Asha & the Spirit Bird

by Jasbinder Bilan

  I turn my back to him and bite into a crunchy pakora.

  ‘Me and my brother are going to meet our auntie,’ says Jeevan.

  ‘That’s a funny brother,’ the boy says. ‘Pretty, isn’t he?’

  Jeevan suddenly turns very red – the boy’s guessed I’m not a boy at all, but neither of us know what to say.

  Jeevan stands between the boy and me.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he says to Jeevan. ‘I bet you like her, don’t you?’

  I walk a few paces back, feeling my cheeks turning more crimson than Jeevan’s.

  Anger puffs out of Jeevan like hot steam as he rushes right up to the boy and pushes him hard. ‘Don’t talk about her.’

  The boy turns his fists into tight balls. ‘I’ll fight you if you want!’ He pushes Jeevan back.

  ‘Oi!’ Jeevan spins round, getting ready to throw a punch, but the boy gets there first, swinging his fist into Jeevan’s chin and knocking him to the ground. The boy crouches over him and draws back his fist again.

  ‘Get off him!’ I cry, pushing him hard. ‘He’s fought off bigger men than you can imagine! Now get out of our way and leave us alone.’ I turn my back on him, offer Jeevan my hand and help him up.

  ‘What an idiot,’ says Jeevan, brushing off the dust.

  The boy is simmering with rage. ‘I know where I’ve seen you before – they put out a call for you this morning, on the local TV news. They said you were runaways. Not such an idiot now, am I?’ He’s already pulling a phone from his pocket.

  I clasp my hands to my mouth. ‘Oh no!’ I cry, my insides full of fireworks. ‘We have to go before he calls the police.’ I grab Jeevan’s arm and begin to pull him away. ‘We can’t go home yet!’

  Krishen and the dhabba man walk over from the other side of the stall.

  ‘Hey,’ snaps the stallholder, slapping the boy on the back of the head. ‘Do I pay you to fight with my customers?’

  The boy scowls and returns to his place by the hot oil.

  ‘Kids!’ says Krishen, climbing back into his truck. ‘No more getting into trouble, eh?’ he laughs. ‘That road will take you towards Galapoor.’

  ‘Thanks for the food and the lift,’ says Jeevan. We wave him off as the truck pulls away.

  A look of worry appears in Jeevan’s eyes as we set off in the opposite direction.

  We walk off-road to avoid other travellers, but try to stay as close to the road as we can to keep our bearings. We’re constantly looking over our shoulders. The path dips and bends, sometimes coming near to the road and at others taking us away from where we want to go.

  ‘It’s getting darker now,’ I say. ‘I think we could walk along the edge of the road without being recognized.’

  We stumble down the gritty bank and begin walking along the tarmac in single file.

  Suddenly we’re caught in the glare of icy-white headlights, and a screech of brakes sends fear spiralling through me. I scrunch my eyes and make out the ghostly silhouette of a police car.

  ‘Asha, run!’

  We scramble back up the steep bank, kicking rocks behind us.

  ‘Wait!’ one of the police officers shouts.

  I can hear heavy breathing as the men struggle to keep up.

  We don’t stop until we reach a clump of trees way above the road.

  ‘Quick,’ cries Jeevan. ‘Up there.’

  I grasp the branch, my hands shaking, and hoist myself into the pine tree, Jeevan scrambling up behind.

  ‘Where are you?’ a distant voice calls out of the darkness, followed by a faint torchlight. ‘Come down. You’re not in trouble. Your parents are worried.’

  The torchlight gets brighter and my heart pumps harder as it comes to a stop right under the tree.

  I grip the branch even tighter.

  Jeevan takes hold of my other hand, but he daren’t speak. My heart is thumping furiously, fear and confusion filling my thoughts. Part of me wants to climb down, to go home to safety. But I know I have to finish this journey I’ve started, or there won’t be a home for me there any more.

  Eventually, the torchlight passes. We listen to the footsteps fading, an engine starting up again somewhere nearby. Finally, we risk climbing down from the tree.

  We continue along on lonely mountain tracks, crossing rivers swollen with rain, sleeping rough wherever we can with hardly anything to eat but wild fruit. We’ve added days to our journey trying to stay hidden – but there’s no doubt in my mind: we mustn’t get caught.

