Nahul aimed high on purpose – a warning shot. The tiger throws its head back, opens its jaws and gives a huge growl before disappearing into the forest.
I rush into the shelter on my hands and knees, panic coursing through me, afraid of what I’m about to find. ‘J-Jeevan?’
But there’s no reply, only the moaning of the wind and the creaking trees.
He’s lying just as I left him, eyes closed, his breath heaving in and out. Alive!
I wrap my arms around him, lay my head on his chest and blink my tears away. ‘Thank you,’ I say, although I’m not sure who I’m speaking to. ‘I’m here,’ I whisper.
‘Asha . . . Asha . . . are you OK?’ Nahul is outside, breathing heavily. ‘Look what I found on the other side.’ I leave Jeevan for a moment and follow Nahul around the back of the shelter.
Spread out on the ground lies the blood-smeared body of a wolf. I clench my stomach and turn away.
‘It must have been the tiger,’ says Nahul. ‘Is your friend OK?’
I’m in a daze, still trying to work out what happened. ‘Y-yes . . . h-he hasn’t been harmed.’
‘That’s a miracle.’ Nahul’s voice is full of awe. ‘The tiger protected your friend, Asha.’
‘I have to get him to safety . . . will you help?’
‘Of course.’
I return to Jeevan. ‘Wake up,’ I say softly. ‘Wake up . . . please.’ His breathing is shallow and raspy, and when I shake him, he stays still, his eyelids fluttering. Is he better or worse than when I left him?
He stirs slightly and behind his eyes there’s a flicker of movement. My heart lifts.
‘Jeevan . . . it’s me, Asha.’
‘I’ll milk the goat,’ says Nahul, shifting away from the fire. ‘It’s good easy food . . . Grandmother would say it was in my karma to find you and that I should bring you home.’
I lay more wood on the embers, blowing to get the fire started again, before going back inside to Jeevan.
After a minute or two, Nahul hands me his goatskin water carrier. ‘Here’s the milk. Make sure you drink some as well. I’ll get the horse ready.’
‘Thank you, Nahul.’ Sliding my arm around Jeevan’s back, I prop him up and carefully tip the warm fresh milk into his mouth.
He opens his eyes and splutters. ‘Asha?’ he says faintly.
‘Yes. It’s me . . . sip some more.’
He takes a small gulp of milk and lets out a deep sigh. I give him another sip.
‘Jeevan, we have to leave . . . you’re not well and it’s dangerous here.’
Nahul comes back to the entrance. ‘Let’s go – my family will be waiting for me. You’re impressive – the shelter and the fire – you’ve probably saved your friend’s life. And faced up to a tiger.’
I feel myself swell with pride and take a long drink of milk before packing everything into Papa’s scarf and tying a strong knot.
Jeevan sways as I lead him out of the shelter and together Nahul and I struggle to get him on to the horse. Once we’re ready we ride away through the forest, towards Nahul’s house.
When we finally see the outline of the farmhouse, lit with pale lanterns, I pull my arms tighter around Jeevan, wondering what Nahul’s family will say when he brings two complete strangers into their home. I feel more tired than ever, dark spots crowding the sides of my vision, my fingertips tingling.
Nahul slows the horse. ‘I’m back,’ he shouts. ‘And I’ve found a boy and a girl in the forest!’ We come to a standstill and he jumps down.
Nahul helps us off the horse and I hold on to Jeevan to stop him toppling over – even though I’m feeling shaky myself.
A group of people rush out of the house and stand in a confused semi-circle surrounding us. I feel my stomach flip a somersault.
‘Thank the stars you’re back,’ says a tall woman who must be Nahul’s ma. ‘We’ve been waiting and waiting . . . so worried.’
‘Who are they?’ asks an older man gruffly.
‘I am Asha. I’m from Moormanali in the foothills,’ I say with pride. ‘This is my friend Jeevan. We’re on a journey to find my papa in Zandapur, and we’re going to stop at Kasare on our way to make a pilgrimage. I want to explain everything at once, but it’s not making any sense and my insides are tightening up.
