The Magic of Hobson Jobson

by Soyna Owley

A small point of light appeared on the moving curtain of water. It grew to form the oval faces of the Kishm, their eyes unblinking and their red lips motionless. Again, a multitude of female voices spoke in perfect synchrony, sending a chill down Floyd’s spine.

  ‘Felicitations, Yaksha. The falls of Kishm acknowledge that you have saved your brother and many others.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Floyd said, bowing his head. Please be satisfied with my answer, he prayed. Please.

  ‘But the Yaksha has yet to answer our question. We Kishm cannot spare his life or the lives of others unless he fulfils his obligation.’

  ‘Our lives?’ Farook exclaimed. ‘What is she talking about?’

  ‘Shhh …’ Ela put a finger over her lips.

  The spirit faces looked at Floyd from behind the rivulets of water. ‘Yaksha, please bring all you have experienced, all you know and all you feel to this answer. Remember, our fate also rests in your words. Please, be mindful. Tell us, Yaksha, why did you make this journey?’ The faces on the waterfall frowned.

  Floyd took a deep breath. It was clear to him. Everything. There was no fear, only truth.

  ‘I made this journey so I could understand myself. It was to conquer my fears, to prove to myself that I’m not unlucky and that my destiny was mine to make.’

  There was a moment of silence. Floyd could feel Farook’s gaze on him. Then the voices rang out in a silvery tinkle as the red lips on the waterfall parted and the eyes crinkled.

  ‘Yaksha, may your wisdom continue to grow,’ the voices said softly, and golden drops of water showered the ship. The faces in the waterfall flickered for an instant, smiled again and disappeared. The two spirits materialized into slender maidens, even more striking than their watery avatars. They shimmered on the rocks in front of the falls in their long gold robes and glittering pagoda crowns, and bowed at the ship and its crew, their hands folded in a gesture of respect.

  Floyd sank his face into his cupped hands as relief flooded him.

  ‘The Yaksha has released us from a hundred years of captivity, since the Merrows came ashore. For this we are grateful. Yaksha, you have completed a hero’s journey.’ The women looked at Floyd as they quivered.

  ‘Now we embark on a pleasant journey to Portugal where we shall exact brutal revenge.’ The women shimmered one last time and vanished. Floyd shivered. He didn’t envy the Portuguese Water Djinn at this moment.

  Floyd sank to his knees on the wet deck of the Charpoy. He had passed the final test. Farook hugged him as tears ran down his cheeks. Floyd’s breath caught in his chest. He hugged Farook back.

  The Charpoy moved forward and the cold, fresh waterfall drenched the ship. On the other side the river Mantra curved like a silver snake. The Charpoy continued its return journey up the river.

  Balsam slapped Floyd on his back again and laughed loudly. ‘Well done, Yaksha.’

  Floyd smiled and shivered. ‘I’m not unlucky,’ he whispered. He looked around him in wonder. It felt as if he was seeing the world for the very first time. He had shed off an old skin and was starting life again.

  24

  Forget-Me-Not

  The Ridgebacks swooped into the water, snapping up shiny red mullet and flat white skate in their mouths, and dropping the wriggling fish into a wicker basket on the deck. The Ressuldars sprouted lemons and squeezed them on their catch. Naveen lit coals in a copper firepit and Balsam pointed out the infamous nostril fish, to the amazement of Farook and the other children. Chutney whimpered at the circling Ridgebacks overhead.

  ‘He’s never going to fly again, is he?’ Floyd asked Agnita, who was skinning a fish.

  Agnita looked at Floyd. ‘His wings had to be removed to save his life—but the roots are still there—you never know.’

  Chutney wagged his tail and licked Floyd’s hand.

  ‘I don’t care, as long as he’s with me,’ Floyd said.

  ‘By the way …’ Agnita began.

  Floyd looked at her.

  Agnita searched his face. ‘There’s a test tube missing in my apothecary. Just wondering.’

  Floyd smiled but said nothing.

  She smiled back. ‘I thought so.’ The retreating island tipped over the horizon as the sky darkened and the stars peeked out. Occasional fronds of sea straw floated by, their ghostly light giving the water festive warmth. The children of Durjipore seemed to be over their ordeal and many clapped in delight at the sight of the sea straw. It was, after all, a piece of home, something familiar in this strange land they had inhabited for the last few weeks, some even longer.

  ‘So how come plant people eat fish?’ Farook said, turning to Balsam.

  ‘Haven’t you heard of Sundews?’ Balsam shot back, skinning a fish.

