Forest of Demons

by Debbie Cassidy

  The women were gathered around Chaya, who was curled up on the dusty ground, her face too pale, her eyes too dark.

  “Oh God! Someone get the vithyan!” Nita cried.

  Priya stumbled back, her eyes wide in shock at the blood seeping out from under Chaya. It pooled about her before being sucked into the parched ground.

  One of the women at the front of the queue dropped her matka and ran off.

  Chaya moaned in pain, clutching her abdomen. Collecting herself, Priya stepped forward and knelt by Chaya. She carefully lifted the woman’s head onto her lap, smoothing back damp tendrils of hair.

  “It’s going to be all right. I promise.” The words felt like a lie; there was too much blood for it to be all right. Chaya’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to stay conscious.

  “Tell Prabhu . . . tell him I loved him . . . tell him my truth . . . my truth is in my mattress.” She closed her eyes.

  Priya held her until the vithyan arrived and confirmed what she already knew.

  Chaya was dead.

  “Priya? Beti . . . I’m sorry.” Ma stood in the doorway to her bedroom.

  “What for?”

  “Everything.”

  Priya looked up from her clasped hands. She knew Ma’s stubborn nature. This was the best apology she would get, and oh Gods, she needed a hug right now.

  Her face crumpled, and Ma shot across the room to gather her against her soft bosom. Priya held on to her mother’s diminutive figure, sobbing until her chest ached and her nose clogged up.

  Ma rocked her until the sobs subsided. Grief was replaced by simmering rage. She extricated herself from Ma’s embrace.

  “They killed her, you know. It was the constant beatings, the hard labor. They did this!”

  “Priya! You don’t know that for certain, there were rumors, of course but—”

  “I do know, and so does everyone else, and no one did anything! I didn’t do anything! We all just stood by and allowed it to continue. We’re all responsible for her death, for that poor baby’s death.” She stood and began pacing. “This village is filled with scared little people, people who cling to superstition as a shield of ignorance. They’re happy to take action against something they don’t understand, because it costs them nothing, but they stand by and allow abuse to continue for fear of losing a handful of grain!”

  “Priya, please, calm yourself.”

  Priya shook her off. “I need some air.” She brushed past her into the main room.

  Papa was sitting in his chair by the stove. He looked up, pipe dangling from his lips as she entered.

  “I’m going out.” Priya retrieved her shawl.

  “It’s too late, the sun is setting.” Ma said.

  “I’ll take a lamp. I won’t go far.”

  “Hariji? Tell her!” Ma wrung her hands.

  Papa withdrew his pipe from his mouth and locked eyes with Priya “Don’t stay out too late.”

  Priya inclined her head, grateful for his empathy.

  The sky was blood-red with the setting sun, the streets already silent. The village slept early and rose early; nighttime was for the rich and slovenly. She only ever ventured out this late for a festival or special occasion, and she was usually accompanied by Ma, Papa, or both. Tonight was an exception. She had no particular destination in mind, but instead of feeling adrift, she felt liberated. She stopped thinking and allowed her feet to guide her.

  This place she called home suddenly felt tiny. A small-minded village, wrapped in conventions and suffocatingly dull. When she’d been young, every day had felt like an adventure, her imagination conjuring tales for even the most mundane tasks. Every night had been a portal to wondrous dreams. She yearned for that innocence, that sense of walking on air, that sense of safety. The village hadn’t changed she had. Safety now felt like restriction; exciting superstitions and rituals now felt like the excuses and actions of uneducated minds, the actions of people too scared to face reality.

  Every day she saw her parents shrink a little more, need her a little more. And every day her dream of going to the capital drew further away. She feared she’d be stuck in this village for the rest of her days, working, caring for her parents, and watching the lives of others, yet never really living her own. She loved Ma and Papa and would gladly give them her life; after all, they’d saved her, given their lives for her. It wasn’t just her duty to serve them but her will. She just wished that she could realize both her dreams and her obligations.

  The soft whinny of a horse and the smell of smoke awoke her to the fact that her feet had led her to the last place she would have thought to come.

  She stood outside the door, shuffling from foot to foot. She should just turn around and leave, but then she’d spend the rest of the night wondering why her feet had brought her here in the first place.

  Gathering her courage and her patience she knocked loudly on the door.

  It opened almost immediately. Ravi stared down at her. “Was wondering how long you were going to stand out there.” He stepped back, ushering her in.

  She entered the overly warm room. The forge was still burning, but it was clear he’d stopped work for the day. A small table had been laid with a single plate of food and a mug of water.

  Ravi caught her staring. He moved to the table and picked up the plate. “It’s chicken, you want some?” He held it out.

  Her stomach rumbled. Oh gods yes. “No. I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Really, and how is that treating you?”

  Priya raised her chin. “Fine, thank you.”

  Ravi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and carried the plate over, waving it under her nose.

  Priya inhaled the delicious aroma. Her mouth filled with saliva.

  Ravi’s eyes narrowed. “I think you drooled a bit.”

  Priya’s hand went to her mouth. She glared at him. “You shouldn’t make fun of vegetarians—it is the purer diet.”

