The Girl in the Garden

by Kamala Nair

  “Do you understand the consequences of your actions?” She was quiet now. “For the first time in her sixteen years on this earth, I have seen sadness and distrust in her eyes, have seen her body weakened by sickness. You have broken down everything I have worked so hard to build up, destroyed the life and the world that I have given her.”

  “She’s a prisoner!” I shouted. “And you’re a horrible person for lying to everyone and keeping her locked up like that for all these years!”

  “You call her a prisoner? Foolish girl. What would she find out here that could be any better than she has in there? Pain, sickness, greed, evil. I was sparing her all of that. I made a beautiful world for her, I kept her safe. You say that I am the horrible one, but it’s you who have taken that all away from her, and for what? For some childish summer adventure, and then you’ll leave us here to pick up the pieces?”

  “No, I’m not leaving her! She’s my sister!”

  “Rakhee,” I heard Amma rasp, “how do you know that?”

  Sadhana Aunty silenced her.

  “Let me handle this, Chitra. It does not matter how she knows. What matters now is making sure this does not get out.”

  “I’m going to take Tulasi away,” I cried, “to bring her out into the open. She is not something to be ashamed of or to be kept secret.”

  “Rakhee, stop talking like that,” Amma warned. I ignored her.

  “You will do no such thing.” Sadhana Aunty clenched her fists.

  “Yes, I will, and you can’t stop me. I’m going to tell everyone about her. Everyone!” Hysteria washed my veins with adrenaline.

  “You are a silly, selfish girl. Your mother has been far too lenient with you, but do not think I’m going to let this kind of behavior go unpunished.” Sadhana Aunty took a step forward. Without stopping to think, I brought my foot down hard upon my aunt’s and she stumbled back, cringing.

  “Don’t come near me! Stay away!”

  Sadhana Aunty’s eyes narrowed, and she advanced again. I tried to dodge her, but this time she was too fast; her hand encircled my arm in an inescapable grip, and she dragged me out of the room and down the hallway with surprising strength.

  “What are you doing? Where are you taking her?” Amma was behind us.

  “She needs to be disciplined.”

  “Don’t you dare hit her again!”

  “She must think about the consequences of her actions.” Sadhana Aunty’s voice was calm. “She needs to learn some respect for her elders.”

  We passed Krishna’s bedroom, and I saw one wide frightened eye through a crack in the door.

  “Rakhee, baby,” Amma cried and reached for my hand, but Sadhana Aunty jerked me away. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Sadhana Aunty shoved me into a room, closed the door, and slid the lock into place from the outside.

  I took in my surroundings and recognized the room where Muthashi had died.

  “No!” I hammered the door with my fists. “Let me out!”

  “Is this really necessary?” came Amma’s voice from the other side.

  “You heard her, she said she is going to tell everyone. The girl is hysterical. She needs some time to calm down and think about what she has done.”

  “Rakhee, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Amma said over and over again through her sobs, and as her voice got quieter I knew that she was leaving me.

  “No, Amma, don’t go! Let me out! Please!” I screamed and banged my fists against the hard wood until I thought they would bleed.

  “Stop that, do you hear me?” Sadhana Aunty said. “The longer you shout and make a fuss, the longer you will stay in that room.”

  I gave one last bang and slumped to the floor with my back against the door, listening for the sound of Amma’s advancing footsteps. I waited with my ears pricked for a long time. The footsteps never came.

  Finally, exhausted, I dropped my forehead to my knees and began to cry, my heart swollen with fear and, beneath that fear, something more ominous: the realization that Amma was not coming back. I was alone.

  Ever since that first blue letter had arrived in our mailbox in Plainfield, a new Amma had been emerging, one who was mysterious, infuriating, and sometimes frightening. But in spite of these changes, there had been lingering pieces of the old Amma to which I had clung all these months. Now, after Veena Aunty’s story and the events of the last day, the new Amma had taken over, extinguishing any remnants of the old one whom I loved desperately, the one who sang and read to me, cooked me delicious meals, knelt beside me as we poured seeds into the earth, and banished my night demons with her warm embrace. I couldn’t reconcile her with the one who laughed as her friends threw stones at a young boy, the one who said things she shouldn’t to men who were not Aba, the one who was letting Gitanjali be sacrificed, the one who had abandoned not only me, but my sister. My sister!

  At least I had found Tulasi, and for her, I had to stay strong, I had to keep going.

  But the longer I remained in that room, watching the sun dance across the sterile white sheets of the bed where Muthashi had breathed her last, the harder it was to stay calm. I kept remembering the last time I had been here, the memories slicing through my courage with haunting precision.

  The darkness. The wasted body on the bed. The hand reaching out for mine, searching for comfort that I could not give. The smell. The smell.

  I couldn’t breathe. I half-lay, half-fell on my side, with my legs splayed out in front of me, and closed my eyes. Something other than sleep slipped over me then, a shadow, dark and protective. The room grew hazy and dissolved.

  A strange light was streaming into the room, a color I had never seen before. I got to my feet and stumbled to the window.

  How much time had passed? The last thing I knew, it had been early afternoon.

