I duck into a wooden hut with a swinging sign that reads ‘toilet’ and take a deep breath of rotten air, trying to work out where to go and what to do next. What if Jeevan’s papa has found out and comes chasing after me? And once Ma realizes I’ve gone, she’ll call the police, I have to find some way of disguising myself.
I tug down my hood, run my hand along my plait and know I have to give it up. I won’t cry, it’s only hair, it’s not worth crying over, but when I think of all those years that Ma spent combing and oiling it, willing it to grow longer, thicker, more silky, I have to grab Jeevan’s penknife quick before I lose my courage. I flick it open and hack into my plait. The hair is thick and hard to cut, the blade sawing backwards and forwards, painfully pulling at the strands.
The feather I wove back in this morning falls out and floats to the floor.
‘This sacrifice is for you, Papa.’
I pick the feather up, thread it through my chopped-off plait and put it in my bag, ready to release it like Shiva into the new-born waters when I arrive at the source of the Ganges.
I kiss my pendant, take the penknife one final time and continue to hack my hair even shorter.
I look in every direction before racing away from the stalls, heading out of the market towards a sign for the train station.
The sun bakes the back of my head and I think of Ma, who will be busy with the twins or cooking by now. She’ll probably be making my favourite spiced eggy bread that I cover in oozing honey from our own hives. She won’t go to light the deeva until later, so she won’t have seen my second note yet. She’ll think I’m on the mountainside, or tending the cows, not here in the middle of Sonahaar, running away from home.
I begin to cross the chaotic road towards a neem tree in the middle of an island with traffic blaring all around it, the air thick and smoky.
Taxis beep at meandering cows and a rickshaw driver nearly drives straight over me. When I reach the island at last, I leap towards the tree, clinging to it and wiping the sweat off my face.
On the opposite pavement is an old stone building with a sign above the wide double doors: Sonahaar Railway Station.
I launch myself back into the road until I’m right by the doorway, where two dogs skulk, their heads low to the ground, chewing on scraps of paratha that some kind passenger has thrown to them.
I hope I don’t come back as a dog after I die, having to beg for my food. Our holy teachings say you never know what animal you might become in your next life. I think of Nanijee and the lamagaia in the garden and wonder if it really was her.
I push the enormous doors open and step into a huge echoing hall with a high glass ceiling, full of people carrying heavy suitcases and immense bundles of luggage on their heads.
Hundreds of noisy sparrows fly from side to side, bickering and pecking at the ground.
I see straight away that the hall is filled with police and keep my eyes lowered, turn briefly to check that no one is following me, and edge myself into the crowds. I’m swept along towards the far end of the hall with everyone else and stare blankly at a tall board with a list of place names I’ve only ever seen on a map or in Geography lessons. I know I need to get to Galapoor, but I can’t find it anywhere.
Even though it’s sweltering in here, I feel too shy to pull my hood down, but my head is getting hotter and my thoughts spin around me in confusing spirals. Perhaps I need to find a train that’s going towards the High Himalayas and stops at Galapoor or perhaps there’s another board in another part of the station.
I squat on the ground with my back against a cool pillar, trying to work out what I should do as I stare at the list of destinations again. I’m begrudgingly grateful for Jeevan’s map now and get it out, spread it on the ground and find all the places that he measured and marked in different colours.
Compared to mine, his is so detailed. His numbers are a messy scrawl but I can see he’s written that it’s 400 miles to Zandapur from here and I feel my anger flash again as I think of his betrayal and cowardice for letting me do this all by myself.
I’m still studying the map when I get a strange feeling that someone is watching me. I peer around the pillar into the crowded hall but can’t figure out who it might be. Maybe Jeevan’s papa found out and went to the police; there are plenty of them about. My heart clatters noisily against my ribs.
I yank my hood forwards, trying to bring it as close to my face as I can, and move towards the busier part of the station, keeping my head lowered.
I sense someone close behind me and I get ready to sprint, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.
