The Deadly Conch

by Mahtab Narsimhan

  As soon as she was gone, Tara knelt in front of Suraj. “Tell no one about this conch. It’s our secret. All right? Promise me?” She stuck her palm out and Suraj laid his hand on it.

  “Didi, I have a secret to share, too.”

  Tara stared into his face, trying to hide her dismay. When did her baby brother become old enough for secrets? “What is it?” she said.

  “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” He stuck his little palm out and Tara covered it with hers.

  She then followed as Suraj raced to a corner of their courtyard where bits of stone, shattered clay pots, and other odds and ends were lying in a heap. Their mother had always meant to clear it away, but there was never enough time. Suraj reached into the middle of the pile of debris and pulled something out. He handed it to Tara..

  The package was carelessly wrapped in oilskin and surprisingly heavy. “What is it, Suraj?”

  “Open it and see,” said Suraj. “But you can tell no one about it. Okay, Didi?”

  Tara glanced behind her. Their mother was nowhere in sight. She unwrapped the parcel, and almost dropped it. In her hand lay Zarku’s dagger. The one he was going to use to cut her heart out. The stones on its handle gleamed like red eyes in the early morning sunlight. The silver blade ended in a cruel, sharp tip. Tara re-wrapped the parcel with shaking hands and thrust it back into the middle of the pile.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.

  “In the cave,” said Suraj. “While Sadia and I were waiting for you I saw this lying on the ground. I decided to take it.”

  “Why?” asked Tara. “Why did you take it?” She almost screamed at him, fighting the urge to shake him hard. What was he thinking?

  Suraj shrugged. “I don’t know. I just cannot remember. All I know is that I had to take it and keep it hidden. A voice inside my head told me to do it.”

  Tara lunged forward and clasped Suraj’s face. She turned it up to the sun and ran her fingertips over his forehead. It was smooth, with not the tiniest little bump. She hugged him tight, relief flooding her, turning instantly to panic.

  Why had he taken the dagger? But more important, who had told him to take it?

  — eight —

  The Untouchables

  Tara and Suraj trudged the long and dusty road to Pinjaur. Along the way, they ran into a couple of villagers from Morni who ignored them. It was happening sooner than she had expected; they were all being treated like untouchables. For the first time, Tara realized how Gayatri-ma must feel — shunned through no fault of hers, treated as if she did not exist. And she did not like it one little bit.

  The earth baked in the late morning sun. Large cracks had opened up on its surface like cuts on a wound that were crying out for salve. Tara looked up at the sky. There wasn’t a ghost of a cloud in sight. Rain was the only thing that would heal the earth and cool the raging tempers of the villagers. But it would not happen today. Her throat was parched and she tried very hard not to think of a large glass of cool well water.

  “How are we going to stop Layla?” said Suraj suddenly.

  Tara shot a glance at him. It was the one thought that had nagged her constantly since last night.

  “I’ll think of something,” said Tara. “Don’t you worry about it.”

  “It has something to do with the shell, right?”

  Tara met his eyes, trying to keep her face blank. How perceptive he’d become! But Lord Yama had warned her against telling anyone and that included Suraj. Before she could reply, someone called out.

  “Tara, Suraj, wait up.”

  Tara whirled around. Ananth! He was still speaking to her. Whatever Layla had told him, it hadn’t worked. She was so relieved that she almost dropped the earthen pot as she murmured a prayer. Ananth’s support meant so much to her.

  They waited while he caught up to them. He, too, was carrying an earthen pot. Tara gazed at her older brother, taller than her now, with deep, black eyes and dark hair cropped so close to his scalp that he almost looked bald. He’d even pierced his ear recently and a flash of silver caught her eye. Tara realized that she hadn’t even noticed when he’d done it.

  “I didn’t want Mother to walk all the way to Pinjaur,” said Ananth, holding up the pot he was carrying. “So I offered to get the water.”

  Tara smiled. “We could use some company.”

