Tamarind and the Star of Ishta

by Jasbinder Bilan

  ‘There’s enough room for everyone,’ says Nani, skirting around the grand velvet chair, not knowing what to do with it and finally pushing it in.

  ‘Thank you for my party,’ I say, looking at her tired face. ‘I know this is hard for you.’ I hold her hand.

  ‘A beautiful party for my beautiful granddaughter. Now call everyone down, the food will get cold.’

  Arjun, Sufia and me race upstairs. I keep tripping over the skirt and would much rather have my jeans on, but I gather it into a bundle and call down the corridor, ‘Dinner’s ready.’ We bang on all the bedroom doors, then chase each other back to the verandah.

  ‘Got you,’ says Arjun, laughing, catching hold of my skirt.

  I’m out of breath and hold the stitch in my side. ‘I’m going to miss you both.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m going to miss you too,’ says Arjun, pulling out a chair and collapsing on to it.

  Dad and Chloe are already sitting down.

  ‘Wow,’ says Chloe. ‘What a feast! This looks amazing.’

  Uma brings more plates of hot food and Kamaal turns the music up. ‘Let’s get this party started,’ he says, doing a silly dance.

  Sufia looks happy and we exchange a quick look. She’s really animated and chats away to Chloe, poring over her photos and laughing at something she says.

  Maybe things are going to be OK after all.

  ‘I baked you a special cake,’ says Sufia, blushing as she points it out. ‘It sank a bit in the middle but I just put more icing sugar on.’

  ‘It’s lovely – thank you.’

  Uma has gone to town: there are plates of pastries sprinkled with green pistachios, wide bowls filled with red and orange fruits, little pink glasses with layered jellies, and swirls of thick cream.

  ‘Thank you, Uma,’ I say, giving her a big grin. ‘It all looks amazing.’

  ‘Happy birthday, Tamarind,’ she says.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ everyone sings.

  Dad looks over at my plate loaded up with pomegranate-sprinkled rice, a quarter of a potato dhosa and a samosa covered in imilie chutney. Not a scrambled egg in sight.

  He raises his glass. ‘Well well,’ he says in a low voice.

  I blush, feeling pleased with myself. ‘I helped Uma make the samosa with a teeny sprinkle of chilli.’

  We’re just about to tuck into the food when a car pulls up and a man gets out.

  ‘It’s your Uncle Ruben,’ says Nani.

  ‘Papa,’ shouts Arjun, leaping up. ‘You’re back.’

  Uncle Ruben stands on the top step, jangling keys in his hand. His suit is crumpled and his tie is loose. He gives Arjun and Sufia a big hug. ‘It was a long trip,’ he says, glancing round the table. ‘Good to see you, Tamarind.’ He touches my cheek.

  He doesn’t say hi to Dad or Chloe. When he sees Dad sitting there, he just stares. It’s silent except for the thump-thump of the music and the rustling of the bunting in the breeze. Suddenly the atmosphere has changed completely – I feel cold and tense.

  ‘I . . . I think we should all talk about what happened,’ says Dad, shifting in his chair.

  The silence continues and nobody else speaks.

  ‘You were all mad with me and Chinty, I understand that. We were young, not married, but we would have, in time.’ He looks at Chloe and she squeezes his hand. ‘After we’d had the baby – I mean, Tamarind . . . sorry.’ He crinkles his eyes at me.

  ‘Go on, Dad.’ I don’t know where this bravery comes from, but I want to defend him and it’s time I heard Dad’s side of the story.

  ‘You all know what Chinty was like. She had strong ideas, and she made me promise me that once she’d had Tamarind, we’d go on an adventure, the three of us. She wanted to move to England with me and she knew you – her family – didn’t want that. So when things went so terribly wrong, she made me promise to take our baby and do the things we’d planned anyway. And then . . . you were all so angry.’

  ‘I think we had a right to be,’ says Uncle Ruben, clenching his fists by his side and glaring at Dad. ‘You stole our niece, granddaughter and cousin away from us. She was all we had left of Chinty.’

  Dad’s face turns red, even the tips of his ears, but he carries on. ‘I hurried away because I was scared you’d keep my baby from me – and I stayed away because you all hated me for it.’ Dad pauses to swipe his cheeks. ‘Because of that, I felt I couldn’t bring Tamarind back. Chinty and I loved each other. And all these years I couldn’t bring myself to tell Tamarind what really happened. I thought it was better to ignore it and cover it up. It was only when I met Chloe that I realized . . .’

