A Beautiful Lie (4 page)

‘Sounds like you’ve got a hungry tiger stuck in there, Manjeet!’ I chuckled.

‘More like a growling tiger cub,’ chipped in Saleem.

‘Laugh all you like but I haven’t eaten all day,’ replied Manjeet, holding his stomach and sighing.

‘What about that mango I saw you eating earlier?’ asked Saleem.

‘And those two chapattis I saw you eat at school?’ I asked.

‘Don’t forget that pomegranate I gave you,’ added Chota from behind us.

Saleem rolled about laughing, dropping his cards again.

‘Well, I did have a few things to eat,’ admitted Manjeet. ‘It’s your go, Saleem.’

Saleem picked up his cards and squinted at them carefully.
Then with a big grin he said, ‘Full house!’ He held the cards up so we could all see.

Manjeet looked over at me and made a face.

‘Hold on,’ I replied.

‘Saleem, you can’t have those cards, your last hand –’ Manjeet began.

‘What are you talking about? Anyway, you both owe me a mango. I don’t mind which variety as long as it’s ripe and juicy,’ said Saleem.

‘Wait,’ I said, looking at Saleem’s feet.

‘What?’ replied Saleem.

‘What’s that under your chuppal?’ I asked.

‘When you dropped the cards . . .’ said Manjeet, slapping Saleem’s foot away and revealing a card.

‘Manjeet, sit on him, will you, while I find a bamboo stick to beat him with!’ I said, standing up.

Manjeet grabbed Saleem and started to tickle him.

‘Aaagh! They must have fallen from the pack. I didn’t cheat. Aagh! Stop tickling me, Manjeet, you big oaf!’

Manjeet and I sat on Saleem, with Manjeet continuing to tickle him.

‘Aaaagh, get off me! Manjeet weighs more than a donkey! Get off!’

Laughing, we began to bounce on Saleem, teasing him by getting up and then sitting back down.

Chota suddenly cut us short. ‘Hey! I think there’s something going on in the far side of the market. Shut up for a second!’

Moving closer to Chota, Manjeet and I looked over the rooftops and saw in the dying light a group gathered in a little square near the edge of the market.

‘They look like they’ve covered their faces. What do you think they’re doing?’ asked Manjeet.

The group were huddled together and were clearly discussing something heatedly.

‘I don’t know but it can’t be good news,’ I said.

‘Let’s go and find out!’ said Chota, already at the stairs. Before we could stop him, Chota had bounded down the stairs and scampered in the direction of the square.

‘That little . . . What do we do now?’ Saleem asked.

‘We have to follow him or else he’s bound to get into trouble,’ I replied.

Manjeet was second off the roof, his long legs carrying him at speed down the stairs. Saleem followed and I was a step behind as we entered the maze of streets. We could just make out a little shape flitting in and out of the alleyways ahead.
The benefit of following somebody you knew well was that you knew the route they were likely to take. Anybody who lived in the town knew the shortest route to the marketplace and Manjeet followed Chota unerringly through each twist and turn. As Saleem and I rounded another corner, we crashed into Manjeet, who had stopped and skidded into Chota. Holding his finger over his lips, Manjeet moved us into the shadows.

Whispered voices floated over from the other side of the marketplace. We were still too far away to hear anything. Moving past Chota, I signalled for him to follow me, moving from shadow to shadow. The men had chosen a well-hidden spot and, but for our particular rooftop refuge, we would never have seen them. Behind the marketplace was a small area used for dumping rubbish and unloading goods. Backs tight against the wall, we shuffled along slowly, listening intently as the voices became louder.

‘I say we burn it down to make a statement.’

‘Burning it down is a bit of a strong statement.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be a statement then, would it, you fool!’

‘What if we just broke a few things and messed the place up a little?’

We were within earshot now and right at the edge of the wall nearest the entrance to the square. Chota stood next to me impatiently, trying to crane his head to see round the corner. Holding him at arm’s length, I tried to hear what was being said.

‘Look, we need to let them know we won’t back down. The sooner we can get rid of these Muslim scum the better it will be for us. They’re killing our Hindu brothers and sisters all over India. We have to retaliate!’

Eyes widening, I turned to see if I was the only one to hear those words. The shock on their faces told me that they’d heard too and Saleem was signalling frantically at me and trying to grab my hand. Chota managed to escape my grasp and poked his head round the corner.

The voices continued in hushed tones.

‘Are you sure we should? I’ve never started a fire before.’

‘It’s not difficult, is it? You douse a little cloth in oil, stuff it in a bottle and throw it in. Easy.’

‘What if someone is inside?’

‘As I said, we’re here to make a statement. Nothing makes a statement like a burnt, crisp corpse . . .’

Burning someone alive!
The thought of it almost made me sick and made my stomach convulse.
This is no place for us.

Chota ducked his head back in and we all stood utterly still. The voices were barely above a whisper. Saleem was beside himself and dragged Manjeet away a few steps. Holding up my hand, I signalled for him to wait.
If we could just find out who or what they’re trying to burn then at least we could warn them
.

Craning my head to hear, I heard muffled sounds almost as if the group were moving away. Feeling Chota squirm behind me, I grabbed him to stop him moving but he continued to struggle in my grasp and I turned to him in frustration just in time to see he was about to sneeze. Holding his nose, I squeezed tight as he covered his mouth and a stifled sound escaped from him. Letting go slowly, Chota smiled and held up his hands. Then, before I could stop him, his head shot forward with a short, sharp sneeze. We all froze. Saleem looked at us in horror as the voices floated over to us once again.

‘What was that sound?’

‘Who’s there?’

I pushed Chota towards Manjeet and Saleem just as we heard footsteps coming towards us.

‘Run!’ I shouted.