‘Bring them in, quickly,’ says Nahul’s ma, putting her arms round us. ‘She looks like she’s going to collapse.’
I feel myself swaying, and then everything goes black.
Low voices come to me in waves, and when I open my eyes I see Jeevan next to me, both of us propped up on cushions and sheepskins beside a roaring open fire.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ says Nahul’s ma, leaning over me. ‘It’s Asha, isn’t it?’
I’m overcome with exhaustion, unable to keep my eyes from sliding shut, so I dig my nails into my palms to force myself to stay awake.
‘Teenu,’ she says to a little girl. ‘Come and sit beside me.’
The whole family gathers in front of the fire, staring at us inquisitively.
‘Now where did you find these children, Nahul?’ asks his papa. ‘So far from anywhere.’
‘In the forest,’ he says. ‘There was a tiger.’
His ma clamps her hands to her mouth.
‘No one was harmed, Ma . . . in fact, we think the tiger saved Jeevan from being attacked by wolves . . . tell them what happened, Asha.’
‘Let them eat something . . . all this talking,’ says Nahul’s grandmother. She ladles two bowls of cinnamon-scented stew from the pot above the fire, hands me one and straight away begins spooning tiny amounts into Jeevan’s mouth, which he swallows slowly. I warm my frozen hands around the bowl.
Everyone is watching me expectantly. I try to concentrate but my eyes are drooping.
‘W–when we arrived at the shelter I knew something was wrong,’ I begin, reliving the intense fear I sensed the moment we approached the clearing.
Between us, Nahul and I begin telling them the story – how the horse was skittish, how the tiger was standing in front of the shelter, bloodstains in the snow, how I picked up a log from the fire and Nahul fired a shot – and how we found a dead wolf nearby.
Everyone is absolutely silent, their eyes wide.
‘Perhaps it was the spirit of an ancestor,’ says Nahul’s grandmother, pausing in her task of feeding Jeevan.
‘The tiger had the same eyes as Asha,’ Nahul adds eagerly. His grandmother nods. I wonder if it’s true, if another of my ancestors was watching over me. I touch my pendant, feeling the rhythms of generations past.
‘You have the gift, my child,’ she says to me. With her free hand she flips my palms over and traces my lines with a rough finger. I shiver, reminded of our visit to the witch at the very start of our journey. ‘Yes, you are an adventurer . . . lots of journeys here.’
Jeevan hasn’t spoken the whole time, and suddenly I realize that he’s burning up again, falling asleep. Nahul’s grandmother has noticed too and she sets the bowl down.
‘I’ll boil some hot ginger and tulsi tea,’ she says gravely.
Jeevan’s entire weight pushes against me, his cheeks glowing hot, and silently, I beg him not to die.
It’s been four nights. Divali is only a little more than four weeks away and we must leave for the temple today if we’re going to have a chance of reaching Papa on time. Jeevan’s fever has gone, but is he really strong enough to carry on?
It’s morning, and while he’s still sleeping, I untie my bundle of things pulling out my journey clothes; the jeans and green hoodie. I yank them on before trying to wake him.
‘We have to go,’ I say, shaking Jeevan gently. I try to be as patient as I can but hardly sound it.
He doesn’t stir, so I shake him some more. ‘Jeevan . . . Jeevan.’
He wakes up, traces of the dark fever circles still visible below his eyes, and I feel bad for not letting him sleep longer.
‘Jeevan,’ I say, with a pretend lightness. ‘What if you sta
yed here . . . and let me go on by myself?’
‘What?’ He sits up suddenly. ‘You can’t do that—’
‘Look,’ I say gently, kneeling on the rug. ‘I’m worried about you . . . you’re not that strong and it’s still a long way to Zandapur.’ I stand up, turning away from him, because I can’t bear to look him in the eye. ‘Maybe you could stay with the family for a bit longer.’ I pause. ‘A-and then get the train back to Sonahaar.’
‘No way, Asha – I’m coming with you,’ he says fiercely. ‘All for one and one for all – remember? I heard how you built that shelter in the forest . . . and the way you fought off the tiger.’ He sounds annoyed. ‘And I know you’re getting so good at doing things by yourself now . . . but we have to stay together till the end.’ He gives me a hard stare then tosses his head away. ‘Unless . . . you don’t need me any more.’
