We hurry through a dark archway that opens into a tunnel leading away from the station.
‘I want to find Connaught Place before nightfall.’ The tunnel is gloomy and smells worse than old fish. ‘The sooner we find Papa, the sooner we can get back to Moormanali. There won’t be a moon tomorrow, you know. That means it’s four weeks until Divali.’
‘It won’t take us that long to find your papa and get home in time,’ says Jeevan. ‘Maybe your ma won’t even have replied to your uncle Neel yet.’
I feel excited. ‘Do you think we’ll all be back together for my birthday?’
‘Yes,’ says Jeevan. ‘Definitely.’
I buzz with fear as we walk through the dark tunnel towards the centre of Zandapur, empty wrappers and plastic bags whirling towards us on the wind. I pause to wipe grit from my eyes.
A little girl sits in the shadow of the arches, holding out a dirt-crusted hand. ‘Paisa, paisa,’ she calls to us in a pleading voice. Her eyes are huge and dark, tangled hair hangs in clumps around her shoulders.
‘That girl’s only about Rohan and Roopa’s age, maybe even younger, where’s her family?’ I feel so angry. ‘It’s so wrong for her to be doing this.’
‘I know,’ says Jeevan. ‘But this is how some families survive in the city.’
People dressed in smart suits and fancy saris walk past without even glancing at her. ‘Surely they could spare at least one coin!’ I take one from my purse and place it in her hand.
‘Thank you,’ she says, giving us a small smile.
As we turn into an even busier street, a giant poster surrounded by bright lights beams down at us. A banner across the top says:
RECYCLE – REUSE – REPURPOSE
CITY DUMP
WE TURN YOUR RUBBISH TO GOLD
But underneath it I spot something else. ‘A map,’ I say, pulling Jeevan towards it. ‘Let’s find Connaught Place.’
The map is a confusion of streets that criss-cross each other. ‘Here’s the bus station,’ says Jeevan. ‘But I can’t see Connaught Place.’
‘It has to be here somewhere,’ I say, studying it in frustration.
‘Unless it’s not right in the centre,’ says Jeevan.
A group of men come walking towards us, drinking from dark bottles, arguing and yelling at each other.
‘They look like real wasters,’ I say, pulling Jeevan closer and linking arms.
‘Don’t worry . . . we’ll ask someone . . . let’s cross over,’ he says, pulling me closer.
We dodge mustard-yellow taxis and bullock carts to reach the pavement opposite.
A sudden clap of thunder cracks above the noise of the traffic, and it starts pouring down.
‘Quick, let’s go in there.’ We head towards a cafe with a bright sign in the window showing a boy eating something delicious. ‘We’ll be out of the rain and can sit down and decide how to find Papa.’ Jeevan still looks thin from his fever – I have to make sure he eats, so he doesn’t get sick again.
‘Yeah . . . I could do with some food,’ he says, leaning against the doors to open them.
Inside, the cafe is full of young people sitting at small tables, laughing and munching on round bread with something stuffed inside.
‘It’s called “fast food”,’ says Jeevan, reading an electric sign behind the counter.
A sweet oily smell floats through the air. ‘Maybe you eat here after you’ve been fasting?’
‘Yeah, could be.’
‘It says two for the price of one.’ I notice a handwritten poster next to the counter. I peer inside my purse, bubbling with excitement. ‘That means we can eat something and still have a bit of money left for a taxi. Sit over there by the window. I’ll line up for the food.’
Jeevan pushes our bundle on to the bench and lets out a sigh as he slides in next to it.
The restaurant feels like a safe place, full of people having fun, and I start to relax a little. Jeevan gives me a wave as I get closer to the counter and I smile back at him.
When it’s my turn to order I’m not sure what to ask for, so I show the girl the things I want in the picture behind her. She hands me a tray with food all wrapped up in paper, like little presents.
‘Have a nice day,’ she says, taking my money.
I plonk the tray down in front of Jeevan and sit beside him.
‘Wow.’ He stares at everything as if he wants to gobble it all down in one go.
