The Third Eye (10 page)

“Didi, about last night ...”

Tara shot him a sharp look.

“Zarku is the one turning the villagers into Vetalas. He's the one pretending to cure them, too.”

“Yes,” said Tara.

“Shouldn't we go back and warn Rakaji?”

Tara continued making the tea, turning the question over in her mind.

“Grandfather is our only hope. We have to find him — fast!”

“Where will we find him, Didi? The forest is so big.”

“We'll start at the Devi Temple. He meditated there years ago.”

The water started boiling. Tara poured some milk and added four teaspoons of sugar. The brown liquid bubbled up to the top of the vessel like a small volcano spewing brown lava. She lifted it off the fire using the edge of her shawl and placed it on the ground to cool. She took a few chappatis from the bundle and flipped them on to the warm rocks. Within seconds they were toasty brown. She called Suraj and they sat down cross-legged near the warm fire to enjoy their simple breakfast. The vessel had cooled sufficiently and they took turns dipping the chappatis into the tea and sipping it straight from the vessel. Around them, sunlight swirled and danced as a light wind rustled the treetops. An occasional leaf drifted loose and spiralled lazily to the forest floor. Tara revelled in the serenity and freedom, free from constant abuse, free from painful taunts, and free from the endless housework. She could not remember when last she had enjoyed a meal in such peace.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A distant growl reminded her that she did not have all day to dream. She jumped up and started packing.

“We have to find shelter today, Suraj. We were lucky last night. We may not be as lucky again.”

Suraj nodded. He was enjoying his freedom, too. He ran from one shrub to another, examining the colourful flowers that had sprouted in the aftermath of the rain. He
jumped up to catch a yellow and black butterfly. A burst of red, yellow, and green sailed from one tree to another.

“Parrots,” said Suraj, pointing.

“Come
on
, Suraj, we have no time to waste.”

They walked with a spring in their step, energized by the breakfast and the cool morning, and headed north toward the purple smudge of hills in the distance.

The land was gradually sloping upwards. A few hours passed as they traipsed on. They saw monkeys, deer, a few squirrels, and a couple of brown hares along the way, but no shelter. Suraj was starting to lag behind.

“Hurry up, Suraj. Why are you so slow?”

“I'm so tired, Didi, and I feel funny.”

Tara frowned as she came up to him and touched his forehead. He seemed warm. Could it be the exertion of carrying the heavy bundle?

“Let's rest for a short while.”

They chanced upon a small, cold stream that bubbled through the thick foliage. Tara would never have discovered it if she had not stepped into it and felt the cold water trickle into her shoe. Both knelt, scooped the water into their cupped hands, and let it trickle down their parched throats. Tara filled up their animal skin with the water and then bathed Suraj's warm forehead and face. He was looking flushed and her heart thudded with anxiety. They had started late in the day and evening was already upon them. If they did not find a place to shelter soon ...

Suraj dragged his feet for the next couple of hours as
Tara peered at every crevasse and crack with hopeful eyes. Once again, night threw her black cloak around them and the light went out like a snuffed candle. The night chorus started.

Suraj was sagging against Tara now and she was very worried. She put a hand to his forehead. He was burning with fever.

Oh no, not now. Not when we are so exposed
, thought Tara in despair. She would have to get Suraj comfortable and bring his fever down. She headed for the nearest tree and sat Suraj down. She dug into her bundle and groped for matches. She knew the fire would attract animals, but she had to boil herbs for medicine to bring down Suraj's fever. Tara said a fervent prayer as she undid the bundle of dry twigs they had gathered earlier that morning and struck the match to give her some light. A distance away from the tree she put down a few twigs and threw the lit match on them. They caught fire immediately and within a few minutes she had a strong fire going.

“Suraj,” she whispered. “Suraj, talk to me.”

He mumbled incoherently under his breath. Tara laid him down on his warm bedding and covered him with a blanket. She propped his head up and poured some water into his mouth. He was unable to swallow and the water trickled out the side. With growing apprehension, Tara realized that he was very sick.

