like my stomach is full of crawling spiders but I move the chair, set it up again on the far side of the room with the table on top and clamber up as carefully as if I’m climbing Everest.

  What are those little green bootees doing here, the ones that were in my room? But I’m more interested in what’s tucked behind them, pushed right to the back and tied to a red ribbon: Mum’s ring! I lean in as far as I dare, stretching my fingertips to reach for it, and just manage to hook it from behind the trinkets, but the chair sways beneath me and I crash on to the floor with the clay animals, vases and the bootees tumbling with me.

  The door flies open. It’s Sufia, followed closely by Arjun, who pushes past and kneels beside me.

  ‘Get out of my room,’ bellows Sufia, nostrils flaring, anger puffing out of her like icy breath. She stoops to the ground and delicately picks up the bootees. ‘I said, get out!’ Her livid face turns blazing red.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ says Arjun, standing between us. ‘You’ve been really horrible to Tamarind.’

  For a moment Sufia’s face changes, as if she’s genuinely upset, just like it did in the hut. Her lip trembles, but then as if she’s putting on a mask, the temper returns and she gives Arjun the evil eye.

  She strides over and tries to grab the ring again. ‘Give it to me . . . this doesn’t belong to you.’

  I’m shaking, pain and anger coursing through my body. I can’t keep the tears back any longer and they track down my cheeks like hot lava. ‘No . . . I won’t give it to you.’ I slip the ring on my finger. ‘You snatched it from me before but this time I’m keeping it . . . I know you don’t care,’ I sob, ‘but it’s my mum’s. It’s the only thing I have of hers and I can’t give it up.’

  ‘And you know you haven’t got anyone to turn to,’ says Arjun, folding his arms and standing firm. ‘Nanijee will be really upset with you and so will Mum and Dad . . . and you know you’re on your final warning after your school reports.’

  ‘Why are you taking her side?’ Despite her shaved and dyed hair, Sufia suddenly looks really young. Her lip begins to tremble properly this time.

  ‘She’s our guest, Sufia,’ says Arjun, moving closer to me. ‘And she’s nice to me.’

  Sufia stands tall, her hands on her hips as she turns to me. ‘So you want to know about your mum, do you?’ she whispers, her eyes glistening. She’s looking really odd and I think again that maybe she’s going to cry, but then she puts her mean face back on. ‘Well, I’ll tell you the thing that no one else wants to tell you.’ She says each word with a slow menace that makes my palms slippery with sweat.

  ‘Sufia, please,’ says Arjun, trying to squeeze between us, to shield me from Sufia’s glare.

  My heart feels like a hammer punching at my ribs, my mouth as dry as dust.

  Sufia laughs and shoves Arjun out of the way so she’s back in my face. ‘I knew your mum for ages before you came along. She played with me, sang me songs, painted elephants on my nursery wall and rocked me to sleep. She died when I was six, but I remember her really clearly.’

  Tears prick against my eyelids but I won’t let them out. I clench my jaw tight and look away from her. I wanted to know about Mum – but not like this. Arjun has given up trying to stop her and stands against a bookshelf, chewing the side of his mouth and looking at the floor like he’d rather be anywhere else.

  ‘Everything was fantastic until she met your dad. Do you know how angry the whole family was when you came along?’ She spits her words out and they scorch me with their fire.

  ‘Sufia—’ Arjun begins to speak.

  ‘Shut up!’ she yells. ‘Just shut up!’ I don’t think Sufia can come any closer but now she’s pressed right against me, her nose practically touching mine. She looks down at me and thunders at the top of her voice. ‘She died because of you!’

  I collapse against the wall, my insides caving in, my head spinning. ‘What? Why didn’t anyone say . . . ?’

  Sufia’s eyes glint with triumph. ‘Of course no one ever told you . . . They’re protecting you, stupid. Because it’s all your fault! She died in childbirth, Tamarind. She died so you could live. You. Killed. Her.’

  I put my hands over my ears. ‘Stop, stop. You’re lying. It’s not true.’ I lift my tear-stained face. ‘Arjun?’ I whisper. ‘It’s not true, is it?’

