Tara Trilogy E-Book

Mahtab Narsimhan

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Tara Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 878

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Dive into the enchanting world of The Tara Trilogy, where ancient Indian mythology collides with thrilling adventure! Join Tara, a brave young girl armed with unwavering courage and a fierce spirit, as she battles the sinister healer Zarku, who seeks to obliterate everything she holds dear. Journey through vibrant landscapes, face mythical creatures, and unravel age-old secrets as Tara fights to reclaim her destiny. 

Will she rise to the challenge and save her loved ones from darkness?

Get ready for an epic saga filled with magic, friendship, and the power of belief! Perfect for middle-grade readers hungry for adventure and rich cultural tales.

Praise for the Trilogy: 

"HIGHLY ORIGINAL AND ENTERTAINING."

“A gripping novel, filled with tension, intriguing characters and fascinating cultural detail.” ~ Marsha Skrypuch

“A wonderful fantasy with a Hindu Flavour. This is a fairy tale, a myth, and a quest fantasy, set in an Indian village, all rolled into one.” ~ Nicola Mansfield

"BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN AND LYRICAL."

"This beautifully written and lyrical book brings various figures in Indian mythology to life in a compelling story about family, love, courage and determination. Tara is a wonderful heroine exemplifying the strength of the human spirit to overcome adversity." ~Resource Links

"THRILLING CONCLUSION."

“The final entry in an atmospheric and twisty fantasy trilogy goes hard with a mythic trip to the underworld and bigger, badder stakes than ever. Dark, epic, and satisfying.”

~K. A. Wiggins

Leseprobe

TARA TRILOGY REVIEWS

The Third Eye

2009 Silver Birch Award — Winner

2009 Red Maple Award — Shortlisted

2009 Best Books for Kids & Teens — Commended

2008 CLA Book of the Year for Children Award — Longlisted

Winner of the Silver Birch Fiction Award 2009

* * *

“A wonderful fantasy with a Hindu Flavour. This is a fairy tale, a myth, and a quest fantasy, set in an Indian village, all rolled into one.” ~ Nicola Mansfield

* * *

“An extremely vivid novel. Narsimhan does a great job of putting you in the shoes of her characters and bringing the world to life, and the story is steeped in Hindu mythology.” ~ Eric Wood

* * *

“A gripping novel, filled with tension, intriguing characters and fascinating cultural detail.” ~ Marsha Skrypuch

* * *

“A great story that will keep you reading through the night. Richly infused with Hindu references. Well deserved nomination for Silver Birch award.” ~ J OSullivan

* * *

“In her first novel, author Mahtab Narsimhan combines elements of classic fairy tales, such as Hansel and Gretel, with Indian mythology for a highly original and entertaining fantasy adventure readers will enjoy the lushly described Indian setting as well as the cultural references to Hindu gods and celebrations, making this a solid middle grade read suitable for literature circles or book club discussions.” ~Rachel Steen

The Silver Anklet

"The Third Eye, the first volume of the trilogy, was winner of the 2009 Silver Birch Award, and this sequel lives up to readers' expectations. Young adults will savor the action and adventure on every page while teachers and librarians will see the book as a valuable addition to any study of world literatures and cultures.” ~Canadian Materials Magazine

* * *

"This beautifully written and lyrical book bring s various figures in Indian mythology to life in a compelling story about family, love, courage and determination. Tara is a wonderful heroine exemplifying the strength of the human spirit to overcome adversity." ~Resource Links

* * *

“The second book in this trilogy jumps right into the action and does not let go until the very end. A very fast-paced plot-driven novel that kept me reading well into the night.” ~Nicola Mansfield

* * *

“This fresh new adventure brings back all of our favourite characters from The Third Eye and introduces some new ones as well. Fans of Narsimhan will devour this beautifully written second instalment in the Tara Trilogy.” ~Deborah Kerbel

“THE SILVER ANKLET is a sequel to Mahtab Narsimhan's THE THIRD EYE, which won The Silver Birch award in 2009. For those who don't know, The Silver Birch Award is a province-wide honour given by Grade 3, 4, 5 and 6 Ontario students. Although administered by the Ontario Library Association and run by teacher-librarians and teachers in schools and by children's librarians in public libraries, the final choice is made by the young readers.” ~Debbie Ridpath Ohi

The Deadly Conch

“Thrilling Conclusion to a Trilogy. The plot goes forward at a fast pace, steadily building up throughout the whole book until the surprising end. This makes for a quick read. I actually made myself put the book down so I wouldn't finish it in a day; I wanted to savour it a little longer. I really appreciate that Ms. Narsimhan has created a trilogy where each book stands on its own quite well. Not all authors succeed at this and some don't even try, but I don't like to read trilogies where each book feels like I've just read one part of a much longer book. Each book here has its own individual plot that is not dependant on the other books, though they are held together by a related plot theme. Book three finds redemption from acts started in book one. Very well done and I highly recommend this series. I hope Ms. Narsimham has something else in the works for us next!”~Nicola Mansfield

