Tamarind and the Star of Ishta

by Jasbinder Bilan

  Sufia and I exchange a glance. I give Nani a big hug. ‘Thank you. I’m sure I’ll love it.’

  ‘I’m glad you two have made friends at last,’ smiles Nani. ‘We have to stick together.’ She hugs both me and Sufia. ‘It has been so good for me to have you here, Tamarind, you’ve helped me so much. Now I feel I can talk about Chinty and remember her again.’ She smiles, looking at my star of Ishta ring. ‘Can you help me with a few things? This is going to be a special mountain celebration, so let’s show your dad and Chloe how we do it.’ She sprinkles pomegranate seeds on to a platter of rice.

  But although I try to get into the party spirit, I can’t get the tamarind tree out of my mind. It makes me so sad to think of what happened to it. I walk out on to the verandah, leaving Sufia to help Nani. The sun is rising, the final traces of the storm fading. Birds call to each other, diving and swooping through the sky.

  The top of the tree is visible, the destroyed branches poking up like deadly fingers. But there’s something different about it today . . .

  I step into the garden and walk away from the house, my ring glowing and glinting in the morning sun. The breeze carrying a peppery scent blows over me, ruffles my hair.

  It’s like the wild garden is drawing me to it and I run over the mown grass, where the nettles used to be, past the rock and the hut, under the crumbling arch, past the goddess, same as ever with her beckoning hand.

  By the time I reach the tamarind tree I’m out of breath, my cheeks hot. I stop suddenly under the boughs of its raven branches, blood pumping fast through my veins, amazement making my jaw drop.

  How can it be? I couldn’t see it properly from a distance but the craggy tree is in full blossom!

  All along its stark branches, swirls of flowers burst into bloom. I touch the petals lower down, trying to see if it’s my mind playing tricks, but they feel silky soft, like the freshest newest flowers opening on a spring day, real as anything under my fingertips.

  I stand below the canopy, taking in the cloud of flowers. The morning light shines through the froth of green-white petals bending on long, drooping stems and it takes my breath away. Their sweet peppery scent fills my nose, my head, my body, like I remember this moment, a sudden memory from long ago engraved for ever.

  I wrap my arms as far round the blackened trunk as they will go and let my body soak in the smells of the flowers and the deep scent of warm earth, tilt my head and rest my forehead on its bark. I sink into the tree, giving myself up to my wild garden mother. I start to hear a familiar tune, carried on the breeze . . .

  Tamarind.

  My breath catches.

  As I look up, half blinded by sunlight, I see a swing flying through the flowers, carrying a laughing young woman, her hair cut short, straight nose, high cheekbones. She’s older than when she was Ishta and we met in the garden. But she’s definitely my mum.

  I’m trembling as I lift my ring in front of my face. It’s glowing so bright now. And I can hear a singing voice, carried on the wind – the tune I heard when I arrived and before Ishta first appeared . . .

  ‘We’ll call you Tamarind,’ she sings. ‘Tamarind, like my beautiful tree . . . I’ll rock you in the tamarind tree . . .’

  I remember how we flew through the air, the tangled garden below us, spying the very top of the house, its turrets poking into the blue sky, and how I was scared – and thrilled – and I didn’t want it to end.

  I lift my gaze again. Mum is swinging back and forth through the tree, waving her hand, rising into the blue, arcing through the branches. The higher she goes, the more she seems to fade.

  ‘Shall we go even higher, Tamarind?’

  I watch as she leaves the tree behind and rises into the lightening turquoise sky, her outline mingling with the mountains and the low clouds. I stay still, my hand over my eyes, squinting until I can’t see her any more, only the faint moon and the morning star that always sits beside it, the first to appear and the last to leave. I feel my heart miss a beat, and look at my ring, its light beaming into the sky, following Mum.

  ‘Don’t forget me.’ The song rises into the rose-blushed light.

  For the first time I feel surrounded by an invisible power, something far bigger than I’ve ever experienced before. I don’t understand it but I give myself up to it, stare at the sky that makes a shield above us, shedding its hidden starlight from millions of years ago into this mysterious place, my home.