“Please Lord Ganesh, make him well again. I need him. I can't do this alone. I just
can't
!”

Tears slid down her cheeks as she cradled Suraj's head and prayed. Suraj moaned in his sleep.
I have to try and get some medicine into him
, Tara thought.

She reached for the small bag of herbs and undid the knot with shaking fingers. In it were a few pale yellow fruits: dried amla and dried fronds of the tulsi plant. She took one of each and carefully wrapped up the bundle of precious medicinal herbs and put them away. Tara put on some water to boil, dropped the amla and tulsi into it, and watched as the mixture turned a yellowish brown.

Suraj tossed and turned, muttering nonsensical things. Tara darted anxious looks in his direction.

“Let me go ... Mother where are you?” Suraj muttered. “I'm coming, wait for me.”

Tara took the vessel off the fire with shaking hands. Her mother had taught her that the forest had all that one ever needed: food, medicine, and shelter. Tara had often watched her make complicated medicines from common plants and herbs to cure the villagers. The tulsi and amla plants were well known for their therapeutic effects on fevers and colds. She was thankful that she had had the presence of mind to pack them.

Darkness lapped at the edges of the fire. She looked around uneasily as she waited for the water to cool. Now and then she saw movement: glinting red and yellow eyes. Nothing came close and she was relieved. She could not have warded off the attack of a wild beast just then. She tested the water with her forefinger. It was lukewarm. She
took it to where Suraj lay and, cradling his head in her lap, tilted the vessel so that the liquid trickled into his mouth.

Suraj gagged, spluttered, and sat up weakly as the water shot straight out of his mouth. He fell back on the bed, breathing heavily.

“You have to drink this, Suraj. Come on, please try,” pleaded Tara.

She wiped his mouth with the edge of her shawl and tried again. Once again, Suraj coughed and spluttered, but not a drop of medicine went down his throat. Finally, she took the edge of her shawl and dipped it into the water. She gently squeezed the drops into Suraj's mouth and waited till he swallowed. Painstakingly, she fed him the medicine, drop by drop, till half the liquid was in him. Suraj was breathing peacefully, now in a deep sleep. She moved a strand of hair from his damp forehead and, leaning forward, kissed him. She sat with her back to the trunk, ready for a night-long vigil. Distant roaring and snarling kept her from dozing off.

She stared into the fire, watching the flames reaching up to the night sky, occasional sparks swallowed by the darkness.

“I should never have left home. I am responsible if he dies.”

“Didi,” said Suraj in a faint voice.

“Yes, Suraj,” she said, crawling to where he lay.

“Didi, I'm so tired. I want to sleep forever and ever.”

“WHAT?” she said, fear clutching her heart. She shook
him gently. “Suraj, don't say that. You'll get well soon. You must. Talk to me ...
SURAJ!
”

She cradled his head in her hands and gazed intently at the flushed face. His eyes were already closed and even as she uttered the words, a sense of foreboding gripped her. She lay down next to Suraj and hugged his burning body to hers as tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.

“Don't leave me, little brother. Please don't leave me.”

•••

The long night marched steadily toward dawn. Several times she saw gleaming yellow eyes in the gloom around her. The small golden-orange fire bobbed like a boat of light, adrift on a turbulent sea of darkness. A light fog sent wispy fingers curling around them so that Tara seemed to be looking through a gauze veil.

She sat up and occasionally walked around to keep awake, but as dawn approached, the urge to sleep was so overpowering that she closed her eyes, telling herself it was only for a short while. The last thing she saw as her eyelids drooped was Suraj. His forehead had turned a silvery black. His eyes had disappeared. How could that be? She forced her eyelids to open. A black band on his head? And it was moving? It was the last thing she remembered before she fell into a deep sleep.

When Tara awoke, all was still. Pale light filtered through a swaying green roof and it took her a moment to realize she was in the forest. The angle of the sun was all wrong. It should have been overhead, but instead it came from somewhere to the side.