I dunk my finger into the soft fluffy drink, licking the delicious creamy liquid, and take a bite of the bouncy bread and crunchy vegetable burger inside it. ‘Mmm . . . this tastes so good.’ I chew slowly, savouring the new flavours.
‘Oh yeah . . . it’s amazing.’ Jeevan crams the bread into his mouth and stuffs the straw in at the same time, slurping the drink noisily.
Once we’ve finished I empty my purse on to the tray. ‘Now, let’s see how much money we’ve got left.’
‘What about getting one of those yellow taxis?’ asks Jeevan. ‘That way we’ll get straight to where your papa is.’
‘I’m not sure how much it’ll cost, but I hope we have enough.’ I count the coins and the rupee notes. ‘Oh, Jeevan, I can’t believe we’re going to find him at last.’
‘I know . . . after everything we’ve been through.’ He nudges me with his elbow. ‘It’s actually going to happen.’
‘But let’s wait until the rain stops.’ Outside the window a row of people have gathered and are slumped against the cafe, pulling dirty blankets over themselves to shelter from the rain that’s still lashing hard against the glass. I shudder and split the rest of my meal with Jeevan and we eat as slowly as possible, staying a little longer.
One of the waiters starts to clear our table. ‘You can’t stay here all night,’ he says roughly, picking the tray up.
‘We know that, sir,’ I say, trying to be as polite as I can. ‘But it’s just that it’s raining so hard.’
‘Come on, get out of here!’
‘OK,’ says Jeevan, grabbing our things. ‘There’s no need to be rude, we’re going . . . come on, Asha.’
I stare at the rain flowing like a river outside and slowly open the door.
A crowded taxi zooms past, soaking us with muddy water. ‘Yeuch . . . how are we going to get one of these taxis to stop?’ I ask. ‘They’re hardly going to take any notice of two kids like us.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Jeevan says, looking around.
‘Excuse me, darlings.’ A young woman appears from nowhere and sidles up to us. ‘My name’s Nina. I’m new in the city and I’m looking for a good place to stay. Do you know anywhere?’
‘I-I’m Jeevan.’ His voice has gone all stuttery.
The woman smells of perfume and carries a smart leather handbag. I wonder if she might be an actress. Krishen, who gave us a lift in his truck, said Zandapur was full of them.
‘We’re new ourselves,’ I say. ‘So I’m afraid we can’t help you.’
‘We’re trying to get a taxi to stop,’ says Jeevan.
‘Would you like to share one?’ She gives a shiny smile. ‘That way I can find a hotel and it will be cheaper for you . . . two boys like you shouldn’t be hanging around in the dark by yourselves, you know.’
Jeevan turns his back to her and moves closer to where I’m standing. ‘What do you think?’ He whispers.
My pendant hangs heavy and strange against my chest. ‘I know she seems nice and everything . . . but let’s find our own taxi.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ She puts her arms around our shoulders and pulls us gently towards her. ‘How old are you? Let me guess . . . thirteen? I’ve got a little brother just like you.’ She hooks her finger under Jeevan’s chin. ‘Look, you won’t get any of these taxis to stop for you . . . how about we jump in this one?’ She waves her arm into the road. ‘I bet you’ve never been in one of these yellow ambassadors.’
I swallow, my heart thudding, feeling like I need to run, but she’s got her arm tight around
us again and the taxi has already slowed to a halt, pushing open the door so we can’t get past.
‘Come on, it’ll been fine . . . I promise.’ She’s speaking quickly now and shoves us into the waiting taxi, squeezes in beside us and slams the door shut.
We’re barely in the car before it swerves on to the road, sending us flying across the slippery seats. Fear grips me.
The woman gives a high laugh. ‘First to one of the central hotels and then wherever these boys are going.’ She opens her bag. ‘I’ll pay.’
‘Jeevan,’ I say under my breath. ‘I want to get out.’ He’s not listening to me, though – he’s watching as the lady pulls out a small box with gold writing all over it. ‘The best barfi in the whole of the city.’ She opens it, offering us a chunk.
Jeevan puts his hand in straight away and stuffs one into his mouth. ‘Mmm . . .’ he says, chewing. ‘Delicious.’
