The Deadly Conch (5 page)

Raka looked straight at Tara and she gave him a small smile. He nodded imperceptibly as his eyes swept the rest of the crowd.

“Rakaji, you should start the investigation with Layla,” said Tara. His belief in her innocence had emboldened her.

“Let me finish,” said Raka. His voice was hard. “I hate interruptions and accusing anyone without proof is wrong! The Panchayat will report back to all of you as soon as we've found anything.”

Tara looked at the ground, burning up with shame. It was because of Layla that she was facing this humiliation. Layla had it coming to her, she would see to it.

“In the meantime, Tara, you will wash the temple inside and out thoroughly, no matter how long it takes. Then you will help Punditji keep it clean for one more week. Is that understood?”

Tara nodded as the uproar behind her steadily grew stronger.

“Is it wise to let the person who defiled the temple back near it?” someone said.

“Have her clean up the whole village not just the temple,” a woman called out.

“This is an unfair punishment for a child. Tara didn't do it,” said Poonam, their neighbour, who was very fond of her and Suraj.

Tara pulled at a stray weed poking up from the parched earth. Her blood boiled and not because of the midday sun. Some of the villagers speaking against her were the same people she had risked her life for; people she had saved from spending the rest of their lives as Vetalas. And yet, based on this one incident, they were ready to condemn her. Tara felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up.

“It's all right,” said Parvati. “We'll get to the bottom of this. If Father were here, it would have been very different, but we'll have to manage on our own until he returns.”

“Serving God is a good thing and Lord Ganesh knows you didn't do it,” said Shiv. “Even if he cannot give evidence on your behalf.”

Tara nodded, grateful for their support. Even Suraj flung his arms around her and squeezed her tight.

“The meeting is over,” said Raka. “You can all go back to work.”

Tara started walking, scanning the crowd for Ananth, but there was no sign of him. He must have slipped off to tell his mother the news. At least she had managed to keep Gayatri out of this. It was the only thing that gave her some solace.

“Suffer!” A sibilant whisper close to her ear made her jump.

Tara turned around. Layla stood there, sneering at her. Tara felt a deep pang of fear. For the first time in her life she saw purpose in Layla's eyes — other than the desire to stuff her face full of food.

Tara then knew with absolute certainly that Layla was behind this. But how was she going to prove it to the villagers before it was too late?

— four —
A Deadly Rumour

T
ara had never worked so hard in her life, not even when Kali had been around, treating her and Suraj like slaves. She worked from sunrise to sunset, scrubbing, scouring, and washing. Tara spent extra time on the spot where the blood had pooled and seeped into the floor, trying to remove every trace of that terrible incident.

All prayers had stopped while she cleaned the temple. Tara had to endure the malevolent looks of Punditji, who had recovered sufficiently from his illness to supervise her every minute of the day when he wasn't sleeping or eating. It was like a vacation for him and he was enjoying it tremendously, but tried hard not to let it show.

Punditji also delighted in sneaking up on her, barefoot, and yelling in her ear. After the fifth time, Tara took to looking behind her every few minutes to see if she could catch him in the act.

“You missed a patch there,” he said one hot afternoon. “If you work this way, it'll never get done.”

“I just did that section,” she replied. “Look, it's still wet.”

Tara tried hard to keep the disgust out of her voice. He looked like an overgrown child who had not done an ounce of work in his life. His soft, white hands had only ever held pooja thalis laden with fruits, and the prayer bell. Once he blessed the food it was divided equally between the devotee and God. And God really meant Punditji. No doubt, missing all those treats was making him cranky and he blamed Tara for it. This was his way of making her suffer as much as him.

“Are you implying that I'm a liar when the
real
liar is you?”

Tara opened her mouth, and then closed it again. With a sigh, she pushed the bucket over to the section Punditji had pointed out with his big toe, and started scrubbing. It was the third day of her punishment and she was still working on the inside. She hadn't even begun to clean up the outside. Punditji had made her start with his living quarters at the back of the temple. It was not part of the punishment, but Tara did it, anyway, trying not to show shock at the mess.

The bell outside the temple pealed loudly, shattering the heavy stillness of the afternoon. They both looked up. Raka stood there, wiping his perspiring face and fanning it with the edge of his turban. He stepped inside and touched his forehead to the Lord's feet. Then he turned to them. “How is the cleaning coming along?”

Tara wasn't sure whom he was addressing so she kept her mouth shut and continued scrubbing.

“Slow. This one is very lazy,” said Punditji. “But don't you worry, Raka, I'm keeping a close eye on her.

She will not get away with a shoddy job. Once she has finished the outside of the temple, I will bathe Lord Ganesh in milk. Then we will organize a grand pooja for the entire village.”

Hmmm,” said Raka. “How long will it take?”

Punditji stroked his ample belly and tugged on the little shendi of hair at the back of his head. “A week at most,” he said.

A week!
thought Tara
.
Her arms were threatening to fall off within the next hour.

Raka sighed deeply, staring out the doorway. “We also have to do a pooja for the rains. The monsoon season has started and yet, not a drop has fallen from the sky. Our crops are starting to turn yellow and the well water is running low. We need rain
now
!”

“At this time last year, the crop was bountiful and green,” said Punditji. “This year the gods are angry with us. Can you blame them, with sinful children like Tara in the village? They're punishing us, that's for sure. But do not worry, Raka. I have just the prayer for it. It's expensive, but it'll be worth it.”

Tara sat back on her haunches, her heart beating erratically. Now they were blaming
her
for the delayed monsoon? Were they mad?

“We've had rains fail before so I don't think we can put
all
the blame on Tara,” said Raka. But he did not sound very convincing, almost as if he had trouble believing his own words.

