Someone whispered her name.
— thirteen —
Old Friends
Tara glanced up. No one stood before her.
“Who’s there?” she whispered, peering into the shadows around her. The wind cackled in her ear. She circled the large boulders. No one was there and there was no place else to hide. So who had whispered her name? Had she really heard it or was her mind playing tricks?
Frigid moments crawled by. No sound broke the deafening silence. She was alone in this barren land and yet, she knew she was not alone. There had to be many, many souls here. Where were they?
Tara knelt near the pile of dead wood. Once more she tried to light the fire, but no matter how hard she banged the stones together, no sparks flew out. She leaned against the boulders trying to stifle the sobs trapped in her heaving chest. A chill seeped into her bones making her wonder if she would ever be warm again.
Tara closed her eyes and tried hard to think of a roaring fire, hear the wood popping and feel the heat rising from it. She opened her eyes and stared at the pile of wood. Her imagination painted leaping flames over it. Red and gold and orange, they would light up the place for miles and draw all the dead souls to her.
A frosty gust of wind swept her breath away along with the image of the crackling fire. Tara shivered violently. If she didn’t do something soon, she was going to die here long before Lord Yama returned.
The cut on her palm throbbed. She pinched the skin together. A drop of blood, plump and red, oozed out.
“Tara, I’m here …” someone whispered.
Tara jumped to her feet, sure she had heard a voice this time. It was a soft voice, a boy’s, and she had the strangest feeling she had heard it before.
“Who is it?” She spoke so softly, she was almost mouthing the words. This time the wind did not swoop down. “Show yourself,” said Tara again. “Please?”
At first there was nothing. Then a shadow appeared near the woodpile. As she watched, the shadow became more distinct. A young boy took a couple of steps toward her and stopped. Tara stared at him, her heart beating fast, her arms covered with goosebumps.
It was Rohan.
Tears slid down her cheeks, freezing instantly. Tara fell to her knees and reached out for him, too choked up to say a word. The last time she had seen him was in the forest, with bloodied clothes and the burn mark on his forehead. Dead. Seeing him again made her relive that terrible and painful moment. All of the guilt came flooding back.
“How are you, Rohan?”
Rohan gazed at her, heartbreaking sadness etched on his pale face. He was dressed in same torn and bloody clothes. The mark of Zarku was still on his forehead; a deep, dark smudge.
Tara could not believe that Rohan could be here, in the Underworld! “Where’s everyone and what are you doing here?”
“Lord Yama brought me here. He said that I had to stay here for one year before he could take me to a better place. He said I had to pay for my sins from a past life. That’s why this one was so short.”
“What sins?” said Tara. “I don’t understand — you’re only a child.” She stared at Rohan, who was becoming more transparent by the second. He was fading away.
“Don’t go, Rohan,” Tara almost screamed. She remembered just in time that yelling was futile. She whispered her plea. “Please, I need to find someone and fast. Will you help me?”
Rohan nodded and Tara could barely see it. He was now only a faint outline, the landscape clearly visible through him.
“Where are they? Can you take me to them? I’m looking for Zara.”
“Call them as you called me.” His voice was so faint that Tara had to lean closer.
“Call you? But I didn’t call you … you just appeared. Don’t you dare leave before you answer me … ROHAN!”
Too late. Rohan was gone. The wind laughed at her. Tara scrambled closer to the woodpile and waved her arms above it. Nothing but freezing air slipped through her arms. She scattered the wood, whispering Rohan’s name. He was gone. She was alone again.
“No …” she whispered. “Come back. Please come back.”
Buzzing silence greeted her.
Rohan said she’d called him. How had she done it? Lord Yama had said the same thing. What had she been doing when she’d heard Rohan call out her name?
Tara went back to the spot and focused on Rohan, then Zara, willing them to come to her. She tried to think of all the dead people she knew and suddenly Zarku popped into her mind. She squinched her eyes shut, trying to erase the image. No, not him. Anyone but him. He would be here, too, and if she thought of him, she might draw him to her. Would he try to kill her again? Could a dead person kill one who was living?
