Asha & the Spirit Bird

by Jasbinder Bilan

  ‘Hurry, hurry,’ I whisper to myself. The soil on the forest floor is soft and comes away easily as I dig into the ground with a pointed stick, hollowing out a pit. I crouch down and scrape at the earth, flicking it everywhere until the deep hole is ready.

  ‘I’m building a fire, Jeevan,’ I say, slipping on the snow. I pull my hood closer to my face, but the wind forces it back, blowing icy snow into my eyes.

  I fish through my bag, find the penknife and use it to strip bark off a tree for kindling, which I pile up in the fire pit, ready to light.

  I layer the fire just like Papa showed me and move my numb hands slowly, trapping a match between my thumb and forefinger. I strike it against the box, but it tumbles to the wet ground.

  I clench my jaw to fight back the tears as more snow begins to pile up against the shelter. Using all my concentration, I strike the match again. It sparks and I nudge the yellow flame towards the fine strips of kindling. It crackles straight away, but the kindling burns in a second, then dies out.

  I check on Jeevan inside the shelter, tell myself to stay calm, and go through each step once more. This time it works. I’ve done it. It’s a small fire, but the bark is alight. I gather smaller sticks and edge them towards the flame, which grows stronger. The glowing logs sizzle and spit as the storm blows even more fiercely.

  I collect the drier branches from under the trees and pile them on to the fire, saving some in the shelter so we can have dry wood for the morning.

  Inside, Jeevan coughs and mumbles and the snow keeps falling, floating through the trees, turning everything ghostly white.

  I hope the fire is big enough to keep the tigers and leopards away through the night.

  I take a glowing stick from the fire, look into the opening of the shelter at Jeevan with his eyes closed tight, and imagine that it’s incense. I circle him with the smoking ember and say a prayer.

  I throw the stick back in the fire, take Jeevan’s hand and hold it tight.

  If only you’d stayed at home like you planned, you would have been safe.

  ‘I’m here,’ I whisper, tears sliding down my face. ‘You’re just tired, that’s all, you’ll be fine in the morning . . .’

  And then I say another payer, in silence this time.

  Please get better . . . please, Lord Shiva, don’t let him die.

  All through the long fear-filled night, I listen to the wind whistling through the branches of the shelter, petrified that Jeevan is getting worse, or that the fire will go out. I imagine snow leopards waiting in the darkness, ready to pounce and devour us.

  ‘Ma!’ calls Jeevan, coughing. ‘Are you all right, Ma? I’m sorry.’

  I leap to feel his forehead. It’s hotter than yesterday and even now, in the first light of dawn, his cheeks are burning.

  ‘Jeevan?’ I whisper softly, stroking his hair, like I know his ma would.

  He’s lost in his own deep cavern of fever and haunted dreams, and doesn’t answer.

  ‘Jeevan,’ I try again.

  His laugh is high and strange-sounding. ‘The tigers,’ he says, gasping, ‘my papa said be careful of the tigers.’

  He’s not making any sense, but I know it’s the fever speaking. Once, when I was ill, Ma told me I said odd things in the night. She laid a fresh cotton sheet on my bed, dampened my forehead with a cool cloth and stayed with me until I was better.

  I have to get this scarf off, but it’s so tightly wound round him that I can’t. He needs to stay cool – I should have done this last night. I grip it tightly, tugging it free, and hurl it aside. ‘I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll look after you better.’

  I look out into the smoky-grey dawn, the wind whirling loose pine needles from the trees in spirals to the ground. I’m grateful that at least it’s stopped snowing and even though the fire is smaller, it’s still glowing.

  There’s no food left in the bag, only the water we collected yesterday, and I know if I want to save Jeevan, I have to find help. But without a map to guide me, how will I find my way? Jeevan is the star reader.

  I prop him up and put a bottle of water to his lips. ‘Jeevan? Try to drink this.’

  He sips with his eyes still closed and I lay him down again, dampening the edge of the scarf, dabbing his forehead with cold water. I don’t want to leave him in case the fire goes out, his human scent calling animals from miles away, but if I don’t go, he might die. Fever claimed his brother and now might be coming for him, and guilt stabs me again and again.

