The Third Eye (3 page)

Tara stroked his forehead, shushing him. Her heart ached to see that even in his sleep, Suraj was troubled. She stroked his hair tenderly and Suraj stopped his restless tossing and turning.

At long last, she started to feel drowsy. As her eyelids drooped, she saw a slight movement on the mud-packed floor a few feet from where she lay. Her eyes widened and her sleep vanished in an instant, blood turning to ice as she sat bolt upright. A black cobra, the deadliest snake in India, uncoiled its length and raised its hood, ready to strike. In the bright moonlight, cobra and girl stared at each other in absolute silence, not a movement to betray that either was breathing. Suddenly, the cobra lowered its hood and, with lightning speed, covered the last few feet between itself and the sleeping form of Suraj. It stopped next to Suraj and once again raised its hood, swaying menacingly from side to side.

Tara froze.

She could not scream or move, so great was her fear born of thousands of tales she had heard about the fatality of a cobra's bite. The snake slithered over the sleeping form of Suraj, closer and closer to his forehead. It stopped and raised its hood, preparing to strike. Silver light glinted off the spectacle-like markings on its hood.

Tara lunged sideways, grabbed her leather shoe, and raised her hand to hurl it at the cobra. All of a sudden the snake faced her. Coiled on Suraj's sleeping form, its eyes were almost level with Tara's. Her hand stopped in mid-air and, inexplicably, her fear melted away. She was looking into black eyes that seemed gentle, almost sad.

The cobra swayed toward her right hand. Its forked tongue flicked out and caressed Tara's bare forearm. An image of her family, when they were all together, flashed through her mind like a bolt of lightning, filling her with
joy. In an instant, the image faded away. Speechless, she watched as the cobra then flicked its blood-red tongue on Suraj's forehead so lightly and gently that the boy's sleep was undisturbed.

The spot where the cobra's tongue touched Tara's skin felt warm. She ran her fingertips over the flesh. There was nothing, not even a puncture. No tingling feeling to indicate that a deadly poison was coursing through her veins.

The cobra took a last look at Tara. With a fluid, silvery movement, it slithered off Suraj's body, raced across the mud floor, and disappeared into a hole in the far corner of the hut. Tara stooped over Suraj anxiously. His chest rose and fell as he continued his deep sleep. Tara lay back on the straw mat, drawing in great gulps of air to slow her racing heart.

What had just happened? The deadliest of snakes in India had touched them with its forked tongue and they were both alive to tell the tale. Who would believe her if she said anything about this? No one to her knowledge had ever survived an encounter with a cobra.

She fell asleep after a very long time.

•••

The day after Diwali dawned cold and grey. A glacial wind crept through the cracks, poking and prodding people with its cold fingers.

Tara awoke as an icy draught swept over her exposed face. Light was seeping in through the corners of the window. Tara tiptoed to it, eager to see the sunrise. As she peered out the window, she noticed that Raka, whose hut was diagonally opposite theirs, was awake, too. He sat on a wooden chair on the porch sipping a cup of tea. Steam curled up from the cooling tea, obscuring his face. In front of them stood the banyan tree, trunk firmly planted in the earth, branches outstretched to welcome the day. The long roots swayed lazily in the wind. Everyone slept and the silence was broken only by the wind sighing through the leaves. They both saw it at the same time: a brilliant flash of colour near the tree. A peacock, with a beautiful tail of gold and blue, cavorted into the open.

Tara shot to her feet and watched, mesmerized, as the peacock spread its tail so that it fanned out behind its emerald blue body. The bird danced in the clearing as the sky turned grey and shards of lightning illuminated the dazzling blue, green, and gold in its plumage. Raka jumped to his feet, too. The teacup crashed to the ground, brown liquid staining the bottom of his white pyjamas. The peacock's dancing grew more frenzied. Fat drops of rain pelted to the earth as the skies burst open. Some of the drops fell on the peacock and the “eyes” on its tail seemed to be crying. The peacock continued to pirouette in the clearing — solely, it seemed, for the benefit of Raka.