Tara's eyes met Raka's, but there was no warmth in them. No smile on his face, either. He had been so happy when she had returned with Suraj and Sadia. He had embraced her warmly and said that she had upheld the name of Morni. It hurt more than anything to see distrust and doubt where once there had been pride and joy.

“But yes, there is a possibility that the gods are angry with us,” said Raka. “Last week the clouds had started to gather and this week, nothing but blue skies.”

Tara resumed scrubbing, her chest burning with anger. They were wrong. All of them! She had to prove it. But how?

“I have to go,” said Raka. “Let me know the moment this is done. We have much to pray for!”

Once again, he supplicated himself in front of Lord Ganesh, then left without glancing at Tara.

The moment Raka was out the door, Punditji said, “I have some important work to take care of. See that you don't disturb me for the next couple of hours. And when this room is done, you can start on the steps.” And with that, he shuffled away, barely able to suppress a yawn.

Tara stood up and stretched her aching back. She walked to the doorway and stared at the flight of steps. She had run up them so often, never giving a thought to how many there were. She counted them for the first time. Thirty-one long slabs of stone that she had to scrub and wash. She lifted her eyes to the huts that spread out before her, to the paddy fields beyond, which were yellow rather than the lush green she loved to see. It stabbed at her heart. Among these were her father's fields, too. The sky was still blue and cloudless. Did the rain have to be delayed just now?

“Oi!” said Punditji. “You can admire the view later. Get to work.”

Tara jumped, a curse at the tip of her tongue. He had done it again. She felt an irresistible urge to empty the bucket of dirty, soapy water over his spotless white dhoti and then see him yell. But she was in enough trouble already, so she resisted the impulse and got to work until the vast, glowering bulk of Punditji moved away. The door to his room slammed shut. At least she would have peace for a couple of hours while he took care of
important matters
; his afternoon siesta. Everyone knew about it, but no one dared say a word for fear of his wrath.

She paused to brush her damp hair from her eyes and gazed at the figure of Lord Ganesh. The brilliant sunshine that poured in from the windows and doorway made the colours seem even more vibrant. The gold ornaments adorning his body glittered, throwing bright, starry reflections on the ceiling. She looked into the eyes of the clay deity. They were so skillfully painted that no matter where she stood in the room, it seemed that Lord Ganesh was looking straight at her.

“Why,” whispered Tara. “What is this pattern you're weaving for me now which I can't see? And what is it going to look like when you're done?”

The Lord continued looking at her serenely, and, in spite of everything, Tara felt a calm descend upon her.

“Talking to yourself, Tara?” said a sneering voice. “You better get used to it because soon no one in Morni will be speaking to you.”

The calm evaporated as Tara turned around. Layla filled the doorway.

“Get out,” said Tara. “I'm working.”

“Didn't look like it a moment ago,” said Layla. She stepped into the temple and deliberately walked over the damp patch that Tara had just cleaned, leaving large, muddy footprints. She walked over to the spot where the dead dog had lain. “So this is where you killed it, right?”

Tara stood up, her heart pounding. She had scrubbed the spot over and over until there was no telltale sign of blood to mark the place. Yet Layla had known exactly where it had been.

“It was there,” said Tara. She pointed to a corner of the room while watching Layla carefully.

“Wrong!” said Layla. “It was right he —” She stopped.

“So it was
you
who did it,” said Tara softly. She came right up to Layla and stared into her black eyes. “You did it and framed me.”

“Prove it,” said Layla. She stared right back at Tara without the slightest hint of fear.

A tidal wave of rage almost drowned Tara, but she knew she couldn't do anything for now. She was dying to push Layla out the door and see her bump down each one of those thirty-one steps. Instead, she shoved her wet hands into her pockets. In one of them was a smooth orb.

“I can't prove it just yet,” said Tara. “But you won't get away with it. I'll see to it that everyone knows.”

Layla giggled and at that moment it seemed as if a shrunken Kali had returned from the Underworld. She scooped up a spotted apple still lying in one of the thalis and bit into it. Tara dropped to her knees and surreptitiously pressed her wet palm into the vermillion powder that the villagers sprinkled on the Lord's feet as part of their offering.

“I've got something for you,” said Tara. She slipped her hand back into her pocket. “Here — it's the dog's eyeball.”

Layla stared at the dark, black orb smeared in red that lay in Tara's bloody palm. She gave a loud shriek, dropped the apple and raced out the door, retching.

“Come back, you forgot your souvenir,” said Tara trying not to burst into laughter. She watched Layla stumble down the steps, almost tripping over her own large feet. Tara silently thanked Suraj for his favourite marble, making a mental note to return it to him soon.

That felt good.

Tara washed the vermillion powder from her hands and started scrubbing once again.

The Ganesh temple thronged with villagers and the overflow spilled out on to the steps and around the sides. They were here for the grand pooja that Punditji had organized for the village of Morni. Every man, woman, and child was decked out for the occasion in spite of the searing heat of the late evening. The men wore white kurta-pajamas that were already limp from the humidity, and the women were in sarees or ghaghra-cholis. Gold ornaments shimmered on them, catching the dying rays of the sun.

Tara gazed around with pride. The temple sparkled. The stairs leading up to the deity room, all thirty-one of them, were clean and free from years of accumulated dust and dirt. The floor of the main room was pristine. She had scrubbed away all the layers of spilled diya oil, sticky fruit juice, coconut water, and ash from the incense sticks. The black stone slabs shone and were smooth against the soles of her feet. The thick, heavy fragrance of sandalwood incense perfumed the air.