  Our progress to Kasare is painfully slow. For the next few days we pick our way along rough, half-made paths, trying to keep the road in sight as much as possible. We shelter under trees and scavenge what food we can from villages and fields, and refill our water bottles at every opportunity.

  My stomach feels like it has a huge hole in it that will never be full again and all I can think of is how fantastic it would be to have a whole pile of Ma’s fresh naan that puff out steam when you break into them, stuffed with milky paneer, instead of eating only the tiny berries we’ve found.

  ‘I’m starving. Have you got anything else to eat in your bag?’ asks Jeevan, stopping by a tree, his cheek-bones making sharp hollows in his face.

  ‘If only.’ I stop beside him, my legs shaky. ‘There aren’t even any chickens about. At least around Galapoor we could pinch a few eggs – I know they were disgusting raw but they kept us going.’

  ‘Yeah . . . but that was ages ago.’ He twists to face me and the sudden shock of seeing the way his collarbone juts from his T-shirt makes me wish I had something to give him.

  ‘Just think, when we get to the temple we can have a pilgrim’s meal.’

  ‘ When we get to the temple . . . that’s what you keep saying!’

  ‘It’s not my fault . . . I’m hungry too, you know!’

  As each night falls and the moon gets smaller, it reminds me that I don’t have much time left to find Papa – it’s only five weeks until Divali, until Ma gives up on our family and decides to go.

  Even though I’ve stuffed leaves into my shoes, my blisters have turned into bloodied scabs and rub even more. Sharp stones push through the worn soles, stabbing at my feet, and my swollen ankle is covered in a multicoloured bruise.

  ‘We’ve already been travelling a whole week,’ I say, dragging myself along the worn path that leads to the temple at Kasare and then on to Zandapur. ‘Why is it taking so long?’

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ says Jeevan, breathing quickly, giving a noisy cough.

  ‘We have to keep moving. The police won’t have given up – they’ll be looking for us even up here.’

  ‘Look,’ says Jeevan. ‘The weather’s changing.’

  I stare into the sky, pale and laden with snow, and feel so tiny against the towering mountains ahead, their never-ending steep slopes stretching towards the clouds like stalagmites.

  ‘I can’t believe how cold it is,’ I say, puffing hot breath into my hands and pulling at my sleeves. ‘Look how the countryside’s changing too. Even the grass is hurting my feet, it’s so dry and coarse.’

  ‘I need to rest,’ says Jeevan. ‘I’m worn out. Let’s stop a minute and look at the map.’

  We sit together on the grass and he pulls it from his bag, spreading it out on the ground. ‘I think this is where we are now.’ He puts his finger just below Kasare.

  ‘Well, do you know, or do you just think?’ My question sounds more spiky than I mean it to.

  ‘I’m doing my best to navigate. You can look at the map as well, you know.’

  I try to control myself and make a point of speaking more gently this time. ‘I’m sorry . . . we’re both tired. Is that the village we passed earlier this morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, examining the map more carefully. ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like there are any more villages between here and Kasare.’ I trace our journey so far. ‘And look, the path goes through that huge forest . . . and Kasare and Zandapur are beyond
that.’

  ‘There will still be the odd house – families who keep goats, that sort of thing.’

  I peel the pumps off my feet and touch the mess of bloodied, raw blisters, wincing as I squeeze them back in. ‘You’re right.’ I clamp my teeth hard to stop myself from crying. ‘I’m sure we’ll find shelter if the weather gets bad. Shall we get going? If I sit still for any longer my feet will give up.’

  I limp along, following the path as it gets steeper and steeper. We’re so incredibly high it makes my head spin when I glance back at the villages we’ve passed, like tiny specks now. In the distance I can see a lake, so far away but still shimmering like a vast mirror, bordered by the lush green grass of the lower slopes. If I squint I can just make out a fishing boat with a tiny sail, gliding slowly across the water as if it’s being pulled by magic.

  I force myself forward, feeling my muscles stretched taut with each new step. I round a corner in the path and my eyes light up.