  I put my arms around Dad’s neck – on the other side, Chloe is holding his hand. ‘It’s time we all stopped hurting each other,’ I say, glancing up at Uncle Ruben. ‘Mum would want it to end.’ I look at Sufia and Nani. ‘Thank you all for making me welcome and bringing me back into the family and thank you, Dad and Chloe, for bringing me home.’ I fiddle with my star of Ishta ring. ‘All these years I’ve wondered who I really am and for the first time, being here, even though it’s been tough at times, I’ve started to find out about Mum. I’ve found things out that I never could have, without coming here.’ I let the tears roll down my face. ‘There’s magic in the mountains, in the garden, the magic of my beautiful mum, Chinty. I know, wherever she is, she wants an end to this fighting.’

  I feel Nani’s hands on my shoulders. ‘It’s Tamarind’s birthday – and every year I want her to come home. Instead of being sad about what we’ve lost, we’re going to be happy for all that we still have – we have so much to celebrate. Everyone is welcome and that includes Raju and Chloe.’

  For a minute I think Uncle Ruben is going to start a row, but instead he says, ‘Ma is right. Welcome home, Tamarind. And welcome back, Raju.’ The tension floods away from the table.

  ‘Let’s cut the cake,’ shouts Arjun.

  ‘And open your dad’s presents, Tam!’ says Sufia, pushing them towards me.

  Uncle Ruben shuffles towards Dad. They don’t speak but they shake hands. My face is stiff with salty streaks and I’m not sure if this truce will last or not, but at least they’re trying, at least they’ve made a start.

  The night has crept on to the verandah and it’s brought with it the twinkling stars and cool fragrant air. There’s a yellow glow from the fairy lights and the night frogs begin their gentle croaking.

  I blow out the candles and make my wish.

  No more fights ever, and Mum, please stay with me now that I’ve found you. I hold the ring close inside my hand.

  I don’t really care about the presents – today has been exciting enough already – but I open them politely and put them to one side: the statue of the Taj Mahal, some glittery tea lights and my adopt a tiger certificate, all from Chloe and Dad.

  Arjun, Sufia and me can’t get out fast enough and walk into the tranquil garden. Arjun runs ahead.

  ‘I’m sorry about Dad,’ Sufia says.

  ‘And mine.’ I let out the breath that’s been sitting tight in my chest. ‘Dads, honestly.’ I laugh and feel a bit better. ‘Look,’ I say, pointing at the evening star sitting snugly beside the moon, imagining Mum up there somewhere. ‘It’s Ishta and Chinty.’

  We stay like that, not speaking, staring at the stars and listening to the wild calls of the animals beyond the garden for ages. ‘I’ve had such a special time. This place is amazing and I can’t wait to come back next year.’

  ‘Me neither . . . and maybe Ishta will come too.’

  ‘What are you two going on about?’ asks Arjun, running back to us, breathless.

  Sufia and I exchange a glance and I nod. Arjun’s my friend, and it must’ve been tough being alone while everything with Ishta was going on. I’m happy to let him in on why I haven’t been around so much. ‘Arjun,’ begins Sufia. ‘You might not believe this, but since Tamarind arrived, she’s woken up the wild garden and some incredible things have happened . . .’

  We all sit on the
damp grass under the blazing stars, and between me and Sufia we tell Arjun all about Ishta, Hanu her little monkey, Mum, and how my tamarind tree blossomed again.

  ‘Wow,’ says Arjun, his eyes so wide the whites almost glow in the night.

  In the morning the sun bursts in through the shutters. Sufia is a real sleepyhead, and even though the sun is bright she doesn’t stir.

  I quietly step on to the floor and pull my suitcase from under the bed. I collect my things and begin to pack. I find the dinky little socks Nani gave me yesterday and hold them in my palm. I examine the silver rattle and look at the pictures in the storybook and then tuck everything – Mum’s things from the hut, the album Sufia gave me, the bow and arrow and my baby box – safely between my clothes and close the suitcase.

