Tamarind and the Star of Ishta

by Jasbinder Bilan

  I struggle into my thickest sweatshirt, pull the waterproof jacket Dad insisted I bring over my head, and put my tracksuit bottoms on. Sufia can’t have got far. I’ll find her and bring her back, stop her getting herself deeper into trouble and maybe, just maybe, she’ll thank me for it.

  I grab my torch and head downstairs. When I open the front door, the wind snatches it from my hands and I struggle to close it behind myself, but I push my body hard against it until it slams shut. No one will notice the bang over the noise of the storm.

  The garden is wrecked. There are branches strewn over the lawns, leaves mounded in piles along the hedges, debris flying and swirling through the air.

  My heart pumps as I shield my eyes and run into the battering wind.

  I hold my ring ahead of me, its emerald light glowing in the darkness – miraculously, the stars are breaking through. ‘Show me the way,’ I breathe. ‘Where did she go?’ An energy surges inside me and I chase after the light of the ring.

  The rain has paused a moment, but lightning still flashes over the towering mountains and the thunder booms louder with each new clap. I wish I’d followed Sufia sooner.

  I stare up at the stars, shining brighter than ever between the bruised purple clouds of the stormy sky. I sense a spark, travelling down from the universe, like the feeling you get when you walk between ancient standing stones at night. They’re telling me to go on and find Sufia, that it’s up to me, I’m Tamarind the brave! On instinct, I hold out my hand. My mum’s ring is glowing with its clear green light, a single beam pointing towards the copse . . . towards the hut! Maybe Sufia is hiding there, waiting out the storm after all. I plunge further into the garden, following the light.

  Water from the soaked branches drenches me as I run through the grasses and waist-high nettles now battered flat by the rain, past the rock, through the billowing branches of the trees in the copse and pause to catch my breath by the hut. No light shines in the windows. I stand on tiptoe, wipe the window clear of cobwebs and peer into the little hut, but it’s empty. And the ring’s beam is veering off now, towards the wild garden.

  A strike of lightning illuminates the statue as I rush under the arch, into the wilderness of the tangled garden, and the rain begins again in torrents. I look about, blinking away the water streaming down my eyes and nose. I can’t see Sufia anywhere. The clouds cover the stars and the ring seems to lose its glow; the beam of light that was so strong before is now weak and diffused.

  I raise my hands, cup them to my mouth. ‘Sufiiiia,’ I call through the noise of the angry storm.

  Nothing.

  I run even further into the wild garden until the stitch in my side is howling, looking for any sign of where she might have gone. What if she’s left the garden and ventured into the real wilderness of the Himalaya? Arjun said there were animals in the mountains – dangerous ones like tigers, snow leopards and packs of hungry wolves, like the ones that Ishta showed me through the gap in the hedge. Fear grips me as I imagine Sufia, headstrong and foolish, running away into the wild, too angry to think straight.

  What if something terrible happens to her and I could have stopped it? I keep moving, fear shooting up my spine, sweat and rain trickling down my neck. I find the gap in the hedge at the furthest end of the garden, the one that Ishta wanted me to crawl through, where we saw the wolves – the one I was too scared to go through last time.

  On hands and knees, I crawl along the slippery sodden ground and scramble through, the thorned branches ripping at my clothes, until I’m out the other side. The rain falls faster, icy drops hailing from above like liquid silver; down it pours, making rivers of the mud-clogged ground.

  The storm shows no sign of relenting and I struggle against the wind and climb to higher ground, searching the shield of water that’s everywhere. The rowing boat is still tied on the near edge of the dark churned-up lake, frantically dipping and jerking against the water. Is it better that she’s on foot, or worse?

  And then I hear a strange cry, carried on the wind. It’s faint and far off, a deep-throated animal sound.

  A bolt of panic shivers through my veins, and even though terror is ripping at my insides, I keep going, skirting the lake, dragging my feet through the wet earth, through the wild landscape, heading for the far side, towards the haunting noise. They can’t blame me for anything if they know I did everything I could to save Sufia, that I risked my own life.