I twist round. Is it the police? ‘Leave me alone!’ I shout, ready to defend myself as best I can.
‘Asha . . . Is that you?’
I can’t believe it . . . a tight knot forms in my throat. ‘Jeevan! What are you doing here?’ I push back my hood to take a proper look at him.
‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. I wasn’t sure it was you.’
‘So there was someone watching me!’
‘I thought and thought about it.’ He twists at his friendship band. ‘And in the end I couldn’t let you go by yourself . . . so when my papa was busy I came to find you.’
I hurl my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I can.
Jeevan turns beetroot, waves his arms around to stop himself from toppling over and clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry I let you down,’ he says quietly.
‘I know how hard it must have been,’ I say. ‘But you came in the end and that’s all that matters now.’
A little frown appears between his eyebrows and I know he’s thinking about what he’s done, wondering how his papa will explain it to his ma when he gets home. ‘After I watched you leave, I kept imagining all the dangers out here,’ says Jeevan. ‘And I couldn’t let you face them all alone. It’ll be like that book we read at school, The Three Musketeers. “All for one and one for all.”’
‘There’s only two of us,’ I say, laughing for the first time in ages. ‘In case you haven’t noticed.’ Now that he’s here, I feel a fresh surge of energy. ‘How do you like my new look?’ I redden as I pass my hand over my clipped hair. Jeevan hasn’t said anything yet.
‘It looks . . . different,’ he says. ‘In a sort-of interesting way, like a proper pilgrim.’ He smiles.
‘Or a warrior,’ I add.
He suddenly starts to pace. ‘Let’s go, my papa’s probably noticed that I’ve gone. He might be looking for us and I’m sure he’ll go to the police.’
We push ourselves into the crowds of people waiting on the platform.
‘We have to find a train that will drop us at Galapoor,’ I say.
‘Ask someone. Look for a friendly face.’ Jeevan glances towards the doors.
‘What about him?’ I point at the first person that catches my eye.
He jumps in before I can say anything. ‘Excuse me, my ma wants to know which train goes into the High Himalayas from here.’
‘We need to get to Galapoor,’ I add.
The man points at the busy board. ‘It’s the one that’s going to Shimbala in half an hour,’ he says, looking us up and down. ‘Going for the fresh mountain air are you, you and your brother?’ He nods at me as he says ‘brother’.
‘Yes,’ says Jeevan quickly.
My cheeks feel red, but I’m pleased my short hair is fooling people. ‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling.
We walk away quickly and head towards the buzzing platform.
‘I can’t believe that man thought you were a boy,’ says Jeevan, elbowing me. ‘He must be half blind.’
I shrug. ‘It just means the disguise is working.’
‘Anyway, how are we going to get on?’ asks Jeevan, changing the subject. ‘I didn’t bring any money.’
I look in my purse. ‘I haven’t got much and definitely not enough for two train tickets. We’ll have to sneak on. There are so many people they might not check.’
All over the platform, frightening-lookin
g guards in dark uniforms order the crowds about, directing them to trains, taking tickets, working through the chaos.
Jeevan’s eyes widen as he watches them. ‘Those guards have got batons. What happens if we get caught?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, making tight fists. ‘But I know we have to try and get on that train.’
We try to make ourselves invisible by pressing into the platform wall, keeping well away from the guards who stalk up and down like hungry wolves, ready to pounce, checking tickets – tickets we don’t have.
‘Come on, come on,’ I say, willing the train to appear. ‘If it doesn’t come soon the guards are bound to spot us.’
‘As soon as it gets here, we’ll fool them by jumping on in the middle of a crowd,’ says Jeevan, shifting around impatiently.
At last, a crackly announcement from the speaker blares on to the platform.
‘Train to Shimbala arriving next. Stand back, stand back.’
My heart begins to pump wildly as the heaving and chugging train pulls into the station, hundreds of waving hands sticking out of the small square windows. The train hisses and screeches as it comes to a standstill, the iron wheels sending sparks into the air.