* * *

“The Deadly Conch will appeal to any who are interested in world literature and in the culture of India in particular. Those of us who met Tara at the beginning of the trilogy have watched and worried as she confronted the forces of evil and their horrific plans for her. She made difficult decisions and personal sacrifices, all in an attempt to maintain what she saw as the common good. In this final volume, she realizes that hatred and revenge are concepts which have no place in her world. Thank you, Tara, and Mahtab Narsimhan, for a delightful series of adventures. Highly Recommended.” ~ Ann Ketcheson for CM Reviews

* * *

“The final entry in an atmospheric and twisty fantasy trilogy goes hard with a mythic trip to the underworld and bigger, badder stakes than ever. Dark, epic, and satisfying.” K. A. Wiggins

TARA TRILOGY THREE E-BOOK SET

TARA TRILOGY

MAHTAB NARSIMHAN

Copyright © Mahtab Narsimhan, 2022

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For more information, go to:

https://www.mahtabnarsimhan.com/

Cover Design by PINTADO

Book Design by Mahtab Narsimhan

Published by Stardust Stories

ISBN ebook : 978-1-990780-01-1

Third Edition: January 2025

CONTENTS

the third eye

Prologue

1. The Black Cobra

2. The Peacock’s Tail

3. Kheer to Die For!

4. Divine Help

5. Zarku

6. Freedom

7. In the Kalesar Forest

8. A Long and Terrible Night

9. A Brother is Lost and Found

10. Flashback

11. The Vetalas

12. The Water of Life

13. Parvati

14. Magic in the Mountains

15. Soma

16. The Battle of the Healers

17. The End and the Beginning

Glossary

Acknowledgments

the silver anklet

1. Hyenas!

2. Five Into The Forest

3. Rohan

4. The Temple

5. Captured!

6. Zarku

7. Possessed

8. The Final Feast

9. Hide and Seek

10. Reprieve

11. An Unknown Voice

12. The Pit and the Plan

13. The Fist

14. Race To The River

15. Kabir

16. The Fist Unfurls

17. Sadia

18. The Voice of Madness

19. Into the Cave

20. Zara

21. The Dagger

22. The Last Wish

23. The Evil Doubles

24. The Silver Anklet

Glossary

Acknowledgments

the deadly conch

Disclaimer

1. Revenge

2. The Temple is Defiled

3. The Nightmare Begins

4. A Deadly Rumour

5. The Hidden Snake!

6. Whispers in the Night

7. Secrets

8. The Untouchables

9. The God of Death

10. Fire!

11. The Deadly Conch

12. The Underworld

13. Old Friends

14. Zarku

15. The Wrath of Kali

16. Twenty-Four Hours to Live

17. Hated and Alone

18. Layla

19. Trapped!

20. Another Loved One…Lost!

21. Time for Justice

22. The Beginning of the End

23. Panchayats and Promises

24. Framed and a Failure

25. The Final Verdict

26. Death by Stoning

27. Revelations and Regrets

28. Forgiveness

29. Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

CONTENTS

the third eye

Prologue

1. The Black Cobra

2. The Peacock’s Tail

3. Kheer to Die For!

4. Divine Help

5. Zarku

6. Freedom

7. In the Kalesar Forest

8. A Long and Terrible Night

9. A Brother is Lost and Found

10. Flashback

11. The Vetalas

12. The Water of Life

13. Parvati

14. Magic in the Mountains

15. Soma

16. The Battle of the Healers

17. The End and the Beginning

Glossary

Acknowledgments

the silver anklet

1. Hyenas!

2. Five Into The Forest

3. Rohan

4. The Temple

5. Captured!

6. Zarku

7. Possessed

8. The Final Feast

9. Hide and Seek

10. Reprieve

11. An Unknown Voice

12. The Pit and the Plan

13. The Fist

14. Race To The River

15. Kabir

16. The Fist Unfurls

17. Sadia

18. The Voice of Madness

19. Into the Cave

20. Zara

21. The Dagger

22. The Last Wish

23. The Evil Doubles

24. The Silver Anklet

Glossary

Acknowledgments

the deadly conch

Disclaimer

1. Revenge

2. The Temple is Defiled

3. The Nightmare Begins

4. A Deadly Rumour

5. The Hidden Snake!

6. Whispers in the Night

7. Secrets

8. The Untouchables

9. The God of Death

10. Fire!

11. The Deadly Conch

12. The Underworld

13. Old Friends

14. Zarku

15. The Wrath of Kali

16. Twenty-Four Hours to Live

17. Hated and Alone

18. Layla

19. Trapped!

20. Another Loved One…Lost!

21. Time for Justice

22. The Beginning of the End

23. Panchayats and Promises

24. Framed and a Failure

25. The Final Verdict

26. Death by Stoning

27. Revelations and Regrets

28. Forgiveness

29. Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

For Dad, who inspired this story.