  Thunder crashing, storm wailing, I sprint as fast as I can towards the arc of mountains before me. The ground is slippery and I splash my way onwards through earth-coloured puddles, the animal wail guiding me higher. I hold my ring ahead of me, praying for the clouds to shift and let its beam show me where to look, but the light is so dull now, the green glow of the emerald faded almost to nothing.

  But the howling is getting louder; even in the clamour of the storm, I can hear the cries rising and rising, turning more frantic.

  Through the veil of rain I see a dark hollow in the mountain ahead, a cave maybe, and my heart gives a skip. Perhaps Sufia is taking shelter there? But as I get closer, the howling booms against the hard surface of the rock.

  Wolves!

  They’re standing in front of the gaping cave, heads thrown back, white fur glistening, teeth bared, as if they’re guarding something. They rise up in a fearful semicircle, howling at something inside the cave.

  I duck behind a rock, straining my eyes for a sight of Sufia, and then I see her through the sheets of slate-grey rain – a huddled shape, crouched a little way into the cave. She has a torch in her hand and shines it at the wolves, protecting herself. She’s built a small fire at the mouth of the cave, but still the wolves howl and agitate, stalking up and down.

  ‘Sufia!’ I call. ‘Sufia, it’s me, Tamarind! I’m going to help you.’ She doesn’t seem to hear me – and I’ve no idea what to do. My chest is tight, fear stretching the skin taut on my face, but I crawl nearer, licking salty sweat from my lips.

  Crouching low like an animal, I hunker close to the ground, hoping my dark coat will camouflage me from the pack. But I know the wolves will catch my scent – they probably already know I’m here and the knowledge sends terror skittering through me.

  I pause to gather my courage and advance, trembling, towards the entrance. The wolves are horribly close, their eyes fixed on Sufia, and finally she catches sight of me, her shocked eyes opening wider. ‘Tamarind! Get away! It’s too dangerous!’

  Panic roots my feet to the ground as a few of the wolves slowly turn towards me. How am I going to help? I’m only a girl – and now I feel the danger so sharply it swamps me and I stagger backwards, my body telling me to run, but my feet clumsy and frozen with fear.

  I fall, my clothes squelching in the mud as the wolves growl and spring towards me, lowering their heads to the rocks, looming closer, their meaty breath blooming the air.

  ‘Run!’ Sufia screams.

  Her fire is sputtering as the wind and rain lash the opening of the cave. Once it goes out, she’ll be defenceless.

  We’re both defenceless. The wolves’ teeth shine in the night.

  That’s when the clouds part. Suddenly a confidence fills me up – a sense of purpose and light – and I know I’m meant to be here. I can do it! I lift the ring and it glows weakly before suddenly casting a bright beam across the sky.

  The wolves turn and, as if confused, stay grounded to the spot as their eyes latch on to the ring’s magical glow.

  Another voice calls over the storm. ‘Tamarind. Up here!’

  I shift my gaze to a ledge above the cave. It’s Ishta! The wind buffets her so violently that she’s struggling to even stand – she’s flickering, appearing and disappearing along with the ring’s light as the clouds race across the stars. I squint, certain my eyes are deceiving me. How is that possible?

  She draws an arrow and holds it tight against the bow in front of her, pulls her arm back with confidence and whips the arrow high above the circle of wolves. The arrow
glints bronze, forging a straight line into the storm-crazed sky. The wolves follow its track, obviously spooked, howls thronging the air as their attention is distracted from Sufia and me.

  A sudden crashing of thunder and lightning bombs above us, confusing the wolves even more. ‘Run, Sufia,’ I shout. ‘Come on!’

  She leaps to her feet and runs from the cave, darts her eyes across to where Ishta stands on the ledge, poised, ready with another arrow. But Sufia’s eyes slide over Ishta as if there’s nothing there. She grabs my hand. ‘Come on, Tam!’ She tugs me back towards the garden as the rain pelts down on us both.

  I glance over my shoulder as I allow myself to be pulled along – there’s no sign now of Ishta on the ledge over the cave. Where did she go?

  Below, the wolves snarl their finely carved fangs and rush into the cave, sending a howl into the storm so fierce and strong it carries on the wind like a heart-rending lament. Whatever’s in there, they’re more interested in it than in us.