  ‘Venus Flytraps?’ Kusmati said mischievously, the tips of her fingers suddenly changing into toothed, snapping green and red pods. Farook jerked back. Everyone laughed.

  ‘Photosynthesis is fine if you’re just sitting around. We need far more sustenance though,’ Balsam explained to a visibly shaken Farook.

  Floyd closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma of the grilled fish. The muscles of the Ridgebacks’ shoulders rippled in the firelight. Soon, he would be with Ma and Papa. His thoughts sobered. Poor Ma. Would she ever get better? The vision of Shaitana offering him the Ninipuri mocked him.

  ‘A butterwort for your thoughts?’ Balsam said.

  Floyd shook his head. ‘Nothing, it’s nothing.’

  ‘You became all serious suddenly,’ Kusmati said. Everybody was staring at him.

  Floyd swallowed. ‘I was thinking about Ma,’ he confessed. Everyone fell silent, their eyes on him. ‘And the Ninipuri I was going to get for her …’

  ‘Why does Ma need Ninipuri?’ Farook asked.

  There was another awkward silence. Floyd felt nauseated. There had been no time to explain the situation to Farook. Besides, what could he have said? Ma’s crazy? Farook had absolutely no idea what Ma had been through. ‘Ma got sick after you left. From grief, Dr Mohandas says.’

  Naveen looked at Farook and said gently, ‘The Merrows offered him Ninipuri for your Ma, to buy his cooperation.’

  Farook looked from Floyd to Naveen, his jaw hanging open. ‘Floyd, is this true?’

  Floyd nodded miserably.

  Naveen continued, his voice low and his expression serious, ‘He saved all of us—but at the price of a cure for your mother.’

  Floyd buried his head in his hands. The image of Ma rocking at her shrine clawed at his heart.

  Ela put a piece of fish on Floyd’s plate. ‘Your homecoming is the only medicine your mother needs,’ she said. ‘I know. My heart broke when Gulaab was taken from me. Your mother, her heart broke twice.’

  ‘But for all she knows, we’re dead. Can you imagine what that’s done to her?’ Floyd said, trying fiercely to control his hot tears.

  ‘Yaksha, the heart knows what the mind does not believe. She knows you’re coming back, trust me,’ Ela said with such confidence that no one spoke after that.

  They finished their meal quietly, wrapped in blankets made of fresh moss, sipping hot spiced wine around the glowing embers of the firepit as the ocean devoured the blood-red peach sun. The rest of the journey was made in silence, broken by the occasional clinking of silverware as everyone helped clean up. Soon they were pulling into Port Currumshaw, the same port they had embarked from on the Charpoy thirteen days ago. What a relief to be back! Had it been only thirteen days since it had all happened? Port Currumshaw looked remarkably different by night with strings of coloured lanterns that seemed to float in the air. Too bad there wasn’t a place like this in the Durjipore he lived in.

  Floyd followed the Ressuldars as they descended into the rowboat storage room and rowed out of the Charpoy. They climbed on to the bustling dock, moving out of the way of fast-moving wheelbarrows and ducking from flying Ridgebacks. The children were looking around, pointing at the flying dogs and exclaiming at the brisk trade being done.

  ‘What a rel
ief for those poor kids. What they’ve been through!’ Ela said, waving back. She turned and looked at Floyd and Farook. ‘Boys, good luck on your journey home.’

  ‘Not going back to Balsam’s home in Yama Forest?’ Floyd asked.

  ‘My place now is with Naveen and the children,’ she said softly, her cheekbones tinting dark green again.

  Floyd smiled at Farook. Soon they, too, would be home, a family again.

  Ela raised her hand and touched their faces. ‘Take care of yourselves, all right? Yaksha, you’re everybody’s hero.’

  Kusmati looked at Floyd with an expression he couldn’t fathom. Was it sadness? Was it longing? Balsam looked at both of them and raised his eyebrows. Floyd felt his heart give a funny little skip. Would he ever see her again? She kissed him on his cheek and pressed something into his hand.

  ‘Look at it after I’ve gone,’ she said, her hair budding small, blue trumpet-shaped orchids—how perfect for her, Floyd thought. Mysterious, rare and beautiful.

  Naveen pulled the reins on the tonga, more a roughly-hewn wooden platform. It lurched dangerously, as if it would slide its passengers off at the least little turn, and trotted off down the dock. Ela, Gulaab and Kusmati clung to each other, laughing as they tried to balance on the ridiculous contraption. The surrounding Ressuldars gave way as the tonga passed through. Several more tongas pulled up and the children clambered on them eagerly. They would all be taken home by the Ressuldars and would likely not remember their ordeal, Agnita had assured them. She had given them all potions to ease their worries and help in their transition home.

