The Deadly Conch (3 page)

Tara heard the echo of her scream, very faint this time. Had someone really screamed, or was the sound inside her head? She hugged her trembling body, breathing deeply.

“Tara, what's the matter?” Parvati stood framed in the doorway, a lantern in hand. “Are you all right?”

“I-I … uh … had a bad dream,” said Tara finally. She could barely think of the words let alone speak.

“Do you want to sleep inside?”

“No, Mother. It's too hot. I'll stay out here.”

“All right,” said Parvati. She came over and kissed Tara's forehead. “You're safe now. You have nothing to worry about.” Parvati adjusted the sheet over Suraj. With one last look at Tara she went back inside.

Tara lay back and gazed at the sky. She breathed in the night air tinged with heat and the earthy smell of manure from Bela's stall. She was at home with family! She had nothing to worry about except Layla. Tara repeated this over and over again, but it gave no comfort at all.

Her mind returned to her dream and she shuddered. Not one, but
three
of the most evil people she had ever known were haunting her. But two of them were gone forever. Or were they? She pushed the thought out of her head and focused on something else that nagged at her. The second scream? Now that she thought about it, she was sure it wasn't in her head. Who had it been?

“Psssst.” The sound came from behind the low wall which circled their courtyard at the back of the house.

Tara sat up, straining to see who it was. A snake? An intruder? Layla? Her heart slammed against her ribcage.

“Psssssssssssssst.” She heard it again. More insistent this time. And then someone whispered. “Tara, it's me.”

Gayatri-ma! Tara jumped off the cot and raced barefoot to the edge of the courtyard. She opened the rickety wooden door as quietly as she could and peered out.

There stood Gayatri, a ghostly apparition in her white saree. Her eyes had a hunted look. In one hand she clutched a pooja-thali. The other fluttered at her throat like a trapped bird.

“Is everything all right?” asked Tara. “Ananth? Is he —”

“You have to come with me, now!” Gayatri-ma's voice trembled. “Quick, wear your mojris and follow me.”

Tara raced back to the cot. She slipped her feet into the mojris, taking care to shake them out first. Scorpions, spiders, even tiny snakes were known to crawl into shoes during the night and bite the toes of a person foolish enough to slip her foot inside before checking.

Tara's head whirled with a million questions, making her dizzy. Whatever it was, it must be serious. The usually serene Gayatri was definitely rattled. But what or who could have scared her so much?

Tara looked around for the gold and green dupatta she had curled up with that night, but it was nowhere to be seen. She was tempted to run inside the house and get another. Leaving without it made her feel as if she was half-clad.

“Hurry, Tara!” whispered Gayatri-ma from the doorway. “Before the sun rises and the rest of the villagers awake.
We have to go now
.”

Tara heard the deadly fear in Gayatri-ma's voice and decided to skip the dupatta. Hopefully she'd be back before any of the village gossips awoke and accused her of running around improperly attired. Now that she was thirteen she was considered to be a young woman and expected to act her age and dress accordingly.

“Where are we going?” said Tara. Gayatri had set off down the road at a fast clip, darting fearful looks around her. It was just before dawn and no one was about.

“Ganesh temple,” said Gayatri. A hare streaked past them suddenly and they both stopped in the middle of the road, watching it go. A faint breeze lifted the edge of the saree that always covered Gayatri-ma's face and the full moon shone on it. Tara gaped at her. She looked so young, so beautiful. Somehow, it seemed like she was looking at Ananth's mother for the first time. In spite of the urgency of the moment, Tara couldn't help the sadness that filled her at the thought of Gayatri-ma's joyless existence.

“Did you go to the Ganesh Temple last night?” said Gayatri suddenly.

Tara jerked out of her reverie. “No.”

“Are you sure? You better tell me the truth!”

“I
am
telling the truth!” said Tara. “I had no reason to go anywhere. I was so tired, I didn't even change before falling asleep. I woke up screaming because of a bad dream and then I think … I think I heard another scream. But I'm sure I must have imagined it.”

Gayatri swallowed and shook her head. “That was me. And we're very, very lucky that no one else heard the scream. We better hurry. There's something you need to see.”

They hurried in silence toward the Ganesh Temple.

Around them, the sky was turning into a slab of pale pink shot through with ribbons of darkness. Birds chirped overhead, their piping and trilling growing stronger by the minute. Gayatri hurried on, panting for breath, and Tara followed, her stomach queasy.

The temple steps came into view.

“Come on,” said Gayatri. “There's no time to lose.”

They ran up the steps. Gayatri-ma had to stop and hold a stitch in her side, but she wouldn't let Tara go on ahead. Tara's curiosity was a large balloon inside her, threatening to explode. What was it that Gayatri-ma had seen early in the morning? And why was she taking a risk by hanging around? Widows were supposed to complete their visit to the temple and go back home before anyone else woke up. The villagers considered it very unlucky to see a widow first thing in the morning.