  Now the sky was a mixture of pink, blue, and gold, bolting across the horizon. The sun was preparing to set. But something was not right.

  Fear began to seep back in like ink staining a cloth.

  Over the trees, deep in the forest, the sky was neither pink, blue, nor gold. It was black.

  Black as night.

  Black as the sky above Muthashi’s pyre.

  A drum started beating inside my ears, swift and terrifying. I ran back to the door and pulled at the handle. Nothing. The drumbeat got faster. I rattled the handle and kicked at the door.

  “Help!” I called.

  My cheek still throbbed from Sadhana Aunty’s slap. I thought of the cold look in her eyes as she had yelled at me, brutal and inhuman. Who knew what she was capable of? And the rest of the grown-ups—Vijay Uncle, Nalini Aunty, even Veena Aunty—they were just as bad. They, too, like Amma, had idly sat by, letting Sadhana Aunty keep my sister a prisoner. I could not trust any of them. If I did not get out of here, who knew what they would do to Tulasi?

  I banged and banged at the locked door.

  No one was coming.

  And what could I do from here? How could I save my sister when I was locked in this room like an animal?

  Then—

  “Rakhee?” came a small voice from the other side.

  A burst of joy temporarily blocked my despair. “Krishna, open the door, please, hurry!”

  “My mother said to leave you in there.” Krishna sounded uncertain. “She said you did something evil and that I would be punished if I let you out. What did you do, Rakhee?”

  “Where is everyone now?”

  “In the sitting room with the door closed. My mother and Vijay Uncle just came home. They were out all day. I don’t know where they went. Rakhee, I’m afraid.”

  “Krishna, I’ll explain everything, but the grown-ups, we can’t trust them. You have to let me out. There isn’t any time.”

  A crushing silence. Then at last I heard the sound of the lock being unlatched and the door opening.

  I stumbled into the hallway and grasped my cousin’s hand. “Krishna, we have to run. I’ll tell you everything on the wa
y, but just believe me, we have to run.”

  Her eyes gleamed with fright, but still she said,”I believe you, Rakhee.” Relief and love steadied my racing heart.

  I wished I had told Krishna everything sooner and that I hadn’t been so intent on keeping Tulasi all to myself.

  Krishna returned my grateful smile with a brave one.

  I wanted to throw my arms around her neck and thank her for taking my side, but there was no time, so I looked both ways, pulled her down the steps with me, around the house, and into the backyard.

  When we got to the barrier, Krishna balked, and I knew I had to tell her the truth right then, before we could go any further.

  “Krishna, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” As the words came out, I realized they weren’t true, but I pushed on. “Your mother lied to you. They’ve all been lying, this whole time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There is no Rakshasi living in the forest.”

  “Then… what is there?”

  “There is a cottage and a garden, and…” My voice faltered.

  “And what?”

  “A girl.”

  Krishna’s eyes narrowed, causing wrinkles to form at the edges, and making her appear, for a moment, much older than she actually was. “A girl?”

  “Yes,” I said, “a girl.” The story of Tulasi—who she was and how she came to be—spilled forth.

  “I can’t believe it,” Krishna whispered, when I had finished.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I said, and even though I knew that every second we lingered at the barrier we risked getting caught, it felt so good to confess everything to Krishna that I couldn’t help but blurt, “I think my mother is planning to run away with Prem.”

  Krishna was quiet. “But Prem Uncle is gone.”

  “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

  “I overheard your mother telling my mother that he left.”

  “When?”

  “This morning.”

  “Did Amma sound sad?”

  “No, she sounded happy.” So there was hope! “But my mother got very upset when she heard.”

  My smile faded. “Why would Sadhana Aunty care if Prem left?”

  “I don’t know. She kept asking your mother where he had gone. She sounded really angry. She said she never believed he would have the nerve to go through with it, and if she had, she would have banned him from our house. I’ve never seen her like that, but your mother would not tell her anything. Then my mother finally stopped asking and said, ‘Maybe it is for the best, after all.’ She sounded so sad. That is when she and Vijay Uncle disappeared. She was even more upset when they came back, and their hands—Rakhee, their hands were all… black.”

  As much as I wanted to continue probing, I knew we could not afford to waste any more time. “Krishna, will you come with me? We have to hurry. We have to save Tulasi and hide her from the grown-ups.”

  She hesitated for only a moment before throwing her legs over the barrier and climbing over to the other side. She turned to look at me, her silhouette framed by a backdrop of trees whose branches were spangled in sunset light, as if in preparation for a festive event.

  I climbed over, too, and reached for her hand. “Let’s go,” I said, and together we entered the forest.

  We began to run, me in front, pulling Krishna along with one hand, and batting away the leafy branches that brushed against my face with the other. Even in the fading light, I could make out fresh footprints in the dirt.

  The pounding of drums pulsed in my ears. Behind me Krishna was panting and stumbling.

  The sun had not yet set, but its vibrant glow dimmed as we delved deeper, and a thick gloom began to gather us in. The black haze seemed to be simultaneously drifting down from the sky and rising up from the ground. The smell of smoke furled in my nostrils. We ran faster.

