Tara had even pulled out all the weeds around the periphery of the temple. She had replaced them with small, flowering plants that had flourished in the hot sun, their orange and red hues contrasting with the grey stone of the temple walls.
“This room smells so good and it's spotless,” Parvati whispered to Tara as they stood in a corner. “I never could stomach the odour of rancid oil for long. You've done a very good job. I'm sure Lord Ganesh is pleased with you.”
“Thank you, Mother,” said Tara. “Maybe Lord Ganesh is pleased, but Punditji still isn't.”
Mother shook her head and hugged Tara. “Don't mind him.”
“Mother, did Rakaji ever find out who killed ⦠who did this?”
Parvati shook her head. “They are still investigating, but
I
know you didn't do it. Your father believes you're innocent, too.”
Tara noted that very few villagers were of the same mind as her mother. They stopped to talk to Shiv and Parvati, and patted Tara on the head. Most just nodded in Tara's direction and faced the deity, waiting for the pooja to begin.
You're all wrong
, thought Tara.
And when the truth
comes out, you'll see.
The small room was hot, made hotter by the rows of diyas lit at the foot of Lord Ganesh. Everyone wanted to be inside rather than outside, and the crush of bodies was almost unbearable. Many fanned themselves with their turbans or sarees, their faces glistening with sweat. Tara couldn't wait to get out and breathe the cool air, but she would not miss this for anything. She had been ordered to clean the temple and she had done a great job. And she wanted to see the Panchayat's reaction to it.
Punditji stepped out from his room in a crisp white dhoti. “All ready?” he boomed. His chest was bare except for the thick, red thread that circled it diagonally, from over his right shoulder to his ample waist. It was part of a coming-of-age religious ceremony that all Hindu boys went through. His curly pigtail was well oiled. Suraj had once remarked that it looked like a pig's tail. Ever since, Tara had to suppress a smile whenever she gazed at Punditji's shendi. His small eyes glittered as he saw the piles of fruits and sweets on the glistening steel thalis at the foot of the deity. Nothing put him in a better mood than the sight of food. And today it was evident that he was in an excellent mood.
Raka and the rest of the Panchayat were the last ones to arrive. A place next to the deity had already been reserved for them. As soon as they took their places, the pooja began.
Punditji tinkled the bell and led the villagers through a prayer they could sing, all together. The chants of the villagers echoed in the small room. Tara gazed at the face of Lord Ganesh, thankful that things were back to normal. After this, the villagers would forget this incident had ever happened and no one would look at her like she was a pariah.
Once they finished chanting the prayer, everyone fell silent. Punditji then sang the next prayer solo.His nasal, whiny voice mingling with the heat and smoke from the incense sticks made Tara drowsy.
Sumathy stood beside Raka. She had barely spoken to Tara since that incident. Tara caught her eye and smiled tentatively. Sumathy looked away and it felt like someone had slapped her. Tara scanned the crowd and one by one, the villagers' gazes slid away. She had completed her punishment. Why were they still angry with her?
She looked around for Ananth, but didn't see him. Maybe he was outside with his mother. If Gayatri was attending, it would be best to remain out of sight.
With a pang of worry, Tara realized Layla wasn't there, either. Her drowsiness vanished.
Where was her
stepsister? What was she up to now?
“Mother, where's Layla?” whispered Tara. She remembered the look on Layla's face when she had held out the marble, pretending that it was the dead dog's eyeball. Her stepsister was not likely to forget that joke.
“I don't know,” said Parvati softly.
Tara nudged Suraj, whose eyes were closing as he stared at Punditji's back. “Suraj, have you seen Layla?”
“Obviously, some people think that the pooja is not important enough to pray in silence,” snapped Punditji. He twisted around, his eyes fixed on Tara. “Silence,” he hissed.
Burning with shame, Tara stared at Punditji and then at the rest of the villagers who wore expressions of annoyance and disgust. “Sorry,” she whispered.
