Outside In

by Jennifer Bradbury

  Surpanakha howled and fled. By now Rama had come running, drawn by the commotion. When he arrived, he found Lakshmana staring into the jungle, his sword dripping black blood.

  “Should we pursue?” Lakshmana asked.

  Rama shook his head. “Better to let her learn her lesson in peace. She will not bother us again.”

  But Rama was wrong.

  Surpanakha rushed to her nearest brother, a demon called Khara. “I have been deeply insulted, brother! A pair of men in the jungle dishonored me, cut off my nose, and laughed at me!”

  Khara didn’t care much for his sister, but he dearly loved trouble. He assembled a small army of powerful demons and the next day marched out to attack Rama and Lakshmana.

  The battle was as swift as it was brutal, but at the end, only Rama and Lakshmana remained. Surpanakha observed the defeat from afar, growing angrier and angrier as each demon fell to bow or sword.

  However, she had more than one brother to ask for help.

  Surpanakha flew south to Lanka, where her oldest brother, Ravana, had his kingdom. Ravana was the most powerful and evil of any rakshasas before or since. And he was clever. Early in his life, he tricked the gods into granting him a special gift: he could not be vanquished by any god in the heavens or any spirit from the underworld. So not only was he terrible, he was nearly immortal.

  He was also enormous and strong, a muscled torso from which sprouted twenty arms, all stout as tree trunks. Each arm could wield a powerful weapon. And on his shoulders rested ten heads, each with pointed teeth and wicked eyes.

  Surpanakha filled all ten of Ravana’s heads with lies about how poorly she’d been treated. She spun tales that Rama and Lakshmana had fallen upon Khara while he slept and slaughtered him without provocation. And for good measure, she claimed the princes had dared to insult mighty Ravana.

  But it was Surpanakha’s mention of the beautiful Sita that most piqued Ravana’s interest. Like many a demon, Ravana had a great weakness for collecting pretty things. So if teaching these proud mortals a lesson meant adding another jewel to his collection, what could be the harm?

  Together, Ravana and Surpanakha hatched a plan. Then, once they reached Rama’s jungle, Surpanakha transformed herself into a beautiful golden doe and sprang into the clearing surrounding Rama and Sita’s hut.

  Sita was enchanted. “Rama!” she cried. “Please catch that beautiful creature so that I might tame it as my pet!” Rama knew that Sita was often lonely when he and his brother went out hunting and seeking adventures, so he agreed. Still, something felt funny about the deer, and in his caution, Rama asked Lakshmana to keep careful guard over Sita.

  Surpanakha bolted into the jungle, Rama chasing behind.

  Ravana’s plan was working. Within minutes, Rama’s voice cried out in pain.

  “Help me, brother!” came the anguished plea. “Oh, help!”

  It wasn’t Rama at all, of course. Surpanakha had led the great prince far away by now. But Ravana had dispatched another demon to mimic Rama’s voice.

  Sita’s eyes grew wide. Rama was in trouble! And because he was chasing after something she had begged for like a spoiled child!

  “Go, Lakshmana!”

  But Lakshmana hesitated. “My brother has escaped countless dangers, with nary a scratch. This doesn’t seem right.”

  The voice that was Rama’s-not-Rama’s screamed again, pleading for Lakshmana to come.

  Sita was beside herself. “Please, Lakshmana!”

  The voice sounded near enough, so Lakshmana fetched his sword. “Stay inside the hut,” he ordered. Then he quickly cast a blessing of protection that the holy man had taught him long ago. The spell would prevent anyone from entering the hut.

  Satisfied that Sita was safe, Lakshmana plunged into the jungle. That was when evil Ravana launched the final piece of his cunning plan. Taking the guise of a poor beggar, he hobbled into the clearing and fell to his knees just in front of the hut.

  “Oh, most beautiful lady,” Ravana cried pitifully. “I have wandered many days. I am weak with hunger. Please, give me something to eat?”

  Sita could not let the poor man die, so she fetched food and water and rushed outside. As soon as she drew near, Ravana transformed himself and seized Sita about the waist.