  Ravi snorted. “If your body is craving something, it usually means it needs it.”

  “People crave many things, doesn’t always make it right.”

  Ravi’s expression darkened. “Maybe . . . maybe not.” He closed the gap between them. “What else do you crave. Priya?”

  The heat of him, his scent, like sweet, smoky incense, was intoxicating. She closed her eyes, embracing the moment, and then stepped back.

  “Nothing. I crave nothing.”

  “Shame.” Ravi turned back to the table and his meal. “Sit.” He indicated the chair on the opposite side of the table.

  Priya sat, placing her lantern on the floor. She watched him finish his meal and drain his mug. It was oddly soothing.

  “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both.”

  Priya dropped her gaze to the table tracing the grooves in the wood with her index finger. “It was my fault . . . Guru. I caused it, and Chaya . . . I knew her mother-in-law was beating her, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  “Guru is a grown man, perfectly capable of making his own decisions. He knew what the consequences of his actions would be if he were found out. He should have confided in you. With regards to Chaya, what could you have done?”

  Priya scraped at the wood with her fingernail. “I don’t know . . . spoken to Prabhu about it maybe?”

  Ravi sighed. “And how? Would you have accosted a married man, pulled him to one side for a quick catch up? Or would you have knocked at his family home and asked to walk out with him for a few minutes?”

  He was right, the whole thing was impossible, yet she still wished she’d said something, kicked up a fuss, maybe riled up the villagers a little. “She gave me a message. Before she died, she asked me to pass a message to Prabhu”

  “And how do you intend to do that? They bury her tomorrow, and then Prabhu is leaving for Dakha. He’s taken a job there.”

  Priya looked up startled. “Bury? Why not burn?”

  Ravi snorted, “They say it
was her wish, but I heard different.”

  “What did you hear?” She leaned across the table toward him.

  He pushed his plate and mug aside, and leaned forward, resting his arms on the wood. “I heard that Chaya’s dear mother-in-law is afraid that Chaya will rise to haunt her. She plans to bury the body then return in the dead of night to hammer iron nails into the coffin and scatter mustard seeds over it.”

  Priya sat back sharply. “No! They think . . . how could they?”

  “It’s a stupid superstition, but in this case I kind of wish Chaya would rise as a chudail and seek her revenge.”

  Priya had to warn Prabhu about what his parents intended to do. It was common superstition that a woman who died in childbirth or who’d been mistreated would return as a chudail, a witch intent on revenge. If they burned her, then they would dispose of her only anchor to this world, setting her soul free. By burying the body instead, they could use tricks to anchor her to it, like the iron nails and the mustard seeds. The nails could keep her soul trapped within the coffin, and if she succeeded in escaping, she would be compelled to count every mustard seed before she could leave. Of course Priya didn’t believe in such nonsense, but her friend deserved to be cremated, to pass on without any earthly ties.

  She had to see Prabhu, but how? Women weren’t allowed at the funeral site.

  “I’ll help you,” Ravi said.

  Priya looked up in surprise. “How?”

  “The funeral is tomorrow at sundown. I’ve been commissioned to build the coffin.” He pointed to something behind her. She turned to scan the shadows at the back of the smithy. A long, dark shape lay on a table by the far wall.

  “Oh.” She’d forgotten that Ravi often took on carpentry work. The village carpenter was an old man who had no sons of his own to pass on his trade to.

  “I’ll bring Prabhu here on some pretext or other. Can you meet us?”

  Priya nodded.

  Ravi’s beautiful mouth curved into a smile that sent a delicious shiver through her. “Aren’t you worried that I might be luring you here to have my wicked way with you?”

  The memory of Ravi’s bronze glistening back in the act of lovemaking stole her vision for a moment. She quickly lowered her lids, afraid he would somehow see that image reflected in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “I’m already here. If your intentions weren’t honorable, then I’m sure I would know by now.”

  Ravi sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ve been to see me several times, been seen with me . . . people are beginning to gossip.”

  “People are stupid.”

  “So, you don’t care?”

  “Do you?” She searched his face.

  “No.”

  “Then neither do I.”

  Ravi stared at her, his molten gaze melting over her.

  “Why did you ask for my hand?” The question popped out unbidden. She looked away, embarrassed by her candor.

  He blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. “I liked your eyes.”

  The air between them was suddenly charged with an energy that crackled and fizzed. His gaze held hers in a silent, and all-too-intimate conversation. Breaking eye contact, she released herself from the connection, pushed back her chair, and stood. “I better go. Papa will be wondering where I am.” She picked up her lantern.

  A soft rumble, like faraway thunder, filled the air behind her.

  She looked back from the door to see Ravi laughing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She left him to his mirth, at her expense, no doubt, and retreated for home on fleet feet.

  CHAPTER 7

  Priya watched the sun set. Chaya’s in-laws would have buried her by now. She sipped her chai eager to be gone.

  Ma kept stealing glances at her, but Papa seemed perfectly relaxed. She’d yet to tell them she was going out. Last night had been an exception. Papa had sensed she was upset, but what would her excuse be tonight? Like a match flaring to life, the solution unfurled in her mind.

  The answer was simple.

  She would give them the truth.