Punditji threw her one last dirty look and resumed the prayers. Seated on a flat, low stool, he held the little bell in his left hand. It tinkled nonstop while he threw flowers and rice at regular intervals at the foot of Lord Ganesh. The incantations got louder as Punditji exercised his considerable lung power in front of a captive audience.
One thought continued to nag at Tara: where was Layla? It was not like her to avoid a large gathering if she could help it. She got the answer a second later.
“Rakaji, RAKAJI!” someone yelled outside the temple.
Tara knew that voice. Hated that voice. Yet she couldn't wait to hear what it had to say.
Punditji huffed loudly, barely able to twist around on his stool without falling off. “What is it with these interruptions? Is anyone going to let me finish this pooja? The auspicious time is ticking away.”
No one answered him. Their eyes were glued to the door as the crowd parted. Layla stepped through the doors, gasping and wheezing for breath, her large hand clasped to her pudgy chest. It was as if someone had lifted Tara from summer and thrown her straight into winter. Cold seeped through her as she watched Layla doing a great imitation of a fish out of water.
“What is it, Layla?” said Raka when Layla showed no signs of stopping her infernal panting. “How dare you interrupt this important pooja? Couldn't you have waited?”
Layla stopped immediately. She pushed past villagers and came closer to Raka. She folded her hands and bowed her head to Lord Ganesh before speaking.
“Rakaji, this was something that just couldn't wait. In fact, we may need Punditji's prayers more than ever now, or we are all doomed.”
“What are you talking about?” said Raka. “Speak clearly, Layla or get out. You're trying my patience!”
Layla glanced over at Tara for a mere second, but it was clear there was more trouble coming her way. Tara clasped her hands together, not surprised to find that they were sweaty.
To fight Kali and Zarku, who were openly evil, was one thing. But to fight a child, merely nine years old, was another. Who would believe that Layla was plotting to make her suffer? No one would believe that this spawn of Kali was more dangerous than her mother, simply because no one would ever suspect that a child could be this devious. She was more formidable an enemy than her mother or even Zarku.
“There's a dead cat in our well,” said Layla. “The water is undrinkable.”
The villagers gasped collectively.
“What?” said Raka. “How can you say that?”
“Because I was with Sushila Mausi just now, drawing water from the well. The bucket was so heavy that the poor lady could not pull it up by herself. So I stayed to help. And when the bucket came up ⦔ Layla paused, her eyes sweeping the room. Only when she was satisfied that all eyes were upon her did she continue.
“There was a dead cat in it,” she whispered. “And cats don't jump into wells for the fun of it.”
“This is very serious,” said Raka. “Already the water level is low and now if the water is contaminated and there's no rain ⦔ His eyes flicked to Tara.
“I didn't do it!” screamed Tara. “She's lying.”
The villagers jumped and so did Punditji, upsetting a diya in front of him. All eyes were on Tara and she had to fight the urge to run and hide from those accusing glares. “I was here all the time, Rakaji, just as you had instructed. Ask Punditji if you don't believe me,” said Tara. She scrubbed her sweaty palms on her kurta again and again.
Punditji reluctantly nodded.
“I never said you did it,” said Layla. She looked calmly at Tara. “Why would you think that?”
Tara's guts twisted into knots as she realized what she had done. She had walked right into that one, with her eyes wide open. For a mere child Layla was very smart. Too smart. With a thrill of horror, Tara realized that if Layla could manage this level of deception at such a young age, she would get worse with each passing year. They were nurturing another Kali. Morni was truly doomed. And so was she.
“I-I thought you ⦔ muttered Tara and stopped. The disapproving looks around her had dried up the words.
“Rakaji, the village of Chandi Mandir also shares the water from our well,” said Layla. “They'll have to be told right away.”
Raka looked as if he was in pain. In fact, all the members of the Panchayat looked troubled.
“This is not good,” said Sumathy. “First the dog in the temple, now the cat in the well. What is happening to Morni?”
“Bad luck, Sumathyji,” said Layla promptly. “That is what's happening to Morni. And there is only one person here who has spent time with the most evil person of all â Zarku. And she's brought that evil to us.” She raised her chubby finger and pointed. “Tara is to blame for this.”
