Forest of Demons (8 page)

“Priya? Oh, shit!” Guru covered himself.

Priya stumbled back.

Guru rushed toward her, grabbing at her arm with one hand, and holding his pants up with the other.

“Priya, please listen. I’m sorry, I should have told you, but I was scared you wouldn’t understand, scared you’d blame me for Mala’s death.”

Priya stared at him in horrified incomprehension.

He began to speak urgently. “She was following me that day. I was going to meet up with Pratip—we have this special spot. I think she suspected I was seeing someone. I cut through the forest to throw her off my trail. I never expected . . . I never expected she would follow, that she would . . . die.”

It was his fault? Mala was his fault. She’d confessed her fears to him, and he’d kept the truth from her, lied to her, cheated on Mala with . . . with, oh God, she couldn’t even think it. Tearing her elbow from his grasp, she turned and ran.

Her heart was slamming against her ribcage, her mouth dry, she ran through the market and into the winding streets of the village where the moon was elusive, only then did she slow her pace. She stood, bent over, hands on her knees gasping for breath. From the corner of her eye she saw the shadow

A huge black dog.

Her eyes mimicked saucers as a scream bubbled up her throat.

As if spurred by her distress the dog backed away, melting into the shadows.

She waited, afraid it was a trick. Afraid that it was merely waiting for her to turn her back so it could pounce. Long minutes ticked by and nothing happened.

Quickly she made her way home.

She’d expected her parents to be asleep when she returned, but Ma was still up, Priya’s basket of mending at her feet, a lone lamp lit to guide her weary eyes.

Ma’s smile faded when she saw Priya’s tear-streaked face. “Priya? What’s happened?”

Priya opened her mouth to deny that anything was wrong, to make up a lie, but instead Mala’s face swam before her eyes, then Pratip’s naked back and Guru’s bare torso. The truth spilt from her lips like bitter poison.

Ma’s outraged face shimmered as fresh tears cleared a new path down her cheeks.

When she was done Ma led her to her room, tucked her into bed, smoothed her forehead, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Your Papa and I knew you had your heart set on him, but we always knew it couldn’t be; his family is way above our station. But this . . . I never dreamed. Poor Mala.” She retreated with a deep sigh, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

Priya lay in the darkness, her heart choked with grief and loss, her mind clouded with confusion. She’d been certain of Guru’s affections for so long. Had loved him forever but hidden her feelings, because he was to be Mala’s. Mala had suspected, but she’d suspected Priya.

How was this possible? Why would he do those things—things meant to be between man and woman—with Pratip?

She ran through their recent conversations, trying to find a clue, some inkling that his affections lay elsewhere. Every word, every expression, and every nuance . . . it struck her then how Guru had referred to Mala. He had referred to her as “our dear friend.” Why hadn’t she picked up on that before? The argument that he and Pratip had in the forest . . . so much like a lovers’ quarrel, and the affection in Guru’s eyes when he’d looked at Pratip, the way he’d confided in him—it all made sense now.

Ravi’s words came to mind. “He will never love you the way you love him.” Ravi had known. He’d tried to stop her from going to the temple that evening, tried to protect her from the truth. Had Guru known that Ravi was aware of his secret? Was that why he’d been so adamant she not speak with him? Had he merely be trying to protect himself when all the while she’d believed he was concerned about her?

As her breathing settled, as her heart found its rhythm, her conscience awoke.

Guru loved Pratip. She didn’t understand it, but felt its truth, had seen it in his eyes. She didn’t understand it, but she loved him and didn’t have the strength to hurt him. If only he had confided in her sooner . . . She would speak to him in the morning. Tell him that she would keep his secret.

Her head ached. Sleep tugged at her eyelids. She allowed it to take her.

The next morning she awoke to the sun streaming through the curtains that hung in her doorway.

She shot up, glancing about in panic.

Why was the sun so bright? It must be almost midday.

She jumped out of bed, pulled on her clothes and hurried into the kitchen

Ma looked over from the stove. “Sit. I’ll fetch you some food.”

“What’s going on? Why didn’t you wake me? I have to set up the stall.”

Ma shook her head. “You’ll stay home this morning. The stall can wait.”

