The Third Eye (7 page)

Tara searched for their warm clothes and her palm connected with something very soft. She pulled it out. It was her mother's favourite sky-blue kurta — the only piece of clothing left of her in the house. Had Kali found it, it too would have been burned with the rest of Parvati's clothes. Tara clutched it to her face, inhaling deeply. She was sure she could still get a faint whiff of the sweet lemony fragrance of the chameli flower. Suraj stepped closer as Tara held out the bunched-up garment to him. He buried his face in it and clutched her hand. For a moment, they felt that their mother was right there, embracing them.

“Tara, come here and clean up,” hollered Kali.

Tara started. She was about to hide the kurta again when she heard a crackle. She scrunched up the kurta and heard it again.

“What is that sound, Didi?”

“Maybe a note Mother left us?” said Tara.

Her hands shook as she scrabbled through the left pocket, then the right, and extracted a ten-rupee note.

Suraj's eyes widened. He had never seen so much money.

“Ohhhhh,” he breathed

“Thank you, Mother,” said Tara in a soft whisper. “Don't tell anyone, Suraj.”

She tucked the money into the pocket of her kurta and went back into the kitchen. There was a mess, as usual. Without stopping to acknowledge the annoyance and sense of injustice that rose in her whenever she had to clean up her stepmother's mess, she got to work.

Their father stepped out the back door to wash up. The rain had stopped and the sky had lightened to a smiling blue. A fresh breeze stirred the branches of the peepul trees lining the road and hundreds of droplets of water fell to the wet ground. Tara gazed out the back door. As far as the eye could see, vivid green trees swayed joyfully with their arms outstretched. All the dust and dirt had been washed away and the smell of damp earth wafted in.

“Hurry up, Tara, it's almost midday,” said Shiv.

“Can I come too?” asked Layla.

“Hmmmm,” said Shiv, and he stepped outside to smoke a beedi while he waited for his family to get ready.

Soon the kitchen was clean and the house tidy. The family walked toward the market. On holidays, the farmers and their wives congregated under the large peepul trees with their baskets of fruits and vegetables. The men smoked beedis, lamented about the weather and the state of their crops. The wives gossiped, admired each other's clothes, or
swapped homemade cures.

The air was cold and clean and Tara inhaled deeply. In the distance, the Shivalik Hills towered over the village. Their tops were covered in clouds through which the sun peeped cautiously, as if playing hide and seek. Tara and Suraj walked hand in hand a little ahead of Shiv, Kali, and Layla. Tara looked up at the hills, and the lush green of the forest that covered the slopes. They looked dark and forbidding. Tomorrow, Suraj and she would be fighting their way through it.

“Mother, buy me some red bangles, please? I don't have any and my best friend has so many,” pleaded Layla as they neared the market. Already there were a number of families milling around, enjoying the cool weather and the companionship.

“We're going to look around, Father,” said Tara. “We'll meet you later at the bangle shop.”

Her father nodded, not even looking in their direction. Tara felt a stab of hurt, which passed quickly.

Tara pulled Suraj in the direction of the cobbler.

“We both need a pair of waterproof shoes,” said Tara.

She set off at a quick trot to the village cobbler on the far side of the market square, Suraj in tow. The cobbler's shop was a small, dingy hovel. There were mounds of shoes and chappals covering every inch of the floor except for the path that led from the door to the raised platform where he sat, like an impoverished king amidst his subjects. Footwear hung from hooks on the wall in every shade of brown and
black, stitched with coloured embroidery. Other shoes sat patiently on shelves, covered with dust. A strong smell of uncured leather and glue hung about the room.

Occasionally a black furry ball moved in the depths of the shadows in the corners. The first time Tara had seen a movement she had screamed. Then she had realized what it was: big black rats that had made their home in the shop.

The cobbler sat in his workplace in one of the corners, thin and bent over, a posture acquired through years of hunching over the anvil. A grimy lantern hung from a cobweb-encrusted rope over the platform and threw feeble light on the shoe that he was repairing.