Suddenly, it came right up to where he stood and looked him directly in the eye. Its feathers spread in
a vibrating fan of energy. It gave a long, harsh cry that seemed to reverberate through the empty clearing to the hills beyond. Then it turned and danced out of sight. Raka clenched his hands and stared into space.
Why does he look so shocked and scared?
Tara wondered. Surely a peacock was a thing of beauty that should be admired, not feared.

Tara was starting to feel drowsy again. Shutting the window, she tiptoed back to Suraj and lay down next to him, falling asleep almost instantly.

•••

Someone yanked the thin sheet from Tara's body. The cold November-morning air flooded over her skin and she was instantly awake. Kali's disagreeable face looked down on her.

“Get up, you lazy girl. Feed the cow and chickens and then make me a cup of tea. Tell Suraj to get water from the well.”

Before walking away, Kali prodded the sleeping Suraj hard with her toe. He woke up whimpering with pain and instinctively raised his hands to ward off a blow.

What a miserable start to the day
, thought Tara as she saw his distress and fear. Tears misted her eyes as she got up, reluctant to let her stepmother see how upset she was.
Do something
, the little voice inside her said, but Tara did nothing. Kali's wrath would be worse if she or Suraj put up even the tiniest bit of resistance. Suddenly, the image of
the night visit from the black cobra flashed into her mind and she felt a powerful jolt of happiness once again. She hugged Suraj, whispering in his ear that she had a wonderful secret to tell him. He looked up at her with an endearing eagerness at the word “secret” and said,

“Didi, I'll be good. Please tell me, tell me now ... what is this secret?”

Tara smiled.

“Not now, Suraj. The wicked witch will hear.”

Both children smiled mischievously at this small form of rebellion.

Tara tidied up the front room while Suraj skipped into the kitchen and out through the back door to brush his teeth in the washing area in the courtyard. Within seconds he was back. He eyed the leftovers from last night and his stomach growled loudly. Tara walked up to him and hugged his thin frame.

“Give me some food, Didi, please.”

“I can't, Suraj,” said Tara in a pained voice. “You have to get the water first or that wicked witch will have another excuse to starve us.”

Suraj's shoulders slumped and a sad expression clouded his face.

“Why can't Layla go? It's so unfair!”

Tara kneeled and took his hands in hers.

“Because I am asking
you
.”

Suraj nodded, still looking sullen. His expression was a mixture of anger and deep sadness. He eyed the stale
chappatis once again and then, without a word, picked up the empty earthen pot and walked out the back door.

“Come back soon and I'll have fresh chappatis and sweet tea ready for you,” said Tara as they walked out to the backyard. She scattered grain to the five chickens and rooster as she watched Suraj shuffle out the gate. Tears sprang to her eyes and she bit her lip hard to stem the flow, determined not to give in
this
early in the day.

Tara then tended to their cow, Bela. Her mother, Parvati, had brought the cow as part of her dowry when she had wedded their father, Shiv. Bela was chocolate brown with white spots, soft brown eyes, and a large, wet nose. Bela gave less milk these days, but it was still enough for them. It seemed she, too, was pining away for Parvati.

As Tara milked Bela, she told her about the cobra visiting her in the night. Warm milk streamed through her fingers and into the bucket as she expertly pulled on the cow's teats. Bela stood quietly, swishing her tail to drive away the inevitable flies that settled on her back. As Tara reached the part when the snake had caressed her forearm with its forked tongue, Bela licked Tara on the cheek. Tara almost fell off the stool. She raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Bela was lazily chewing the cud as if nothing had happened.

“Bela, I wish you could talk,” said Tara, standing up and stroking Bela on her broad, brown back.

“TARA, you miserable girl, where's my tea?” bellowed Kali.

Tara gave a start and, grabbing the bucket of milk, ran out of Bela's shed. She raced into the kitchen as fast as her slim legs would allow.

“What took you so long?” Kali demanded.

“Sorry, Mother,” said Tara, almost choking on the second word. There was not the remotest resemblance between her mother and this evil witch. “Bela's stall was a bit messier than usual. I cleaned it as thoroughly as I could,” she lied.