“What?” Priya’s stomach dropped under the weight of foreboding. Guru, this had something to do with Guru, she could feel it. God’s, why had she told Ma what had happened! “Ma, what have you done?”

Ma pressed her lips tightly together. “What needed to be done.”

Priya backed away. “Ma, please . . . you didn’t . . . you didn’t say anything to anyone, right?” Even as she asked the question she knew the answer, she could see it in Ma’s eyes, the set of her delicate jaw.

Priya grabbed her shawl and slammed out the house, ignoring Ma’s cries.

The market was winding down in time for the red sun’s appearance. She noticed a parade of people moving toward the temple, as if drawn by some auspicious event. Priya’s pulse jumped as she pushed past them, moving quickly to get to the front of the crowd.

The screams and accusations could be heard clearly, carried on the dry air like sharp motes of dust. They pricked her skin, bringing a flush of shameful horror to her cheeks.

“You filthy creature! We give you a place in our home, and you repay us with this. Casting your evil spells on my poor boy!” Miriam’s enraged voice was accompanied by distressed wailing.

Priya heard a meaty thud and a scream of pain.

She pushed through to the front of the crowd to see Pratip lying at the bottom of the temple steps, his face bloody, his tunic torn. Miriam stood over him with a broom. Pratip’s mother’s screams beat the air with each blow Miriam inflicted on her son, but her husband held her back, his face twisted with revulsion.

“Please, no. It’s not true!” Pratip’s mother, Hema, cried.

“It
is
true. Your son is an abomination!”

“Get out of our village!” someone in the crowd cried.

“We don’t want the likes of you among us!” Another voice joined in, and then the crowd erupted in jeers and threats.

A rock went flying past and hit Pratip on the back. He fell forward onto his face, his body shaking with sobs.

The temple door flew open and Guru came barreling out, his face red and streaked with tears, his eye swollen and bruised.

“No, Guru, get back!” Miriam tried to stop him, brandishing the broom as a barrier, but he pushed her aside and fell to his knees beside Pratip.

“Pratip? I’m so sorry, Pratip?”

Pratip lifted his bloody face and Guru cried out in horror. Another rock flew, this one aimed at Guru. It found its mark smashing into his forehead with a sickening thud.

Priya rushed forward. “Guru!”

Guru lashed out at her. “Get away from me! This is your fault. I thought you were my friend!”

Priya flinched, wounded by his venomous glare.

“You did this! I hate you! I hate you, Priya, you hear me!” Blood trickled into his eye, he swiped it away. “I hate you all, you small-minded, pathetic creatures!” His voice broke and he sobbed into Pratip’s hair.

Miriam screamed in frustration, grasping the collar of his tunic trying to pull him away. “Get up! For God’s sake stop this!” Her anger had morphed into something else . . . something akin to sorrow.

Priya stared at her in dawning comprehension. She’d known . . . Miriam had known and had done nothing, but now . . . now she was putting on a show. By throwing Pratip to the dogs, she was protecting her only son.

“Priya, we should go.” Papa took her arm. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

“No. You’re right.” She turned away. “I’ve done my worst already.”

Priya stood in the lengthy queue to fetch water. The conversation flowed around her but didn’t register. She was lost in her own troubled thoughts.

Guru and Pratip were gone. They’d stolen away in the dead of night. Maybe that was best. Wherever they were, they’d be together. They’d be happy. She told herself these things to console her guilty, broken heart.

She hadn’t spoken to Ma for almost a week now. Papa said she should forgive her, that Ma was a simple woman with simple thoughts, that her actions had been prompted through love for Priya more than anything else. “Guru broke your heart, and your Ma lashed out. She’s a lioness when it comes to protecting her only cub,” Papa had said.

In truth it wasn’t Ma she was furious with, it was herself. But if she stopped punishing Ma, she’d have to accept that the blame lay solely at her own feet, and she would never forgive herself for her part in the destruction of Guru’s carefully constructed lie.

In the space of a month, she’d lost both of her closest friends. Her future stretched out before her, a lonely landscape of tedium with only her guilt to keep her company.