  They walked in silence on the dirt path that ran between the paddy fields linking the village of Morni with Pinjaur. Sickly yellow crops raised their parched heads to the sky. Tara could not bear to look at them. Even if the rains came now, she knew in her heart that it was too late. The crop was lost and they would have to go hungry this year. If they were lucky, next year they would have a bountiful crop and eat well. She turned her eyes away from the swathe of yellow on either side and instead watched Suraj as he ran ahead, whipping the weeds lining the path with a supple branch.

  “Are you all right?” said Ananth. “You don’t seem yourself.”

  “Do you care?” Tara couldn’t resist saying. “You haven’t been around too often. Hope you’re not starting to believe Layla’s lies.”

  Ananth stopped immediately. “Why would you say that?”

  Tara stared at him. His surprise seemed genuine. Should she tell him that she’d seen Layla talking to him last night? The words were crowding the tip of her tongue, dying to leap out. Finally Tara decided to stay silent. If he wanted to, he would tell her about it. In fact, she was curious to see if he would confide in her as he used to.

  “Just wondering,” said Tara. She shrugged, but her heart thudded. They had been through so much together. The first time was when they had set off to seek her mother and grandfather. Then again when they’d slipped away to rescue Suraj, Rohan, and Sadia. Ananth, whom she had declared her brother by tying a rakhi to his wrist, had always been the voice of calm and reason. A voice she sorely missed these days.

  “Well, stop wondering,” said Ananth. “If I haven’t been around lately, it’s because I’m worried about Mother. The villagers have started acting weird suddenly. I just cannot understand it. I’m so afraid they’ll change their minds and decide that she should carry out … the Sati ceremony after all and then throw us out of the village.”

  His speech and his stride faltered. Tara knew why. Sati was when a widow was forced to burn on her husband’s funeral pyre. Prabala had saved Gayatri-ma from this horrible fate a year ago. But with the villagers so superstitious these days, and Prabala gone, Ananth probably had cause to worry. Who knew what the angry, frightened villagers might do?

  “The villagers are mad,” said Tara, voicing her thoughts. “I wish the monsoons would come soon. Then all my problems would be solved, except the one called Layla.”

  “Speaking of Layla, you should know that your dear stepsister stopped by last night.”

  Tara exhaled slowly, trying not to let the relief show. He was confiding in her once again! Nothing had changed between them.

  “Why?” said Tara trying to keep her voice light, unconcerned. “What did she want?”

  “She wanted me to stay away from you,” said Ananth. “She said that great harm would befall me and my mother, if we continued to associate with you. You and your family were like the plague, and were to be avoided. I think she was struggling to find a name for it.”

  Tara glanced at him as they continued to walk. His eyes were smiling and his lips twitched. It seemed like old times when he used to tease her. Was it her overactive imagination that made her think he’d been mad at her the evening of the feast?

  “I would have called it Tara-itis!” said Ananth in a serious voice. “The deadly plague.”

  Tara stared at him for a moment and then burst into giggles. “Taritis.”

  Ananth laughed so loud and hard that Suraj ran back toward them. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “Tell me, tell me!”

  “There’s a new plague in town, did you know?” said Ananth amid hoots of laughter.

  Tara h
eld a stitch in her side. “It’s called Taritis and it’s contagious,” she said, still giggling.

  “Once you get it, there’s no cure,” said Ananth, barely able to speak, he was laughing so hard. “Taritis stays with you until you die!”

  “No cure at all,” echoed Tara.

  Suraj looked from one to the other, completely confused. Both she and Ananth were now completely immobilized with laughter.

  “You’re both mad,” he said and walked away in a huff.

  “Couldn’t you have managed to get two pots of water?” said Parvati. “I’ve used up most of the water for cooking. And we’ll need some to last us until tomorrow morning.”

  “Only one pot per family was allowed,” said Tara.

  Suraj nodded. “Someone tried to take two pots and he was almost beaten up.”

  Tara folded a piece of chappati and scooped up some brinjal and potato. Her eyes watered as the spices hit her tongue and she took a large gulp of cool well water.

