The Deadly Conch (10 page)

“It's a good thing you stayed at home today,” said Shiv softly. “It got pretty ugly, but I didn't want to mention it in front of the children.”

Tara held her breath. They thought she was asleep. Suraj was breathing evenly and she tried to imitate him.

“What happened?” said Parvati, a catch in her voice.

“The cleaning up of the well started, but when I tried to help, Raka sent me away.

“Why? What does he think you'll do?”

“I don't know,” said Shiv. The mournful tone of his voice made Tara sick. “He told me to go home. Most of our friends barely talked to me. Drona told me to leave the village along with my family. He said that
we
were the cause of all this misfortune and the sooner we left, the better for us all.”

Tara gasped and remembered too late; she was supposed to be fast asleep.

The cot creaked and she heard Parvati get out of bed. Tara tried to breathe deeply when her mother's warm breath fanned her face. A moment ticked by, then another. Tara opened an eye and saw her parents staring at her. Shiv had his arms folded across his chest.

“You might as well open the other eye, too,” said Parvati. She tried to sound angry, but looked too tired to make a real effort.

“How much did you hear?” said Shiv.

Tara sat up. “All of it.”

“Come on, let's talk in the kitchen over a cup of tea —” Parvati said and stopped.

“There's no water for tea,” said Tara. “I know.”

They all trooped into the kitchen and sat down.“Things are really bad for us, right, Father?” said Tara.

“Yes, my child. In hard times, the villagers need an excuse; anything or anyone they can blame for their calamities. It wouldn't be so bad for us if it hadn't been for Layla. She's taking advantage of this situation and fanning the fires of discontent.”

“I wish
my
father were here,” said Parvati. “He would have put an end to this madness once and for all. The villagers respect him and would have listened to him no matter what the circumstances.”

“Then I'll get Prabala back,” said Shiv. “I'll leave at dawn.”

“Where will you go?” asked Tara. “He could be anywhere.”

“To the Himalayas,” said Shiv. “I'm sure people will have heard of him. I'll ask around and follow his trail.”

“If only I could tell you exactly where he was,” said Parvati, “but I can't. I just don't know.”

“Mother, you were able to predict the future at one time,” said Tara. “Can you not try to see where Grandfather is? It would make it so much easier for Father to find him.”

“It's no use, Tara. I've lost my gift. Often the villagers would curse me for seeing into the future. When I told Kali about her husband's death, she disowned me as a friend. I wished then, with all my heart, that I did not have such a terrible gift. I did not realize it, but already the gift was getting weaker.” She was silent for a moment, staring into space. “The gods were taking away my
sight
because I could not appreciate it.”

Outside a dog howled and Tara remembered the mutilated stray. It made her queasy.

“Remember when we were going back to Morni to face Zarku, I couldn't see anything then, either?” said Parvati. “I thought it was because of Zarku's evil that had cloaked the village, but now I know it was also because I was not meant to see. That I had finally lost the power. And I regret it immensely now. The one time I need this sight the most, I don't have it.”

Parvati buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Tara felt a pang of fear. Her mother was normally the rock of the family. If she floundered what would become of them?

“Mother, don't,” said Tara. She crawled over and hugged her tight.

Shiv moved closer and put his arms around them both. “I wouldn't give up hope just yet, Parvati. I'll find Prabala and return as soon as I can. All you have to do is lay low and stay safe. I'll be back before you know it.”

Parvati wiped her eyes with the edge of her saree and sniffed. She attempted to smile. “You're right, both of you. I'm lucky to have such a brave family. All right, Shiv. You go find Prabala and we'll keep Morni at bay until you return.” Her lips trembled and she clamped them together; a sure sign that she was very upset.

Tara knew the villagers could be merciless. She still remembered how angry they were with Kali during her trial. If the Panchayat had not decided to banish her they probably would have stoned her to death as they did in the olden times. She'd also heard snatches of whispered conversations about other terrible punishments for those found guilty of crimes against the village; tongues being cut off, people being burned alive, and another rumour where an entire family had been thrown alive into a pit of venomous snakes. Yes, the villagers could be ruthless if they decided that Tara and her family were a threat to Morni!

