Forest of Demons

by Debbie Cassidy

  That night, just as she was about to drift to sleep, Priya realized that Papa had never answered Ma’s question. Had someone asked for her hand in marriage, and if so, who had it been? She was too tired to think on it further and allowed herself to be pulled into sleep’s warm embrace, where adventure and the wide world waited.

  Priya was shaken awake by Ma. She opened her eyes, disorientated. Was it morning already? The room was dark as pitch.

  The scratch of a match, the flare of a candlewick, and Ma’s worried face was illuminated acting like a cold bucket of water.

  “What’s wrong?” Priya sat up quickly.

  “It’s your Papa. He’s in terrible pain—his leg, and he has a fever. I need you to fetch the vythian. Just tell him we’ll pay him . . . we will pay him.”

  Priya grabbed Ma’s hand. “I’ll pay him. I have some coin saved.”

  Ma shook her head. “But that’s for your dream.”

  “My dream isn’t going anywhere. Go stay with Papa. I’ll get the vythian.”

  “Be careful. Go fast, and don’t stop for anyone.” Ma kissed her forehead before retreating back to her bedroom.

  Priya pulled on her clothes and shoes, wrapped herself in her father’s shawl and slipped from the house. The coins felt heavy in her pocket, but she knew she’d have to show them to the vythian to prompt his help.

  The village was silent, sunrise still hours away. She slipped through the moonlit streets like a ghost. The vythian, lived on the other side of the market square, and as she hurried across the square, she was distracted by a weak, flickering light illuminating the smithy window. Her step faltered. Could there be a fire? She had no time for Ravi, but the smithy was his livelihood. If there was a chance that it may be compromised, she had to investigate and alert someone, if need be.

  Decision made, she cut across the square and stepped into the shadows surrounding the smithy. The window was high, but she found a crate to stand on, and grasping the thick ledge, she peered in through the window.

  There was indeed a fire—a controlled, deliberate one in the grate. She looked down, ready to step off the crate, when movement caught her eye. She peered back through the window, a shocked gasp exploding softly from her lips. A tangle of naked limbs glistened in the firelight. Ravi’s broad, bare back rose into view, shielding his partner. Priya’s eyes travelled down to his buttocks, and she stumbled back, falling off the crate. Dry-mouthed and scandalized, she quickly retreated to the other side of the square and continued her journey to the vythian.

  The vythian’s home was a flat, tiled structure with a thatched extension where he treated patients. She knocked on the door and waited patiently for a minute before knocking again.

  “Who is it? Goodness, this better be urgent,” the vythian grumbled from behind closed doors.

  “Vythianji, it’s me, Priya, the villee’s daughter. Papa is sick. Please will you come?”

  There was a short silence, then, “Bring him to me in the morning.”

  Priya bit back an angry retort. “It’s his leg—he’s in pain and has a fever. You know he won’t be able to make the journey. . . please.”

  “I’ll come after my morning surgery.”

  Priya pulled out the coins, jangling them loudly. “I have coin.”

  There was another short pause, followed by the sound of the bolt being drawn. The door opened and the vythian stood before her, bag in hand, shawl on, ready to go. Moonlight glinted off his spectacles. He held out his hand.

  Priya dropped the coins into his waiting palm.

  “Lead the way.”

  Priya had never seen Papa look so ill. His face was pale and pinched in pain, his brow beaded with perspiration. Ma stood to one side, wringing her hands while the vythian examined the leg, prodding and probing, and probably making the pain ten times worse. Papa’s leg was swollen and had taken on a purplish tinge. It didn’t look good.

  The vythian sat back. “I’ve something for the fever, but the swelling will need a poultice. Unfortunately, I don’t have the roots to make it.” He shot Papa a reproving look. “Someone has been neglectful in their duties as villee.” He sighed. “There’s little I can do without the root.” He rubbed his hands on his trousers and stood.

  Ma looked at him beseechingly, but he ignored her.