The setting sun.

It was evening.

She had slept the day away.

She was tired and aching all over. Why was she so tired and why had she slept all day ...?

“
SURAJ!
” she screamed as everything came flooding back.

HE WAS GONE!

The bedding on which he had lain next to her was empty.

She was all alone.

“
SURAJ!
” she screamed again as she jumped up and
ran, panic-stricken, first in one direction and then the other.

Silence.

“Please, Suraj, don't play games. Be a good boy and come out.”

Silence.

No, he couldn't be gone. He was playing hide and seek again. But he was too ill and weak. That meant ...

“Noooooo!” she moaned.

She envisioned a wild animal dragging him away as he lay unconscious. And she had slept through all of it. She had let him die.
It was all her fault
. She rocked back and forth, sobbing loudly, her chest heaving as grief poured out of her in waves. How could she have been so careless? She was responsible for the death of her brother.

“Why, Lord Ganesh, why him? Why my brother?” she sobbed. “Why did you let this happen?”

Tara covered her face and sank to the ground, devastated. For hours she sobbed, oblivious of the waning day, the mosquitoes, and that she had not eaten anything. Finally, her tears were spent. She felt so alone and empty. It seemed as if her own shadow had deserted her.

She sat on Suraj's bedding and clutched his blanket. She inhaled its fragrance: that particularly sweet, sweaty smell that she knew so well. Wrapping herself in it she let the memories of Suraj wash over her.

Tara did not know how long she sat staring as the sun slipped below the lip of the horizon. She had no recollection
of the day turning to night. All she could think of was the previous night, when Suraj lay burning with fever while she kept vigil. Now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a bittersweet fragrance. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and lay back staring at the stars, which winked at her, as if laughing at some private joke.

“I want him back. I want my brother back,” she said over and over again. She knew it would not help. If only she had not fallen asleep last night. If only ... but it was too late for regrets. Maybe if she made a bonfire, wild animals would be attracted to her and then ... and then she'd be with him sooner.

Tara dragged herself up wearily. She groped her way to the bundles, dug out a candle, and lit it. She pushed it into the soil in the lee of a rock and searched for firewood. In the light of the flickering candle Tara gathered as much wood as she could and piled it on top of the ashes of last night's fire. There was no wind and the candle burned straight and tall, throwing her gigantic shadow on the trees behind her. Once she had a big enough pile, she stepped back to survey it. This would burn through the night. Who knows, if she was lucky, she might not have long to wait.

As if on cue, a growl sounded in the distance and was followed by a long, low howl. Not long now.

She plucked up the candle to light the bonfire when a totally unexpected sound reached her. Tara froze, straining to hear the sound. There was silence.
My imagination is running wild
, she thought.

Tara had just bent to light the wood when a faint breeze stirred the leaves, bringing the same sound — again. Her hand shook and hot wax dripped onto it. She yelped and dropped the candle, which went out. She was in near-complete darkness. A sliver of moon peeped from the edge of a cloud. Who was sobbing in the middle of the forest? Tara did not relight the candle. She stood still and heard the sobbing start again. She walked toward it.

Don't go
, said the small voice inside her.
Don't go
. But she kept walking. The sound was reeling her in, like a fish on a line. The faint light of the silvery moon barely lit the way but she was following her ears and her heart ...
her heart?
She was surprised that the sound of sobbing could move her so much. She walked deeper and deeper into the jungle and the voice grew louder.

“Mother, I miss you so much,” said a male voice, and Tara's heart skipped a beat.

That voice. She'd heard it before, but never like this. She crept forward. A dark shape loomed directly ahead. Tara stuffed her knuckle in her mouth to stop from screaming. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that the shape had not moved. She reached out a trembling hand. Her fingertips brushed a rough surface. She pressed her palms against it: cool stone. Her panic subsided a bit as she went on. Her heart ached and tears pricked her eyelids. The sound of sobbing had died away but she felt like crying, too.