LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      As they reached the clearing, they saw a group of people standing and talking in hushed voices. A woman stood to one side, sobbing. Tara slowed down.

      The woman’s sobs grew louder. Keeping her head down, Tara walked past as slowly as she could. She gestured to Suraj to slow down as well. He stuck his tongue out at her but did as he was told.

      “Shakti, oh my dear husband Shakti,” wailed the woman, sitting on the ground, beating her chest with the palms of her hands. A couple of women passing by stopped to comfort her.

      “He went out yesterday to catch hares for our dinner,” she sobbed. “He has still not returned. Someone please bring my husband back to me.”

      The men walked out of earshot of the women. Tara followed them, straining her ears.

      “What happened? When did he disappear?” asked one villager.

      “Yesterday,” replied another. He frowned and raised his head, staring into the distance. All the men followed his gaze to the Shivalik Hills. The dense forest that covered their slopes came right up to the edge of their village.

      “Did Raka send a search party?”

      “Yes. All they found were his slippers and his lantern. There seemed to be some black liquid and a bit of blood on the ground near the peepul tree not too far from here.”

      “Sister, don’t cry,” said one of the men returning to the sobbing woman. “We will find him.”

      They walked off and Tara heard no more. But she knew it was serious. Rakaji had just warned them all about the Vetalas. Men were disappearing into the forest from the other villages, never to be seen again. Shakti was the first from Morni.

      And Tara was contemplating running away. Was she mad? Were they destined to starve at the hands of Kali, or should she take her chances and escape? Her head ached trying to decide. What should she do?

      “Come on, Didi, what are you waiting for?” said Suraj, tugging at her sleeve. “I’m so hungry.”

      Tara nodded and sped up.

      •••

      They ran all the way to their father’s fields, where rice and wheat crops undulated in a green ripple, stirred by a faint breeze. Shiv was still working in the fields and Tara saw a brown speck moving in the sea of green in the distance.

      “Go run and get him,” said Tara, giving Suraj a gentle push. “I’ll unpack the lunch.”

      Suraj sprinted toward Shiv, a blur of dark brown darting between the lush green paddy. By the time Tara had divided up the food into three plates, her father and Suraj had arrived.

      Tara held out a glass of water, which her father took without a word. After splashing his face, gargling, and drinking the rest, he sat down in the shade of the tree and pulled his plate toward him. Tara and Suraj started eating.

      Only the harsh cry of a crow disturbed the afternoon. No one spoke. Tara stared at her father, each bite sticking like a bit of coal in her throat. Where are you, Father? Why won’t you talk to us anymore? At that moment her father glanced up at her. Tara stared at the brown eyes that had once brimmed with love. Now they resembled a dried-up well. It’s almost like Lord Yama, the God of Death, visited you, Father. He took your soul but he forgot to take your body.

      They all continued eating steadily and within a short while the plates were clean. Shiv washed his hands and then lay down under the tree for a nap.

      “Didi, we don’t have to go home right away, do we? There’s an anthill I want to explore.”

      His sparkling eyes and smile, as rare as the peacock she had sighted, were too much to resist.

      “All right, Suraj. But you have an hour or so at the most. Okay?”

      He nodded and zipped away.

      Tara lay down a distance away from Shiv, gazing at his face. He had not spoken a word to them all afternoon. She could remember the time when he spoke so much, especially the stories he told them. She had been fascinated by the one about Lord Yama when he came to claim Satyaban, the young prince. She loved the way Savitri outwitted the God of Death.

      Tara put an arm over her eyes to block out the sunbeams dancing between the shimmering leaves. From the depths of her memory, the strong deep voice of her father washed over her.

      “In the days of old it was said that there lived a beautiful princess named Savitri, the daughter of King Aswapati of Madra Desa. She was unparalleled both in virtue and beauty. Her father was unable to find a suitable husband for her, and so she was given complete freedom to choose her own. With a band of wise ministers she traveled to many countries but couldn’t find anyone she wanted to spend her life with. While returning home through a jungle, a handsome young man cutting wood caught her eye. The young man was none other than Satyaban, a prince in exile who was living in the forest with his blind parents. Savitri selected him as her husband. But Narada, a musician and sage, forecasted that he would die young.”

      Tara felt her pulse quicken even now, as it had then, whenever she heard about “death.” Her father’s voice continued.

      “The king pleaded with his beloved daughter to select another husband. But Savitri was firm in her decision and ultimately married Satyaban. She left the palace and lived with her husband and in-laws in the forest. As a devoted wife and daughter-in-law she looked after them very well. Gradually, the ordained time for Satyaban’s death drew near. One day, while cutting wood in the jungle, he fell into a swoon and died, his head cradled in the lap of his beloved wife.”

      A sharp stone dug into Tara’s shoulder blade. She shifted her weight, closed her eyes, and drifted back to her father’s soothing voice as he continued the story.

      “As Savitri sat weeping, she saw a large, green man astride a red bull come up to her. He towered well over Savitri and carried a mace. He was Lord Yama, the God of Death. He told Savitri that he had come to take her husband away. She refused him and clung to Satyaban’s body. Lord Yama lifted Satyaban’s body, put it on the bull, and rode away. Sobbing, Savitri followed. He could hear the silvery tinkle of her anklets as she followed him toward Taksala, the Gates of the Underworld.

      “‘Go back, Savitri. You cannot get your husband back,’ said Lord Yama.

      “‘I cannot leave him, my Lord,’ she answered.

      “‘I will grant you three wishes. Ask for anything but your husband’s life,’ said Lord Yama, taking pity on a woman who was widowed at such a young age.

      “For her first wish, she asked that her father-in-law regain his kingdom. For her second wish, Savitri asked that her in-laws be granted their eyesight. Lord Yama granted both her wishes immediately,” Shiv’s voice, warm and full of love and wisdom, continued.

      At this point, Tara remembered, she had put her head in her father’s lap and he had stroked her hair. She felt her chest tighten.

      “‘You have one more wish.

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