Back in bed, Tara still could not sleep. What if her father could not find Prabala and wandered for an eternity. What if things went badly wrong while he was away? Where would they go looking for
him
?

There was only one option. Tara slipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers closing over the conch shell.

Lord Yama. She had to summon him. Tonight.

— nine —
The God of Death

T
ara slipped out the back door. A faint breeze caressed her cheek as it wafted past. It was a little cooler outside and she missed sleeping under a canopy of stars.

If only she could get Lord Yama to agree to help her tonight, her father would not have to leave. This would also mean that she would have to tell her father
everything
, but she'd worry about it later. First she had to see if the conch still worked!

Tara slipped out of the courtyard. It was long past midnight and all of Morni slumbered. Not even a stray dog wandered the dusty lanes between the huts. A pale moon lit the way as she ran straight through the village, toward the forest, alive with hoots, grunts, and growls. She stopped at the edge for a moment, took a deep breath, and plunged in.

After a few moments, Tara halted near a clump of trees, huddled together as if sharing a secret. She could still see the shadows of the huts behind her. It gave her a bit of relief; she wasn't too far from safety.

She took the conch out of her pocket and stared at it. The faint light filtering in through the thick canopy of leaves lit up the creamy edges of the shell.
Let it work,
please let it work
, she prayed. With trembling hands she raised it to her lips and blew hard.

The forest became silent. Wind sighed through the trees. An owl answered. There was no other sound except the beating of her heart.

Tara blew on the conch once more and strained her ears for the sounds that had streamed out of it the first time she'd called Lord Yama; the crashing of waves, the silvery tinkling, the thundering of horse's hooves.

Nothing.

Tara stared at the conch, fighting the panic bubbling up from a deep reservoir within her. Had the conch lost its powers? Had she made Lord Yama angry by mistreating his precious gift?
Forgive me, Lord
, Tara prayed.
I didn't even know when Mother threw it out!

Tara shook the conch. There was a faint rattling from inside. She moved out of the tree cover so that the sickly moon afforded some light and shook the conch again. Bits of gravel poured out onto her palm. She rattled it until the sound stopped, and blew hard one last time, her lungs burning for air.

Tara peered through the trees, trying to penetrate the deep gloom of the forest. Something slithered past her foot, rustling the carpet of dead leaves. She froze, watching a shiny black cobra glide through the undergrowth and stop a short distance away. Was this a sign? She stared at it to see if it would act strangely, or try and communicate with her in some way.

The cobra raised its hood. Its forked tongue flickered in and out. It swayed gently, turning its hood this way and that, tasting the air.

“Mother,” said Tara. “Is that you?”

The cobra whipped round and looked straight at her. It hissed.

A cold chill trickled down Tara's spine; if this was a real cobra, she should be running in the opposite direction, not trying to talk to it.

Leaves rustled behind her and Tara's pulse raced. She had to use every ounce of discipline to avoid any sudden moves. She turned her head slowly to see if it was just another animal searching for dinner, or the cobra's mate.

The cobra tasted the air again and then dived at Tara's feet, a blur of silvery-black. She screamed and jumped aside, her heart thundering in her chest. But the cobra had no interest in her. It was after the animal she had heard rooting in the undergrowth; a large mongoose.

The mongoose grunted at the cobra as they circled one another. In spite of her fear, Tara watched, fascinated, as age-old enemies thrust and parried skillfully, each with their own particular strengths. The mongoose was larger and heavier of the two, but the cobra was smart and supple.

On and on the fight went as they grappled with each other. At times it seemed the cobra didn't have a chance. But then the tables would turn and the snake would have the upper hand. And suddenly, before Tara even realized what was happening, the cobra sank its fangs into the mongoose's neck. It gave a high-pitched shriek, twitched, and lay still. The fight was over. The cobra, in spite of being smaller, had won.