  “Why are they rationing water in Pinjaur?” said Shiv. He stopped chewing his food and looked from Suraj to Tara.

  “They said their water was also running low and though they were glad to help, they had to ration it until the monsoon arrived,” said Tara. “So they posted a villager there to make sure no one took more than one pot.”

  Parvati sighed deeply as she dipped a steel tumbler into the pot. It scraped the bottom sounding like nails scratching a wall. “One glass of water left and it has to last us until tomorrow morning.”

  Tara was immediately thirsty again. She wanted to drink water till she was ready to burst, but knew she’d have to be content with a sip at most. The hot kitchen and spicy food made her sweat profusely. She pushed away her plate which still had some remaining food.

  “Don’t you even think of wasting food, Tara. Things are going to get even tougher once the crops fail. You will eat properly while we can still afford a decent meal.”

  Her mother’s words made her cringe; there was so much truth in them. Shiv and Suraj had finished every morsel of food and even wiped their thalis clean with a last bit of chappati. Tara pulled the thali back toward her and gulped down the food, tasting only hopelessness and fear.

  That night Tara could not sleep, she lay awake trying to count sheep. It didn’t work. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, thinking of blue skies, lush, green paddy fields, and a shimmering lake of water, trying to calm a mind that had been scurrying all day like a trapped rat.

  “It’s a good thing you stayed at home today,” said Shiv softly. “It got pretty ugly, but I didn’t want to mention it in front of the children.”

  Tara held her breath. They thought she was asleep. Suraj was breathing evenly and she tried to imitate him.

  “What happened?” said Parvati, a catch in her voice.

  “The cleaning up of the well started, but when I tried to help, Raka sent me away.

  “Why? What does he think you’ll do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Shiv. The mournful tone of his voice made Tara sick. “He told me to go home. Most of our friends barely talked to me. Drona told me to leave the village along with my family. He said that we were the cause of all this misfortune and the sooner we left, the better for us all.”

  Tara gasped and remembered too late; she was supposed to be fast asleep.

  The cot creaked and she heard Parvati get out of bed. Tara tried to breathe deeply when her mother’s warm breath fanned her face. A moment ticked by, then another. Tara opened an eye and saw her parents staring at her. Shiv had his arms folded across his chest.

  “You might as well open the other eye, too,” said Parvati. She tried to sound angry, but looked too tired to make a real effort.

  “How much did you hear?” said Shiv.

  Tara sat up. “All of it.”

  “Come on, let’s talk in the kitchen over a cup of tea —” Parvati said and stopped.

  “There’s no water for tea,” said Tara. “I know.”

  They all trooped into the kitchen and sat down.“Things are really bad for us, right, Father?” said Tara.

  “Yes, my child. In hard times, the villagers need an excuse; anything or anyone they can blame for their calamities. It wouldn’t be so bad for us if it hadn’t been for Layla. She’s taking advantage of this situation and fanning the fires of discontent.”

  “I wish my father were here,” said Parvati. “He would have put an end to this madness once and for all. The villagers respect him and would have listened to him no matter what the circumstances.”

  “Then I’ll get Prabala back,” said Shiv. “I’ll leave at dawn.”

  “Where will you go?” asked Tara. “He could be anywhere.”

  “To the Himalayas,” said Shiv. “I’m sure people will have heard of him. I’ll ask around and follow his trail.”

  “If only I could tell you exactly where he was,” said Parvati, “but I can’t. I just don’t know.”

  “Mother, you were able to predict the future at one time,” said Tara. “Can you not try to see where Grandfather is? It would make it so much easier for Father to find him.”

  “It’s no use, Tara. I’ve lost my gift. Often the villagers would curse me for seeing into the future. When I told Kali about her husband’s death, she disowned me as a friend. I wished then, with all my heart, that I did not have such a terrible gift. I did not realize it, but already the gift was getting weaker.” She was silent for a moment, staring into space. “The gods were taking away my sight because I could not appreciate it.”

