The Deadly Conch (9 page)

“I'll help, too,” said Suraj. “I'm not sleepy. Should I get water from the well?”

Tara shook her head. “Can't go there, remember? Today we'll have to walk all the way to Pinjaur for water.”

Suraj's face became serious. “Everyone will hate walking so far. And it's so hot.”

Tara nodded. As of this morning when people replenished their stock of drinking water, the hardship would start and they would all be blaming her, hating her. It was more important than ever that she get rid of Layla fast, before she spread any more lies or did any more damage.

Their neighbour stepped out into her courtyard, balancing a pot on her head. Another rested against her hip.

“Good morning, Poonamji,” Tara called out. “You're up very early.”

The only answer they got was the tinkling of Poonam's anklets as she walked away. She did not even look in their direction when just a couple of days ago she had leaned over the low mud wall that separated their houses and passed over a steaming aloo-paratha for them to sample. She had even supported Tara when Raka had read out her punishment for desecrating the temple.

“Arre, Poonamji,” said Suraj running up to the wall. “Did we do something to make you mad?”

Poonam had reached the edge of the courtyard. She looked back, glared at both of them, and walked away.

Tara sighed as Suraj returned, his shoulders slumped. “Why won't she talk to me? What have
I
done?”

Tara looked at Suraj's white expression and her heart ached for him. He was suffering because of her. Soon it would be the entire family.

“Layla started all this,” said Suraj. “I hate her. I want her to go away and never come back.”

For once Tara did not correct or chide him. Instead, she hugged him. “I know, Suraj. And I'm going to do something about her. Don't you worry.”

“What are the two of you up to?” said Parvati. She stood by the back door, stifling a yawn.

“We were looking …” Suraj started to say and Tara nudged him.

“At the sunrise,” she completed.

Parvati looked shrewdly from one to the other. “
Sunrise
?”

Tara casually slipped the conch into her pocket and nodded.

“And you, too?” she asked, her eyes shifting to Suraj.

Suraj nodded vigorously.

Parvati raised an eyebrow. “Well if you both have finished admiring the sunrise, I suggest you come in and have breakfast. Then you'll both have to get water from the next village. I'll go with your father to see how best we can clean up our own well.”

As soon as she was gone, Tara knelt in front of Suraj. “Tell no one about this conch. It's our secret. All right? Promise me?” She stuck her palm out and Suraj laid his hand on it.

“Didi, I have a secret to share, too.”

Tara stared into his face, trying to hide her dismay. When did her baby brother become old enough for secrets? “What is it?” she said.

“Promise you won't tell anyone?” He stuck his little palm out and Tara covered it with hers.

She then followed as Suraj raced to a corner of their courtyard where bits of stone, shattered clay pots, and other odds and ends were lying in a heap. Their mother had always meant to clear it away, but there was never enough time. Suraj reached into the middle of the pile of debris and pulled something out. He handed it to Tara..

The package was carelessly wrapped in oilskin and surprisingly heavy. “What is it, Suraj?”

“Open it and see,” said Suraj. “But you can tell no one about it. Okay, Didi?”

Tara glanced behind her. Their mother was nowhere in sight. She unwrapped the parcel, and almost dropped it. In her hand lay Zarku's dagger. The one he was going to use to cut her heart out. The stones on its handle gleamed like red eyes in the early morning sunlight. The silver blade ended in a cruel, sharp tip. Tara re-wrapped the parcel with shaking hands and thrust it back into the middle of the pile.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.

“In the cave,” said Suraj. “While Sadia and I were waiting for you I saw this lying on the ground. I decided to take it.”

“Why?” asked Tara. “Why did you take it?” She almost screamed at him, fighting the urge to shake him hard. What was he thinking?

Suraj shrugged. “I don't know. I just cannot remember. All I know is that I had to take it and keep it hidden. A voice inside my head told me to do it.”

Tara lunged forward and clasped Suraj's face. She turned it up to the sun and ran her fingertips over his forehead. It was smooth, with not the tiniest little bump. She hugged him tight, relief flooding her, turning instantly to panic.

Why had he taken the dagger? But more important,
who
had told him to take it?

— eight —
The Untouchables

T
ara and Suraj trudged the long and dusty road to Pinjaur. Along the way, they ran into a couple of villagers from Morni who ignored them. It was happening sooner than she had expected; they were all being treated like untouchables. For the first time, Tara realized how Gayatri-ma must feel — shunned through no fault of hers, treated as if she did not exist. And she did not like it one little bit.

The earth baked in the late morning sun. Large cracks had opened up on its surface like cuts on a wound that were crying out for salve. Tara looked up at the sky. There wasn't a ghost of a cloud in sight. Rain was the only thing that would heal the earth and cool the raging tempers of the villagers. But it would not happen today. Her throat was parched and she tried very hard not to think of a large glass of cool well water.

“How are we going to stop Layla?” said Suraj suddenly.

Tara shot a glance at him. It was the one thought that had nagged her constantly since last night.

“I'll think of something,” said Tara. “Don't you worry about it.”

“It has something to do with the shell, right?”

Tara met his eyes, trying to keep her face blank. How perceptive he'd become! But Lord Yama had warned her against telling anyone and that included Suraj. Before she could reply, someone called out.

“Tara, Suraj, wait up.”

Tara whirled around. Ananth! He was still speaking to her. Whatever Layla had told him, it hadn't worked. She was so relieved that she almost dropped the earthen pot as she murmured a prayer. Ananth's support meant so much to her.