Tara realized she had stuffed her knuckles into her mouth and had been gnawing on them. She wiped her hands on her kurta and looked around. Too much time had passed. Lord Yama was not coming. Whatever plan she came up with, she would have to do it on her own.

The cobra uncoiled itself from around the mongoose and slipped away. Somehow, watching it gave her hope. Layla may be formidable, but she,
Tara,
had the brains. She would figure out a way and win.

Tara looked at the conch. It was useless now and yet she couldn't bear to throw it away. She turned to go when she heard muffled steps. Something heavy was approaching. She pressed her back against the trunk of a sal tree as the sound changed direction; first from the left, then the right, then from behind her. It seemed as if a drunken elephant were making its way toward her.

The thuds grew louder. Tara couldn't stand it a moment longer. She sprinted toward the treeline and to the safety of Morni.

“You call me and then run away, Tara?” said a deep voice. “I didn't expect that from you.”

Tara stopped, turned around. There was Lord Yama, astride his bull, his black mace slung over his shoulder. A faint glow emanated from his massive green frame so that, in spite of the darkness, she saw him clearly.

“You came,” said Tara. She rushed back and stood close, not daring to touch him or the bull. “You heard my call and came. Oh, thank you, Lord!”

“I knew that you wouldn't call me unless you were in dire need,” said Lord Yama. “What is it, child?”

Now that he was here, Tara didn't know where to start. “I … we … need your help, Lord Yama. We need you to take Layla away from the village.”

“
Take
?” said Lord Yama. His voice was like a whiplash. “What do you mean by
take
? There is only one way I can take anyone from earth and that is if they die. Surely you know that, Tara.”

Tara shivered, wondering if she had made the wrong decision by calling him. Once she spoke her mind, there was no going back. Would the god of death take kindly to being ordered around by a mere mortal, a child? Already it seemed as if he was mad at her.

“I know that, Lord,” said Tara. She knelt and pressed her palms together, hoping there were no more snakes lurking close by. “And that is why, I humbly request for you to … to kill Layla and take her away from here.”

The silence was so loud, it was deafening. Even the forest seemed to be holding its breath. Lord Yama glared at Tara and she gazed back at him, trying her hardest not to look away.

“Are you suggesting that I kill someone just to suit your convenience, Tara? Could you really be that naive?” he said in a terribly calm voice. “Or that selfish?”

“Lord Yama, please forgive me. If there were any other choice, I would not have called you. But Layla has become a terrible menace. She has been creating nothing but havoc and trouble for me —”

“Ahhh, I see,” he said. “Layla is being mean to poor Tara. She is unhappy and so she calls on the god of death to take away the problem. Is that it? I am very disappointed in you! Return my conch immediately. You will never summon me again.”

“No!” said Tara. “No, it's not like that at all. It's just that … please let me explain, Lord. You're scaring me and I'm not able to think straight. It might also help if you stopped glaring at me.”

Tara wrung her hands, looking up at Lord Yama, wondering if she had gone too far. Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed. “Tara, you haven't lost your spirit, I can see that. It's what makes you so endearing and allows you to get away with admonishing the Lord of Death, whom most mortals fear to set eyes upon.” He slid off the bull, rested his mace against a tree and sat on a rock. “Does this meet with your approval?” He said it very seriously but his eyes were smiling.

Tara sat at his feet and poured out the whole story, starting with Kali and Zarku and working her way up to Layla's antics. When she fell silent, Lord Yama got to his feet and paced. The bull stood patiently to one side, flicking its tail now and then to drive away the incessant flies.

“Hmmmm,” said Lord Yama. He stopped, looked at Tara, and resumed pacing again. Under her, the forest floor trembled.

Tara followed him with her eyes, a million questions fighting to burst out of her mouth. But she held them in. First, Lord Yama had to decide whether he was going to help her or not.
But he had to
, she prayed silently.
He must!