‘And a special one for you,’ she says, pulling out a triangle of barfi with shiny silver leaf painted on to it. She crams it into my mouth.
‘Go on, Asha . . . it’s so yummy.’
‘No!’ I protest, grabbing her arm. ‘Stop it. I don’t want it!’ I swipe the barfi on to the floor, spitting out the bits she stuffed into my mouth.
‘There’s no need to get angry . . . I’m only being kind.’ She takes out a red lipstick and begins stroking it on. ‘Look, your friend is tired.’
‘Yeah.’ Jeevan begins to yawn, blinking his eyes as if he’s having trouble keeping them open. ‘Tha . . . w . . . was r . . . ude . . .’
‘He’s so sleepy,’ the woman says, flipping open her phone, jabbing at the buttons.
I press my face against the cold window and bang on the glass but the taxi driver goes faster than ever.
Jeevan slumps against the car door.
‘What’s happened to you?’ I shake him, but his arm is floppy and nothing I do makes him wake up.
The taxi skids to a halt in front of a rundown building that looks nothing like a hotel. A man standing in the shadows of the doorway makes my heart pound so fiercely, I think it might crack . . .
I grip the edge of the seat, frozen.
He counts out some notes and hands them to the woman. And that’s when I know for sure that we’ve been tricked.
The car door is wide open, it’s my only chance, but Jeevan is fast asleep. I’ll come back for him. I can’t let us both be taken by these people, whoever they are. I leap out of the taxi and run into the dead of night.
I’ve no idea where I’m going, filthy puddles splash up my legs, my breath stinging my lungs as I race away with only one thought in my head: I have to escape.
Heavy footsteps slam behind me, my heart flies into my mouth. ‘Stop!’ My hood is yanked backwards, burning my neck. ‘Come here!’
I’m hoisted up and flipped upside down across the man’s thick shoulders, sending my head crashing against his back.
‘Let me go!’ I yell, banging with my fists.
He throws me on to the wet ground, wraps a stinking cloth around my eyes and pulls it tight.
‘No more funny business,’ he says, shoving me forward.
‘Where’s Jeevan?’ I shout, clawing at his arms. ‘What have you done with him?’
‘Shut it!’ yells the man, slapping me across the face.
The sting of his heavy palm makes me cry out.
His knuckles dig deep into my back as I’m propelled forwards and shuffled along in front of him, tears collecting behind the blindfold . . . what is this? Where am I?
I hear the sharp sound of a key twisting in a lock, then feel a foot in the base of my spine, propelling me forwards, and I land on the ground with a smack, my mouth filling with the iron tang of blood.
The door slams and locks.
There are only four weeks left until Divali and I know that I’ve failed. I’ll never find Papa and get home in time. All I’ve done is make things worse.
I spend all night with my chin pressed into my knees, in a corner of the room. I’m terrified of what’s going to happen next and what they’re going to do with me. My head pounds with the sound of their jagged voices that slink back to haunt me.
Eventually, a dull gleam of weak light struggles in through the small glassless window near the ceiling, casting shadows round the filthy room. It’s little more than a cupboard, full of dark cobwebbed corners, and smells as if it’s been used as a toilet, turning last night’s food into bile in my mouth.
On the floor, the mango seedling and my feather lie discarded on the grimy ground where they were tossed out of my bundle last night. A man rifled through my things, taking Jeevan’s penknife and the last of my money. One of the seedling’s newly sprouted leaves has been knocked off and the other one is crushed and torn.
I scoop up the soil from the ground with my fingers and re-fold the leaf around the stone. An angry tear escapes on to the seedling as I tuck it safely into the front pocket of my jeans before tying Papa’s scarf around my neck.
I clutch my pendant, willing it to respond, and pray for its rhythm to give me strength. I try to feel for the memories – a sign that I haven’t been entirely abandoned – but there’s nothing. Jeevan was right all along: it’s just my imagination.
I beat back the tears because now, more than ever, I have to be strong, just like I was before, when Ma told me to believe in myself. I gather my courage and make a promise, even though I don’t know how I’ll do it: I’m going to find Jeevan and get us both out of here.