They waited while he caught up to them. He, too, was carrying an earthen pot. Tara gazed at her older brother, taller than her now, with deep, black eyes and dark hair cropped so close to his scalp that he almost looked bald. He'd even pierced his ear recently and a flash of silver caught her eye. Tara realized that she hadn't even noticed when he'd done it.

“I didn't want Mother to walk all the way to Pinjaur,” said Ananth, holding up the pot he was carrying. “So I offered to get the water.”

Tara smiled. “We could use some company.”

They walked in silence on the dirt path that ran between the paddy fields linking the village of Morni with Pinjaur. Sickly yellow crops raised their parched heads to the sky. Tara could not bear to look at them. Even if the rains came now, she knew in her heart that it was too late. The crop was lost and they would have to go hungry this year. If they were lucky, next year they would have a bountiful crop and eat well. She turned her eyes away from the swathe of yellow on either side and instead watched Suraj as he ran ahead, whipping the weeds lining the path with a supple branch.

“Are you all right?” said Ananth. “You don't seem yourself.”

“Do you care?” Tara couldn't resist saying. “You haven't been around too often. Hope you're not starting to believe Layla's lies.”

Ananth stopped immediately. “Why would you say that?”

Tara stared at him. His surprise seemed genuine. Should she tell him that she'd seen Layla talking to him last night? The words were crowding the tip of her tongue, dying to leap out. Finally Tara decided to stay silent. If he wanted to, he would tell her about it. In fact, she was curious to see if he would confide in her as he used to.

“Just wondering,” said Tara. She shrugged, but her heart thudded. They had been through so much together. The first time was when they had set off to seek her mother and grandfather. Then again when they'd slipped away to rescue Suraj, Rohan, and Sadia. Ananth, whom she had declared her brother by tying a rakhi to his wrist, had always been the voice of calm and reason. A voice she sorely missed these days.

“Well, stop wondering,” said Ananth. “If I haven't been around lately, it's because I'm worried about Mother. The villagers have started acting weird suddenly. I just cannot understand it. I'm so afraid they'll change their minds and decide that she should carry out … the Sati ceremony after all and then throw us out of the village.”

His speech and his stride faltered. Tara knew why. Sati was when a widow was forced to burn on her husband's funeral pyre. Prabala had saved Gayatri-ma from this horrible fate a year ago. But with the villagers so superstitious these days, and Prabala gone, Ananth probably had cause to worry. Who knew what the angry, frightened villagers might do?

“The villagers are mad,” said Tara, voicing her thoughts. “I wish the monsoons would come soon. Then all my problems would be solved, except the one called Layla.”

“Speaking of Layla, you should know that your dear stepsister stopped by last night.”

Tara exhaled slowly, trying not to let the relief show. He was confiding in her once again! Nothing had changed between them.

“Why?” said Tara trying to keep her voice light, unconcerned. “What did she want?”

“She wanted me to stay away from you,” said Ananth. “She said that great harm would befall me and my mother, if we continued to associate with you. You and your family were like the plague, and were to be avoided. I think she was struggling to find a name for it.”

Tara glanced at him as they continued to walk. His eyes were smiling and his lips twitched. It seemed like old times when he used to tease her. Was it her overactive imagination that made her think he'd been mad at her the evening of the feast?

“
I
would have called it Tara-itis!” said Ananth in a serious voice. “The deadly plague.”

Tara stared at him for a moment and then burst into giggles. “Taritis.”

Ananth laughed so loud and hard that Suraj ran back toward them. “What's so funny?” he asked. “Tell me,
tell me
!”

“There's a new plague in town, did you know?” said Ananth amid hoots of laughter.

Tara held a stitch in her side. “It's called Taritis and it's contagious,” she said, still giggling.

“Once you get it, there's no cure,” said Ananth, barely able to speak, he was laughing so hard. “Taritis stays with you until you
die
!”

“No cure at all,” echoed Tara.

Suraj looked from one to the other, completely confused. Both she and Ananth were now completely immobilized with laughter.

“You're both mad,” he said and walked away in a huff.

“Couldn't you have managed to get two pots of water?” said Parvati. “I've used up most of the water for cooking. And we'll need some to last us until tomorrow morning.”

“Only one pot per family was allowed,” said Tara.

Suraj nodded. “Someone tried to take two pots and he was almost beaten up.”

Tara folded a piece of chappati and scooped up some brinjal and potato. Her eyes watered as the spices hit her tongue and she took a large gulp of cool well water.

“Why are they rationing water in Pinjaur?” said Shiv. He stopped chewing his food and looked from Suraj to Tara.

“They said their water was also running low and though they were glad to help, they had to ration it until the monsoon arrived,” said Tara. “So they posted a villager there to make sure no one took more than one pot.”

Parvati sighed deeply as she dipped a steel tumbler into the pot. It scraped the bottom sounding like nails scratching a wall. “One glass of water left and it has to last us until tomorrow morning.”

Tara was immediately thirsty again. She wanted to drink water till she was ready to burst, but knew she'd have to be content with a sip at most. The hot kitchen and spicy food made her sweat profusely. She pushed away her plate which still had some remaining food.

“Don't you even think of wasting food, Tara. Things are going to get even tougher once the crops fail. You will eat properly while we can still afford a decent meal.”

Her mother's words made her cringe; there was so much truth in them. Shiv and Suraj had finished every morsel of food and even wiped their thalis clean with a last bit of chappati. Tara pulled the thali back toward her and gulped down the food, tasting only hopelessness and fear.

That night Tara could not sleep, she lay awake trying to count sheep. It didn't work. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, thinking of blue skies, lush, green paddy fields, and a shimmering lake of water, trying to calm a mind that had been scurrying all day like a trapped rat.