  ‘Look! Jeevan.’ A string of prayer flags flutters in the cold breeze, like red flames sent to keep us warm. ‘Come on . . . that means we’re going in the right direction.’

  Jeevan is looking really pale. ‘I’m so tired,’ he says, leaning against a wild fig tree.

  I grab his arm and pull him along. ‘We can play our favourite game.’ Perhaps this will take our mind off the walking. ‘What would you most like to eat?’

  ‘A big plate of chicken cooked in the tandoor,’ he says breathlessly. ‘With a squeeze of fresh lime juice all over it.’

  ‘Do you remember when we helped Papa dig a fire pit on the grazing grounds and we cooked a chicken together and then camped out?’

  ‘Yeah . . . it was . . . great . . . W–what about you?’ wheezes Jeevan, slowing down again.

  ‘Three of Ma’s soft potato parathay, washed down with a big glass of mango lassi, then maybe one or two sweet jelaybia.’ My stomach gives a hollow growl.

  ‘I thought you wanted to get to Zandapur as soon as you could,’ says Jeevan out of the blue. ‘Maybe we should have gone straight there, on the road.’ He stops walking and sits on a log to rest. ‘We could have been there by now.’

  ‘ What is wrong with you? You know exactly why. The police are hunting for us . . . all over the roads!’ I kick loose rocks down the path. ‘You’re being so difficult!’ I swivel round and walk ahead, leaving him behind. When I turn to look for him he’s hardly moved at all. ‘Why don’t you just go back to the last village?’ I shout. ‘I can go on by myself.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’ His words catch hold of the breeze and follow me up the path.

  Guilt winds itself around me and I wait while he catches up. He doesn’t look well at all. ‘My legs are aching,’ he says, and my temper flares again.

  ‘So are mine. It’s just the walking – you saw my feet! We’ve got to keep going, Jeevan!’ Why does he keep arguing? I’ve had enough now. ‘I’m tired as well but I’m not complaining.’ I fling this last sentence at him. ‘Walk as slowly as you want. I’m going.’ I can see the forest ahead and hobble on without looking back.

  When I get there I still don’t wait, but limp down a path that leads into a gloomy thicket of tall pines and find myself engulfed in darkness. Silent shadows and a resinous scent hang heavy in the air, but I go further into the trees, still not stopping or looking back for Jeevan.

  A twig cracks beneath my foot, the sound sending strange-sounding birds squawking through the forest.

  And that’s when I come to my senses; what am I thinking? I turn, look back along the path towards the entrance to the forest, but can’t see Jeevan anywhere.

  Without the sun to warm me, the cold is seeping into my bones, and even though my feet are smarting, I run towards the light, back the way I’ve come, to find him.

  I stand at the treeline and see him walking slowly, almost shuffling along. I cup my hands to my mouth. ‘Jee-van.’

  He waves to me from a distance but as he gets closer, I notice how bright his cheeks are.

  ‘Let’s not fight,’ I say, when he finally reaches me. ‘We have to stick together . . . let’s look at the map again. We don’t want to get lost.’ I shove my hand into his bag and try to grasp it but my fingers come out empty. ‘Jeevan, are you sure you put it back last time you looked?’

  ‘Yes, Asha, I’m sure I did . . . what about you? You lost yours in a puddle even before we started the journey!’

  I empty the whole bag on to the ground, then rummage through my own. ‘I can’t find it anywhere. One of us has left it somewhere and it’s probably blown away. Now we’ll have no way of knowing where we’re going.’

  My stomach stabs with panic. How are we going to get to Papa on time now?

  Jeevan looks at the sky. ‘Well, we know we’re heading north . . . and the sun is over there . . .’ He lowers his head. ‘We have to go through the forest, that’s for sure. I remember it from the map. We’ll carry on and then when it gets dark I’ll use the stars to make sure we’re still going north.’

  I tell myself to stop panicking – Jeevan can read the stars as easy as story books, of course we won’t get lost.

  We don’t speak, just continue into the forest, keeping to the pine-needle-covered tracks until we’re swallowed by a shadow of the darkest green.

  We’ve been walking through the forest for a long time, the shady branches making everything gloomy. I jump at each rustle of the pine trees, each snap of a twig, frightened that some predator is stalking us. Jeevan begins coughing and I’m worried that he really is ill.