  Arjun doesn’t answer.

  ‘Get out!’ bellows Sufia, her face a beacon of fire. ‘It’s not over between us, nosy, interfering English girl,’ she hisses.

  She pushes Arjun and I on to the landing and slams her door shut.

  I’m back in my room, sitting against the hard wall beside the bed, alone after telling Arjun to give me some time on my own for a bit. Downstairs I can hear Uma singing as she bustles around in the kitchen, the smell of sizzling onions seeping through the floorboards. Aunt Simran and Nani are sitting out on the verandah, chatting and reading the newspaper Auntie bought from the village yesterday. Even up here I can hear the beat of Kamaal’s music thudding through the house.

  But although it’s been an hour or more since Sufia spat out the truth at me, her words are still ringing in my ears and I can’t make them go away. Salt-dried tears crust my blotchy face like scars. I’m glad: I want everyone to see them. The big secret that no one ever told me is that I am the reason Mum died.

  The reality smashes through me and I clench my fists so hard my knuckles turn white.

  I touch the green stone of the ring and imagine Mum wearing it, looking at it just as I am. I’m desperate to wear it all the time, to feel close to her, but I don’t want Nani to see it and get upset, so I put it in my pocket and zip it up safely.

  ‘Hey,’ says Arjun, stepping in softly. ‘You’d better come down, or everyone will start getting worried.’ He shifts his feet awkwardly. ‘I’ve never seen Sufia so mean,’ he mutters. ‘And I didn’t know . . . you know . . . that thing about you and . . . and your mum.’

  ‘D-do you know what happened after? A . . . after Mum died? Why do they all hate Dad?’

  ‘I don’t know really . . . I mean, nobody tells me anything and I wasn’t even born then. But they sometimes say things when they think I’m not listening.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Arjun looks away at the window. ‘Like how Nanijee wanted to keep you here, but your dad took you away. It made everyone really sad, I think, the whole thing. He broke the family up, that’s what they say.’

  ‘But why is Sufia especially mad with me?’

  ‘She was really close to your mum when she was little. She went everywhere with her. Apparently, when it happened she stopped eating and wouldn’t stop crying and asking where she’d gone.’ He flops against the pillows. ‘That’s just what Sufia told me and what I’ve overheard – I don’t know much really.’

  ‘I’m sorry to keep asking questions.’ I can tell he’s had enough and I can’t blame him – he’s only young and I’m sure he’s dying to get away.

  ‘I’m starving, is it lunchtime yet?’ he asks, fidgeting with the edge of the duvet.

  My stomach gives a growl, reminding me that I haven’t eaten in ages. ‘You go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Arjun leaps off the bed. ‘See you there,’ he says, bolting through the door.

  Even though I’m hungry, the last thing I feel like doing is sitting at the table surrounded by everyone again, but I know they’ll start asking questions if I’m not there. I’ve already misse
d breakfast.

  In the bathroom, I quickly run cold water and splash my face, trying to cool my sore cheeks. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me in the mirror as I try to smooth down my tangled mess of hair.

  I have to find out more about what happened and why nobody apart from Sufia will talk about it. Sunday will be here soon and Dad will be back to take me home. This week is my only chance to uncover all the secrets and finally get to the truth. I take a deep breath.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ says Aunt Simran, who is walking up the stairs as I open my bedroom door. ‘I was worried – you were really quiet yesterday and then you didn’t come down for breakfast.’ She strokes my hair, notices my eyes. ‘Are you all right?’

  I wish I could, but I can’t tell her the truth – I’ll get in trouble. ‘I-I’ve been really tired,’ I stammer. ‘And I wasn’t hungry this morning, I just wanted to sleep.’

  She puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘We all love you, Tamarind. We’ve missed you. I know the food here is hard for you, so Uma’s made some plain scrambled eggs with hot buttery toast for your lunch. Does that sound good?’

  I give her a small smile. ‘Thank you – I’m sure I’ll get used to things but I’m just a bit of a fusspot, as Dad says.’ After the news from Sufia, I don’t think I could eat anything.

  ‘Come on.’