For Mom, who kept me going.

And for Rahul, Aftab, and Coby,

the three favourite men in my life.

PROLOGUE

Someone was following him. He was sure of it. Bare feet following in time to his steps and stopping just after he did.

Late enough to be heard, soon enough not to give away their direction.

Shakti hesitated. He looked around. The deepening gloom in the forest cast eerie shadows across the path. A biting wind swept down from the Shivalik Range and woke every tree and shrub in its path. Shakti shivered, more from fear than cold. He cursed himself for losing track of the time and wandering so far away from the safety of his village, Morni.

Holding up the lantern, he peered intently for any sign of his pursuers. Darkness surged against the edges of the feeble light. He lowered the lantern and hurried toward the village.

His sturdy leather mojris ground up the dead leaves. Bare feet followed.

He quickened his pace. The pursuers matched it.

His heart thumped like a tom-tom within his chest. He dropped the dead hares slung over his shoulder and bolted, his lantern knocking against his knee. The flame flickered and went out. He was plunged into darkness. The sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh wafted past him. Panicked, he went crashing through the trees, not caring about the noise he made. He had to get to the village before they caught him. The footsteps were louder now, coming closer and closer. His breath came in gasps as he ran. He tripped and fell headlong into the bushes. Dirt filled his mouth. It tasted like wet earth mixed with worms. He spat it out. Sharp rocks scraped his chest in spite of his thick kurta. He put his hands on the ground to push himself up when a heavy body landed on his back. One, two, three ... he lost count of how many bodies piled on top of him, holding him down. It felt like huge boulders had landed on his back and knocked the air out of his lungs. He smelled their breaths — which reeked like a combination of rotten eggs and feces — and almost vomited.

“Please,” he gibbered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

A warning thump on the head silenced him. The weight on his back began to lighten till the only thing pinning him on the ground was the rough skin of a foot planted in the small of his back. He tried to twist his head back to see who it was, but the complete darkness made identification impossible. He waited, sweat dripping into his eyes, bile nestled at the base of his throat just waiting to erupt.

Suddenly, the gloom dissipated. Someone was coming toward him bearing a lit torch. He looked up at his captors and his stomach contracted with fear. A sea of ghastly green faces looked down at him. A huge, green monstrosity towered over Shakti. The monster’s skin was stretched tight over his gaunt, skull-like face and framed by dirt-encrusted hair. Eyes, black as bottomless pools, bored into Shakti. Then he noticed the man’s chest. The skin was translucent and he could see all the way to the man’s heart — a pulsing fist pumping black liquid through that massive body. It was fascinating, yet horrifying, to watch the green body criss- crossed with a network of black.

Shakti’s eyes strayed upward again to the man’s face. A deep gash ran the length of his forehead. It was still fresh, and black liquid seeped from the edges of the swollen skin. The man, clearly the leader of the group, stared at him with his whiteless eyes. Shakti looked around at the sea of bodies, which looked the same except that the shape and size of that horrifying form varied. They all had similar gashes on their foreheads, though some of the wounds seemed to have healed while others looked very fresh.

They pressed closer to Shakti, touching, pinching, and prodding him with grimy fingers. He stood up on shaky legs, desperately looking for an opening in the crowd. The sickly smell enveloped him and seemed to permeate his body through every pore.

“What do you want?” he croaked.

Silence.

The giant who blocked his path raised a callused green hand with filthy, black fingernails up to Shakti’s eye level. Shakti jumped backward, lost his balance, and fell to the ground. He turned to crawl away, sobbing with terror, but was barred by a fence of feet — feet that looked unnatural because they were all turned backwards at the ankle! A scream rose in his throat. He jumped up, arms outstretched, pushing his way through the crowd. Someone grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back. He felt a razor-sharp fingernail move across his forehead, tearing through the tender skin. A searing pain coursed from his head through his body like liquid fire. The pain was so intense that he was starting to lose consciousness. Through the haze he saw a tall figure approaching.

Maniacal laughter echoed around him and then everything went dark.

1

THE BLACK COBRA

A bright burst of stars lit the night sky, illuminating the upturned faces of the children gathered around the old banyan tree. The stars dissolved into smoke and it was dark again. Laughter rang out from the clearing where a dozen children of the village of Morni had gathered for the festival of lights. The smoke and smell of gunpowder hung in the air.

A short distance away from the clearing, two silent forms sat huddled on the front step of their hut. Tara hugged her younger brother, Suraj, as they watched the firework display. Around them, Morni shimmered in the glow of clay lamps that adorned homes and doorways as far as Tara could see. The soft, yellow light reflected off the reds, greens, and blues of the villagers’ clothes and their gold and silver jewellery. They were all dressed in their best to celebrate the joyous occasion of Diwali, the New Year of the Hindus.

She heard a deep sigh.