  I thread my arm through his as each silent step takes us even deeper into the forest. I stare through the branches at the patches of whitening sky. ‘Let’s find somewhere to shelter. It’s getting colder and the weather’s changing so suddenly.’

  After a few more minutes my misty breath spirals into the cold air and something wet lands on my nose, making me look up. ‘It’s snowing.’ I remember Chitragupta’s words about staying together in the High Himalayas and I feel sick and full of anger at myself for leaving Jeevan behind earlier.

  He sits down on the freezing forest floor. ‘Asha, I can’t go on. I mean it.’ His eyes are bloodshot.

  I touch Jeevan’s blazing forehead and the guilt twists into me like a burning knife. ‘We’ll find some shelter, Jeevan, I promise.’ After everything we said about looking after each other, I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner that he wasn’t well.

  He closes his eyes. ‘I’ll be OK.’ His voice is weak and shaky.

  ‘I’m so sorry for leaving you back there. Can you forgive me?’ He doesn’t reply. The icy snowflakes are beginning to settle on the ground. ‘We must find a shepherd’s hut or something, there has to be one up here.

  ‘Hold on to me Jeevan,’ I say, hooking his arm around my waist. ‘We’ll find somewhere to sleep the night and . . . and you’ll feel better in the morning.’ We struggle through the trees, branches scraping our skin.

  Panic stabs at my chest but I won’t give in to it. If anything happens to Jeevan it will be all my fault, I have to be even stronger now. I take a deep icy breath and grip him more tightly, using all my strength to keep him from falling.

  We move slowly and the snow begins to fall in flurries, as if someone’s shaking a feather pillow in the air. Large white flakes drift down through the trees, coating everything, including the path, in a dense layer of freezing snow. I squint ahead at the disappearing track, desperate for a sign of shelter, but there’s nothing, only trees.

  Even though he’s lost weight, Jeevan is still taller and heavier than I can manage and I have to get him to sit down on the cold ground each time I need a rest.

  Feeling his forehead again, he’s much hotter than before and his cheeks are brighter too. He closes his eyes again and this time falls on to his back.

  ‘Jeevan . . . Jeevan!’ I scream. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says faintly.

  Tears stream down my face; I won’t let him die like his brother. �
�You’re going to get better, OK?’

  But he doesn’t answer.

  The air is bitter. I get Papa’s scarf out of my bag, not worrying about the mango stone it’s protecting, and wrap it round his shoulders to keep him warm. I try to lift him off the ground, but I can’t do it.

  I pull and pull until with one final heave that leaves me gasping for air, he stands up.

  ‘We have to keep going, Jeevan,’ I say, fighting back my sobs, his body heavy against my shoulder. I grip my pendant, begging it to give me courage.

  We slip along together, taking small steps, zigzagging this way and that, scouring the trees for a hut to protect him from the snow.

  I look around in desperation. What can I do? His breath sounds more and more laboured and raspy . . . the only thing I can think of is to build a shelter myself.

  There’s a huge boulder and mounds of thick fallen branches on the ground. I prop him up against a fallen log and get to work, dragging long heavy branches through the pine needles and snow and balancing them close together against the rock.

  The snow is flying down, covering Jeevan in frozen flakes, and the longer it takes me to build the shelter, the colder he’s getting – I must move faster.

  ‘I’m making a tree den, Jeevan.’ I keep talking so he’ll stay awake. ‘Just like the ones we make back home.’

  I collect smaller branches with pine needles still on them and make a second layer to keep the wind from getting through. Splinters pinch my skin and my muscles ache from all the walking and lifting, but I carry on building until it’s finished and my breath bursts out in ragged gasps.

  ‘Jeevan . . . can you walk a little?’

  He’s still awake but keeps closing his eyes and drifting away. I help him stand up and lead him into the pine-covered shelter, pulling the scarf more tightly around him.

  I sit next to him, allowing myself a moment of satisfaction, but I can’t rest until I’ve built a fire to keep the wild animals away.

  On cold winter evenings, on the grazing grounds, Papa and I used to build fires together, so I know exactly how to do it.