  “What does it look like?” Priya asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The root. What does it look like?”

  He blinked rapidly in her direction. “Um, like ginger but smoother. The skin is green.”

  Priya nodded. “I’ll find some and bring it to you. Will you prepare the poultice?”

  The vythian nodded. “And while you’re in the forest, there are a few other items I’m in need of.”

  She held out her hand. “Give me back my coin and consider the items I gather as payment for the treatment.”

  The vythian’s eyes narrowed as he considered this. “I tell you what: I’ll hold on to the coin, and if you succeed in finding the items I require, I will return the coin to you.”

  Priya nodded. “Very well.”

  “Come with me; I’ll write you a list.”

  As she followed the vythian to the door, Ma grabbed hold of her hand. “Priya, it’s too dangerous.”

  Priya patted her hand. “There’s no choice. Papa needs this poultice. I have to go.” Ma’s eyes told her that she understood, but the hard slash of her lips told her that she didn’t like it one bit.

  “Be careful, beti.”

  “I will.”

  The list was a lot longer than expected, and worth much more than the simple return of the coin the vythian had taken, but she knew when not to push her luck. She’d do this job and save her Papa’s leg. The vythian had confided in her at the surgery, whether as further incentive or respect for Ma’s sensibilities, that if Papa didn’t get the poultice, his leg would become toxic and need to be amputated.

  She needed to find the root. As the sun rose majestically in the sky, she ventured alone into the forest for the first time.

  Her father’s satchel with its many compartments and tools was slung across her shoulders. Her feet were encased in his leather work boots, two sizes too big, but protection from the rough terrain and venomous insects and snakes that called the forest home.

  She’d promised Ma that she would stay at the edge of the forest and finish before midday, but in her heart she knew it was a promise she wouldn’t be able to keep.

  Mala’s fate had taken center stage in her mind, for she still had heard no explanation as to why the rakshasa had attacked Mala during surya hours. They were night-time creatures by habit.

  Or maybe that’s what they want you to believe.

  They were beasts after one thing alone, they didn’t have higher intelligence, didn’t plan. She told herself these things to build her courage as she trudged through the forest. Her boots crunched on the ground, snapping twigs and crushing bracken.

  The air was filled with birdsong and the scuttling and scurrying of forest creatures. The sun beamed its rays through the trees, dappling the ground with gold, and slowly she began to relax.

  She identified her first spot and began to dig.

  As the morning wore on, she slowly crossed items off her list, but the green root for the poultice proved to be more elusive. Papa had spoken of his work often; she cast her mind back to those conversations, looking for a tip or a clue that might help her now. Rifling through the memories, she finally alighted on the one she needed. Moist earth and darkness were where the roots could be found, because they belonged to a plant that thrived in those conditions. She stood and looked back at the trail. She could see it clearly from where she stood, but to find the root she’d need to venture further. Leave the trail behind.

  Sighing deeply, and offering up a prayer for protection, she lumbered deeper into the forest. The trees grew thicker here, older, closer together, and the ground was musky and dark. The deeper she went, the darker it got. The air seemed thicker, sound muffled
by a blanket of silence. She scanned the ground for the plant she needed, and her breath caught when she spotted the telltale pink flowers.

  “Finally!” Her voice seemed odd, distorted. She began to dig. The root went deep, and it was hard work. Sweat broke out on her brow. Finally when she felt she’d loosened the soil enough to extract the plant, she began to wriggle it. She pulled, but it had grown deep and held fast.

  She cursed and looked about for some inspiration. And then she had an idea. Grasping the plant at the exposed root, she braced her feet on the tree trunk before her and pulled with all her might. The root suddenly came free, and she fell back hard. She lay there panting for a long moment. Plant clutched to her chest, eyes catching the odd ray of sun that played peekaboo through the shifting leaves above. She’d done it!

  A triumphant giggle rose in her chest at the exact same moment that every hair on her body stood to attention.