Tara hugged herself. Her palm throbbed. She gazed at it and gasped out loud as something unthinkable occurred to her. She was alive while the others were dead. She had squeezed the cut on her palm and that’s when she’d heard Rohan’s voice. The power to summon them was flowing within her.
Her own lifeblood.
Tara picked up the sharper of the two rocks which she had thrown aside. She held out her palm, hesitated for just a moment, then jabbed at the cut. Red-hot pain shot up her arm and she fought against a wave of blackness that engulfed her.
And there was Rohan, standing exactly where she had seen him last.
“Not enough,” she whispered. “Not enough blood.” She squeezed her palm, biting her lip to stop from crying out. Another few drops appeared. Rohan became a bit more visible.
“You’ll need much more than that to call the adults,” whispered Rohan.
“Wait,” said Tara. “Don’t go.” She looked around for something sharp. All she saw were the rocks, which were too blunt for what she needed to do.
Rohan drew nearer, looking at her in a curious, detached way.
“Are there many other children?” asked Tara, just to keep him talking while she crawled around on all fours.
“Yes, quite a few. Some have been a here a very long time and will ignore everything and everyone. It’s the ones who’ve come here very recently who still long for their lives back on earth. Those are the ones who will remember the smell of blood, of life, and come to you. Like me.”
“All right,” said Tara. “But don’t go. I’m trying to find something sharper.”
There was no reply. When she looked up, Rohan was gone again. Tara thumped her clenched fists on the ground. Time was running out and she was no closer to getting the advice she desperately needed. If she left here without meeting Zara or Kali, this trip would have been in vain. She would have given up her life for nothing! Help me, Lord Ganesh. Just show me the way. There was no answer. Did she really expect God to linger in this cold, dark place?
The wind screeched and screamed through the deserted landscape as if mocking her pathetic attempts to seek company. Tara curled up in a tight ball and wept.
Something cold slithered against her throat. Tara screamed and leaped up, scrabbling at her neck, trying to dislodge whatever it was before it bit her. Her hands touched metal and she exhaled shakily. It was the necklace her mother had given her, the one she had rescued from her burned home. Tara pulled it out and stared at the rubies and blue stones in near darkness. They didn’t glint or wink this time, but stared up at her dully. Broken shards of mirror reflected the blue-black sky above her.
Tara smiled. The smile turned into a laugh. The laugh turned into a shriek. Trying hard not to be careful, she pulled out a sliver of glass from the pendant. It pierced her finger instantly and blood dripped out.
The air around her churned with whispers. Dark shapes materialized everywhere; children, men, and women. About twenty of them crowded her, sniffing. Sniffing at the blood trickling out of the cut on her finger.
If Tara had felt cold earlier, it was nothing compared to the chill that now enveloped her. She clambered up the smooth surface of the boulder. “Rohan! Where are you? Come to me.”
Tara scanned the crowd for the little boy. He sto
od on the outskirts, looking at her sadly. “I’m right here, Didi. Now ask them what you need, quick, before they disappear.”
“I’m looking for Zara or Kali,” said Tara. She spoke softly and prayed that they would hear her. “They died very recently. Has anyone seen them? I need their help.”
“Yes, I have, Tara,” said a tired voice. It was no use telling him to speak up. Tara slid off the rock and plunged into the crowd. Blood still trickled from the gash. Cold bodies pressed against her as she passed, making her shiver.
“Where are you?” said Tara. “Can you take me to them?”
A boy detached himself from the crowd and her heart skipped a beat. It was Shakti; the villager who had been hypnotized by Zarku, but had died. At least he had turned back to his normal self instead of looking like a Vetala with the deep gash on his forehead, the translucent skin, and the legs turned backward at the ankles.
“I cannot tell you about Zara,” said Shakti. But don’t even think of calling Kali. She’s so angry with you … she’ll do you a lot of harm!”