  I know now that Mum will always be with me whatever happens. She’s all around and everywhere, watching over me – the star of Ishta.

  When I get back to the house, there’s breakfast on the verandah. Arjun has been busy with his origami and is folding a new creature.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, frowning as I sit between him and Sufia. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, how come you two are suddenly so chummy?’ A look of confusion clouds his face.

  ‘We finally found out that we actually have a lot in common,’ I say, shifting closer. I lower my voice so only he can hear. ‘I won’t forget how you made me feel welcome, Arjun. That was really special and made all the difference – thank you. And I can’t wait for you to visit Bristol so I can show you around.’

  ‘Yes,’ adds Sufia. ‘Both of us. We’re all like old friends now.’

  Arjun gives me one of his warm smiles and rolls his eyes at Sufia, like he’ll never understand her, and carries on folding the paper.

  Uma and Dev are primping everything up, dusting things and hanging up colourful bunting.

  Uma leaves her chores for a moment and moves a platter closer to me. She scoops a big spoonful on to my plate. ‘This is the one with less chilli in it.’

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘Kedgeree. All the things you like with an Indian twist. Rice, onion, cardamom and lentils.’

  I take a mouthful. ‘Not bad,’ I smile.

  ‘Look at you,’ she says. ‘I knew I’d get you to eat more than scrambled egg and toast. You’ve made me proud.’ She pushes a small plate of gulab jaman towards me and I eat it whole, its sweetness filling my mouth with happiness.

  ‘Thank you, Uma,’ I say, touching her hand. ‘Thank you for looking after me.’

  Nani comes in from the dining room. ‘When you’ve had enough, let’s try your outfit on before your papa and Chloe arrive. And I have something else to show you.’

  I eat quickly, then Nani takes my hand and together we climb the stairs. She pauses at the top and opens a cupboard, reaches up to the top shelf and brings down a small cotton bag. ‘Let’s go into your room. I put your lehenga in there.’

  We go into the bedroom. Nani sits on the edge of the bed.

  ‘You’re going too soon,’ she says. ‘I’ve hardly had chance to see you.’

  ‘I really want to come back . . . if you’ll have me.’

  ‘Don’t talk silly nonsense – of course, we’ll always have you.’ She opens the bag. ‘This was Chinty’s baby bag for you. She came here just before you were born and she collected things for you. Look. These little socks, a silver rattle and this book of stories.’

  ‘But why didn’t I have it before?’

  ‘Your papa took you away,’ she says, looking suddenly agitated. ‘Before we even had chance to get to know you properly.’

  ‘But why, Nanijee?’

  She twists her hands. ‘We were so angry with them. They weren’t married or anything.’

  ‘Sufia said that Mum died so I could live. Is it true?’ Salty tears drip into my mouth and this time, I don’t try to stop them.

  ‘Come here.’ Nani dabs my cheeks with the edge of her soft shawl. ‘Chinty didn’t die because of you. Don’t ever think that. I remember just after you were born, she was so proud, she loved you so much. But there were complications and . . . we lost her.’

  ‘You really miss her, don’t you?’ I say, before I can stop myself.

  It’s Nani’s turn to cry now. She swipes her face with the palm of her hand and puts her hands together in prayer. ‘It wa
sn’t to be.’

  ‘Do you believe in magic?’ I ask.

  ‘In India there is magic all around, so yes I do.’

  ‘What would you think if I said that this morning

  I saw Mum on a swing in the blossoming branches of the tamarind tree?’

  ‘Did you really see that?’ Nani cups my chin. She’s kind, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. ‘Your babajee made a swing for her when she was small, in the tamarind tree. When she was expecting, you used to wriggle around like crazy, hiccupping. Sitting on the swing used to settle you – that’s why she called you Tamarind. It’s so sad that the tree was struck by lightning.’ She hugs me again. ‘Try on your outfit, it’s your birthday and we should think of happy things.’ She lifts the lehenga from the bed.

  I slip on the long green skirt with sparkles along the bottom and the short embroidered top.