  But what about Ishta? She saved us and she’s still out here, in danger. I stop and pull my hand away from Sufia’s.

  ‘Ishta!’ I shout. ‘Where are you?’

  But she’s gone.

  ‘Who are you shouting at?’ Sufia says wildly, tugging my arm. ‘Don’t look back – just keep running!’

  I feel a heart-pang of sadness and grasp Sufia’s hand. Together we hurtle down the slope. We tighten our grip to save each other from slipping on the muddy ground and struggle away from the cave, further and further towards the garden, panting hard as the gusts of wind pluck at our clothes, our hair, our faces and the rain lashes us again and again.

  When at last I can’t run any more and we’re nearly back by the gap in the hedge, I try to slow my breathing and stare frantically into the distance, back towards the mountains and the cave, searching for any sign of Ishta.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Sufia stutters, softer rain now mixing with the tears that slide down her cheeks. We tramp along the side of the lake towards the garden.

  I don’t know what to say so I just squeeze her hand tighter.

  ‘Everyone was so cross with me,’ she sobs. ‘I thought it was better if I just left.’ Her clothes are torn and plastered to her body.

  ‘Did the wolves attack you?’

  ‘No. I took shelter in the cave when the storm got too wild for me to go on – I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I was scared but I didn’t see the cubs in there until I lit the fire, and then the wolves appeared at the entrance . . . I’m so stupid, I just didn’t think.’ Sufia’s face is ashen. ‘They just wanted to be with their cubs.’

  I put an arm around her shoulder and she doesn’t shrug it away. It surprises me. I leave it there for a moment before dropping it to my side. I’m still not sure how Sufia feels about me, but – after all that – it seems she’s finally beginning to soften towards me.

  So maybe I should trust her.

  I swallow, shield my eyes from the rain. ‘Did . . . didn’t you see the girl, on the ledge?’ I ask.

  Sufia shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t see anyone.’

  I blink. I don’t understand how that’s possible. ‘What about the arrow she fired across the sky? She saved us.’

  Sufia frowns. ‘I saw lightning, Tamarind. It was so bright it distracted the wolves. And then the thunder. I . . . don’t think there can have been anyone up there.’ She gazes at me closely as we reach the boundary.

  ‘No, I’m sure she was there. I know her. It was a girl I met in the garden earlier this week . . . Ishta,’ I say, between breaths. ‘We made friends, really good friends. She lives around here but I didn’t know she could shoot an arrow like that.’

  Sufia is staring, her eyes wide. ‘Ishta? That’s—’

  ‘What?’

  Sufia shakes her head. ‘Never mind. Let’s go, we need to get warm and dry – quickly.’

  We limp together through the wild garden, under the stone arch and head towards the hut, the rain still falling, the storm still chasing at our heels.

  When we get to the hut we stop, too weak and battered to take the final steps to the house.

  ‘C-can we shelter here?’ Sufia is shaking. ‘I can’t go any further.’

  I scramble for the key in the pile of grass and push open the door, bundling us both inside. Sufia’s breath is still beating out of her and she clings to my arm, her eyes wild.

  We squirm out of our wet shoes and outer layers and leave them in a soggy pile on the floor. I pull at the duvet and with a final bit of strength lead Sufia to the bunk bed – to Mum’s bed. She collapses, falling against the pillow, and draws the covers around herself, her teeth chattering, her hair wet. I tumble in next to her and feel her feet, blocks of damp ice, touching mine. I pull one of the other duvets on top of the first one to warm us up quicker.

  ‘The girl on the ledge . . .’ says Sufia as if she’s delirious, staring into space. ‘Ishta. She sent the lightning to save us?’

  ‘Sufia . . . it was an arrow, not lightning.’ I tuck her in, feeling like the grown-up of the two of us, even though she’s six years older. ‘You’ve had a real shock, that’s all. I met Ishta a few times and she’s definitely real. She’s a real person, just like you and me. We played together and she showed me the gap in the hedge. That’s how she got into the garden and how I knew how to get out.’ I frown. ‘She saved us, though, that’s for sure. I just hope she’s OK.’

  Now that we’re both safe, I feel my energy fading. Blood rushes to my frozen fingers and toes, blazes my cheeks.