“Cheer up, Suraj,” said Tara. “Mother will be back next year.” She had doubts that this was true, but for the sake of her brother she had to keep up a brave front. She looked up at the black sky, now strewn with stars, and for the umpteenth time she whispered a plea.

“I’m so scared, Lord Ganesh, so scared. But please don’t let anyone find out ... especially Suraj. And send Mother back to us.”

A solitary tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away as she glanced at her brother. He was so thin and small; he did not look seven years old, more like five. His skin was a deep brown from working in the hot sun. Unruly black hair surrounded a pinched face and black eyes that had once sparkled with mischief, now long gone. His white kurta pyjama hung on his bony frame.

They sat in silence looking up at the stars. Suraj rested his head in Tara’s lap.

“Why won’t anyone play with us anymore, Didi?” asked Suraj with a wobble in his voice. “Didi” was the respectful way to address an older sister.

“I don’t know, Suraj,” said Tara, staring into the distance.

“Where is Mother, Didi? Why did she go away? Why?” asked Suraj, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tara tightened her grip on his shoulders. She had no answers to his anguished questions. Her mind turned back to a morning almost a year ago, a few days after Diwali, when her mother had woken her while it was still very dark outside. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she had noticed that her mother was dressed to go out. She had looked very upset and sad as she hugged Tara close to her.

“I have to go away, my child.”

Tara’s heart beat at triple speed. She pushed her mother’s arms away and stared at her in complete shock.

“Go away? Where? I’m coming with you.”

“No, Tara. You have to look after your brother. But I will be back. I promise we will all be together again.”

Tara clung to her mother’s skirt, sobbing softly, feeling as if she were in a bad dream. Her mother undid a gold chain from her neck and fastened it around Tara’s neck. On it hung a small, bejewelled mirror shaped like an equilateral triangle. The border was inlaid with red stones in hues of the setting sun. These were interspersed with blue star-shaped stones, the shade of a summer sky. Leaves in thin, gold filigree wound their way around the border. Of the little jewellery her mother owned, this was Tara’s favourite.

“Wear this always, Tara, and when you look into it, you will find strength.”

“Mother, don’t leave me, please,” said Tara, sobbing even harder.

Her father, Shiv, and Suraj were still fast asleep. “Hush, my child. We will be together again, I promise.”

“Parvati, it’s time. We have to go,” someone called out very softly from the window.

Parvati looked up and nodded. She took Tara’s face in her hands and looked deep into her eyes.

“I have to go, Tara. Be brave, be strong, and remember: always do the right thing.”

She kissed Tara’s forehead and Tara was suddenly overcome with sleep. As she fought to keep her eyes open, she glimpsed her mother dousing the lantern and then she was gone.

* * *

Tara blinked. A purple cone was spewing silver and gold stars into the night sky.

“Didi, do you think our friends will mind if I join them?”

Tara was silent for a moment, then said, “But you have no crackers to share with them.”

“So what?” asked Suraj in a belligerent tone.

Tara took a deep breath. “Next year. Let’s just enjoy watching them, okay?”

“Okay,” said Suraj as he snuggled closer. Tara heard snatches of conversation:

“Mala, taste the kheer I made ...”

“Oh, what a beautiful yellow outfit. Who stitched it for you?”

“Children, we’re starting prayers for the goddess Lakshmi. Bring your father and come inside immediately.”

Tara and Suraj sat quietly, listening to the happy voices around them, when the loud beating of a drum overpowered the sound of the crackers that reverberated from every corner of the village. A swarthy man in an orange robe appeared near the banyan tree, a large drum hanging from a rope circling his neck.

“Hear, hear ... Come one, come all,” he called out in a sing-song voice. “I have exciting news.”

His sudden appearance caught everyone’s attention. They gathered in the clearing, looking expectantly at the drummer. Tara and Suraj stood up to get a better look. The dark-skinned man looked at the silent faces and once again sang.

On this auspicious day of Diwali, I present to you the greatest healer of all. He has decided to grace this village with his presence. The one and only ZAAAAAARRRRKKKUUUUUU.”

He yelled the last word slowly as a man in a black, flowing robe stepped out from the shadows of the banyan tree and into the light. The crowd gasped as one and fell silent. He was tall with broad shoulders. There was not a single hair on his head and the lamplight flickering off his bald pate gave it a golden sheen. He had a long, thin nose and a prominent jaw. But it was his eyes that instantly drew everyone’s attention. They were black, tar black. There seemed to be no whites at all and this made him look oddly menacing in spite of the benevolent smile on his face.

It seemed to Tara as if she were looking into a deep, bottomless well. She shivered involuntarily and noticed that a lot of people were shifting uneasily, whispering to each other and pointing at the newcomer’s pulsing forehead. In the dim light and from a distance, Tara could not make out what it was, but it looked like ... Could it be? ... Was it possible? ... A third eye?