They come for me soon after, two men who push me out into a huge open yard, a great grey mound at its centre. Out here it smells worse than ever; like all the world’s most rotten things gathered together in one place. A stream of vomit escapes from my mouth and I swallow the bitter remains, wiping saliva with the back of my hand.
‘Keep moving.’ One man prods me in the back with a whip and I stumble forwards.
Climbing all over the gigantic mound are small groups of children, maybe as many as two whole classes at school. Their heads are bent low, picking through paper and plastic, collecting it into huge sacks that are strapped to their backs.
‘You’re to sort the rubbish; pick out metals, electrical wires and glass bottles. And especially anything that looks valuable. Any nonsense,’ scowls the man, ‘and you’ll feel how hard this whip is. Got it?’
I block my nose at the stench.
‘Get used to it.’ He sniggers, pushing the whip into my shoulder. ‘You’ll be here for a long time.’
None of the other children speak or look at me as I walk towards them and the reason, I see straight away, is that there are more men with hard faces who march around the junkyard, brandishing long whips, hurling abuse at everyone.
A towering brick wall with razor wire along the top stretches all the way around us. Don’t cry, I tell myself, desperately twisting the corners of the sack I’ve been given. Crying won’t get us out of here. But the wall is so high, there’s no way I could climb it.
The ground below my feet is unstable and each step I take makes me sink further into the mass of slush. I begin to collect the shards of metal that spike into my thin pumps and drop them into the sack, slipping one into my pocket in case I need it later.
I scan the junkyard, searching for Jeevan everywhere, but I can’t see him.
One of the men throws an old shoe, which hits a boy on the leg. The boy clasps his leg in pain and cries out, but everyone carries on working; not a single person looks at him or bothers to see if he’s all right.
When I finally spot Jeevan on the far side of the mound, the tight knots in my stomach uncurl and I want to rush over immediately, let him know I’m still alive, but instead I tread cautiously towards him, afraid that they’ll lock me away again.
I pick at pieces of rubbish with my stick, keeping my eye fixed on Jeevan, pretending to search for the things I’ve been told to as I steadily move closer to him . . .
It’s only when I’m nearly there that I dare to let out a whisp
er. ‘Jeevan!’ I keep my head down. ‘Over here.’
He looks up straight away.
I let out a shuddering breath. ‘What have they done to you?’
One side of his face has a deep purple bruise flowering below the eye and his lip has a long gash with dried blood clots all along it.
‘What happened?’ A fire of fury burns in my chest and I fight back angry tears. I want to touch his eye, make it better.
‘Asha,’ he murmurs, keeping his eyes low. ‘You’re safe!’
‘What did they do to you?’ He looks so battered it makes me insane with anger.
‘They . . . pushed me around.’ His voice is quiet, flat. I follow his gaze towards the guards. ‘They threw me against the wall.’
‘Oh, Jeevan, I’m so sorry.’ I risk touching the bruise lightly. ‘I’m going to get us out.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I . . . I don’t know yet, but we’ll do it somehow . . . we’ll do it together.’ I feel for the sharp bit of metal I hid in my pocket, glance up and keep picking at the rubbish. Jeevan’s face looks so painful. ‘Does it still hurt?’
‘It’s not too bad.’ He can barely move his lips.
I know he’s not telling me the truth. His hair has come undone and hangs around his shoulders, his shirt is bloodstained and torn.
I pause and press my pendant to my chest, close my eyes for a moment, try to connect with my ancestors . . . and then I feel the rhythm . . .
Asha, my dear girl. Do you remember what I told you about being special? There is a reason for everything and even though it may not seem fair that you are here, it was your destiny to come . . . even in the vilest of places there is beauty and it is your task to find it. Remember that I was always by your side, even when you were too small to know, and I sang to you and loved you.
The memory disappears quickly but it gives me a boost and I move closer to Jeevan. ‘We’ve got to at least try to get out,’ I say. ‘We can’t just give up.’
He shrugs and looks away, but not before I see the defeat in his eyes.
Asha & the Spirit Bird Page 11