  We walk slowly down the stairs together, Aunt Simran still holding me close. Part of me wants to run away again, not sure if Aunt Simran is just better at hiding her true feelings than Sufia, but she seems so kind. I keep thinking how me being here must be so hard for everyone.

  I think back to the girl in the garden; maybe Aunt Simran might know her. ‘There was a girl,’ I begin – then pause. I can’t tell her I went out in the night. ‘In the garden, you know, when I . . . when I got upset on Monday night and ran off.’

  ‘You must have seen Sufia – she goes out there often.’ She sighs. ‘I’m glad it’s only her you saw. Tamarind, don’t go into the garden again after dark. This isn’t England. We have wild animals out here in the mountains, dangerous animals.’

  I ignore the warning and continue. ‘It wasn’t Sufia. This girl was around my age – she said her name is Ishta. I thought maybe she lived nearby?’

  Aunt Simran frowns as we reach the bottom of the stairs. ‘Nobody lives around here apart from us, Tamarind. The closest village takes ages to get to without a car. Look how tired you are – could you have dreamt it?’

  I know I didn’t dream it – but sometimes you can tell you’re going to get in trouble if you don’t agree with a grown-up. So I nod: ‘I guess so.’

  We reach the dining room, but Aunt Simran hesitates outside. ‘You know, Ishta is the name for a person’s favourite deity, or goddess.’ She smiles. ‘Do you like myths and legends? Have a look in your room – you might find a book or two that interests you.’

  We go on to the verandah, Aunt Simran guiding me away from the grand velvet chair. ‘Come and sit by Nani.’

  Arjun is wolfing down a piece of toast, his plate half empty already. Kamaal’s headphones are blasting a drumbeat as he eats.

  ‘Kamaal,’ scolds Nani, waving at him to get his attention. ‘No headphones at the table. How many times do I say it?’

  He pushes them off his head. ‘OK, Nanijee,’ he laughs and carries on eating.

  ‘And where’s Sufia?’ Nani says. ‘I hope she’s not still sulking. She ran off upstairs really fast after breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll go up and see her,’ says Aunt Simran. ‘Give her some TLC. Carry on with lunch, everyone.’

  Arjun frowns and concentrates on his food.

  ‘Tamarind, beta,’ continues Nani. ‘You look so tired. Some fresh air after lunch and then a nap.’

  I press my fingers against the cold cutlery, try to swallow the sadness about how Mum died and force a smile. ‘OK, Nani.’

  Uma comes in carrying the plate of scrambled egg and toast and puts it in front of me. ‘I made these extra special, so you must eat. There’s nothing spicy, nothing strange, only egg and butter.’

  Even though the bombshell Sufia hurled at me earlier means tears are only a blink away, I’m feeling shaky and know I have to eat. I plunge the fork into the creamy pile of egg and force it into my mouth.

  Uma rubs my back. ‘I knew you would eat them, and for dinner I have something else for you to try.’

  I remember the sweet treat she gave me earlier. I feel bad at how I left things with her, running away when she told me not to talk about Mum. I try hard to smile and tell her ‘thank you’. Whatever she’s got in mind for dinner might just be OK.

  After lunch is finished, Nani begins watering the pots on the verandah, Aunt Simran and Uma pore over a shopping list, deciding what to cook later, and Kamaal heads out to meet up with friends. Me and Arjun kick a football around on the grass again, but I can’t concentrate properly and make an excuse to go up to my room. I want to check out the books I saw above my bed on the first night. Aunt Simran suggested there may be something there on Ishta.

  When I get upstairs, I glance through the titles on the shelf over my bed – sure enough, there’s a book on ancient gods and goddesses. I pull it off and blow away a layer of dust as I settle on the bed.

  I slip Mum’s ring from my zipped pocket and put it on. It catches the sunlight, sending sparkling beams across the walls of the room. It’s as if Mum’s right here with me. I take the photo from the bedside table and hold it in my palm. The rays from the ring reflect a rainbow light on to the photo.

  I snuggle into bed and turn the first yellowing page.

  Mum’s name is written in careful curved writing across the inside cover of the book.