A brash young villager stepped forward and voiced the question that, Tara had no doubt, was in every villager’s mind.

“What is that on your forehead?” he asked rudely. Zarku’s eyes narrowed.

“You mean this?” said Zarku, touching the bulge on his forehead lightly.

The man nodded.

“This is the Eye of Truth. It looks beyond the body into the heart and mind. I can sense strength and weakness in people, I can see illness before it blossoms, I can see a crime before it is committed. And I can see what is in your mind at the moment,” he said, snickering.

The young man looked bewildered.

“Want me to tell a certain young woman to meet you near the Ganesh temple at midnight?”

The boy blanched and shook his head frantically as his eyes darted to a pretty young girl in a yellow kurta pyjama who had pulled a dupatta over her face.

The young man shuffled backward and melted into the crowd.

“People of Morni,” said Zarku in a cold, penetrating voice, lifting his hairless, white arms to the heavens, “I have come in answer to your prayers. I know that you have lost your own healer recently. I come on Diwali, the first day of our New Year, to heal pain and alleviate any suffering. There will never be sickness in the village. Health and prosperity shall be the future of Morni and every village for miles around.”

Murmurs peppered the air.

“Who are you?” asked the village chief, Raka, stepping forward. Raka was a wiry man with a wrinkled face and gnarled hands. His innocuous look belied the wisdom that lay behind the shrewd, brown eyes. He ruled the village of Morni with a firm and just hand, with the help of four elders that formed the Panchayat.

“I am Zarku, the best healer in all of India. I am compelled to go where I am most needed.”

“We did not ask you to come, thank you very much,” snapped a village elder.

“Patience, my good men,” said Dushta, the village moneylender. “We do need a healer. Zarku, show us your powers. Why should we believe you are the greatest healer?”

A slow smile spread over Zarku’s face. The bulge on his forehead twitched and flickered. A deep furrow appeared just above his eyes. His smile chilled Tara till goose bumps rose on her arms. She moved closer to Suraj as he clutched her arm.

“He does not look very nice, Didi,” whispered Suraj. “There is something about him that is ...”

“Evil,” said Tara, looking at Suraj’s scared expression.

She put an arm around his shoulders.

Zarku beckoned to a villager, Lalu, standing nearby. Lalu looked aghast at being singled out. He stood there for a moment, eyes darting. When Raka nodded, he shuffled forward. Zarku closed his eyes and the one on his forehead popped open. The crowd gasped. Silver light bathed Lalu from head to toe. Lalu stood quietly without moving a muscle.

“You suffer from chest infections and an extra-hairy back, which your wife hates. And there is a cure if you want to see me later.”

People tittered in the background.

“Yes,” said Lalu, glaring at the crowd, “you’re right, Zarku, there is no need to go on.”

“Is there anyone here who does not believe in my powers? This is but child’s play. Death and illness dare not linger where I am,” he said, his voice thundering over the crowd.

“Impressive, Zarku. But the hour is late. The Panchayat will meet in the morning to decide if Morni needs you,” said Raka. “Tonight is Diwali, and we are all about to start the Lakshmi pooja — prayers for the Goddess of Wealth. I welcome you to spend the night in the guest hut. Dinner will be served to you shortly.”

He joined his hands in a namaste and turned to go, a puzzled expression still lingering on his face.

“No need for the guest hut,” said Dushta. “Zarku can stay with me.”

Raka nodded, and Dushta led Zarku to his hut while the crowd dispersed. Tara and Suraj sat down. The excitement over, they waited for their father, Shiv, and stepmother, Kali, to return home from visiting the neighbours and prepare dinner. Delicious smells wafted out from the neighbouring huts, making their stomachs growl with hunger.

“Didi, I’m so hungry, is there anything to eat?” asked Suraj.

She looked at his starved face, stood up, and walked into the hut to rummage through the kitchen. She knew exactly where to look and hoped the cache was still there. Fear and hunger jostled inside her. Kali always kept some sweets in a glass jar on the topmost shelf in case her darling, overfed daughter, Layla, wanted a snack before a huge meal.

Tara climbed onto the bottom shelf of the kitchen, stepped to the one above, and reached out for the jar on the top shelf. She inched it forward with her fingertips, her hands slippery with sweat. She knew they were already in trouble. But today was Diwali and tradition was to celebrate the start of the New Year with something sweet.

As soon as her slippery fingers grasped the jar, she jumped down and opened it eagerly to examine the contents. Two small laddoos, sweets made of lentils and sugar, lay at the bottom. Put it back, put it back, said the small voice inside her. But the hunger was too strong. She ran out to Suraj, ignoring the voice.

“Here you are, Suraj, Happy Diwali!” she said as she handed him one laddoo and took the other. They ate the laddoos and watched the fireworks, which had started up again. The laddoo tasted bitter to her and Tara regretted having stolen them. Suraj had already finished his so she handed him the rest of hers.