  Outside a dog howled and Tara remembered the mutilated stray. It made her queasy.

  “Remember when we were going back to Morni to face Zarku, I couldn’t see anything then, either?” said Parvati. “I thought it was because of Zarku’s evil that had cloaked the village, but now I know it was also because I was not meant to see. That I had finally lost the power. And I regret it immensely now. The one time I need this sight the most, I don’t have it.”

  Parvati buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Tara felt a pang of fear. Her mother was normally the rock of the family. If she floundered what would become of them?

  “Mother, don’t,” said Tara. She crawled over and hugged her tight.

  Shiv moved closer and put his arms around them both. “I wouldn’t give up hope just yet, Parvati. I’ll find Prabala and return as soon as I can. All you have to do is lay low and stay safe. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Parvati wiped her eyes with the edge of her saree and sniffed. She attempted to smile. “You’re right, both of you. I’m lucky to have such a brave family. All right, Shiv. You go find Prabala and we’ll keep Morni at bay until you return.” Her lips trembled and she clamped them together; a sure sign that she was very upset.

  Tara knew the villagers could be merciless. She still remembered how angry they were with Kali during her trial. If the Panchayat had not decided to banish her they probably would have stoned her to death as they did in the olden times. She’d also heard snatches of whispered conversations about other terrible punishments for those found guilty of crimes against the village; tongues being cut off, people being burned alive, and another rumour where an entire family had been thrown alive into a pit of venomous snakes. Yes, the villagers could be ruthless if they decided that Tara and her family were a threat to Morni!

  Back in bed, Tara still could not sleep. What if her father could not find Prabala and wandered for an eternity. What if things went badly wrong while he was away? Where would they go looking for him?

  There was only one option. Tara slipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers closing over the conch shell.

  Lord Yama. She had to summon him. Tonight.

  — nine —

  The God of Death

  Tara slipped out the back door. A faint breeze caressed her cheek as it wafted past. It was a little cooler outside and she missed sleeping under a canopy of stars.

  If only she could get Lord Yama to agree to help her toni
ght, her father would not have to leave. This would also mean that she would have to tell her father everything, but she’d worry about it later. First she had to see if the conch still worked!

  Tara slipped out of the courtyard. It was long past midnight and all of Morni slumbered. Not even a stray dog wandered the dusty lanes between the huts. A pale moon lit the way as she ran straight through the village, toward the forest, alive with hoots, grunts, and growls. She stopped at the edge for a moment, took a deep breath, and plunged in.

  After a few moments, Tara halted near a clump of trees, huddled together as if sharing a secret. She could still see the shadows of the huts behind her. It gave her a bit of relief; she wasn’t too far from safety.

  She took the conch out of her pocket and stared at it. The faint light filtering in through the thick canopy of leaves lit up the creamy edges of the shell. Let it work, please let it work, she prayed. With trembling hands she raised it to her lips and blew hard.

  The forest became silent. Wind sighed through the trees. An owl answered. There was no other sound except the beating of her heart.

  Tara blew on the conch once more and strained her ears for the sounds that had streamed out of it the first time she’d called Lord Yama; the crashing of waves, the silvery tinkling, the thundering of horse’s hooves.

  Nothing.

  Tara stared at the conch, fighting the panic bubbling up from a deep reservoir within her. Had the conch lost its powers? Had she made Lord Yama angry by mistreating his precious gift? Forgive me, Lord, Tara prayed. I didn’t even know when Mother threw it out!

  Tara shook the conch. There was a faint rattling from inside. She moved out of the tree cover so that the sickly moon afforded some light and shook the conch again. Bits of gravel poured out onto her palm. She rattled it until the sound stopped, and blew hard one last time, her lungs burning for air.

  Tara peered through the trees, trying to penetrate the deep gloom of the forest. Something slithered past her foot, rustling the carpet of dead leaves. She froze, watching a shiny black cobra glide through the undergrowth and stop a short distance away. Was this a sign? She stared at it to see if it would act strangely, or try and communicate with her in some way.