A woman balanced on one foot, her bare foot resting on the shoe-clad one, waiting for the shoe to be repaired. Tara decided to let her leave before approaching the cobbler. While they waited, she examined the mojdis and other types of shoes on display that were suited for all weather conditions in the mountains.

“Look here, Suraj, these shoes look sturdy. This one would fit me and that one looks just about right for you.”

“They're too big,” he said with a giggle.

“Don't worry; you can wear two pairs of socks. They'll be snug. We don't have time to get them made to order.”

Fidgeting impatiently, Tara and Suraj anxiously peered out to check if Kali or Layla had seen them enter the shop. They were safe. There was no sign of their family. Finally, the woman departed. Tara stepped up to the cobbler before anyone else walked in.

“Baba,” said Tara, addressing the older man with respect, “we would like to buy these shoes.” She held out two sturdy pairs. They were made of dark brown leather with a pointed tip.

The cobbler looked up from his work and peered short-sightedly through glasses as thick as Tara's little finger. He stood up on the little platform and came toward them. Tara noted his shabby kurta and pyjama, which were patched up neatly with different bits of cloth and leather, like a colourful patchwork quilt. On his feet were a new pair of mojris. Tara smiled. He may not have been able to afford good clothes but his shoes were brand new.

“Tara! How are you and Suraj today? I have not seen you for ages. Not since your mother ...”

Seeing their expressions, he became silent

Tara swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat.

“Our shoes are wearing out and Father told us to buy a new pair.”

She hoped he would not see her flushed face as she uttered the lie.

“Very good choice, Tara,” he said, looking at the shoes she had selected. “These are made from the hide of the Murrah buffalo. I have treated them with my special cream to make them waterproof.”

He stroked the rich leather lovingly.

“Baba, these shoes are too big for my feet. Can you do something to make them smaller?” asked Suraj.

“Not to worry, my children, not to worry. Let me take your measurements and I'll make a pair that fits perfectly. You can have them in a week. Special rush job for you,” he said, winking.

Tara got a whiff of onion and garlic on his breath as he leaned close.

“
NO,
” said Tara, a bit louder than she had intended.

The cobbler leaned back in surprise and annoyance.

“All right, Tara. Calm down. You can have these now if you want them so badly.”

He rummaged in the pile of scrap leather in front of him and pulled out some bits that matched the colour of the shoes. He handed them to Tara.

“Tuck these into the toe. Or put some strips near the heel. Wear thick socks and you'll be warm and comfortable. Good choice, lots of room for the toes to grow, henh?”

He chuckled and shuffled back to the platform.

Tara went up to him and held out the ten-rupee note. He looked up at her.

“I cannot take that, Tara. Your mother was like a sister to me. She always brought medicine for my aching eyes and never took a paisa from me. I
never
believed that she was a witch.”

A sharp intake of breath stopped him from continuing.

“My mother, a witch?” whispered Tara. “Is that what people were saying? Is that why she ran away?” she asked in a softer voice, hands clasped at her chest.

“Yes, Tara. Most of the villagers thought she was a witch.”

“But why?” asked Tara, tears welling up in her eyes. “All she did was warn people of danger and save their lives.”

“Yes, but her foretelling powers scared some of the villagers. It is always the case when one cannot understand something. They fear it! Someone poisoned the minds of the Panchayat and they decided to stone her to death.”

Tara turned pale. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and she was starting to feel nauseous.

“So that is why she had to go?”

“Yes, and Prabala went with her. He could not let his daughter brave the forest alone. Besides, he was very disappointed with the attitude of the villagers and decided to leave to teach them a lesson.”

“But why did no one tell us anything?” asked Tara. “Even Mother did not say a word.”

The cobbler sighed deeply.

“The Panchayat forbid us to speak of either of them again. And I think your mother did not want you to worry,” said the cobbler.

Tara stared at the cobbler as thoughts churned in her head like a village-woman making buttermilk. The villagers thought her mother was a witch and they had wanted her dead. Was this the reason their father had married again? Why he hated them so much? Because they were the children of a witch? It was all too much to think about and she stood there dumbstruck. Someone tugged her kurta.