‘Come on, Jeevan – quick, while they’re all busy.’ We merge into the crowd as it surges towards the opening doors and begins squeezing into the carriages.
‘Keep close to me,’ I gasp, clinging to Jeevan’s sleeve. ‘We mustn’t lose each other.’
The rest of the passengers begin climbing aboard too, shoving their bags, cases and bodies into us so I can barely breathe.
I propel myself towards a family right in front with lots of children. ‘Let’s get on with them.’
‘OK . . . let’s go,’ says Jeevan in a muffled voice.
‘Tickets please, tickets please,’ someone barks in front of us, just as we’re about to step on.
A uniformed guard takes one from the father in front and peers at it. ‘How many?’ he asks. ‘Those two boys as well?’
The man glances at us then puts his arms around his children. ‘Only these,’ he says.
The guard waves them in, and fixes us with a scowl. I’m filled with fear and disappointment. ‘And you?’ The guard lowers his face. ‘Where’s yours?’
I pretend to search in my pockets for the ticket I know isn’t there.
‘It must have dropped out,’ I say, looking at Jeevan.
‘Dropped out?’ The guard pulls a disgusted face. ‘More like never bought, now get off.’ He spins me round and places his hand in the base of my back, pushing me off the train and back into the crowd, making me knock into a woman carrying a basket of fruit, which tips all over the ground.
‘Oi, watch where you’re going,’ she shouts angrily.
I begin to pick up some of the fruit but Jeevan tugs me by the sleeve and pulls me away from the woman, who swipes at me. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he urges.
We shove our way through the hordes. ‘What are we going to do now?’ I ask, full of frustration. ‘We must get this train.’ I look up and down the platform. One end is much emptier, with hardly any guards. ‘Come on.’
We hurry towards the quieter end of the platform and stop beside some carriages that don’t have any windows.
‘These must be for cargo,’ says Jeevan, jumping at the sound of the whistle.
‘Jeevan!’ I shout. ‘The train’s leaving. We have to get on.’
We run beside it as it jolts forwards and stops.
‘Quick.’ I force my fingers into a small gap in one of the doors and yank with all my force, but it won’t budge.
‘Move!’ shouts Jeevan, trying to prise it open.
‘No, let me. My hands can fit in the gap.’ This time I shove until my face turns hot and feels like it’s about to explode. ‘One, two, three.’ I strain one more time and the door rolls open, stabbing splinters into my skin. I press my palms into the carriage and heave myself in, Jeevan following closely behind.
‘Urgghhh!’ he pants, still lying on his front. ‘We did it!’
We push the door closed again and despite the bright sun outside, there isn’t much light in here. A dank smell of wet straw hangs in the air and in the shadows there are dark shapes pushed against the back of the carriage – sacks, I realize.
‘Let’s hide behind these,’ I say, just as a shrill whistle sounds in the distance. We stoop behind the sacks and a low shudder vibrates through the floor as the train picks up speed and rattles over the tracks.
Jeevan grins at me.
My body fills with excitement and fear. ‘We’re going to find Papa . . . at last.’ I kneel behind the sacks and watch the whitewashed buildings of Sonahaar flash by through the small crack in the door. ‘And we’ll face all of the dangers together.’
Jeevan digs into his bag, pulls out a green banana-leaf package and hands it to me.
‘Look what I brought you from the dhabba stall.’
I unwrap the large ridged leaves as carefully as if it were the best present in the whole world. ‘So you were thinking about me.’ I cram the spicy pastry into my mouth, the salty potato filling melting on my tongue. ‘This is so good . . . thank you,’ I mumble, savouring the last mouthful.
‘I think you should twist your hair into a topknot,’ I add. ‘It’s got so long recently. Then we’ll both look different.’
Jeevan pulls his hair off his face and holds it up. ‘What do you think? My ma always wanted me to grow my hair and be a good Sikh boy.’