“Are you sure, Didi?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” she said.

She put the empty jar beside her and gazed into the distance.

Suraj snuggled up to Tara and she put her arm around him. She thought of this time last year, when they had also been part of the festivities. If she had only known of the sorrow awaiting them in the New Year, she would have cherished every minute spent with her mother instead of taking her presence for granted.

Tara was jerked out of her reverie by two unpleasant incidents: an exploding firecracker, and a particularly hard slap on her face.

“Wha...?” said Tara as she shot to her feet, holding her hand to her stinging cheek.

Suraj had fallen asleep with his head in Tara’s lap. He jumped up, too, his eyes wide with terror. Their stepmother, Kali, towered over them. Anger and hate twisted her face into an ugly mask. The little black eyes in her fat face looked like small raisins in an unusually large, uncooked, ball of dough.

“How dare you touch any food in the house without my permission?” she yelled, eyeing the empty jar beside them. “I told you I would be back to give you a meal, didn’t I?”

Tara’s heart sank. I told you not to steal the laddoos, said the small voice inside her.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” she said in a soft, pleading tone, hating herself for not standing up to Kali.

She looked up in mute appeal at her father, standing silently behind Kali, who was still berating them. Red spittle from the paan Kali was chewing flecked Tara’s face. Her father brushed past her and entered the hut without saying a word.

“Go to bed, both of you. NOW!” said Kali. “You have been very bad children, stealing your poor sister’s sweets.” As if on cue their stepsister, Layla, peeked out from behind her mother’s ample body, stuck out her tongue at them, and ran inside.

“But I’m so hungry,” said Suraj, tears filling his eyes.

“You should have thought of that before stealing in your own home,” snapped Kali.

Tara knew she was responsible for this. If she had amused Suraj somehow till Kali came back ...

She cringed inside as the tears cascaded down Suraj’s cheeks. Gently, she steered him into the hut and made for a corner of their two-room mud hut to make their bed for the night. She unrolled a thin, straw mat on the floor and curled up on it with Suraj. Shaking out a torn, threadbare sheet, she covered them both and closed her eyes to block out Kali’s malevolent stare, which followed their every move. Finally, her stepmother moved away into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal and Tara could breathe peacefully.

The fragrance of freshly boiled basmati rice and chicken curry wafted to where they lay. Tara’s stomach grumbled in protest. She heard an answering grumble from her brother’s stomach. They both loved chicken curry.

“I hate you, Kali,” she whispered under her breath, feeling weak, hungry, and very tired.

Her fingers sought the gold chain around her neck. She slid her hand along the chain and pulled out the mirror her mother had given her. She always kept it hidden from Kali lest that cruel woman take away this last memento of Parvati’s, which Tara treasured more than any other possession. She held it up and, by the light of the lantern, looked into the mirror. The red stones seemed to be on fire and the blue stones swirled with shadows.

Soft brown eyes in a thin face with high cheekbones stared back at her. There were deep shadows under her eyes. The full mouth, normally upturned at the corners, seemed to be drooping. Thick brown shoulder-length hair, well oiled and plaited, framed her face. The only sparkle in her face was from a tiny silver nose stud that she wore.

“Where are you, Mother? We miss you so much,” she whispered.

Suraj moved closer to Tara.

“Why did Mother go away, Didi? WHY? I hate her for leaving us!”

“Shh, Suraj, I am sure she had a reason, though I wish I knew what it was.”

Almost a year had gone by and they had not seen their mother or their grandfather, who had both disappeared on the same day. The worst part was that no one wanted to talk about it or answer any questions. It was maddening! There were a hundred questions in her mind and no answers. Why had they disappeared? Where were they now? Were they dead? And the most important, would they ever come back?

Tara held on to the belief that her mother would be back, like a drowning person hanging on to a floating piece of wood. If she let go of that belief, she would drown in the sorrow that seemed to be swirling around her. What would happen to Suraj then?

At long last the sounds of smacking and slurping subsided. Both she and Suraj pretended to be asleep as soon as they heard Kali come into the room to make up her bed. Kali and Layla shared a cot and Shiv had another one. Tara and Suraj slept on the floor because there were no more spare cots. Soon, everyone was in bed and the lantern was doused.

Moonlight filtered in through the window in the front room, making bright patterns on the mud floor. Tara shivered as a frigid gust of wind ruffled through the straw on the roof and swept in through the cracks. A cloud moved across the face of the moon and plunged the room into momentary darkness. Tara moved closer to Suraj, the warmth of his body comforting her. She was thankful for the thick, woollen clothes, which afforded some padding on the cold, hard floor. She could not sleep. In the distance, she heard a stray dog barking. The incessant sounds of lizards, as they ran around the outer wall of the hut seeking flies, kept her company. The cloud passed and moonlight lay in silver puddles on the floor once again.

Suraj whimpered in his sleep and turned restlessly. “Mother,” he whispered.

