The Deadly Conch (22 page)

“Break it! Now!”

Tara's heart pounded in tandem with the blows on the lock. She clutched her mother's hand as they pressed themselves against the far wall. Within seconds the lock broke and fell to the ground with a dull thud. The door crashed open.

Parvati screamed as two villagers rushed into the room. One was a large brute and the other was short and stocky. Neither was from Morni.

“Found her, at last,” said one, a triumphant note in his voice. “It's time to bring you to justice, Tara.”

— twenty-two —
The Beginning of the End

“N
o!” Parvati screamed. “You're not taking my daughter anywhere. You'll have to kill me first.” She stepped in front of Tara, shielding her.

“Hand her over,” the brute said. He was so large, he towered over them both. His swarthy complexion glistened with sweat in the early-morning light filtering into the kitchen.

“No!” said Parvati.

Both men advanced into the room.

“Look, woman, we don't want trouble. We have orders to bring Tara to the meeting organized by the Panchayats of Morni and Pinjaur. Let her come with us and no one will get hurt.”

“
You
will get hurt if you lay a hand on her,” said Parvati quietly. “Go away. Now!”

The men glanced at each other momentarily. “We'll say this one last time. Step aside,” said Shorty. “We'll carry Tara out of here if we have to.”

“There's no need,” said Tara. “I'll go with you.”

“Tara, no,” said her mother. She faced Tara and clasped her hands. “You can't do this. What if they find you guilty? I'll lose …” Her lower lip quivered and she bit down hard on it.

“Oh, Mother.” Tara hugged her tightly, trying to blink back tears. She desperately wanted to tell her mother that it was no use protecting her or holding her back. Her time was up at the end of the day. It made more sense to go with these people. If the Panchayat was meeting in front of all the villagers, Layla was sure to be there.

And that's all she wanted. To face Layla one last time, to look into her eyes, see the pain and fear on her face when she killed her. In spite of the queasiness, she couldn't wait to go with the men and get it over with. “Mother, I have to go, you stay here … with Suraj.”

“I can't let you go alone, Tara. I'm coming with you.”

“You should listen to your daughter, woman,” said the brute. “Stay here with your sleeping child. If she's innocent, we'll bring her back in no time at all.”

“Shut up!” spluttered Parvati. “Don't you
dare
tell me what to do.” In two strides she was beside Suraj. She flung Tara's dupatta off his body. Flies buzzed over her brother, crawled over his face, and into his mouth. His pale skin looked as if it were carved from stone.

Tara swayed on the spot and looked away, trying to control her heaving stomach and the tears that welled up in her eyes once again. He should not be dead. He
would
not have been dead if it hadn't been for the person who had torched their home and happiness. Layla was definitely involved. Anger sprang up within her like a hungry beast. Just before she squeezed the life out of Layla, she would squeeze out the name of the person who had killed her brother.

“This is my son, Suraj,” said Parvati. “He's dead because he could not get help in time. Why don't
you
stay with him while I go make preparations for the funeral?”

“We're … we're very sorry, Sister,” said the burly man. His voice had softened. The other one looked ashamed, too. “We didn't realize that … he was —”

“Dead. But now you do,” said Parvati. “If you take Tara, this could be her fate. Do you want me to prepare for two funerals? If you were in my place, would you be able to hand over your second child right after losing the first?” She looked from one to the other. “ANSWER ME!”

“If she's innocent then you have nothing to worry about,” the brute said. “All we're doing is taking her to a meeting.” He said this very softly. It was evident that he didn't believe a word of it.

“Is it normal practice to invade a village in the middle of the night and hold a Panchayat because a well was contaminated? You lie to my face that my child might be found innocent?” Parvati dabbed at the tears leaking from her eyes and it took all of Tara's self control not to break down, too.

“Mother, we both know I have to go,” said Tara finally. Parvati was crying too hard to say another word. “Stay here with Suraj. I'll send word to Gayatri-ma or Ananth to help you. Trust me, Mother, it will be all right. I'm innocent and God will be by my side.” Her voice wobbled dangerously as she said that. There would definitely be a god by her side: the god of death.

