LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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