  Someone was watching her.

  Carefully and deliberately she rose to her feet and packed the root in her satchel. The feeling of being observed was almost a physical pressure at the nape of her neck now. It couldn’t be the rakshasas, because they would have attacked by now. Whoever heard of a rakshasa who simply watched?

  She began to walk, trying to act natural, unaware.

  She began to hum, low and shakily at first, but then with a little more volume and confidence. The melody gave her strength, and look, she was almost at the trail.

  A low growl shattered the absolute silence that her hum had filled. Why hadn’t she noticed how silent it had become, not a chirp or skitter?

  Every impulse in her body urged her to run, demanded that she run. But Priya held firm. She was prey, and what more did predators love than the chase? She wouldn’t give it a chase. Maybe it would leave her be. She continued her pace, inching closer and closer to the trail, her hands slippery with fear, blood pounding in her ears.

  And then the growl became a roar as something huge crashed out of the foliage, pounding the earth toward her.

  Priya ran.

  She was running, and then she was tripping on her oversized boots and falling with the weight of it on her back, its claws tearing at her shawl.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but managed only a whimper. Her voice had failed her, but her body fought, twisting and bucking.

  And then she was on her back, and it was looking down on her, and she was paralysed with terror. Its distorted face inches from hers, jutting jaw and finger-long fangs dripping on her. But its eyes mesmerized her. Blue as the sky and ringed in shadow.

  It jerked, screaming in pain, and her paralysis broke. She pushed at it, scrabbling backward, kicking out at it and struggling to breathe around the bubble of fear in her throat. She needed to scream but managed only a choked sob.

  It scampered away, disappearing into the trees.

  Thick arms wrapped themselves around her. “Hush. You’re safe now. Hush.”

  She lashed out, but he held fast.

  “It’s me. Ravi. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

  She stared up at him in shock. His amber eyes scanned her face searchingly. “It . . . it had my eyes,” she choked out. “Why did it have my eyes?”

  Priya sipped the bitter brew. Her body still shook with tremors, but feeling had returned to her limbs. Her mind was working overtime as she flipped through every frame of what had happened, analyzing it, feeling it, breathing it. Someone had been watching her; the rakshasa had attacked . . . or had it? It had pinned her and looked at her, simply looked with its eerily familiar eyes. Would it have killed her? Ripped her throat out? There had been no blood lust in its eyes, only . . . curiosity. She shook her head; it made no sense. Why would it be curious?

  “Beti? Beti? Talk to me. Oh God, Oh God, I can’t believe it. Thank God for Ravi. I’ll be praying for his long life. We’ll invite him to dinner to give thanks. Oh God, I can’t even begin to imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t been passing by and heard you scream.”

  Priya felt Ma’s soothing hand on her brow. “The Gods couldn’t be so cruel as to deliver you to us simply to tear you away.”

  Priya blinked, slowly pulling herself out of her memories and back to the present. She was in her bedroom, wrapped in a blanket, sitting back against the wall on her bed. She felt Ma’s arms around her and lifted her own to reciprocate. They held each other, and after a little while, the chill receded and the world came back into focus.

  She’d been attacked.

  She’d survived.

  She hadn’t screamed.

  She’d been paralysed by fear, and she hadn’t screamed.

  Ma was still talking, but Priya had added another question to her growing list of strange coincidences and occurrences. What had Ravi been doing in the forest, and how had he known she was in danger when she hadn’t screamed?

  A warm cup was shoved into her hand. She drank the chai, grateful for the additional warmth.

  Ma sat at Priya’s feet and took them in her lap rubbing them. “So cold. Vythianji said it was shock. But you’ll be fine and the swelling on your Papa’s leg is already going down. I’m so proud of you, but never again.” She lapsed into silence.

  Priya knew what she was thinking, worrying about. Two attacks in the same month was bad news. Two attacks during surya time were even worse. The forest was no longer safe, and Papa’s livelihood was now in jeopardy.