‘No! You know that’s not true, I can’t manage without you. I’m just really worried that you could get ill again.’
Jeevan turns away from me. ‘Only if you’re sure . . . I don’t want to be a burden,’ he mumbles stubbornly.
I force him to face me. ‘Yes, of course I’m sure . . . please, Jeevan, I need you . . . let’s collect our things and get ready.’ I feel so guilty for even suggesting he stays behind. I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘You must tell me if you need to rest . . . I promise I’ll listen.’
‘And we have to stay friends this time, be kind to each other,’ says Jeevan, spreading the scarf out on the floor. ‘ However hard things get.’
‘Yes . . . you’re right,’ I say, giving him a hug. ‘Here, you load up while I pass you the things.’ I pick up the mango stone, still safe in its banana-leaf pot. ‘It hasn’t grown any shoots yet.’ I hold it up to the light just in case I’ve missed something. ‘Tuck it in safely.’
‘All you can do is keep watering it – you never know, it might grow.’
The horse is already whinnying outside, which means everyone is awake, preparing for the day ahead. I kiss Papa’s letter and stow it safely in my pocket.
‘There, it’s all ready,’ Jeevan says, slotting the penknife into the pile of things.
We go outside, where Nahul’s papa is grooming the horse. Nahul fiddles with the stirrup and looks in my direction, but I avoid his gaze and kick at the frosty ground, trying to shake away his ebony eyes.
He doesn’t say anything, just concentrates on stroking the horse’s flank.
‘So . . . you’re ready?’ asks Nahul’s papa.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Are you OK, Jeevan?’
‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ he says, shooting me an irritated look. ‘I’m feeling fine.’
Nahul takes a carved wooden elephant from his pocket and thrusts it into my hand. ‘I made it myself.’ He blushes.
I give a shy smile as I take it. ‘Thank you.’ I hold it in my palm, admiring the delicate trunk that points to the sky. ‘I’ll treasure it always.’
Jeevan looks sulky, turns as if to say something to me, but stays tight-lipped.
‘And this is for Jeevan . . . to keep him warm.’ Nahul holds out a goatskin jacket.
‘Er . . . thank you.’ He slips it on. ‘Thank you all.’
‘Wait,’ calls Teenu, running up to us, carrying two flower garlands. ‘These are for your journey.’
Nahul lifts her up so she can reach us.
‘Grandmother helped me . . . I hope you find your papa.’ She raises the white bakul flowers and puts them around our necks.
The garland’s sweet incense-like smell surrounds me. ‘Thank you for everything. You’ve been so kind and generous.’
They all give a final wave as we turn to leave.
‘We won’t forget you,’ says Jeevan, ignoring Nahul and looking across to the rest of the family.
‘Keep walking towards the peaks,’ says Nahul’s papa. ‘ And once you start the climb you’ll see prayer flags all along the path to the temple – they’ll guide your journey. Stay alert – lack of food is bringing the snow leopards lower down.’
Jeevan and I exchange a fearful look. ‘We will,’ we say, finally turning away from the house, keeping the impressive mountain range straight in front of us, its layers of snow shining like a flashing diamond in the sun.
My breath blows ahead of me like woodsmoke and I pull my sleeves over my hands to keep them warm. The early morning fog rises in swirls from the valley below as we concentrate on walking as quickly as we can.
We eventually reach a steep rugged slope edged with pines where a sign for Kasare points upwards. We begin the climb to the temple and I stretch up and sling Jeevan’s arm around my shoulder.
He pulls away. ‘Thank you for looking after me . . . but I’m not a baby, you know. I’m much stronger now.’
‘Come on, grumpy guts,’ I tease. ‘You were right about staying together and I’m glad it’s just the two of us again.’
We clamber further and further towards the temple, the clear blue sky stretching ahead of us like a never-ending piece of silk.
‘I reckon we’ll be there before dark if we carry on walking this quickly,’ I say, assessing the height of the sun. ‘But if you need a rest, you must tell me . . . you will, won’t you?’