  After draining her cup, she set it on the sideboard. “Papa. I must go out again for a while tonight.”

  Ma opened her mouth to object, but Papa held up his hand to shush her. Pulling his pipe from his mouth he turned to look at Priya enquiringly. “You must have an important reason?”

  Priya nodded. “You know that Chaya died in my arms?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry you had to go through that, beti.”

  “Chaya gave me a message for Prabhu. I’m going to deliver that message.”

  Ma, unable to keep her peace any longer exploded. “For goodness sake, Priya, can’t you just mind your own business? You’ll simply stir trouble if you do this!”

  Priya’s temper rose. “So you want me to ignore a dying woman’s last wish?”

  Ma exhaled in exasperation. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying, Kunti?” Papa asked. “Should our daughter not honor the task entrusted to her by her departed friend?”

  Ma threw down her embroidery and waved her hands in a shooing motion. “Fine, go, go, you’re both against me. Making me into the villain when all I want to do is protect you.”

  Her eyes glittered with tears and Priya’s anger evaporated. “Ma, I’m sorry, please try and understand—”

  “It’s all right, beti,” Papa said. “Go quickly now and do what you must.”

  Ma turned her head away, refusing to look at Priya as she wrapped herself in her shawl, grabbed a lantern, and let herself out of the hut.

  She arrived at the smithy to find it shrouded in darkness and locked tight. Afraid to be seen loitering outside she stepped into the stables. It was dark and empty. Her lantern afforded enough light to find a clean spot of hay. She sat down to wait.

  She didn’t have to wait long before the sound of deep male voices drew close. She recognized Ravi’s rumbling baritone instantly, probably because it sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

  Grabbing the lantern she pushed open the stable door just as they reached the smithy.

  Ravi caught sight of her and ushered her over. He quickly unlocked the smithy and let them all in.

  Priya entered first, with the two men close at her back.

  “What’s going on?” Prabhu looked to Ravi for answers. “Why is she here?” He was a short man with long hair that curled over his ears, and almond-shaped eyes that gave him a perpetually melancholy air.

  “I need to talk to you,” Priya said.

  Prabhu frowned down at her. “This is highly inappropriate.” He turned to leave, but Ravi barred his way.

  “Listen to what she has to say,” Ravi said.

  Prabhu took a step back, his irritation turning to alarm. “What is this?”

  “It’s about Chaya,” Priya said. “She wanted me to give you a message.”

  Prabhu shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. “Chaya is dead.”

  “I know. She died in my arms. But before she died, she asked me to tell you she loved you and that the truth was in her mattress.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, but it’s what she said so . . . go look in her mattress.”

  Prabhu was looking more and more alarmed by the second. Priya could feel her patience slipping. She suspected that whatever lay in the mattress would be some kind of account of Chaya’s ordeal at her mother-in-law’s hands, but from the look on Prabhu’s face, she wasn’t sure he’d even bother to look.

  “Listen, there’s more you need to know, your mother was mistreating Chaya, beating her on a regular basis. This burial is for your mother’s peace of mind. She’s worried that Chaya will come back as chudail and—”

  “Shut up! Just shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about. Mother has been inconsolable. She adored Chaya. How could you say such terrible things?” He wagged his finger. “They’re right what they say about y
ou . . . you’re evil. Evil eyes!”

  Ravi’s hand fell heavily on Prabhu’s shoulder. “You need to leave now. She did her duty and passed on your dead wife’s last words; whether you choose to act on them or not is your problem. In all truth I don’t believe you’re as oblivious as you claim to be.”

  He stepped out of the way to allow Prabhu to leave.

  With a final glance in Priya’s direction, Prabhu slipped out the door.

  “Well, that went well,” Ravi said.

  “Do you think he’ll look?”

  “Of course he will. Whether he takes action based on what he finds is another matter; the man is too much of a mouse for my tastes. How could he not know of his wife’s distress? How could he not see the pain hidden behind her smile? A man who truly loves a woman knows her every pore intimately. Every quirk of her lips, every shade of her eyes.”

  It was beautifully put, and Priya found herself hanging off his every word. When he stopped speaking, she continued to stare at him, confused by his changing faces. One minute he was brusque and businesslike, the next he was warm and caring, and the next he was teasing and playful. She’d yet to see his anger, but imagined it would be an epic beast to tame.

  “What are you thinking, Priya?”

  “I’m thinking I’d better get home.” She brushed past him to the door. “Thank you for doing this.”

  Ravi smiled. “All in a day’s work.”

  For a brief moment she was torn, not wanting to leave. She looked into his eyes, so full of heat and fire and . . . longing, and felt something inside her unfold.

  “Priya?” His voice was a tentative whisper.

  Her mouth was as dry as the earth during red sun time.

  His hand came up, ever so slowly, to carefully cup the side of her face, as if afraid she would bolt, as if afraid she would break.

  She couldn’t breathe, and it frightened her. He frightened her, for she was both attracted to and repelled by him.

  She stepped back, out of his embrace and through the door.

  She let herself into the hut to find Papa waiting up for her. Only one lamp remained alight and the main room was shrouded in shadows.