Parvati looked deep into her eyes and Tara had a bad feeling this might be the last time she would see her mother. She wanted to cling to her and never let go.

“You've always been my guiding star,” said Parvati. “And since I came back to Morni, you've shone brighter than ever. May the blessings of Lord Ganesh be with you.” Her mother kissed her forehead and stepped back.

Tara hurried to the door before she lost her nerve. The men followed her. She stepped over the threshold and looked back. Suraj's body was still uncovered. His small hand lay on his chest. Tara gazed at him for a long moment. Then she turned and walked out into the bright dawn of her last day in Morni.

— twenty-three —
Panchayats and Promises

T
he village centre thronging with people resembled a fair, almost like the one at Ambala. The memory of Suraj and Rohan resurfaced and pain clutched at her heart. If anyone had told her that within a few months both of these children would be dead she would have slapped that person.

Why hadn't she savoured the time with Suraj when she'd had the chance? Why hadn't she played with him more often, told him that she loved him? Now it was too late.

“Faster,” said one of the men, poking her in the back. “We don't have all day.”

Tara glared at him, deliberately slowing down. Hundreds of villagers were seated around the banyan tree. There was a buzz in the air, as if they were waiting for a performance to start. As she made her way to the front of the crowd, it dawned on her that she was the attraction. Today they would make her the scapegoat and punish her, hoping that the weather and their fortunes would improve. But they were so wrong. The person responsible for all of their troubles was still on the loose.

People hissed and booed as she walked past. Some villagers leaped out of the way, as if her very shadow would strike them dead. The sight of grown men acting so weird made her want to laugh out loud. But she was terrified, too. This mob looked angry enough for blood and a fair trial seemed impossible. She remembered Kali's trial and how incensed the villagers had been. Tara continued walking, her head held high, refusing to let fear overwhelm her.

The crowd was yelling. Most of it was just noise, but a few insults she heard clearly;

“Zarku's messenger.”

“Evil witch.”

“Fallen star.”

“Brave Tara.”

She tasted salt at the back of her throat and swallowed. There was at least one supporter in this mad crowd. She scanned the faces, hoping it was Ananth. But there was no sign of him or Gayatri.

And Layla
. Where was she? Kali had worked so hard for this moment and it was impossible that Layla would stay away. Tara reached the front of the crowd and waited.

The members of the Panchayat were already seated on the platform. Raka and the other elders nodded at her. Next to Morni's elders sat the Panchayat of Pinjaur. Five pairs of hostile eyes bored into her. She met their gazes without flinching. She would not give them, or the crowd, the satisfaction of seeing just how petrified she was. The sun climbed higher into the sky, baking her head. Thirst clawed at her throat and fear gnawed her insides.

The noise swelled behind her, but she did not turn around. Instead, she gazed at the Panchayat, one at a time, willing them to believe she was innocent.

At long last, Raka held up his hand. Immediately, the villagers fell silent. He cleared his throat and spoke.

“Tara, you are here because you have been charged with contaminating the well at Pinjaur and also defiling our temple. Morni's well was also contaminated, but we're still investigating it. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Tara stared at him.
They were actually giving her a
chance to speak?
She held her head high and spoke. “Rakaji, I am not responsible for either of the two incidents.”

Jeers rose from the crowd behind her. Though her pulse raced, she ignored them.

“We are not concerned about
your
village well,” said Kripan, the head of Pinjaur's Panchayat. “All we want to know is how and why you contaminated
our
well when we were being neighbourly and allowing you to share our water? Why would you put so many lives at risk when you know the rains have failed and this is our only source of water? Are you mad or possessed?”

“Hold on, Kripan,” said Raka. “We are here to
prove
she did it, not
assume
she's guilty.”