  I pick up Mum’s photo from the side table, the one with the crease that I’ve carried all the way from Bristol, and hold it to my heart. I’ve got to know Mum at last and it gives me a warm feeling. I’ve found out more about her than I ever thought I would. I know she loved me, that she held me and soothed me, and that if she could, she would have stayed with me in this life.

  And that even though she’s gone, she’s still here too – all around me.

  I slot the photo safely in my pocket and feel happy that everything is out in the open, proud of myself that I did what Mum wanted me to and helped bring the family back together.

  Sufia in the bed opposite finally blinks and lies half awake under the covers. ‘Morning,’ she mumbles.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Don’t go . . . can’t you stay a bit longer?’

  I laugh. ‘Of course I’d like to, especially now we’re friends. Come on, lazy lops, get dressed then we can spend our last morning together.’

  While Sufia splashes water in the bathroom, I fish out the arrow from my case and lay it on Sufia’s bed.

  She comes back to the bedroom and begins dressing. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I went back to the wild garden with Nani – I wanted to show her that the tamarind tree had blossomed again even after it was struck by lightning. I wanted her to believe in the magic of the garden and Mum. I found Mum’s bow and arrow hidden under the fallen branches of the tree.’ I pick up the bow from where it rests on top of my packing, padded with clothes to keep it safe. ‘I want you to have Mum’s arrow, then we both have some of her magic. They go together, see? Just like us.’

  Sufia picks up the arrow carefully from her bed, running her finger along its length. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

  I give her a long hug and take a final deep breath of Mum’s bedroom. I fish the tamarind pod from my pocket and hold it against the sunlight, giving it a shake. ‘Do you think if I planted this I could grow my own tamarind tree?’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ says Sufia. ‘You never know.’

  I place the seed pod and the bow under my clothes in the suitcase. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  Sufia finishes dressing. ‘Chloe’s really lovely. She said she’d help me with a work placement – I want to be a writer, you know – and I might even be able to come to uni in Bristol.’

  ‘That would be amazing,’ I say, putting a hand on Sufia’s shoulder. ‘And you can share my bedroom. I haven’t been too kind to Chloe.’ I feel my cheeks flush. ‘But you’re right – she is lovely.’

  We run down the stairs and join the others for one final breakfast on the verandah.

  ‘Let’s go and help Uma bring the food in,’ says Sufia, jumping up.

  ‘Why don’t you make some of your amazing origami animals and we can use them as place settings?’ I say to Arjun. He’s like a little brother and I don’t want him feeling left out, since me and Sufia made up.

  His face lights up. ‘I’ll go and get some paper.’

  ‘Lovely having all your help,’ says Uma as we scoot through to the kitchen where she has everything organized on the worktop.

  I put my arms around her. ‘Uma, you put so much effort into the food for me, thank you. You’ve worked so hard.’

  ‘I have to make sure my food brings you back. I make the things I know you like – sweet tooth—’

  ‘Just like Chinty!’ Sufia and I giggle.

  We carry the things out of the kitchen and bump into Uncle Ruben and Dad as we leave. They’re patting each other on the back and joking around, heading out to the verandah.

  ‘Everything’s sorted now,’ says Dad. ‘I don’t want you worrying about a single thing.’

  Arjun has made everyone a different origami animal from coloured paper, the bunting still hangs in festive loops from the verandah ceiling and the sun is sparkling through the trees, bathing everything in golden light.

  Dad, Uncle Ruben, Kamaal and Arjun take their seats around a circular side table. In the middle a plate with chillies is laid ready, like green and red wheel spokes.

  ‘Everyone up for the famous Himalayan chilli challenge?’ laughs Uncle Ruben, picking a narrow dark-green chilli.

  Dad gives me a wink. ‘We did this at university.’ He picks a small one. ‘No sweat.’

  Me and Sufia giggle at them and shuffle the dishes along the table before sitting down.

  ‘I know you might not do the chilli challenge this time,’ says Arjun, putting a small rectangular package on the table, ‘but I made you some chilli chocolate to take away with you.’

  ‘Oh, wow! Thank you – promise I’ll practise.’ He’s even tied a ribbon round it. ‘You’re the best, and when you come to Bristol I’ll take you to the suspension bridge – you’ll love it.’

  Uma brings in a jug of lassi and puts it down at the far end before squeezing in beside Arjun.