Ma bustled about affecting a cheerful demeanor, which only served to inflame Priya’s anger and prevent her from releasing Ma from blame. If only she’d show a little contrition. Instead she maintained that she’d taken the correct action in informing the pujari of their son’s debauchery.

Priya went through the motions, working in the stall, helping Papa in the forest, and catching up on her mending and dress commissions. With the harvest in and the grain distributed, everyone was preparing for the festival and the winter season.

“Priya! Hey, move up.” Nita nudged her in the small of the back. Priya resisted the urge to turn around and smack her. Instead she took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The well would be useless soon, frozen to ice. They would get their water from the snow, which would fall in abundance. A howl of pain pulled her from her thoughts.

“What is it? What’s going on?” She craned her neck to see what all the commotion was at the front of the queue.

Nita had already gone to investigate, leaving her matka behind to mark her place in the queue.

Another wail followed. Priya dropped her bucket and rushed forward.

The women were gathered around Chaya, who was curled up on the dusty ground, her face too pale, her eyes too dark.

“Oh God! Someone get the vithyan!” Nita cried.

Priya stumbled back, her eyes wide in shock at the blood seeping out from under Chaya. It pooled about her before being sucked into the parched ground.

One of the women at the front of the queue dropped her matka and ran off.

Chaya moaned in pain, clutching her abdomen. Collecting herself, Priya stepped forward and knelt by Chaya. She carefully lifted the woman’s head onto her lap, smoothing back damp tendrils of hair.

“It’s going to be all right. I promise.” The words felt like a lie; there was too much blood for it to be all right. Chaya’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to stay conscious.

“Tell Prabhu . . . tell him I loved him . . . tell him my truth . . . my truth is in my mattress.” She closed her eyes.

Priya held her until the vithyan arrived and confirmed what she already knew.

Chaya was dead.

“Priya? Beti . . . I’m sorry.” Ma stood in the doorway to her bedroom.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

Priya looked up from her clasped hands. She knew Ma’s stubborn nature. This was the best apology she would get, and oh Gods, she needed a hug right now.

Her face crumpled, and Ma shot across the room to gather her against her soft bosom. Priya held on to her mother’s diminutive figure, sobbing until her chest ached and her nose clogged up.

Ma rocked her until the sobs subsided. Grief was replaced by simmering rage. She extricated herself from Ma’s embrace.

“They killed her, you know. It was the constant beatings, the hard labor.
They
did this!”

“Priya! You don’t know that for certain, there were rumors, of course but—”

“I do know, and so does everyone else, and no one did anything!
I
didn’t do anything! We all just stood by and allowed it to continue. We’re all responsible for her death, for that poor baby’s death.” She stood and began pacing. “This village is filled with scared little people, people who cling to superstition as a shield of ignorance. They’re happy to take action against something they don’t understand, because it costs them nothing, but they stand by and allow abuse to continue for fear of losing a handful of grain!”

“Priya, please, calm yourself.”

Priya shook her off. “I need some air.” She brushed past her into the main room.

Papa was sitting in his chair by the stove. He looked up, pipe dangling from his lips as she entered.

“I’m going out.” Priya retrieved her shawl.

“It’s too late, the sun is setting.” Ma said.

“I’ll take a lamp. I won’t go far.”

“Hariji? Tell her!” Ma wrung her hands.

Papa withdrew his pipe from his mouth and locked eyes with Priya “Don’t stay out too late.”

Priya inclined her head, grateful for his empathy.

The sky was blood-red with the setting sun, the streets already silent. The village slept early and rose early; nighttime was for the rich and slovenly. She only ever ventured out this late for a festival or special occasion, and she was usually accompanied by Ma, Papa, or both. Tonight was an exception. She had no particular destination in mind, but instead of feeling adrift, she felt liberated. She stopped thinking and allowed her feet to guide her.

This place she called home suddenly felt tiny. A small-minded village, wrapped in conventions and suffocatingly dull. When she’d been young, every day had felt like an adventure, her imagination conjuring tales for even the most mundane tasks. Every night had been a portal to wondrous dreams. She yearned for that innocence, that sense of walking on air, that sense of safety. The village hadn’t changed she had. Safety now felt like restriction; exciting superstitions and rituals now felt like the excuses and actions of uneducated minds, the actions of people too scared to face reality.