I give him the band off my plait and he ties it up.
Sweat suddenly slicks my palms. As if from nowhere, a horrible thought flashes through my mind. ‘What if the police track us down before we reach Papa? We’ll be in such trouble and all for nothing.’
‘We can’t let that happen,’ says Jeevan, squeezing my arm. ‘We’ll find your papa and everything will be OK. You’ll see.’
My head is heavy with sleep as the train follows the long slow curve of the steep mountain path, creaking higher and higher, jolting me awake. The golden light from the setting sun hooks into the crack and spreads like honey into the carriage.
Ma will definitely have found my second note by now. She’ll wonder why I haven’t lit the deeva at the shrine and go to do it herself, and when she looks down at Lord Shiva’s foot she’ll wonder who’s slotted a piece of paper under it. She’ll let out a scream and Rohan and Roopa will start crying and ask where I’ve gone.
I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out the piece of broken cup. I feel its rough surface. ‘I’ll make you proud, Ma, and be back soon with Papa.’
Jeevan’s fallen asleep, his back resting awkwardly against one of the sacks. His mother will be waiting for him to come back from Sonahaar, his papa will probably be searching for him through the streets. But we have to be each other’s family now, and I’ll look out for him like I know his little brother would have, his brother who died before Jeevan even had a chance to get to know him properly.
I take a peek outside at the jagged snow-crested mountains as they stretch upwards into the sky, towards Galapoor and the wildernesses of the High Himalayas.
Papa told me it’s the land of amber-eyed tigers and snow leopards, and when it rains in our village in the foothills, it snows up there. Sometimes, he said, the snow falls unexpectedly, in gigantic drifts, especially at this time of year, trapping people for weeks.
I feel a sudden panic and try to imagine how we’d ever survive under the layers of snow.
The train begins to slow down, its brakes finally screeching as it comes to a sudden halt. Perhaps we’re in Galapoor already, or maybe another station?
‘Jeevan.’ I shake him gently by the shoulder. ‘Jeevan, wake up.’
He blinks. ‘What?’
‘The train’s just stopped but I don’t know where we are.’
The thud of footsteps on the ground outside the carriage sends me into a panic. ‘What if it’s the police looking for two runaways?’ My heart is pounding so hard
I think it might explode.
Seconds later, a hand pulls the door open and we curl ourselves as small as possible behind our sacks, out of sight.
‘Load them over here.’
I make myself as invisible as I can. Please don’t find us.
Light floods into the carriage and shines right where we’re hiding and I think we’re going to be discovered, but the people outside carry on talking and laughing, loading more sacks into the train.
For a moment, I think we’ve made it – but then I hear Jeevan breathing to stop a sneeze. I will him to smother it, but he can’t and it comes out in a huge blast.
My heart speeds up as I hear sacks being dragged across the floor and the one right in front of us being lifted up.
‘What’s this?’ The man looks confused.
I pull Jeevan up by the arm and we both start to run but the man easily blocks our exit. My palms turn clammy. What will he do with us? ‘Don’t tell the ticket collector,’ I plead.
He hesitates for a moment, backs out on to the platform, and for a second it looks like he’s about to close the door. ‘Sorry,’ he shrugs.
A train guard scurries up behind him. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks.
‘I was loading the cargo,’ he says. ‘Found these kids hiding behind the sacks.’
‘Stowaways?’ asks the guard, his narrow eyes turning to slits as he catches sight of us. We get ready to run. ‘Oi!’ he yells, grabbing me roughly by the arm before I can slip past. He pulls me out of the train.
My ankle twists as I land on the hard ground but I don’t shout out, even though the pain sears up my leg.
Jeevan jumps out of the carriage and lands next to me. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes,’ I say, scrambling up.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you two boys have been thieving. What have you got in there?’ He tries to prod his hand into my bag.
‘We’re not thieves,’ I say, snatching my bag away. ‘Get off me.’
Asha & the Spirit Bird Page 5