  When we arrived at the wall, I stopped short, and let my cousin’s hand fall. It still stood where I had last left it, but in place of the locked door, there was a charred, gaping hole. The smoke swept over my face and head like a hood. The fumes filled my lungs and I choked back a gasp. Krishna hesitated and glanced at me.

  I tried my best to sound brave. “Come on.”

  Krishna followed me through the hole. We coughed and covered our mouths with our hands.

  Everything slowed down and went quiet.

  It was gone. All gone. There was nothing left but a singed circle of grass and a mess of blackened rubble. Wisps of smoke curled up from the burned earth and enveloped us. I was light-headed. Through the clouds I could almost see the flowers, the cobblestone path, the cottage, hovering like phantoms. But Tulasi herself had vanished. I could feel no trace of her.

  The silence was thick. I tried to walk but could barely move.

  Sadhana Aunty and Vijay Uncle had been out all day. I shivered. Of course they had.

  It was so quiet I could not even hear myself breathe. Was I breathing? Had I, too, died along with the garden? Was that what this silence meant?

  But I was not dead.

  I must have screamed, because Krishna clapped her hand over my mouth. “Sssh, they might hear you.”

  “She’s gone,” I croaked.

  “Do you think they—killed her?” Krishna could barely get the words out.

  “They can’t have, they couldn’t, they wouldn’t.” But I didn’t know anything anymore. All I knew was that Tulasi was gone, and Krishna and I knew too much. We were not safe. We could not stay here. We had to run. Far away.

  I started to move back the way we came, but Krishna grabbed my arm. “We cannot go that way. They will know we are gone by now.”

  So we turned and plunged deeper into the forest as the sun vanished and night opened its black flower around us.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I said.

  “No, I have never come this way.”

  “Well, wherever we’re going, it is safer than where we came from.”

  We began to run again, hand in hand, until we reached a clearing, which opened onto a paddy field.

  By now the darkness was impenetrable. The moon had abandoned us behind a heavy bank of clouds.

  Nalini Aunty had once mentioned something about how snakes loved to curl up in the paddy fields at night.

  “We can’t go this way,” I cried.

  “There is no other way,” said Krishna, bending down. “If we turn back, it will just lead us toward Ashoka. They’ll find us. They might have already come after us. Think what they’ll do if they catch us.” I heard her rustling around on the ground, and when she stood up she was holding a long stick in her fist.

  She was right; we would have to go through that paddy field, snakes or no snakes. Here, we at least had a chance of making it through. If we turned back, we would be heading straight into the snake’s nest.

  Our limbs plastered against each other in fear, we began picking our way through the high stalks, with Krishna beating the stick on the ground and making a shooing sound with her tongue.

  It was so dark I could not see my own body. The only thing that reminded me I was alive and not drowning was the sensation of Krishna’s warm, pulsing arm entwined in mine.

  The stick rasped against the earth. With every step, I prepared to feel the sting of fangs on my leg. Krishna would never be able to carry me out of here. I would not be saved, like Amma. The poison would slowly suck out my life and I, writhing in pain, would die there in the darkness.

  I tortured myself with such thoughts until I heard Krishna’s relieved sigh. “We made it.”

  It was true. I moved my foot to feel the ground below me, and it was hard and flat. We were on the road.

  The darkness began to lift. The clouds had dispersed, and we could see the moon paving the red road with light.

  “Wait,” said Krishna, “I think I know where we are.”

  “Which way should we go?”

  “We haven’t gone very far. We just made a big circle. We are just past the village square
, not far from Ashoka. We had better hurry.”

  All around us the air rattled with a chorus of sounds, ushering us through the night.

  But after a while I became aware of a sound that did not belong. A hectic rustling in the trees that bordered the road. Krishna heard it, too, because she came to an abrupt halt. The rustling intensified.

  Someone else was sprinting through the night.

  “Maybe it’s them!” I hissed.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Growls, barks, and yelps mixed in with the rustling.

  “Dogs!” Krishna’s hand gripped my arm.

  At first, I did not understand. “Oh good, it’s just dogs.”

  “They’re coming straight toward us. Run, Rakhee, run!”

  I remembered then what Meenu had said about stray dogs, about how they were dangerous and rabid.

  Behind us I heard an explosion as their thrashing bodies broke through the trees, followed by the sound of barking and paws slamming into the earth.

  My legs spun and I breathed in knives. But even as I fled I knew we could never outrun a pack of dogs.

  Nobody outruns a pack of dogs.

  So it would end here.

  I was almost relieved. Amma would find us lying on the road with our throats open, and she would know that it was all her fault.

  A thorn broke through my sandal, piercing the bottom of my foot. I fell forward but caught myself before I hit the ground.

  My right sandal went sailing through the air and landed faceup several yards away.

  I froze and blurted: “My shoe, my shoe.”

  “Leave it, Rakhee, just run!” cried Krishna from up ahead, but somehow I could not move.

  I stood rooted to the spot, blood seeping from my foot onto the road, watching the dogs approach.

  “Rakhee!” Krishna shrieked, but still my limbs would not budge. Even my eyelids were paralyzed.

  The dogs were getting closer and closer.