  Chinty

  It’s bordered by rows of stars. This was Mum’s book! I hold it tight before reading, a buzz of excitement leaping in my chest. Then I open the index and see if I can find an entry for Ishta . . . I find one for Ishtar instead, so flick to the page.

  The Myth of Ishtar

  Ishtar is an ancient goddess who was first written about in the texts of Mesopotamia – she is the first deity for whom researchers have discovered written evidence. She is powerful and is usually seen in the company of owls to show her wisdom, and lions to show her strength . . .

  I recall the statue at the entrance to the wild garden – it sounds like it’s the same goddess, the goddess Ishtar. I carry on reading.

  Ishtar lends her name to the morning star. In the West she is known as Venus, but Ishtar came first. All the stories of Venus, the evening and morning star, originate with the myths of the Middle East . . .

  I flick further on, to the beautiful paintings of the goddess, examining them closely. They’re all different, showing her having adventures in the mountains, by a lake, in a deep forest, surrounded by flocks of animals and birds.

  But what about Ishta? I think. Didn’t Aunt Simran say it was a name for a favourite deity?

  I yawn, wanting to read more about the goddess, but I can’t keep my eyes open any longer and they droop closed, sending me off into a deep sleep, empty of dreams.

  I’m woken by a knock on the door. ‘Are you OK? You’ve slept all afternoon!’ says Arjun, walking into the room. ‘I came up earlier but you were still asleep. I wanted to cheer you up after what Sufia said to you.’ He sits on the spare bed. ‘I made you another friend.’ He puts one of his origami figures on the bedside table.

  ‘Is it a lion?’ I yawn, sitting up.

  ‘Yes!’ He sounds really pleased. ‘Last time I made one, Sufia said it looked like a rat.’

  I remember the line from the book about how Ishtar was always shown with lions, to symbolize her strength. Maybe this is a sign that I have to be strong too. ‘Thank you, that’s really sweet. And I’m fine. At least I know a bit more about what happened. It’s better to know things sometimes, even though they might upset you. At least you can start dealing with it – Dad kept it all from me.’

  ‘Do you want me to show you round the house before dinn
er? You haven’t been given a tour yet.’

  Even though I feel like I could sleep for longer, I agree. Arjun must’ve been bored all afternoon by himself. ‘That’ll be fun, thanks.’ I take Mum’s ring off and hide it safely in my pocket again.

  Chacha Dev is fixing the latch on a bedroom door as we dive past him and zoom further up the stairs, the sound of Nani and Aunt Simran’s chatter rising from the dining room.

  Arjun leads me through the old, creaky house, starting at the top, right by the cupboard room that Sufia’s sleeping in. The door is closed and there’s some music blaring from behind it. We tiptoe past, then run to the other end of the corridor where there’s another flight of stairs that go up into a narrow circular tower and also lead downstairs. We head up. The room at the top is really cool with a great view over the orchard, the chickens and the cow that’s munching at the grass.

  ‘This is one of the towers,’ says Arjun, his face lighting up with a grin. ‘Sometimes when I have friends to stay we pretend we’re trapped in a castle and make up stories about lions, heroes and hidden treasure.’ He walks over to a big old chest and lifts the lid. ‘Look, this is our dressing-up box.’ The clothes inside are colourful and jumbled.

  ‘That’s so cool,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe we can play later?’ he asks hopefully.

  I smile. ‘Maybe.’ But my mind drifts to my adventures in the garden with Ishta.

  Once we’ve been all over the house we end up back by my room. From the window on the landing, the first star of the evening shines fiercely beside the moon and I think of Ishtar, the goddess from the book. Tonight, I’ll go find the girl in the garden.

  At dinner we have the usual routine of everyone in their places, Kamaal with his headphones on – headphones off, when Nani shoots him a dark look – Sufia giving me the eye and Aunt Simran keeping her in check, and of course the lonely wooden chair with the turquoise velvet back, waiting for its owner. The table is overloaded with food, steaming dishes dotted along the middle again, and I’m beginning to get used to the fragrant smells, the spiced tea and the saffron-scented rice.