  The rain continues to pour, drumming on the roof of the hut, the storm thrashing against the small windows.

  Sufia lies very still, her eyes shut – but she’s warming up, and I am too. I touch her pale forehead and she stirs, giving a deep sigh, falling into sleep.

  My stomach knots as I think of Ishta out there in the storm, and I touch my ring, asking for the emerald’s light to find her and keep her safe.

  When I open my eyes in the morning, I’m surrounded by a halo of faces peering over the bed. I blink the sleep away, confused about where I am and what’s going on. The rain is still tapping at the window and flurries of wind whip stray branches against the roof.

  It’s Nani and Arjun, and I quickly remember why I’m sleeping in the forbidden hut with Sufia still snoring at my side.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asks Arjun. ‘We looked all over for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Nani,’ I begin, my throat like sandpaper, bracing myself to take the flak.

  She shushes me, and Arjun runs outside, shouting that we’ve been found.

  Nani perches on the edge of the bed and looks around, puts her warm hands on my head and kisses my hair. ‘Chinty always adored coming here,’ she sighs, looking about the hut, brushing away the tears that slide down her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t cry, Nani,’ I say, holding her hand tight.

  Her gaze falls on to the ring. ‘I know we can’t change the past,’ she continues. ‘And maybe now that you’re here, I can start to let go . . . Chinty would love you to enjoy the hut, and I’m so pleased that Sufia has finally made friends with you.’ Nani strokes Sufia’s sleeping face.

  I leap under the bed and bring out the patterned cardboard box with Mum’s things in it. ‘This is where I found the ring, Nani.’ I open the lid and show her the wooden arrow painted gold with the white feather on the tip and the face paints.

  Nani’s breath catches as she stares at the childhood treasures. ‘Chinty loved dressing up, she was always pretending to be a warrior or an explorer – always something adventurous.’ She smiles. ‘I want you to have this box. Will you keep her things safe, Tamarind?’

  My heart leaps and I clutch the box, a smile beaming across my face. ‘Of course. Thank you, Nani.’

  Sufia begins to stir as Arjun returns to the hut with Aunt Simran. Sufia sits up slowly, rubbing at her eyes.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ begins Aunt Simran, her brows knotted with worry. ‘Going out in that s
torm.’

  ‘I . . . it was me, Aunt Simran,’ I blurt, Sufia and I exchanging a fleeting look. ‘I wanted to sleep in the hut one last time, in case the storm made it impossible later . . . to feel close to Mum. Sufia was worried about me and followed me out.’

  Aunt Simran’s expression softens and she gathers the covers off us. ‘Well then . . . let’s get you both back to the house and warm.’

  After stuffing a couple of pistachio pastries down with glugs of hot milk, me and Sufia are sent upstairs to the bedroom, ‘to rest’. We get into clean pyjamas, socks and thick jumpers and dive into the covers.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you,’ says Sufia. ‘You won’t tell anyone what happened, will you?’

  ‘Of course I won’t.’

  ‘Thank you for coming to find me,’ she sniffs. ‘It was such a stupid thing to do, to go out into the storm.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say quietly.

  ‘We have more in common than you think,’ she says, her jaw tensing. ‘I . . . wasn’t always in this family.’ She seems to struggle with the words. ‘I-I came to live here when I was two years old. Before that I lived in an orphanage. My parents, I mean my real parents, were killed in an earthquake that hit the Himalaya.’ She lets the tears come and they fall on to the bed.

  I put my arm around her shoulder again and this time keep it there for longer, feeling her body shaking with grief.

  ‘It’s not like they make me feel like an outsider. I know they love me, I get everything and more, but sometimes I don’t know where I belong.’

  ‘I know how hard that can be,’ I say. ‘I’m really sorry, Sufia. You must miss your parents too, just like I miss Mum, even though you don’t remember them.’

  She lifts a gold chain from underneath her jumper and shows me a small locket. ‘This is the only photo I have of them. Mum told me the houseparents gave it to them along with a pair of green knitted bootees, when they adopted me from the orphanage.’

  I remember the bootees and how angry Sufia was when I knocked them off the shelf, and now I understand why.