  ‘Come on,’ says Nani, beckoning to the others, who leave the chilli challenge and join the main table. ‘Tuck in, everyone.’

  A sudden breeze in the garden makes us all stop eating and look up.

  ‘It’s Hanu,’ I cry, running down the steps to where the little monkey is waiting at the bottom, as if longing to be invited up to eat with the rest of us.

  He takes my hand and I lead him to the table.

  ‘Oh,’ says Nani. ‘Chinty had a golden monkey just like him.’

  Hanu jumps on to the blue velvet chair, the one Nani didn’t let anyone sit at before, and claps his hands.

  Nani stands by Hanu and peers at him. ‘Can it be you, little Hanu?’ she asks, tickling him under the chin. ‘We haven’t seen him for so long, I can’t be sure. He’s quite an old monkey now!’

  He grabs the pomegranate in Nani’s hand as if to say ‘how rude!’ and begins chomping into it.

  ‘Cheeky as ever,’ laughs Nani, her eyes shining. ‘Welcome home, Hanu. You will always have a place at the table just like before, on Chinty’s chair.’

  ‘Hurray!’ cries Arjun, sliding in with Hanu on Mum’s special chair and giving Hanu a hug. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  ‘Here’s to all of us,’ says Uncle Ruben.

  ‘And may we all sit together at this table for many, many years to come,’ says Aunt Simran.

  We all clap and raise our glasses.

  ‘That’s it,’ says Nani, going about the table hugging everyone. ‘One big happy family.’

  The inspiration for this story came from my mum. Her own mother died when she was young and so she never really knew her, but I think she felt her loss all through her life. I wanted to create a magical, almost mythological setting full of imagination for the place where a missing mother could be found. When I began sketching and pondering about where this place might be, straight away I knew I wanted to create another story set in the Himalaya with a secret garden. Inspired by our dear monkey Oma, who lived on the family farm in India with us, I was thrilled to finally write a monkey into my story.

  My Indian heritage holds the belief that people’s spirits continue to live after them, and in Tamarind’s story I wanted to use this as a way to give and show hope.

  I carried out lots of research for the novel and discovered the beautiful story of the Mesopotamian g
oddess Ishtar, the evening and morning star and the predecessor to the goddess Venus. In the way that only happens to those of us who believe in the magical, every day when I wrote this book, the star of Ishtar sparkled from my window as brightly as she could, and I knew she had to be part of my story. Ishtar can be visited at the British Museum. Ask to be shown to the Queen of the Night!

  Jasbinder Bilan 2020

  The spellings of Hindi and Punjabi words used throughout Tamarind & the Star of Ishta are the ones used by Jasbinder’s family when she was growing up in India.

  Firstly, of course, huge thanks to my wonderful mum, Gurjinder, who is the one who brings our family together and nurtures us with cooking and love. To my dearest grandmother Chinty whose name I have brought to life in this story, you are always in my heart. My husband Ian and my sons Gem and Satchen, who continue to be patient and keep bringing tea, cakes and love at regular intervals so I can perform my writing marathons. To my enthusiastic siblings, Balraj, Sherry, Randhiraj, Dip and Amolack, who keep waving the victory flags. To the next generation of the Bilan family: Avarni, Jyodh, Arran, Ashari, Rajan, Xanthe, Tara, Rubuen, Rani, Evan, Jadan, Arron and Aneve. To my dear Judy for all our memories.

  The team at Chicken House have been so wonderful throughout my debut year. Thank you for all the celebrations – cake, tea, champagne and glitz at the Costas, you kept my feet firmly in the clouds! Huge thanks to the magical Barry Cunningham for asking me to write more stories. To my fantastic editor Kesia who really is a total star when it comes to suggesting ways to make things better and more beautiful. Your insight and skill have been at the heart of reshaping this story. When one editor isn’t enough, in steps the wonderful Rachel Leyshon with a sprinkle of questions, suggestions and glitter. Rachel H for creating another heart-stopping cover and to Studio Helen and Aitch for the stunning artwork. Thank you to Jazz for all your support and confidence this year in helping me to navigate the publicity machine (looking forward to our Himalayan leg!). To Laura, Esther and Sarah for waving a wand and turning my typed story into an actual book. And to the fabulous Elinor Bagenal for taking my books across the seas.