Sprinting, we hurtled back into the maze of streets.

Chapter 7

Behind us we could hear shouted curses and swearing. Turning left then right, we ran towards our rooftop but I realised we couldn’t all go there – if we were to escape we had to split up. Chota was in the lead and I yanked his shirt until he stopped. Manjeet and Saleem came to an abrupt halt a few seconds later, breathing hard.

‘We have to split up. If we split up, they’ll find it harder to catch us. Chota, you climb up to a rooftop the first chance you get and stay there. Saleem, you head in the opposite direction. Manjeet, get away if you can but they didn’t sound much older than us so if one catches you, wallop him and get home.’

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to split up?’ asked Saleem. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be fine. Let’s go!’

We all moved out of the shadows and sprinted straight ahead towards an opening. Hearing yells behind us, we split up just before we reached the opening, Manjeet angling right as Saleem sped off to the left. Chota had already disappeared.

I sprinted into the opening, taking a few turns before I stopped to listen for signs of pursuit. Running blindly on would only become confusing and I wouldn’t know if somebody was following. Stepping into a shaded alcove, I stopped and doubled over. Gripping my knees with my hands and breathing hard, I looked into the darkness. Straining my ears to hear, I stood up straight and waited.
Nothing. They probably went after the others
. Just as I was about to move out of the shadows, I heard a scrabbling sound and then a voice.

‘Where are you, little rat? I saw you duck in here. We saw you split up and your rat friends have probably been caught already. Where are you? I know you’re here somewhere. You don’t want to be a rat skulking about all your life, do you?’ taunted the voice.

Feeling for the wall behind me, I stood tensed, my body frozen.
Think, Bilal, think!

‘Show yourself, little rat, I’m getting impatient. If you show yourself I might go easy on you but if I have to find you . . .’

The voice had moved away, to the other entrance to my right. I saw my opportunity.

‘Come out, come out, rodent. I have some food for you. You’ve already made this more difficult than it needs to be, and for that I have something you can eat, little rat. I’m going to burn you, see how you like the taste of flames on your tongue . . .’

Without hearing him finish, I shot off to my left towards a dark opening. The maze of alleyways was thicker here and I knew it well. I heard the taunting voice swearing behind me but it was further away and I knew I’d bought some time.

It’s not enough. I still saw where you went and sooner or later I’m going to catch up
.

The alleys were deserted now and dark. The voice I could hear, was it in my head or was he right behind me? It taunted me and made me look over my shoulder. Sucking in short, sharp gasps of air, I put my head down and tried to concentrate on staying ahead.

I’ll get you, little rat. I’m right behind you. It doesn’t matter how many times you turn or hide, I can smell you
.

Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging them. Blinking hard, I shook my head. The sound of my laboured breathing was the only noise I could hear, roaring in my ears. Slowing down, my head pulsed making my vision swim, and my sides felt like they would split if I didn’t stop to rest. So I leant against a wall and waited.

Standing utterly still, my eyes traced each shadow and alleyway entrance for any signs of sudden movement.
Is he here already? I heard his voice, didn’t I?
Feeling the need to move again, I slowly turned my back from the wall and took a few steps.
What is that? That noise. It’s coming from my right
.

Gulping lungfuls of air, I ran into the dark not quite sure where I was, my eyes scanning the houses and walls for familiar landmarks. Almost falling, I ran hard through the narrow alleys, desperate for a sign.

The voice was in my head again.
Ha! You think you can escape me? Silly rat. This is just a game. I’m right behind you
.

I looked over my shoulder and saw movement in the shadows. Stumbling, I raced headlong into an alley and collided with someone. Falling down in a heap, we both rolled to our feet. I took a step back. Bunching my fists, I ground my teeth ready to fight.
I won’t make it easy for you
.

‘Bilal, it’s me, Chota. It’s OK, it’s me, put your hands down.’

Stepping towards me, Chota smiled and shook his head.

‘Those fools couldn’t catch a lame donkey,’ he said, baring his teeth in defiance. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

‘Let’s make sure Saleem and Manjeet managed to get away too,’ I said.

Looking one last time over my shoulder into the dark maze, I let Chota lead me out and away, doing my best to ignore the sound I was sure I could hear – of following footsteps slapping the ground behind us.

Chapter 8

Arriving home, I stood outside in the quiet street. Fetching a bucket of water, I splashed my face and tipped it over my head.
The cold seeped into my bones. I could feel droplets of water tracing tracks down my body. I pulled my legs in and hugged myself as my skin cooled, making me shiver. It felt good.
You can’t burn if you’re wet
.

Looking towards our house, the warm light beckoned and felt welcoming. Walking in and closing the door behind me, I felt safe once again. Suddenly, my stomach growled and made me think of Manjeet earlier and how we had been laughing at him. How quickly everything had changed. Moving into the room to check on Bapuji as he slept, I held my stomach. Everything was changed but right here, right now, everything was the same.
Hold on to that. Don’t let things change in here
.

My stomach growled again and I decided to cook some rice. It was the only thing Bapuji could swallow easily and keep down but even then I had to force him to eat it.

It was a balmy night and I could smell the different foods being cooked up and down our little street. I could smell the fish Anjum-bhai would be wafting over hot coals opposite our house, and I knew Tasneem-bhen next door would be cooking daal because she cooked daal almost every day, except Tuesdays when she washed her hair. Her husband was always complaining of eruptions in his stomach, which Bapuji suggested were because Tasneem-bhen didn’t think much of her husband’s lack of motivation to work and so cooked daal as a punishment. Bapuji also pointed out that she usually slept next door with her children at her sister’s house, and he held his nose and pulled a face and we both giggled at the thought of Latif-bhai living in a toxic haze.