  She tried to wrestle free, furious with herself for forgetting Lakshmana’s instructions.

  First Ravana tried to woo Sita and flatter her so that she would come willingly. “Let me treat you as a queen should be treated. Not how this no-good prince of yours cares for you, in a hovel in the dark jungle.”

  “Never!” Sita raged defiantly.

  Ravana didn’t need her permission. He fetched Sita up and began flying with her back to Lanka. He would have her for his own one way or the other, and once she saw his palace, she would soften toward him, he was sure.

  They sailed above the treetops. As they flew, a brave vulture called Jatayu saw them, recognized Sita, and swooped at Ravana, hoping to help the princess. With one of his twenty arms, Ravana drew a sword, sliced Jatayu’s wing off with a single stroke, and sent the noble bird plummeting back to earth. Swiftly, Ravana raced homeward with his prize.

  What happened then?” Ram asks, his mind awhirl with shape-shifting demons, a captured princess, and plummeting birds. “Did Rama catch him?” Ram nestles another of the bangle fragments into place. Sita’s sleeve is only half-done, but already she shimmers.

  “When I get back,” Nek says. “I need to prepare for my journey.”

  “How long will you be gone again?”

  “The village is only a few hundred kilometers away, but the journey is slow. There is only one daily train there and back. It takes the better part of the day to get home. I have one day with my family, and then I return to be back for work on Tuesday. Three days.”

  All that trouble and expense for only a single day with his family? No wonder Nek can’t make the journey more often.

  Still, three days sounds like forever. And with the holiday, even Daya won’t be around as much as usual. At least Ram has Sita.

  “You are sure you know what to do? You know how thick to make the mortar? How to place the pieces?” Nek worries.

  “I won’t let you down,” Ram says.

  Nek seems exhausted. A light sweat beads on his brow, though the air is chilly.

  “Are you all right, Uncle ji?” Ram asks.

  Nek blinks. “Just tired. Some of the men at the factory have been out sick. The boss has made me do some extra sweeping.”

  Ram remembers how the boss yelled at Nek. He was mean. Like one of the pesky demons from the story. Nek is working too hard.

  “You really should go to school, Ram,” he says. But he doesn’t say it like he believes it will happen, only that he wishes it would.

  “School isn’t for me,” Ram says, mixing up more cement.

  “Yes, it is,” Nek said. “You’re too smart not to go to school.”

  “I don’t even know how to read.”

  “That kind of smart they can teach. You have all the other kinds they can’t.”

  Nek’s praise surprises Ram. Nek quickly adds, “But even Rama had a teacher. Even Rama had things he couldn’t learn on his own. Do you think you’re better than him?”

  “No, Uncle ji.” If Nek thinks Ram can do it, maybe he could. Maybe school wouldn’t be the worst thing. He’d like to prove Nek right, he thinks. Pass another true test.

  “I will make sure Vinod goes to a proper school,” Nek says as he digs into his pocket. He pulls two coins out and extends them to Ram. “Your pay. I won’t be here tomorrow.”

  Ram hesitates. “You need it. For your journey.”

  “Nahi,” Nek says. “I have enough.”

  Ram closes his hand around the coins. “Shukriya.”

  Nek places a hand on Ram’s shoulder, pats it once, and walks away. “You’re not so bad, Ram.” For some reason, Ram cannot reply.

  Ram is back at first light the next day. He works all day cutting b
angles, placing them just so.

  He realizes by lunchtime that if he keeps working like this, he’ll finish Sita before Nek gets back. And suddenly that’s all he wants to do, to finish off the statue and surprise Nek. So he does, taking breaks only to duck out and grab food, dragging himself back to his rooftop to sleep at night.

  Late on the second afternoon, his belly all at once screams at him to fill it. He’s been so focused on Sita that he forgot to stop for lunch.

  She is closer. The mosaic of bangles and wire is the most beautiful thing Ram has ever seen. He can’t believe he had any part of it.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, and he realizes with a start that now even he is talking to the statues. But he doesn’t care. It puts him in good company.

  He heads back to the sector to see if Rakesh has anything left over. But when he gets there, he notices the shrine is overflowing. Ram nabs a stack of parathas, a little silk bag tied up with string, and an apple without breaking stride.