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.

2

THE PEACOCK’S TAIL

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.

“OUT! Get out. You should be ashamed of yourself, starving your little sister.”

“But she ...,” started Tara.

“Shut up,” snarled Kali. “Not another word out of either of you. Get out of my sight.”

Smarting at the injustice, Tara and Suraj walked out into the weak November sunshine to do their numerous chores. She had gone hungry yet again and Suraj had eaten but two or three morsels of food. Not enough for a growing boy. How would they survive at this rate?

She had to weed and water the tiny vegetable patch in the front of their house, which gave them a meagre supply of tomatoes, beans, and okra — invaluable when food was scarce due to drought. Suraj had to scrub the soot- encrusted vessels with coconut husk. Before he went, he hugged Tara.

“Don’t look so sad, Didi. Are you hungry? Shall I steal some food for you?”

Tara shook her head, too choked to speak. Suraj saw her expression and hugged her even tighter.

“Ask me a riddle, Didi. Come on; let’s see if I can guess the answer.”

“Suraj, I’m all right, really.”

“Please, Didi. It’s been ages since you asked me a riddle.”

Tara gave a weak smile at the obvious effort that Suraj was making to cheer her up. He knew she loved riddles. Parvati and she used to have competitions all the time, and they kept a tally of who would solve the most riddles in the shortest time.

“Okay, Suraj. Now think carefully, because this is an easy one. Ready?”

Suraj nodded.

“It goes in green

White stones grind it

It comes out red

In a stream ... mind it!”

Suraj screwed up his face in mock concentration and Tara’s eyes sparkled.

“Come on, Suraj, it’s easy,” she teased.

Kali came to the back door and bellowed, “You two are still here? Did I not tell you to get on with your work?”

She spat a bright red stream of betel nut juice in a corner near the door, swivelled on her heel, and went in. Tara looked at the juice and looked at Suraj, her eyes dancing.

“Paan,” sang out Suraj, referring to the betel nut juice that Kali had just spat out.

Tara tousled his hair.

“You’re lucky that witch came out when she did, or you’d never have guessed.”

Suraj smiled and skipped off to do his chores. Tara turned to her task, her anger not yet forgotten. Why, Lord Ganesh? Why are you letting this happen to us?

She could handle the abuse that Kali put them through, but her heart went out to her little brother. Day by torturous day she could see his animated spirit being subdued by this spiteful woman. His laughter was less frequent, his silent spells longer.

We have to escape, she thought as she savagely uprooted plants and weeds alike and threw them into a straw basket. There was a time when she believed her father would stand up to her stepmother, but she no longer had faith in him. Kali’s intolerable cruelty had chipped away at their happiness and confidence. “Stand up for yourself. Fight for what you believe in,” her mother had always said.

Tara remembered the one time when she had tried to stand up to Kali. After a hard slap and having to miss meals for a whole day, she never tried again.

Escape to another village far away was their only hope. She would have to plan it well. Winter in the Kalesar forest would be harsh. The dangers were many: wild beasts, the intense cold, and other “things” that inhabited the forest.

Rumours abounded in Morni about strange monsters that attacked people in the forest. Someone had called them “Vetalas” (meaning “ghosts”), and the name had spread like wildfire to all the surrounding villages. They would have to escape as soon as possible and find a safe and dry place to spend the winter while they decided where they could go. She knew of a number of villages nestled on the other side of the hills.

If only they could cross the hills, they would be safe.

3

KHEER TO DIE FOR!

“People of Morni, the Panchayat have an announcement. Come now.”

The announcer ran past Tara’s hut. She immediately abandoned the weeds and stood up. Suraj was already by her side. Hand in hand, they followed the crowd to the banyan tree in the village centre to be closer to the Panchayat. Tara had a feeling this was going to be a very important announcement. “Kamlaji,” Tara addressed her neighbour respectfully, “do you know what’s going on?”

“No,” said the lady, quickening her step before Tara could ask another question.

Tara looked at the receding back with an ache in her heart. Kamlaji had been a lot friendlier when her mother had been around. Once again her lips moved involuntarily, in prayer for her mother’s return.

They reached the banyan tree and sat down close to the raised platform that encircled it.

Raka and the four elders that made up the village Panchayat were already seated in a semi-circle, looking grim. As soon as everyone had settled down, Raka began without any preamble.

“I saw the mor this morning. The bird came at dawn and danced for a long time before it disappeared.”

“Are you sure?” asked a wizened old man who appeared to be a hundred years old.

Raka nodded.

“What does this mean, seeing a peacock?” asked a villager. “I thought seeing a peacock was a thing of joy. It’s a beautiful bird, no?”

“Not in this case,” answered Raka. “Our village is named after the peacock for a reason. As legend goes, whenever Morni is in danger, a peacock comes to the village and warns us. It has been so long since Morni has been in danger that the legend was forgotten ... until today!