“No adult could do something so harmful knowing he or she would suffer, too,” Kripan snapped back. “This has to be the work of a misguided child …”

“Or someone really evil,” a voice shouted from the crowd. “Someone who has spent a lot of time with the devil himself.”

Hatred coursed through Tara as she recognized the voice. She turned around and spotted Layla; a small, fat toad nestled between the villagers. Layla looked at her steadily, the corners of her mouth upturned.

“This is not yet open to discussion,” said Raka, frowning at Layla. “When we ask for everyone's opinion, you may speak then.”

Layla pouted, but no one paid attention.

“What was the result of your investigation regarding the dead animal in your temple, Raka?” asked Kripan. “Surely for something this serious you would have put all your efforts into it?” The contempt in his voice was unmistakable.

“We did and we're still working on it,” said Raka. His voice was firm. “However, Tara has already paid for it, despite the fact that other than her dupatta, there is no further evidence to suggest she did it. There's no motive, either.”

“And your own well?” said Kripan. “How did the dead cat get in there? You keep it covered just as we do. How could an animal get inside unless it was deliberately thrown in?”

“We have no idea how it happened,” said Raka. All of the wrinkles in his face were rigid. “It's possible that someone might have been careless and is now too scared to admit it.”

“Have you anything to add to this, Tara?” said Kripan, staring at her with open dislike.

Tara was glad he was not Morni's chief. He was so rude
and
he had barged into their village in the middle of the night, demanding a resolution. Already the tension between him and Raka was mounting. But was Raka strong enough to protect her and Morni? Of late he seemed so easily swayed by people's opinions instead of following his own heart.

“We're waiting, Tara,” said Kripan. “We don't have all the time in the world.”

Mirthless laughter bubbled up inside Tara at his words. She almost laughed aloud at the truth in his words, but caught herself in time. “At the time our well was contaminated, I was in the temple day and night, scrubbing every inch of it in preparation for the pooja. You can ask Punditji if you like.”

All eyes turned to Punditji, who sat in the front row with an umbrella. The sun climbed higher, scorching the ground and cooking the people who squatted on it.

“Punditji?” said Raka.

The priest wiped his flabby face with a white cloth that hung over his shoulder, but did not say a word.

“We need an answer, Punditji. Could Tara have contaminated the well?”

“She could have sneaked away while I was asleep …”

“That's not true!” said Tara. She glared at Punditji. “Each time you came back from your numerous naps, I was cleaning a different section of the temple. You even mentioned that it was going faster than expected. If I had sneaked away, you would have known.”

Punditji's face resembled an overripe tomato.

“Yes … hmmm, she probably did stay in the temple all the time,” he replied. “She couldn't have done it.”

“So then let's talk about
our
well,” said Kripan.

Tara looked at Raka. “I didn't do it. I was nowhere close to the well.”

“Then where were you all of yesterday?” asked Raka.

A loud silence filled the clearing. Tara stared at him, remembering the events of the last few hours; the cold desolation of the Underworld, the whispers of the dead, the cuts on her palms, and the words of Zarku and Kali. All of that had been futile. She had still lost her brother.

“Our house had just burned down,” said Tara. Her eyes flicked to Layla, who stared back unblinkingly. “We lost everything and Suraj …” Her voice faltered as his small body, covered in her sunshine-yellow dupatta strayed into her mind. “Suraj was badly burned and NOW HE'S DEAD!”

A fly buzzed overhead. No other sound broke the silence. Tara hadn't meant to say that, not here, not in front of everyone. It had just burst out of her.

Raka shot to his feet. “Are you sure, Tara?”

“Would I lie about my brother's death?” she replied, deeply regretting having mentioned it now. Almost every face was devoid of sadness or emotion.

“Where is he?” asked Raka.

“With mother, where … where you last saw us,” said Tara. It had been at the tip of her tongue to say it was where he had locked them up. But she needed his support right now. It would be foolish to anger her only ally.

Raka sat down with a deep sigh. “I'm so very sorry to hear this, Tara. We will take care of things as soon as this is over.”