“I want my tea in the next five minutes or else. And then make some chappatis for your father before he leaves for the fields. I have a bad headache and I am going to lie down for a while. And yes, feed my Layla, too. Mind you don't skimp on the ghee. She's growing and needs a lot of nourishment.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Tara obediently, her eyes lowered, a storm of emotions raging inside her. Suraj and she were growing too, yet Kali starved them at every opportunity and took great pleasure in it.

Kali turned and walked away to the front of the hut and lay down on her cot with an audible sigh. Tara sat fuming, her hands clenched, wishing she had the strength to fight back.
You're a coward
, said the voice inside her.
I know
, she sighed.

Tara poked the ashes in the three-sided, raised, earthen platform that served as their stove. She struck a match to light the thin twigs and as they caught fire, she blew on them, adding a few dung cakes. Soon, a strong fire
crackled, spreading a warm, earthy smell throughout the hut. Tara put a shiny steel vessel on top of the platform to boil water for tea. She kneaded cream-coloured wheat flour with salt and water to make dough. While she prepared tea, her father entered the kitchen and sat cross-legged in front of her. His eyes had a vacant look.

“How are you today, Tara?” he asked.

“I am fine, Father,” she said, pouring tea into four glasses lined up in front of her. “I'll give Mother her tea and be back to make your chappatis.”

She walked to the front room with the tea and put it by her mother's cot.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“Go away and don't disturb me,” snapped Kali.

Tara was only too happy to get away from her. She went back to the kitchen, put a flat skillet on the fire, and drizzled a spoonful of ghee. The clarified butter spluttered and sizzled, sending out a mouth-watering aroma that made Tara's stomach ache with hunger. She rolled out the dough into a perfect round on a floured wooden board with a long, wooden rolling pin. She flipped the uncooked chappati onto the palm of her right hand and in one fluid movement transferred it to the skillet.

As the first chappati puffed up, a huge golden ball filled with steam, she had to use all her willpower to stop from grabbing and stuffing it into her mouth. She took a huge gulp of the tea to quell her hunger pangs and immediately blinked in pain as the hot tea scorched a trail down her
throat. Her heat-hardened hands did not need tongs to flip the chappati. When it was ready, she deftly pinched its edge and transferred the golden-brown sphere to her father's steel plate, where he had already put a dab of pickles and an onion. It subsided into a flat round as the steam escaped. She started making the second one just as Suraj walked in, balancing the earthen pot on his head. He looked tired, and the day had just begun. He put the earthen pot by the door and bounded to her side.

“Make me one too, Didi. I am so hungry,” he said, smacking his lips.

“Sit down,” she said.

She placed a glass of tea in front of him and wordlessly looked at her father, asking permission to serve Suraj the next chappati. Her father nodded.

He looked so cold and aloof. She yearned for the love that she used to see in his eyes when their mother had been around. Had he forgotten that they were his children? Did he not love them anymore?

Where have you gone, Father? Who is this stranger in front of me? I don't know you at all
, thought Tara as she continued making chappatis and dropping them into her father's and Suraj's plates alternately.

“I am
HUNGRY
. Give me some food,” demanded Layla, flouncing into the room, her fat cheeks jiggling.

She sat down with a thump next to Suraj and eyed his plate hungrily.

Shiv stood up and announced that he was off to the
fields. In a moment, he had disappeared.

Tara continued cooking, knowing that a few extra chappatis would be needed for their lunch.

“That's mine,” whined Suraj.

Tara looked up. Layla had stuffed a bit of Suraj's chappati in her mouth and was chewing furiously.

“You greedy pig,” whispered Tara glaring at Layla. “I'm not going to give you any more.”

Layla was Kali's daughter from a previous marriage. Being an only child, she had been pampered and spoilt. Her only hobby was eating and, at seven years old, she resembled a baby buffalo, with a temperament to match.

Layla immediately burst into tears, an art she had perfected over time. She opened her mouth and bawled.

“
MOTHER!
Tara is not giving me any food.”

Kali descended on them like a thundercloud. She seized Suraj by the ear and dragged him out of the kitchen. His eyes tearing with pain, Suraj followed her meekly. Kali then turned on Tara and pushed her out of the kitchen with a violent shove.