“Let's go, Didi. I want to go home,”Suraj pleaded.

Tara saw the anguished look on Suraj's face.

“We must go, Baba,” said Tara in as normal a voice as she could. “Thank you for the shoes,” they said in unison, and hugged him.

He kissed their foreheads and then pushed them gently toward the door.

“Be careful, whatever you do. May Lord Ganesh be with you,” he said.

Tara looked back at him in amazement. Did he know? But the cobbler was already engrossed in the next repair and did not look up. They walked out of the shop. Tara stuffed the shoes under her clothes and threw the red and blue shawl over her, hoping the bulge would go unnoticed till they reached home.

As they walked to the centre of the market, Tara noticed people whispering.

“Hai Ram,
NOOOOOOOOO,
” a woman howled. “Oh my son, what has happened to you? Talk to me.
Say
something!”

The howling was coming from Ravi's hut. Ravi's old mother stood outside the door, beating her chest. Villagers who had been milling around rushed as one toward the wailing woman. Within moments a large crowd had gathered.

Tara and Suraj, on the outskirts of the crowd, craned their necks, but the crowd was too thick. Suraj got down on all fours and rapidly crawled between the sea of legs, drawn
to the noise. Not wanting to miss a thing, Tara followed him. What she saw made her sit back in shock. Suraj had stopped too, and was crawling backwards and whimpering. He buried his head in his hands, trembling violently.

In the clearing lay Ravi, or what remained of him. His skin was an ugly shade of translucent green. Black liquid coursed visibly through his body. A black, fist-sized sack inflated and deflated in his chest. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets and he lay staring sightlessly at the crowd that pressed forward, gaping at him. His hair was matted and dirty. A foul stench emanated from his open mouth, as if something had died inside it. But what had the crowd shocked were his feet. They had turned 180 degrees, till his toes faced backwards. On his forehead was a deep gash from which oozed a black, viscous liquid. He drew in laborious gasps that sounded deafeningly loud in the pindrop silence.

“Ravi, talk to me,” pleaded his mother, sitting next to him but not daring to touch him.

A number of people tried to drag her away from that
thing
that lay on the ground. No one could understand what power could change Ravi into that deformed creature.

Tara clamped her lips shut to prevent her breakfast from spewing out. She crawled backwards and exited the crowd as fast as she could.
Who could have done this to Ravi?

The muttering in the crowd rose to a crescendo.

“He went to the forest looking for firewood this morning,” said someone.

“And then he was attacked. Could it be the Vetalas?”

“Looks like it. He came running home not a few minutes ago. He was conscious then.”

“And he had the gash on his forehead. It was bleeding profusely. It looked like blood at first. Now it's this black liquid.”

“And then he turned green and his feet rotated.”

“What in the name of Lord Ram could do this to a person?” asked another shrill voice.

“We are all going to die. Someone call Raka. He will tell us what to do.”

Confusion and panic abounded as someone ran to get the members of the Panchayat.

Raka came striding up to them. He looked calmly at the misshapen body lying on the ground. Tara just could not understand how he could be so unconcerned.

“What happened?” he asked.

The villagers told Raka what had happened while someone led Ravi's mother away from her son's deformed body.

“Call Zarku,” said Raka calmly. “If anyone can cure Ravi, he can.”

Another villager ran off for Zarku. He returned shortly, calling out, “Make way, make way for Zarku.”

Tara saw a bald man in a long, flowing, black robe stride up to the crowd. This was the first time she had seen him since Diwali night.

His black eyes assessed the scene within seconds. They
rested on Tara and Suraj momentarily. Tara could feel hate and anger pulsing out at her and she was stunned. Why would this healer, who was so new to Morni, hate her so much? He passed her, and the crowd parted easily to allow him to walk up to the body. The crowd closed in behind him again so that Tara could not see what was happening. A low murmur reached her as she strained to hear what Zarku was saying. She grabbed Suraj's hand and pushed through the crowd till she could see Zarku's face and hear him as he examined the body.