The Deadly Conch (13 page)

And Tara was not about to make Layla happy. Or to let her win.

The kitchen was now hazy with smoke. Her eyes roved the room and stopped on the earthen pots of water. She galloped over to them and flung off the lids. She slid Suraj to the floor and emptied some water over him. Then she raced over to Parvati and flung some over her.

Parvati gasped as the water revived her.

“Mother, help me,” said Tara. “Douse me with water.”

Parvati picked up the pot and dumped the remaining water over Tara. The coolness on her skin after the fierce heat of the fire was almost too painful to bear. Tara scooped up Suraj again and moved toward the back door. The metal clasp securing it was red hot and there was no way she could touch it. They would have to force it open.

“As soon as I kick the door down, we're going to jump through, Mother,” said Tara. “Okay?”

Parvati nodded, wiping the sweat and blood trickling down her face.

Tara approached the wall of fire, took a deep breath, and kicked hard. Her mojri caught fire, but the door did not open. She kicked the shoe off, sobbing with pain as embers scorched the sole of her unprotected foot.

“What do we do now, Mother?” wailed Tara. She was almost at the end of her strength. “We need something stronger.”

Parvati pointed to the mortar and pestle by the door. “Use that.”

Tara snatched it up. Sweat poured into her eyes, making it difficult to see. Her clothes were almost dry. If they didn't get out now, they'd go up in flames even if they did manage to jump through the door.

“Hang onto Suraj, Mother,” said Tara.

She passed her brother over and then, using the long pestle as a battering ram, she charged at the door. The clasp broke and the door flew open. Cool air rushed in fanning the flames. They leaped higher.

“Now, Mother!” said Tara.

Holding hands, they raced through the doorway. Hot flames grabbed at Tara as she passed. They kept running until they reached the edge of the courtyard and collapsed, coughing and trembling. There was no crowd around them screaming, yelling, or helping to put out the fire.

It was then Tara realized; they were truly alone and utterly unwelcome in a place they had called home all their lives.

— eleven —
The Deadly Conch

A
deliciously cool sensation woke Tara. She opened her eyes and stared into a face she knew so well, but for a moment her mind was completely blank as to the name and identity of the person.

“How are you feeling, Tara?” said the woman.

The moment she spoke, it all flooded back.

“I hurt all over, Gayatri-ma.” Hurt did not come close to describing how she felt. It was as if someone had scrubbed every inch of her skin with a rock. Her hands and feet were particularly painful and burned every time she shifted. The stench of charred flesh lingered in the air, but she was so tired that she didn't even have the energy to retch. All she wanted to do was sleep for a very long time.

A sudden thought shot into her head. She struggled to sit up and realized she was on a makeshift bed in the kitchen. Gayatri was the only other person in the room with her.

“Suraj, Mother, where are they? Are they all right?”

“Relax, Tara,” said Gayatri. “They're both fine and sleeping. Ananth managed to get the vaid to come here. He gave them both a sleeping draught so that the poultice can take effect.”

“Vaid?” said Tara. She sat up higher, ignoring the dizziness. “So the villagers know?”

“Yes,” said Gayatri. “Raka was here to take a look at all of you. He just left.”

“I have to see Suraj and Mother, now,” said Tara. “Please.”

“They're in the front room,” said Gayatri. “I'll let you see them for just a minute, but then you must promise to come back and rest.”

Tara nodded and stood up on shaky feet. The kitchen see-sawed in front of her eyes. Gayatri put out a hand to steady her and slowly the room levelled out. Every step sent shooting pains up her spine. She could barely put any weight on her right foot. It was heavily bandaged and the bottom of her shalwar was singed and torn.

With Gayatri's help, she hobbled into the front room and stopped in the doorway. Parvati and Suraj lay on cots. The spotless white bandages stood out starkly against their filthy, soot-encrusted clothes.

Tara knelt by Suraj's bed first. He was asleep, but part of his face had raw burns that were still bleeding. He was dressed only in shorts. His torso was an angry red, weeping pus and blood. Tara wept, too, as she gazed at the little body. This must be so painful for Suraj. How long would it take to heal? How long before he would be all right again?

She kissed his forehead as gently as she could. Suraj moaned in his sleep, his hands clutching at the bedclothes.

Tara shuffled over to Parvati's bedside. She was asleep, too. The cut on her head was bandaged, a rose of blood blossoming in its centre. Her clothes were stained with red.

Someone in the village had played Holi with them, using their own blood instead of coloured powder.

Tara hobbled toward the kitchen, glancing at Suraj as she passed. He twitched convulsively, and then lay still. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore and returned to the kitchen as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her.

Tara collapsed on the bed and curled into a tight ball, fighting the urge to vomit. The villagers knew Shiv and Prabala were both away, so someone had decided to act now and rid Morni of its bad luck. She and her family had almost died. But who could have done this? Layla? Or had she put someone else up to it?

“Tara, eat this medicine.”Ananth knelt beside her and held out a steel glass. Tiny white balls lay in the palm of his hand.

“Ananth! Did you see what they did?” said Tara. “They tried to kill us! While we were alone and helpless, they tried to get rid of us … the cowards!” Huge sobs shook her as she tried to get the words out. It hurt to speak, but it hurt even more to keep it bottled up inside.

Ananth's face twisted with pain. He set the glass down on the floor and hugged her. “I'm so very sorry about this, Tara. But you really need to rest now. We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise. But you must sleep. Take these pills. The vaid left them.”

“No!” said Tara. “I need to talk to Rakaji now. I want an explanation. How could our hut catch fire? Why did no other hut burn down? Why didn't anyone come to help us? WHO DID THIS?”