The chill in Tara’s heart grew. Was it possible? She tried to ignore the growing fear. Kali was dead and she was alive. But in this frozen world of eternal dusk where people could be summoned by blood, Tara was not sure what the rules were.
“I need some advice about her daughter, Layla. She’s the only one who can help stop her.”
“Kali will not help.” said Shakti. He was close to Tara, so close that his fetid breath fanned her face. She tried not to shrink away. “You should not have come here.”
Suddenly Shakti disappeared and so did the others. A wave of dizziness swept over Tara. She looked at her finger. The blood had congealed and the cut was closing up. She would have to slash it again.
Tara closed her eyes, a deep dread flooding her; would there be enough blood in her to spill until she was able to get the information she needed? Would it be worth it?
She slid to the ground with a thump, holding her head in her hands. Of all the ideas she’d ever had, this was the stupidest and the most dangerous of them all. The cold was burrowing deeper within her, nestling in her bones, in her heart. She’d almost forgotten what it was to be warm. Exhaustion tugged at her, telling her to close her eyes and sleep.
Tara closed her eyes. She heard the soft tinkling of a bell. She could not tell if it was real or imaginary. Pictures tumbled into her head; her mother in the blood-stained saree, Suraj’s burned body, and Bela with her sweet face and soft brown eyes. And then came the one she hated the most; a smiling Layla.
Tara stood up, grasped the broken shard of glass, and before the horror of what she was about to do could stay her hand, she slashed her palm. Blood bubbled out of the deep cut and her eyes watered as pain set her hand on fire. She closed her eyes to stop the landscape from shifting and sliding around her.
Whispers swirled around her like dead leaves, but only one registered, making her heart work extra hard.
“Hello, Tara,” said a familiar voice. “I’ve missed you.”
— fourteen —
Zarku
Tara’s eyes snapped open. Before her stood a smiling Zarku. He was back in his original form; the one she had seen when he had first arrived in Morni. His third eye pulsed on his forehead. Tara pressed herself against a boulder, her eyes darting left and right. Should she run? But where would she go? Time was running out and she needed answers. Her palm throbbed and her legs trembled. She wouldn’t get very far before Zarku caught up with her.
“You …” she breathed, trying to sound calm. “What do you want?”
“You!” said Zarku.
Tara shrank back and Zarku cackled with laughter. It was the expression on his face rather than the sound that told her he was really enjoying this.
“Don’t worry, Tara. I’m joking.”
Tara’s eyes swept over others who had also appeared, but hung back. Even in death, people gave Zarku a wide berth.
“Where is Kali?” asked Tara. “The last time I saw you both, you were —”
“Shut up,” said Zarku. “Don’t remind me of that time. She knows you’re here and what you want. But I’ll tell you right now, it’s futile. She hasn’t forgotten the loving words you both exchanged just before you killed her.”
Tara had known Kali would not be of much help. Not after she had stomped on her foot and pushed her into the chasm. Kali’s shriek reverberated in her head once more, drowning out the whispers around her.
“Where is your mother, Zarku?” said Tara. “She’s the one I really came to meet.”
“Not here,” said Zarku. He looked at her with an unfathomable expression. “She’s gone to a place she should have gone to ages ago.”
“WHAT?” said Tara. The howling wind swooped between them and Tara remembered. She took a step closer to Zarku, every nerve in her body tingling with the horror of being a hairbreadth away from the person who had tried to kill her not once, but twice. Any moment she expected him to choke the life out of her with his thin, bony hands.
“Please don’t joke about this, Zarku. I need to speak to her. Now!”
“I’m not joking. My mother had a pure soul. She was here for a very short while before she went away.”
Tara stared into his face, inches away from hers, and knew that he telling the truth. The last vestiges of hope fled. Zara was gone; Kali was intent only on revenge. Zarku had always hated her; she would be mad to expect any help from him. Whom could she turn to?