  Outside, everything is hushed and veiled in white. I hear something move far up in the trees and raise my head to see what it is. A lump of snow falls to the ground by my foot and a loud clucking sound makes me jump.

  The spirit bird! Its wing tips are outstretched as it flies down through the branches and lands on top of the shelter.

  My heart pounds with amazement and gratitude. ‘Have you come to help?’ I begin to feel braver and more certain that it must be Nanijee, because why else would I sense that rhythm again, the one that feels like it’s connecting me to my ancestors, making me feel less alone in this forest wilderness?

  I stand on a log and stretch my fingers towards it like the last time, but now I really want to feel its feathers, to see whether the touch reminds me of my nanijee’s hand. It stays still for a moment, bending its head towards me, but hops away as I try to stroke its wing. ‘Dearest Nanijee,’ I whisper. ‘It has to be you . . . doesn’t it?’

  I jump to the ground and it sits watching while I bring the dry wood out of the shelter, piling the branches upright all around the glowing embers of the fire and pushing kindling into the gaps to get it going. I then stack all the wood on the fire so it’s as high as I can make it, the dry wood crackling, shooting fiery sparks into the air and making my face tingle with heat. At last, I warm my frozen hands, raw and scratched from carrying the branches, and pause.

  All this time the spirit bird stays on the shelter, keeping its eyes firmly fixed on me as I prepare to leave.

  What did Jeevan say last time we looked at the map? Something about the closest village, but I can’t remember where he said it was . . . back the way we came or the other way? If I make a mistake, Jeevan could be the one paying the price . . . with his life.

  I swallow the lump in my throat, fight back the tears that are sneaking out and think of the warrior goddess Durga.

  I kneel at the entrance to the shelter, touch Jeevan’s cheek for the final time and listen to his rattled breath heave in and out. ‘I won’t leave you for long, I promise. I’ll be back before the fire dies out.’

  The spirit bird calls again.

  ‘Are you telling me to go? But how will I find my way back? The forest is vast, and without the map it all looks the same.’ My hand brushes the cotton bag I brought from home and I get an idea; I’ll use the knife to cut it into strips and tie them to branches as I pass.

  I lay my precious belongings to one side, pick up Jeevan’s knife and begin cutting the bag, counting the strips as I go. It makes forty altogether, and I stuff them into my pockets.

  I take one last look at Jeevan, his breath rushing in and out, his cheeks blazing, and my voice wavers. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  The spirit bird remains poised on the shelter, ruffles its coppery wings, turns its head and blinks at me.

  ‘Bless my journey and keep Jeevan safe.’ I press my hands together. ‘Guard him for me.’

  Everything is deathly quiet as I creep away into the blanketed dawn, along the snowy path. I curl my numb fingers around one of the strips and pull it out. I stretch up to a branch and tie it in a double knot before hurrying on.

  I peer up into the sky, still semi-dark with the pinprick lights of stars shining through. With Jeevan by my side it would be easy to know the right star to follow. He always said the North Star was the one to navigate by – it’s the one that never moves. And if Jeevan can do it, so can I! His life depends on it. At the next clearing I look up and choose the stillest star, keep it ahe
ad of me just like he would, and move forward.

  Blood pumps in my ears as I search through the icy mist. Pale fingers of early sunlight cast long spiky shadows in the trees. What if the man-beast stories are real? I think of Nanijee, swallow my fears, feel my courage rise and quicken my pace to find help for Jeevan, tying the strips as I go.

  I keep walking through the shadowy forest, my eyes clamped firmly on the fading star, flashing furtive glances over my shoulder, invisible demons piercing their eyes into my back, until I’m tired and hungry and my legs are close to buckling beneath me.

  I flop to the ground and rest against a tree, exhausted. I raise myself on to my elbows but can’t get to my feet again.

  Asha, you can’t stay there. Remember my words when you fell from the mango tree and lay in a bundle by the base of the trunk, refusing to get up? I cradled you, dabbed your knees with a clean cloth and together we walked back to the house. I fed you milky kheer between your sobs and told you the pain would soon be forgotten, but maybe the scars would stay to remind you to be strong when it happens again.

  Go on, little Ashi, go on.