‘Promise,’ he says.
Just as Nahul’s papa said, there are colourful prayer flags tied to the lower branches of the trees.
Jeevan is full of life, just like before, his shoulders back as if he could walk for ever.
‘Look at you, steaming ahead.’
‘See, I told you.’
We carry on walking steadily upwards, until the outline of a figure bent over a stick appears ahead of us. As we get closer I see it’s an old woman wearing an orange sari.
‘Namaste,’ I say, raising my hands to her. With the flower garland that Teenu gave me this morning and my short hair, I feel like I fit perfectly on the route to the temple.
She raises her hands back to us and smiles as we pass.
The air gets even colder the higher we climb, the golden sun dropping to the west, and I pull my hoodie tight around myself as we keep clambering on.
My legs are suddenly heavy and each step is more difficult to take, the gravel scraping under my feet as I force myself up the curve of the mountain path. I stop to catch my breath but when we turn the next corner, there in the bluish haze of early evening is my spirit bird, hovering in the biting breeze.
‘Jeevan, look!’ I cry, in surprise. ‘Remember I told you there was a bird that came into the forest . . . when you were ill?’ I glance across at his expression to guess what he thinks. ‘It perched on the shelter while I was away . . . my nanijee’s spirit is looking after us.’
‘It would be good if she was,’ he says, picking up his pace. ‘But let’s get to the temple. That’s what we need to focus on.’
I suppose I can’t expect him to feel the same magic as me, but I’m disappointed all the same. He’s still so matter-of-fact about it, despite everything that’s happened.
The lamagaia glides over us and lands on a rock balanced on the ridge ahead.
A shot of energy comes from nowhere and suddenly I feel I have wings, hardly noticing my ragged breathing as I reach the ridge ahead of Jeevan . . . and there it is at last! The temple!
I fall to my knees and touch my forehead to the stony ground in prayer.
‘This is where Shiva threw his hair into the Ganges,’ I say, totally in awe, rising to my feet again. ‘Can you believe we’re here?’
It’s more magnificent than anything I’ve ever seen before. Carved from an iridescent rose-coloured rock, the temple has four spiralling turrets, which almost disappear into the sky, and in the centre a wide dome covered in pale orange-coloured tiles sparkling like a rising sun.
Jeevan grabs me by the arms and begins swinging me round. ‘Asha! We’re here, we’re here we’re here!’ he sings.
‘We’ve done it,’ we whisper together, looking down on the temple, our voices rising into the twilight.
My chest is filled with bubbles of excitement, which fizz and flutter as it sinks in that I’m really here.
My nanijee is still on the ridge next to us and I hold out my hands towards her, bringing them together in thanks. She stays for a moment longer before soaring above the temple, the air whooshing behind her, her wings outstretched in splendour, before she disappears into the snow-white clouds.
‘See?’ I say. ‘It is her!’
‘Mmm . . . maybe . . . or maybe it’s a temple bird used to getting all the tit-bits from the pilgrims.’
‘Oh, Jeevan!’
Prayer flags in all the colours of the rainbow are strung across the front of the temple and towering behind it, covered in violet-white snow, is the colossal mountain – the mountain where the Holy Ganges is born.
I slip my hand into Jeevan’s, and together we follow the path down to the temple. We cross the threshold through to a vast hall with smooth marble floors. It’s filled with people sitting cross-legged, their heads bowed and their eyes closed in prayer.
I brush the dust off my clothes and straighten my top, feeling the short hairs on the back of my head prickle with nerves.
The hall is glowing with candles and more deevay, the air scented with sandalwood mixed with woody patchouli and rose.
‘Can you believe even those old women climbed all the way here?’ says Jeevan loudly.
‘Don’t stare!’ I hiss, stooping down, feeling a pang of embarrassment as I pull off my dirty torn pumps and line them up next to the chappala – the gold-embroidered shoes and the worn leather slippers that belong to all the other pilgrims.
Jeevan unties his laces hurriedly. ‘Shall we do the rituals as soon as we can? Then we can leave first thing in the morning and head straight to the city.’
Asha & the Spirit Bird Page 9