She stared at the pale, sad faces surrounding her. The bitter cold had frozen all laughter, all goodness within them, leaving nothing but a shell. And she had agreed to spend the rest of her life here. This trip had been an utter waste. She wanted to sob, but even her tears seemed to have turned to ice.
“Why are you looking for Zara?” asked Zarku.
“Because of Layla,” said Tara, too tired to think straight. Her plan had unravelled completely and she was close to falling apart, too. “She’s wreaking havoc in the village and she’s targeting me. I have to stop her. Your mother helped me once and I thought …” Tara stopped and clapped her hand to her mouth. How could she tell Zarku he was dead because his mother had helped her? In his rage he was sure to harm her in some way. She looked around for an escape route.
“It’s all right, Tara” said Zarku. “I know everything. Mother told me she helped you defeat me. She was doing it out of love.”
Tara stared at him, aghast. “And you’re not angry?”
“We spent some time together before she left. We talked and cleared up a lot of things. For that, I am in your debt.”
It was so odd to hear Zarku say that. “So where is she now?” asked Tara.
“A more comfortable place where there are no sinners.”
Sinners. Tara repeated the word softly to herself. She had never considered herself a sinner, and yet she had killed two people in one body. Did that count as one or two? All she’d been trying to do was save herself and her family from death. Did that count as a sin?
The crowd that had kept away was moving closer now, sniffing deeply, reaching out to touch her. She stepped back, nauseated by the smell emanating from their bodies; the odours of decay, despair, and death mingled together.
Zarku was still calm, showing no signs of attacking her. It had to be a trap. He would probably strike when she least expected it. She had to be vigilant. “So what do I do about Layla?” she asked. “How do I stop her?”
“Kill her,” said Zarku. “It’s the only way. Use the dagger I would have used to carve out your heart. It has tremendous power; the power of darkness.”
“How — how did you know that we …”
“Oh come on, Tara. I’m dead, not dumb. Suraj took the knife when you were chasing Kali and me. He’s got it now and you know about it, don’t you?”
Tara nodded. “But I still don’t know why he took it?”
“My mother,” said Zarku. “She’s sure to have told him.”
Now that he mentioned it, it
made sense. It could only have been Zara. Maybe she knew this would happen or maybe she had guessed it. Tara thanked her silently; once more, Zarku’s mother had looked out for her and she yearned to hear that soft voice one last time.
“Keep the dagger with you and use it the first opportunity you get,” said Zarku. “It’s the only way, unless Layla dies a natural death, and we both know that’s not going to happen.”
“You mean kill her? Kill a child?”
“Don’t act like the thought never crossed your mind. You’re not that innocent.”
Tara looked at her hands, smeared with her own blood. And when she returned to Morni, and did as Zarku had said, she would have Layla’s blood on her hands, too. Could she live with that for eternity? Zarku was observing her shrewdly. “You have thought about it, no?”
Tara gave a small nod.
“So go ahead. Do it! What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t think killing is the answer to everything. There has to be another way. Maybe if you visited Layla somehow and made her stop this madness …”
Zarku laughed, but all she heard of it was a faint echo. Once again it was the scorn on his face that told her how much of a joke her suggestion was to him.
“Tara, Tara, Tara. How can I ever explain the fun of leading an evil life? The power is exhilarating, intoxicating, and now that Layla has had a taste of it, nothing will stop her. Nothing but death. I am living — no, DEAD — proof of it.” Once again, he cackled with laughter and vanished.
“Zarku! Where are you? Don’t go yet!” said Tara. She whirled round. The crowd behind her was gone, too.
With a deep sigh, Tara looked at her hand. Streaks of dried blood caked her palm. She tried to massage it, curl it into a fist, squeeze more blood out of it. Barely a drop or two appeared. Her vision blurred and she felt lightheaded. She sank to her knees and retched. Nothing came out; there was no food in her and very soon there wouldn’t be any blood, either. The shard of mirror, stained bright red, lay at her feet.
The Deadly Conch Page 12