  “It will be okay,” Ma muttered. “We’ll find a way.”

  Priya closed her eyes and allowed Ma to lay her down.

  Sleep was the balm she needed.

  Papa was on his feet, limping but no longer sick with fever. He’d been horrified to discover what Priya had been forced to do, and devastated to hear of the attack.

  “I’ll find an apprentice, someone who’ll go with me into the forest,” Papa said.

  “No one will accept the position. Not after two attacks,” Ma pointed out.

  “Then I’ll speak to the munsiff and ask him to allocate me someone. Without the villee there are no raw materials for the vythian to make his medicines. This village needs me. They need what the forest provides.”

  “I’ll do it,” Priya said. “I’ll be your apprentice.”

  Papa and Ma both turned to look at her as if she’d lost her senses.

  She sighed. “I refuse to be afraid, and I refuse to give up. I already know a lot about Papa’s trade, and if we stick together, then we will be safe.” The reality was that she wanted, no needed, to go back. She needed to understand. Needed answers to all her questions.

  “Go fetch water.” Ma waved her away.

  “Papa?” Priya implored her father with her eyes. He was staring at her with mixed emotions.

  Ma scanned Papa’s face and balked. “You can’t honestly be considering this!”

  Papa dropped his head. “Go fetch water, beti.”

  Priya took the matka and retreated quickly, but not fast enough to miss the ignition of the row that exploded in her wake.

  She took her place in the queue, feeling guilty for eliciting an argument between her parents. They rarely quarrelled, but when they did it was always legendary. In hindsight she should have spoken to Papa alone, convinced him, and given him time to persuade Ma. There was no point in dwelling now. The damage was done.

  Rising out of her thoughts, she was suddenly painfully aware of the curious stares she was receiving. Her heart sank. The well was a place of gossip, and the last thing she wanted was to be asked to relive her experience. But it seemed that she wouldn’t be spared, for as soon as she had thought this, Gita, the barber’s wife, opened the floor to questions.

  “So good to see you safe and sound Priya. It must have been terrible, and so soon after Mala?” She reached out and patted Priya’s arm, her dark eyes glistening with glee, her donut bun bobbing atop her head.

  Priya felt sick. “Yes, it was.”

  “Did you think you were going to die?” Vimla, the policeman’s sister, asked.

  “Um—�
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  “What did it look like, did you see it?” one of the other women asked.

  “Thank goodness Ravi was there.” There was more than a little slyness in the comment. Priya was aware of the rumor mill, the only piece of equipment that never failed to work, and Hema’s words brought the latest one to light. They probably thought Ravi and Priya had arranged to meet; hence his timely arrival to save her life.

  The questions continued to flow. Priya gave short, noncommittal answers, willing the queue to hurry up and diminish.

  “For goodness sake what’s wrong with you all? Can’t you see the girl’s overwhelmed?” Miriam joined them, her delicate features drawn in a severe frown. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, harassing poor Priya so soon after her ordeal simply to satisfy your addiction to gossip.”

  The women turned away, muttering apologies. People didn’t think to argue with the pujari’s wife. A woman that close to God would surely have his ear and could implore him to rain his wrath down on any one of them.

  Miriam smiled tentatively down at Priya. “I’m glad you’re safe, my child. If you need to go back into the forest, please let me know. I’ll send Guru and Pratip with you. I know your Papa has been unwell. I understand there’s work still to be done.”

  Priya felt the hot prick of tears and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

  The queue moved a lot faster after that, and it was with a sigh of relief that Priya filled her matka and hurried home.

  Papa was sitting by the stove, his leg raised and a cup of chai clutched like a shield in his hand.

  Ma was kneading dough and throwing him the occasional dagger-eyed glance. The fight had moved from verbal mode into silent mode, which was worse. The tension in the room was like baked clay, and Priya was glad to have some good news.

  “Miriamji has offered Guru and Pratip to assist us in the forest when needed.”