  Balsam whistled and another small tonga, drawn by two small horned ponies, drew up. ‘Back to Yama.’

  They jumped on. Floyd opened his hand. A small leaf had dried blue flowers stuck on it. The words ‘Forget-Me-Not’ were written on it in neat and perky writing. Just like her, Floyd thought, and smiled to himself as he put the leaf in his shirt pocket. The tonga trotted along for a few hours until the sky lightened.

  They entered Yama Forest, its knotted umbrella pines forming a gnarled leafy ceiling through which sunrays poked and dragonflies buzzed. The tonga was every bit as unstable as it looked. Monkeys chattered angrily and small green parrots with bright orange beaks screeched as the party clattered along the narrow, worn path. A few well-aimed nuts and berries flew by, setting off a volley of barks and growls from Chutney.

  The thatched dome of Balsam’s cottage came into sight, its four twisted chimneys puffing smoke, its cheery red door inviting. They entered and flopped on the sofas.

  The Ridgefather clock struck one. A brass Ridgeback flew off the face of the clock, circled the room and returned to its original position. Chutney followed it, trotting around the room. Farook looked incredulous.

  ‘Hurry,’ Balsam said, opening a door.

  ‘How are we going to get home?’ Farook asked.

  ‘The Inkling Room,’ Balsam replied. ‘You’ll get home immediately.’

  Of course, Floyd thought. The Inkling Room. He had forgotten all about it.

  They followed Balsam up the winding bamboo staircase to the Inkling Room, Farook exclaiming all the while. The yellow door opened to the room of a thousand bowls. Balsam bowed and then circled the bronzed rim of a large purple one with the same staff he had used earlier. It rang, the throbbing musical note resounding through the room like a human cry, sending a thrill through Floyd.

  A small golden door, painted with a scene of catamarans floating in a canal, shot open. Floyd and Farook gasped in unison. At the end of a tunnel was Number 4, Arcot Street, Durjipore, its bricks amber in the setting sun, moss dusting the front steps—their beautiful home. The jasmine bush below the facing bay window waved in the breeze as if to welcome them. The lights were all on.

  ‘Go on, Yaksha! I will see you again,’ Balsam said. Floyd hugged him tightly. He would miss the silly, flamboyant Ressuldar.

  Farook shook Balsam’s hand.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Floyd said, grasping Farook’s shoulder.

  They each put a foot through the door. Floyd felt the damp soil give slightly under his foot. He could see their house in the distance but the tunnel was so dark, little else was visible.

  ‘Wait.’ Balsam handed Floyd a bundle of sea straw.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘What’s this for? Suffering Shiitakes! Have you forgotten everything? Throw it on the side of the tunnel. It needs to be lit for you to see your way. Remember? For his return, they lit the way … the sea straw burned like sun-dried hay?’

  ‘You mean, the song, it’s about—’

  Balsam nodded and smiled. ‘Throw it, Yaksha.’

  The sea straw hit a puddle. The tunnel hissed, turning an incandescent green. Chutney barked, tossed his head and stepped into the tunnel, his tail wagging. Floyd stepped through the small gold door and Farook followed. One moment they were in the Ressuldar cottage, and the next, facing the home they had grown up in.

  ‘The water glowed, the people prayed,’ Balsam said and bowed, his hands folded together in a solemn namaste.

  The Inkling Room shimmered and disappeared. They ran through the tunnel to their home, Chutney bounding ahead.

  Farook stood at the bottom of the steps, his dark eyes shining. Things were going to be different now. Floyd choked back his tears.

  This was the Durjipore he grew up in, the real world. What would it be like, now that he had seen another Durjipore? Would it still be reassuring? Would Ma and Pa feel the same?

  He took a ragged breath, climbed the steps and stood in front of the polished wooden door. No, this was home. This place they counted on.

  He twisted the ornate door handle. ‘Come on!’ he said, looking back at Farook, and pushed the door open. Chutney gave a short bark and curled around Floyd’s legs, cocking his head at Farook. Farook followed Floyd in and the door shut softly.

  They were home.

  PUFFIN BOOKS

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  First published in Puffin by Penguin Books India 2013

  Copyright © Soyna Owley 2013

  Cover illustration by Tim McDonagh

  Cover design by Bhavi Mehtathe

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-143-33269-5

  This digital edition published in 2013.

  e-ISBN: 978-9-351-18205-4