Her words, mingling with the sandalwood incense, sped through the room and beyond. Then the whispers started.
It's Tara ⦠she spent time with the evil Zarku.
Tara brought bad luck to us.
Tara is bad luck.
A
million eyes pinned Tara where she stood. The room was hot, but now it seemed as if she were standing in the heart of a volcano. Sweat oozed out of every pore and her clothes stuck to her like a wet sheath. She tried to meet everyone's gaze defiantly.
You're wrong
, she wanted to scream at them.
Dead wrong.
But their disapproval and anger were too much to bear. She dropped her gaze, an icy panic flooding her. She had saved her brother, Sadia, even her friends from a horrible death. She had faced Zarku and Kali alone, not wishing to put anyone else in danger. But Layla had twisted this around to make it look like she was tainted. As if
she
were the evil threatening Morni.
And the villagers were starting to listen to her!
“The pooja â” Punditji started to say.
“You've all gone mad,” said Shiv, cutting him short. He gripped Tara's shoulders and glared at the villagers. She was thankful for his support because her legs were so wobbly; it took all of her willpower to keep standing.
“You're accusing my daughter for bringing bad luck to our village just because Layla,
Kali's daughter
, suggested it? Have you forgotten what Kali was like?
She
was the one who invited Zarku to the village. She and her corrupt father, Dushta. If it hadn't been for her, my daughter wouldn't have had to put her life in danger; not once, but twice! You should be ashamed of yourselves. All of you!”
The villagers shifted uneasily and looked away. No one uttered a word.
“You have a point, Shiv,” said Raka, breaking the ominous silence. “Morni has had its share of good and bad luck over the years. I have seen it all; failed crops, drought, illnesses, malaria, and famine. But never,” he said, glancing at the Panchayat, “during my time as Head, has our temple ever been defiled by a dead animal, nor our well water contaminated. Am I right, brothers?”
The others nodded, still staring at Tara.
“Can we finish the pooja?” whined Punditji. “These interruptions are one too many and I don't like it.”
“With all due respect, Punditji,” snapped Parvati. “This is more important.” She addressed Raka in a shrill voice, the light of battle shining in her eyes. “And you think my daughter is responsible for these incidents? The heat has softened your brains, Raka.”
“There is no need to be rude, Parvati,” said Raka. “I want to get to the bottom of this, too. But you have to admit that the timing could not have been worse. We need the rains and there is none. We need the blessings of the Lord and the temple was defiled. We need water desperately, and now our well is out of commission. All of this happened within a week of Tara returning.” His voice had sunk to a whisper as he said the last few words. His normally soft eyes were like black stones.
Tara moved closer to Parvati and clutched her hand tightly, hoping she would wake up soon and find herself back in bed. This nightmare was even worse than the one she'd had earlier in the day.
“You're wrong!” said Suraj suddenly. “My Didi would never harm anyone. I'll fight anyone who says so.”
Tara tousled his hair. “I'm all right, Suraj, but thanks.”
“I think we should all calm down and finish the pooja,” said Karthik. “We can finish this discussion later.”
“Oh no, take as much time as you need,” said Punditji. “I can't finish the pooja now.” It was evident from his sulky expression that he was unhappy about the spotlight being snatched away from him once too often. “The auspicious time has passed. We'll have to do it some other time. Go home, all of you.”
For a moment there was complete silence and then everyone spoke at once.
“No, we want prasad,” yelled the villagers. “We need the blessings of Lord Ganesh. Finish the pooja.”
“No,” said Punditji. His bald head shone with sweat and his pudgy arms were crossed over his hairy chest. “You can take all of your offerings away. They have been partially blessed. That's the best I can do right now.”
A buzz ran through the crowd. Never before had Punditji stopped a pooja in the middle. This was another first and Tara could sense their resentment turning to shock and then to anger. It came hurtling toward her in a huge, towering wave and crashed down.
“Punditji, for all our sakes, could you please complete the pooja?” asked Raka.
Punditji drew himself up. “No! The favourable time is past and I will not do it today. You may take your duties lightly, Raka, but I do not.”