  ‘Sit on the floor, I’ll plait your hair, like I used to when Chinty was your age.’ She pushes her fingers through my tangled hair, smoothing it into two neat plaits. She finds some ribbon in the bag and threads it through the ends and finally makes a fancy style with the plaits over my head. ‘There,’ she smiles. ‘That’s how Chinty liked her hair done on dress-up days. Green was Chinty’s colour too. You are so like her, Tamarind. It gives me such joy to see you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.’

  I hug Nani and she holds me tight.

  ‘Now, I’d better go down and check on the preparations.’

  ‘C-could I show you the tree, Nani? You can see for yourself, all the blossom came back.’

  She hesitates and looks at the floor. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Let’s go and take a look.’

  We make our way slowly away from the house, through the neat gardens with their fresh flowers opening from new buds, until we see the hut. We walk under the stone arch and into the wild garden, the sun lighting the leaves and the gentle summer breeze flapping at Nani’s shawl.

  To my relief, the lightning-struck tree is still filled with blossom. I take Nani’s hand and give it a squeeze. ‘See, Nani!’

  She doesn’t speak, stays beside me, staring at the tree, as if she’s trying to take everything in.

  ‘Come on.’ I lure her closer and we walk together under the canopy and touch the darkened trunk.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ she says at last. ‘Nearly as beautiful as before, and maybe in time the whole tree will grow. You know . . . When your mum was expecting you she got a real taste for imilie chutney.’

  ‘The sour dark chutney that I like?’

  ‘Yes. It’s made from the fruits of this tree. Imilie means tamarind.’

  I smile and take in the scent of the tree one final time, walking further until I feel like I’m part of the tree again.

  And then I catch sight of something lying between the tree’s great roots. ‘Nani, look!’

  On the ground, hidden among the fallen branches, lie a bow and an arrow. I slowly pick them up, feel an electric charge pump down my arm. The bow curves gracefully, and when I run my finger along the length of the silver string it gives off a resonating soulful sound. It’s the bow she used to frighten off the wolves and I’m convinced that Mum left it for me, a parting gift from her.

  Nani stares at the bow, a frown appearing between her brows. She leans against me, steadying herself, looking more closely at it.

  ‘Look, Nani, it says C.K.S.G. – Mum’s name, Chinty Kaur Sher-Gil. It’s engraved along the top.’

  ‘How strange . . . it’s been so long since I saw Chinty’s bow and here it is in the garden, and look how shiny it is, like it’s been looked after and cared for.’ After the initial shock, Nani doesn’t seem upset by it. ‘She loved archery,’ she says, her voice dreamy.

  ‘Nani,’ I begin. ‘Would you mind if I kept it? I might become an archer like Mum.’

  ‘Of course you should have it.’

  We stand under the tamarind tree one final time, the breeze billowing through the blossom, Nani hugging me close.

  ‘We should get back,’ she says finally. ‘Our guests will be arriving and I expect you’re looking forward to seeing your papa again.’

  When we get back to the house, things are ready for the party; the table on the verandah is set with flowers and dotted with tea lights and all the bunting is swaying softly. I give Nani a final hug and run up to my room to put the bow and arrow away.

  I sit on the bed, the bow and arrow resting in my hands, and I hope Aunt Simran won’t be rude to Dad like she was at the airport. I want so badly to make this family whole again – and Dad is the final piece of this puzzle.

  There’s a loud beep outside the window – a car horn! I leave the bow and arrow on the bed, rush over and lift the curtain to catch the big people carrier swooping towards the house. ‘It’s Dad!’ I hurry on to the landing and, holding up my swishy skirt, sprint down the stairs and out the front door.

  The door to the car slides open as I take the steps two at a time and crash into Dad, wrapping my arms around him as he springs out of the car.

  ‘Whoa. Happy birthday,’ he laughs, lifting me into the air. ‘And who are you? Where’s my little Bristol girl?’

  ‘Dad!’ I snuggle my face into his chest and feel everything relax.

  ‘I missed you,’ he says, breathing into the top of my head.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘But you’ve had fun?’

  ‘It’s been amazing, Dad.’