  On the walk back he shoves one paratha whole into his mouth and starts working on the string. Inside the bag are roasted cashews. Cashews! Ram hasn’t had cashews in ages. He tosses one into his mouth, the salt and sweet crunching together.

  The apple is nearly gone when he reaches the edge of the sector and the new road. Ram gnaws the core with his front teeth, sucking the last precious drops of juice. He chucks the core over his shoulder and starts across the unbuilt road to the forest. But then Ram freezes.

  Six or seven boys stand at the edge of the trees, blocking the path. They are back. And they have seen him, he can tell. But he ducks down and crouches behind the dirt pile anyway.

  They are waiting for him.

  He’ll have to run again.

  But they’ve chased him close twice now.

  If they keep chasing him . . . If he keeps running . . .

  The garden. They know where to find him. If they know where to find him, they’ll eventually know what’s inside the jungle.

  He won’t let that happen.

  He knows what he must do.

  Ram climbs over the dirt and into the road. A few of the boys step forward. He pulls his bundle from his pocket. Nek has paid him some. There is what he earned running errands for Singh and hitting gilli. And he’s saved most of it, eating from the shrine or getting food from Daya.

  The broken watch is another matter, but he slips it off his wrist anyway.

  Ram walks over to them. His heart pounds in his ears and his breathing is too quick.

  “Fine, you win,” Ram says, tipping all his money into his palm along with the watch. “Take it.” He hopes the boys don’t realize that he is only pretending to be brave. He hopes they don’t notice how his hand trembles as he offers the money. A thought flits through his head: Had Rama pretended too when he faced demons? Maybe he felt just as scared as Ram does now.

  When the pack sees he will not run, they regroup into a solid clump, like one body with many heads and arms. Like Ravana himself.

  “Why aren’t you running this time, rat?” Peach Fuzz asks. He seems not so big out of his school jacket and tie, but still big enough.

  Ram swallows hard, tries to sound confident, like he imagines Rama would have. “I get tired of running.”

  Peach Fuzz wears a wicked smile. “Tired? I didn’t know dogs got tired.”

  Behind them in the city, the fireworks have begun. Ram can hear their distant shrieks, the boom rolling over them a second later.

  All he wants them to do is go away. To leave him and the garden alone. He thrusts his hand forward. “Take it and go.”

  Peach Fuzz squints, steps closer, and pokes Ram in the spot where his collar opens up. His fingernail is long enough and he presses hard enough that Ram is sure he’ll have a little crescent-shaped line on his chest. He takes the money with his other hand, shoves it in his pocket. Then he snatches the watch. Maybe he won’t notice it’s broken, Ram hopes. Maybe—

  But Peach Fuzz holds it up to catch the street light. “You broke it!” He sounds horrified.

  “It was an accident—”

  “My father is going to kill me,” Peach Fuzz says, forgetting to sound tough for a moment.

  “You have what you came for,” Ram says. “Now go.”

  Peach Fuzz’s toughness comes back. “No! Now you owe us for the watch, too!” His breath stinks of onions as he leans close.

  “It’s all I have!”

  “Plus, you cheated us. You have to pay for that, too.”

  It takes every drop of self-control Ram can muster not to spit back that he won the money fair and square. That if they were half as good at gilli as they thought they were, it wouldn’t have been so easy to win against them.

  If Rama and Lakshmana were dealing with these bullies, they’d slice off a few ears or noses or scare them with one twang of a bowstring. But he’s not Rama. And he’s alone.

  “But I have no more.”

  “Triple what you stole.”

  None of this is going the way it was supposed to. If he weren’t so worried for the garden, he’d be furious. “You’re pagal if—”

  Peach Fuzz’s fist lands solidly in Ram’s stomach. He doubles over, gasps, but then a popping sound like fireworks explodes against his temple.

  Ram drops.

  Peach Fuzz stoops over. “Look at me, dog.”