“You’ve seen a peacock’s tail, haven’t you?” asked Raka.

The villager nodded, looking perplexed.

“Have you noticed that the circles on its tail resemble eyes?”

The villager raised his eyebrows. “I never thought of it that way.”

“The mor is called ‘the bird of a hundred eyes,’” said Kartik, one of the Panchayat.

“And this is a warning that we have to keep our eyes open. Danger is approaching ... or already here,” said Raka.

“I have heard that the Vetalas have been sighted at Ropar, not too far from us. Be very careful when going to the forest. Don’t venture there alone and never go after dark. Is that clear? Now, go back to your chores.”

Everyone looked worried. There was a moment of silence. The villagers dispersed while the Panchayat continued chatting. Tara was slow to get up and heard one of the men say, “It was good of you to warn the villagers about the Vetalas, Raka.”

“What have we decided about Zarku?” asked another member of the Panchayat.

The word “Zarku” made Tara’s skin crawl. She gave Suraj a little push.

“Go on home, Suraj. I have something important to take care of,” she whispered.

Suraj opened his mouth to say something, but Tara’s expression shut him up.

“Yes, Didi,” he said and ran off.

Tara circled the tree to the spot directly behind the Panchayat and squatted below the platform so that she could hear them unseen.

“It is odd that he turns up from nowhere and knows the affairs of our village so accurately,” said Varun.

“It seems like he has an informer inside Morni,” said Raka. “Have Dushta bring Zarku here.”

Kartik called out to a passing villager, asking him to convey the message to Dushta. The villager returned with Dushta — a short man with oily black hair parted down the middle. His eyes had a shrewd look in them as if constantly searching for the opportunity to make money. His hand alternated between stroking his pot belly and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

“What are you doing here?” snapped Raka. “We asked Zarku to present himself.”

“My respected elders,” said Dushta, folding his pudgy hands. “Zarku wishes to speak with Raka, after which he will present himself in front of the Panchayat.”

Raka looked annoyed at being counter-summoned. He got off the platform and strode off in the direction of Dushta’s hut. Dushta sat down on his haunches next to the others to wait. A long time passed and the remaining members of the Panchayat were starting to get restless.

“What is happening?” one of them said. “Why is Raka taking so long? We should investigate.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when they saw Raka striding back. He reached the group and announced, “I have had a long chat with Zarku. I believe that he is an accomplished healer and much better than Prabala.”

Everyone gaped at him. Tara felt a jolt in her chest at the words. Morni was going to replace her grandfather. She had to bring him back.

“Raka, are you sure?” asked one of them.

“I am sure,” he said in an expressionless voice. “I want no further discussion or argument.”

“In that case, we should give him Prabala’s hut and make a formal announcement to the village,” said Kartik.

“Yes, we should do that as soon as possible. Send messengers throughout the village and let them rejoice that Morni has a new, more powerful healer,” said Raka.

They all dispersed and, a few seconds later, Tara crept away.

* * *

As soon as Tara got back, she continued with weeding the vegetable patch. Suraj was nowhere to be seen. Raka’s words echoed in her mind. Morni was in danger and Prabala was gone. Now Zarku would replace him. It was not fair. Her grandfather had done so much for the villagers. The least they could do was wait for him to come back or send someone to find him. He was alive and so was her mother. She knew it in her heart.

Two thin arms encircled her neck.

“Didi, I worked really hard and made all the vessels gleam, so Mother told me I could go and play till lunchtime, so I came to help you,” Suraj said, all in one breath.

Tara stood up and hugged Suraj, feeling her throat tighten.

“Thank you, Suraj. If you finish weeding this patch, I’ll wash the clothes in the back. Then we can leave a bit earlier to feed Father.”

Suraj squatted on his haunches immediately, his small, brown hands tugging at the weeds. With a last look at him, Tara went to the back of the house, collecting a pile of dirty clothes along the way.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Tara scrubbed and beat the clothes into cleanliness and hung them to dry on a string in the backyard. The water was all used up but she was too tired to get some more. A cot resting against the backyard wall beckoned to her but she knew rest was impossible. It was time to take father his lunch. She decided to pack a few extra chappatis so they could all eat together.

“Didi, I’m done,” sang Suraj, skipping toward her.

“Shhhh! If Mother hears you, we’ll both get more chores,” said Tara. “Fill a pot with water to take, and wait for me.”

Suraj pinched his lips shut and did as he was told. Tara tiptoed into the kitchen. Kali was in the front room, gossiping with a neighbour and sipping a cup of tea. Noisy slurping and hushed voices reached her ears. Layla was nowhere around. She grabbed a few chappatis and packed them into a steel plate with some leftover vegetables and dabs of mango pickle. She covered the meal with extra plates, tied a clean cloth around the package, and crept out stealthily.

Suraj was waiting for her in the backyard. Sneaking backward glances, they raced toward the banyan tree. Their father’s fields were on the far side of it.