  I push away from the tree, the final length of fabric ready in my pocket, and feel the rhythm of the pendant egging me on, the wild wind calling my name: Aaaa . . . sha!

  I tug at the fabric and think of Jeevan, overcome by his fits of fever, and stagger through the craggy trees as rays of morning light creak through their branches. My heart is waking up, rapping at my ribs.

  When the trees start to thin at long last, weak sunlight smudging the sky behind, I grasp the last tie with my frozen fingers and hook the fabric clumsily, lifting it slowly from my pocket, twisting it to a branch in an awkward knot.

  Aching deep into my bones, I drag myself through the final stretch of forest on to a wide plateau where coarse grasses stand to attention like ghostly snow-covered soldiers. And now the sun has risen, I’m sure I’ll find my way back.

  The memory of Jeevan’s face, fever-stretched and blazing, spurs me on, giving me the strength to keep tramping forwards; past trees, through tall grassy meadows, hardly stopping to rest until the sun is almost overhead, searching for a house, a goat, anything.

  I cup my hands in an icy stream that springs out of a cluster of rocks and take a long thirst-quenching drink.

  I splutter the water out . . . it’s faint at first, but I can hear the sound of goats bleating. I knew there would be farms out here! My heart gives a little skip – if there are goats there’ll be someone looking after them! I squint against the sun, but don’t see anyone.

  I begin running in the direction of the bleating and, putting my hands to my mouth, I call out, ‘Hey . . . anybody there?’ My voice is a lonely cry echoing across the wide-open land. ‘Anybody?’ I repeat.

  But there are only the bleating goats. I run towards them, slowing as I get closer, and whistle, trying to entice one towards me. I grab at a clump of bleached grass and hold the offering in the palm of my hand. ‘Come on . . . over here.’

  A curious black and white one sidles up, nosing its way towards my outstretched hand. ‘That’s it . . . I’m not going to harm you.’ As soon as it begins to nibble at the grass, I hook my arm around the struggling creature and capture it. Its milk will be more than enough to make Jeevan better.

  I fling off my hoodie and twist the arm around the goat’s neck and tightly knot it. ‘Shh . . .’ I say, full of hope, turning back in the direction I’ve come.

  I hurry onwards, pulling the goat with me back across the uneven ground, passing through clumps of trees and meadows full of grasses taller than my waist. I struggle up steep hills and cross trickling streams until the sun turns crimson and begins to lower in the sky.

  The journey has taken all day and I feel my heart speed up as I think of what might have happened while I’ve been gone.

  I’m coming Jeevan, keep strong. I’m on my way.

  I’m worn out but I wipe the hot sweat from my forehead and continue towards the forest and, at long last, reach its welcoming green edge.

  I cast a glance behind me and enter the darkening canopy of leaves, tugging the goat urgently. I begin scanning the branches for the first length of fabric that marks my way back to Jeevan.

  Low-hanging branches scratch my cheeks as I hunt frantically for the first tie, but the rippling leaves cast confusing shadows and I can’t see it anywhere.

  I rest a moment, tired and frustrated with the bewildered goat beside me, combing the branches for the swirl of red fabric I tied this morning. And finally, I spot it, gently waving in the breeze.

  ‘Oi . . . oi, you!’ I jump. ‘What do you think you’re doing, stealing my goat?’

  A dog bounds up, snarling its teeth, barking ferociously. Behind it is a boy a couple of years older than me, wearing a wide-brimmed felt hat and leading a horse.

  ‘I wasn’t stealing it.’ I stand as still as I can while the dog keeps barking, nipping and tearing the edge of my sleeve.

  The boy steps in closer. ‘Well, it looks like stealing to me. I’ve been trailing you.’ He speaks in a strange dialect and I have to concentrate hard to understand him.

  ‘My friend is very ill. He’s got a fever. I had to leave him alone in the forest to find something to help him . . . now will you please call your dog off?’

  The boy whistles and the dog releases its grip.

  ‘Your friend? I don’t understand . . . your accent.’ He takes off his hat, revealing wavy shoulder-length hair. ‘You’re not from here, are you?’

  I speak more slowly this time, my voice thick with panic. ‘No . . . but my friend, he is sick. I found your goat and I was going to give him some milk to make him better . . . we’ve been walking a long way without proper food . . . I would have brought it back. Please. I need your help.’