“Shhhh, Tara. Just calm down and take this medicine. For my sake, please?” said Ananth holding his hand out again. “We'll … we'll figure it out together. Anyway, it's very early in the morning and everyone is still asleep.”

Tara stared into Ananth's eyes, which were swimming with unshed tears. It was comforting to know he was feeling the pain, too. She was not
entirely
alone.

A strong and deep exhaustion pulled at her. All she wanted to do was sleep and the harder she fought it, the more tired she felt. She took the Ayurvedic pills and put them into her mouth. They dissolved on her tongue; sweet with a hint of mint. She took a sip of water and lay down.

“Wake me up in an hour, Ananth. Have to talk to … Raka … morning.”

She had no idea what he said because she was already asleep.

Flames crackled all around, reaching out for her with fiery fingers. She was going to burn to death. Tara screamed and sat up, every part of her sobbing with pain.

Fire!” she croaked. “Help!”

“It's okay, Tara. Oh, my poor child,” said Gayatri as she rushed over with arms wide open. “It's all right. It's only the cooking fire.”

Tara came fully awake and realized that it was indeed as Gayatri-ma had described; a fire leaped under a bubbling pot of rice on the raised earthen platform. The house wasn't burning down.

“S-sorry,” whispered Tara. She wiped her face with her sleeve. “I thought …”

“I know what you thought, Tara. I'm sorry for keeping you in the kitchen. But there is no more space in the front room. I'm afraid you'll have to sleep here and so will I.”

Tara looked around and saw one more mattress rolled up in the corner. “Where's Ananth?”

“He's gone to get water; with five of us here, we're constantly running out. He'll be here any moment now.”

Tara nodded. Her head was a lot clearer now that she'd slept, though her body still ached. She glanced at the kitchen window. “Almost morning,” she said stifling a yawn. “How long did I sleep?”

“Actually it's evening,” said Gayatri. “You've slept the day away.”

“Oh no! Why didn't you wake me? I must speak with Rakaji.”

“Not today, you won't,” said Gayatri with surprising firmness. Her eyes held a hint of steel. It was the first time that Tara had seen this side of her.

“How are Mother and Suraj?” she asked.

“They're fine. I checked on them just before I started dinner and they were sleeping peacefully. But you can go wake them now so we can all eat something. Then you must sleep again. It's the best cure.”

Tara walked into the front room as fast as her burned foot would allow her. Parvati was sitting up on the cot holding her head in her hands.

“Mother, are you okay?” said Tara, sitting beside her.

Parvati's head jerked up. She flung her arms around Tara and hugged her tight. “Thank God you're all right.”

Tara hugged her back, an aching lump in her throat. Parvati's saree reeked of smoke, reminding her of their ordeal just a few hours ago. She took shallow breaths, trying to forget the ghastly night.

“Mother?” said Suraj.

They both rushed to his side.

“What is it, Suraj?” said Parvati.

“Everything hurts.” He started sobbing quietly and it broke Tara's heart to watch him.

“You'll be all right, little brother. Just sleep,” said Tara. She caressed his forehead gently and crooned in his ear until his restless tossing and turning subsided.

“Dinner's ready.” Gayatri stood in the doorway holding a lantern aloft. The white of her saree glowed in the soft, yellow light, giving her a ghostly appearance.

Tara shook her head. She was so full of anger and hate; there was no room for food.

“Tara, you have to eat and get strong,” said Gayatri. “Starving is not going to solve anything. Come along now, I don't want to hear another word from you. Let Suraj sleep. When he's awake, I'll bring him some food.

Again Tara marvelled at the steel in her voice. Gayatri-ma appeared meek to the world, but in her home she was a woman with an iron will. Tara sat on the kitchen floor, trying not to look at the flames embracing the bottom of the blackened cooking pot.

Ananth walked in through the back door, dripping with sweat, but triumphantly bearing two pots of water. “Had to walk to two wells to get these,” he said in a tired voice. “But we should be all right until tomorrow.”

“Sit, Ananth. Dinner is ready,” said his mother.

Ananth settled down and attacked his meal with gusto.

“Thank you, Gayatri,” said Parvati after a while. “My family and I owe you a lot.” They were seated in the kitchen eating a simple dinner of yellow dal, rice, and boiled spinach.

“Anyone would have done …” Gayatri replied and stopped. She took a bite of food and chewed it carefully.

Tara knew why she hadn't finished the sentence. No one had taken them in and not a single villager had stopped by to talk to them, either. Except for Rakaji, who had dropped in while they had been asleep. They were outcasts, just like Gayatri-ma. The thought made her chest burn.

Her mother still wore the blood-stained saree since the only ones Gayatri had were white. She had heard her apologize to Parvati for not lending her one; it was bad luck for a married woman to wear white.

Don't cry, don't cry
, Tara chanted silently as she pushed the food around on her plate. How could things have gone so badly wrong for them? A few days ago they were the pride of Morni and today they were pariahs.

Ananth was quiet, too. A lot of thinking was going on behind those dark, black eyes, which seemed to be avoiding hers a lot lately. How she wished she could take him aside and discuss everything. Within her, one thought burned bright and strong; revenge. Kali was beyond reach, but she would see to it that Layla suffered. A lot!

“I need to go back and get some clothes,” said Parvati. “I have to get out of these filthy ones. My skin is crawling.”

Ananth and Gayatri exchanged glances.

“What?” asked Tara. “Why are you looking at each other like that?”

“I'll send Ananth to one of the villagers to lend you a saree and blouse,” said Gayatri. “I know a couple of them who will still help us, though they might be afraid to do it openly.”

“But why not our own?” asked Parvati, her face pale.

“There's nothing left,” said Ananth, his expression grim. “Not a stick of furniture or clothing. Everything that could burn has gone up in flames. Only the pots and pans are left.”