  ‘Looks like you’ve been getting totally into the India vibe too. Great outfit.’

  ‘Hi, Tam.’ It’s Chloe, beaming behind Dad.

  ‘Hi, Chloe.’ I give her a proper hug. I want to make her feel welcome. ‘Did you have a good honeymoon?’

  She exchanges a look with Dad and smiles. ‘Yes, we did. Thank you, Tam. You look . . . different. Happy, lovely. Did you have a good time this week?’

  I nod.

  Nani’s standing at the front door with the rest of the family, but nobody has come down to greet Dad at the car.

  ‘Come up, Raju,’ calls Nani. ‘I’ve made chai.’

  Kamaal goes off to park the car and Dad and Chloe wheel their suitcases over the bumpy ground, heaving them up the main steps.

  ‘Sit, beta,’ says Nani, taking Chloe’s hand and guiding her to an armchair in the dining room where the whole family including Uma and Dev are crowded round.

  Chloe stares at the garden beyond the French doors, the house, everything, like she’s so impressed. ‘Thank you. You are very kind for letting us stay the night.’

  ‘And you sit too, Raju.’ Nani’s voice is clipped, like she’s trying too hard to be nice.

  Dad touches Nani’s feet with his hands together. ‘Thank you.’

  Then it dawns on me that this must be the first time that Nani has seen Dad since I was born . . . or since Mum’s funeral. I’m guessing they let him come to that?

  Uma bustles in with a plate piled high with warm honeyed pastries. She brings them round to Dad’s side and offers him one. ‘You must be hungry after your big trip,’ she says sweetly, half an eye on Nani. ‘I remember how much you liked these.’ She leans in and whispers, ‘Remember how Chinty loved them too?’

  ‘Thank you, Uma,’ says Aunt Simran.

  Dad is turning the colour of beetroot. He grabs one of the pastries and shoves it in his mouth. ‘Thanks,’ he says, taking a slurp of tea.

  Chloe coughs. ‘These are so yummy.’ She takes a nibble and stares down at the floor.

  ‘So where did Raju take you?’ asks Aunt Simran. ‘You are a photographer?’

  ‘Yes,’ replies Chloe. ‘I mostly do portraits for magazines. Harper’s and Vogue, you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Sufia, suddenly waking up and paying attention. ‘I love those magazines.’

  ‘But I wanted to see the Taj and all the sights. I took loads of great photos.’ She waves her hands around. ‘I can show you some of my magazine work if you like,’ she says to Sufia. ‘And I’d love to take some photos of this place too. It’
s quite something!’

  ‘That would be lovely . . . we can show you round later,’ says Sufia, twizzling her hair. ‘Can’t we, Tamarind?’

  Later on, the sun is setting and the verandah looks amazing. Flower petals are scattered along the table and plates of steaming food are being laid between the tea lights.

  Chloe finds me as I’m standing on the steps, looking out on to the garden, taking in the tamarind tree, trying to fix everything in my mind so I can remember it when I’m back in Bristol.

  She puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘I didn’t want to startle you. I hope you had a good time, Tamarind. It’s just that – it was my idea for you to come here.’

  ‘Not Dad’s?’ I say, surprised.

  ‘No . . . He didn’t want to leave you, not really. He’s been trying to protect you from everything . . . for too long. But I thought it was high time you got to know about your real mum.’

  I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Sometimes you have to face the truth even if it hurts,’ she continues. ‘I hope you found the answers you were looking for . . . it’s important.’

  I clear my throat. ‘It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve got to know my family at last – thank you, Chloe.’

  ‘I want you to know I’m not trying to take your mum’s place. But I’m excited to be part of your life, Tam.’

  I find myself reaching out for her and she wraps me in a hug. ‘Me too,’ I whisper in her ear.

  Dad comes up behind and tickles us both. ‘What are you two whispering about?’

  ‘About you,’ I joke. I leave them to chat and go and help Nani, who is polishing cutlery and counting the seats.

  ‘Remember to lay a place for Papa,’ says Arjun. ‘He’s coming back from his business trip today.’