  The boy looks at me closely like he’s trying to work me out.

  I hold my head high. ‘I sacrificed my hair in return for blessings from the gods . . . my name’s Asha.’

  ‘I’m Nahul,’ he replies.

  ‘We’re on our way to Kasare . . . to the temple.’

  ‘My ma went there once,’ he says. ‘My baby sister was very ill, so she took offerings to the Daughter of the Mountain, to the source of the Ganges.’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to do . . . for my papa.’ I move closer to him. ‘The place I left him isn’t far from here . . . could I please give Jeevan some milk and then you can take your goat home?’

  ‘I’m not sure. My family will be worried.’ He nods towards the setting sun. ‘And it’ll be dark soon.’ He pulls his rifle across his chest.

  I plead with him. ‘What if he got so weak that he couldn’t survive the fever . . . or what if he’s been attacked?’ I wipe my cheeks.

  Nahul stares into the gloom beyond the trees and then back along the path out of the forest, deciding what to do.

  ‘I beg you.’ There’s a long pause.

  OK,’ he says, still sounding unsure. ‘I’ll come with you . . . but we must hurry.’

  He ties the goat with a long piece of rope and secures it to the horse’s bridle, then holds the horse steady while I slot my foot into the stirrup and hoist myself up. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Remember to duck under the low branches,’ he says, climbing up behind me and setting off.

  Deep-throated animal howls haunt the strengthening wind as we journey on.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It sounds like a pack of wolves,’ he says, turning his head. ‘M-maybe they’re missing one and are mourning their loss.’

  A ball of fear tightens as I think of Jeevan alone. ‘Can we go more quickly?’

  As we trot along, hooves thudding against the ground, the howls sounding closer than ever, he twists the horse in the direction of the red ties and each time I spot one my heart gives a leap.

  I close my eyes and say a prayer for Jeevan, feel for my pendant, gripping it tightly. ‘Be safe Jeevan . . . Nanijee, keep him safe.’

  We keep riding thr
ough the forest until we’re on the final slippery paths with rows of pines that I recognize. The horse tosses its head, suddenly skittish, but the forest is eerily quiet.

  ‘Jeevan!’ I cry out, fear whipping through my blood as we draw closer. ‘It’s me . . . I’m back.’

  Nahul pulls on the reins to control the horse, bringing it to a standstill near the edge of the clearing, stroking its neck soothingly. We dismount, but once we’re out of the saddle the horse whinnies and rears, yanking the goat with it, as if it senses something we don’t, as if it’s trying to run away. My heart lurches in fear.

  ‘Steady boy . . . steady.’ Nahul holds on to the reins while I scramble towards the shelter. Something is wrong.

  And as soon as I burst into the clearing I see it. Panic shoots through me like a bolt of electricity and I scream a high-pitched, sharp cry from the depths of my soul.

  There’s a tiger, prowling in front of the smoking fire, its amber, striped skin flashing golden in the setting sun, blood staining the corner of its mouth.

  The snow beneath the tiger’s paws is speckled red. ‘Jeevan!’ I cry, my breathing out of control. I lunge towards the fire and grab a smouldering log, the end in my hand not quite alight.

  ‘Asha, move away!’

  Nahul is behind me; from the corner of my eye I catch the glint of his rifle.

  ‘No!’ I cry out. ‘What if you hit Jeevan?’ The tiger is standing right by the shelter where he’s sleeping, hopefully alive – but defenceless.

  I inch forward, the glow from the fire lighting up the tiger, its heavy shoulders taut with each slow step it takes towards the entrance of the shelter. It bows its head slightly and meets my gaze with its green eyes. The burning log trembles in my hand, and I remember the tigers in my vision at Chitragupta’s house, the way they danced in the flames, circling me.

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouts Nahul from behind me. ‘Move away from it. I’m going to fire.’

  But I don’t move, I stay facing the tiger as if I’m in a trance, our eyes locked.

  The deafening shot echoes through the air above our heads, leaving the acrid smell of burnt powder, smoky and sharp. The shot lodges in a trunk at the other side of the clearing.