  Ram can only open one eye. The boys are all knotted together. Arms and legs. Shadows and malice. “We know what you’re hiding. We’ve found all that junk in there, those weird statues.” Ram feels something like a stone land on his chest. He knows what it is, and his heart sinks. “Bring the money here. The day after Diwali. If you don’t, we’ll figure out who you stole those statues from. Whose land you’re squatting on in that jungle. And I know very important people in the city who can come and knock it all down with great bulldozers. And after they knock it all down, they’ll send you to jail, or wherever trash like you ends up.”

  Ram closes a fist around the object on his chest. Shiva’s eye.

  The day after Diwali. Two days from now.

  The boys walk away. When their footsteps have faded completely, Ram manages to stand. He staggers into the shadows of the garden.

  He needs to figure out what to do. But he’s so tired. And his head hurts.

  Ram collapses at Sita’s feet, and then rolls over, knees poking up in the air. Two days. He doesn’t even know how much triple the money would be. Not that it matters. There is no way he can get it.

  And Nek. What will Nek say? He forgave him once, but will he again?

  He hears a twig snap on the path and sits up so fast his brain seems to bounce against the inside of his skull.

  “Ram?” Daya whispers from the shadows.

  Ram’s mouth feels full of cotton. It hurts to talk. “What are you doing here, Daya?”

  Daya rushes into the clearing. “Vijay . . . he . . . he hit you!”

  “I was there, Daya,” Ram says. “I know.”

  Ram must look awful for Daya to be so worried. “Your lip is bleeding!”

  “Did they see you?”

  “I followed you. I saw you get something from the shrine and I was mad at you, so I followed you, again. Ram! I warned you about them, didn’t I?”

  “But did they see you?”

  She shakes her head. “I hid at the corner, but I heard what they said, Ram. What is happening?”

  Ram touches his eye. “You crossed the road.”

  “I had to see if you were hurt! We have to go to Papa!”

  Ram seizes her arm. “No!”

  Daya shakes loose. “He will help you, Ram. Whatever it is you’re protecting here—” She stops, her expression softening. “Oh.”

  Ram knows she is seeing Sita. And despite the pain, despite all the trouble, despite how complicated everything is becoming, he finds himself pleased at her reaction.

  “Oh, Ram,” Daya says. “Did you make this?”

  “With my friend, Nek uncle.”

  Daya
crouches in front of the statue. The light is dusky now, and Sita is less glorious than when the sun dappled through the leaves and shimmered against the bangles. But she dazzles, still. “Hoye, hoye,” Daya whispers.

  “I still have to finish. She’ll be covered all over when I’m done.”

  “She’s so pretty already. Papa will be so proud.”

  The thought tempts Ram. He shoves it aside. “No one can know.” And he tells her why. He tells her about Nek. About what he makes here, how he does it, how Ram came to help him. And that if the secret is known, then Nek will get into trouble. The whole place could disappear.

  Daya is quiet. “There are more of these statues?”

  “Hundreds,” Ram says. The volume of what Nek has made feels like a burden to him now. So many. All of them in danger.

  “I want to see them. Papa will want to see them. He can help, Ram,” Daya says urgently.

  “I promised Nek uncle to keep it secret. He’s away until the morning after tomorrow. Maybe then I can talk to him. We can figure out what to do. But I have to come up with the money—”

  “Papa has money!” Daya pleads. Ram knows Singh would likely share. But he’d also demand to know what the money was for. And how can he explain? Without betraying Nek?

  “And he knows people at the city! Lots who might—”

  “No,” Ram decides. “Not yet. Not until I talk to Nek uncle.”

  Daya deflates.

  “Promise me, Daya.” Ram is grasping her arm. “Promise you won’t tell him.”

  Daya gazes at Sita. “You’re wrong,” she says. “But theek hai.”

  Ram struggles to his feet. The pain in his head is ebbing, and he has his breath back. He holds out his hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

  Daya stands. “Show me the animals first.”

  Ram grins. She’s already seen this much. And she’s promised to keep the secret. He supposes she deserves something.

  “Chalo,” he says. “But we have to get you back before sundown.”

  If Daya is as scared of snakes or other things as Ram had been when he first visited the garden, she doesn’t show it. “This place is wonderful!”