They reached the doors of the temple, gasping for breath. Tara had always loved coming here. Often, she would sit at the feet of Lord Ganesh and pray. And it was here that she had first met Mushika, the Lord's companion, when she had rescued him from the cat. This was always a happy place for her and instantly she felt a little calmer. Nothing bad could happen in the house of God.

“Come on, Gayatri-ma. Tell me what's happened,” said Tara. “Surely it can't be that bad?”

“Go inside and see for yourself.” Gayatri's face was very pale. She was watching Tara the way a hawk watches its dinner.

Tara stepped inside the small room. The oil lamps that normally burned at the feet of the deity had gone out. The room was quite dark.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. It reminded her of the underground cave, of Kali and Zarku. It was so overpowering that Tara's stomach heaved.

It was the smell of death.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.

There was something on the floor that shouldn't have been there. A shadowy lump and a splash of colour. Bright red. Tara stared at it, uncomprehending.

A rosy finger of dawn light stole in through a window and pointed to the floor, illuminating the scene.

Tara clapped her hands to her mouth as bile shot up her throat. She shuddered, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Her stomach was a tight knot. She had to get out, get out
now
! She couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

Tara whirled around and found her way barred. Gayatri stood there, her face whiter than her saree. “So you didn't do this?” she asked.

Tara shook her head. If she opened her mouth she knew she'd vomit.

“Tara, you can tell
me
the truth,” said Gayatri softly.

“Whatever it is, I am here to help you. Ananth and I owe you a debt. If it hadn't been for you and your family, neither of us would be alive today. You've been under a lot of pressure, lately, so I can understand if …”

Tara pushed Gayatri aside and stepped over the threshold, gulping in the clean air. Her nausea subsided temporarily, only to be replaced by a throbbing anger.

“How can you even say that, Gayatri-ma? Do you really think … I'm capable of … that?” The world spun around her and she held her head in her hands until it subsided.

“Look again and you'll see why I'm asking you this question. Why I brought you here.”

‘I can't go back in there,” said Tara. “Please don't make me.”

“Tara, you have to. Take a proper look, but hurry. Punditji will be here soon to prepare for the day's pooja. We have to clear this mess before someone finds it.”

Tara balled her hands into fists, took a deep breath, and went back inside. There on the floor lay the stray dog she had fed the previous evening. Someone had hacked his neck and it was almost severed from his body. It lay in a pool of blood, thick and viscous. Flies buzzed over the body greedily. The dog's eyes were open. He stared straight at Tara accusingly.

Tears dripped down her face. Who could have done something this terrible? In a temple? Automatically she reached for the edge of her dupatta to wipe her eyes. Her fingers closed on thin air and she remembered she wasn't wearing one. She wiped her face on her sleeve instead.

“It's over there,” said Gayatri, still watching Tara. “But you'll never be able to use it again.”

“What?” said Tara. She wiped another tear on her sleeve.

“Your dupatta,” said Gayatri. She pointed at the dead animal.

Tara noticed it then. Her gold and green dupatta was pinned under the dog's body and soaked in blood.

“Now you know why I came to get you?” said Gayatri softly. “This is what you were wearing yesterday, isn't it?”

All the words inside Tara dried up. She pushed past the older woman, raced outside once again and retched. How had her dupatta gotten
here
? And what would happen if someone found it? She stopped mid-retch, ice creeping through her veins in spite of the warmth that held the promise of another hot day. The sun had already started to paint the bottom of the temple steps in gold.

“I didn't do it!” said Tara. “You have to believe me.”

“I do,” said Gayatri. “But will anyone else? Your dupatta is proof that you were somehow involved.”

“But I just saved the villagers from Zarku. They believe I'm a hero. And everyone knows I hate killing anything. How could I do something like this in my own temple? No, we'll just go and tell them it has to be someone else. No one could believe I did this.”

“Tara, long ago I realized that superstition and fear are stronger than reason, stronger than anything else. If Punditji finds this inside his temple, it will not take him long to condemn you, too. You'll go from hero to zero in seconds.”

Tara looked into Gayatri-ma's eyes, which held a world of truth and pain. Here was a living example of how blind superstition could be. Tara didn't stand a chance.

“Then we have to get rid of it!” said Tara, unable to suppress the panic in her voice. “Now. Please help me, Gayatri-ma.”

“Why do you think I came to get you?”

“We need a sack or something to put the body in,” said Tara. “And my dupatta. I don't think I can bear to look at it ever again.”

“I'll go get one,” said Gayatri. “You try and pull the body to the back of the temple so at least no one will see it when they walk in. We also have to clean up the … mess. Hurry!”

Tara looked fearfully behind the deity at the door that led to Punditji's quarters. He would be arriving any moment now to wash the fruits and flowers for the pooja. He would distribute these to the villagers who would pass through the doors all day.

She strained her ears, but there was no sound of movement. Maybe he, too, had slept in after last night's revelries. Thank God for that. The next moment she shook her head. A horrible thing had happened in God's house and she was
thanking him
that she had not been discovered.

Gayatri ran off to get a sack and Tara stooped over the body, staring at it, trying not to gag and cry at the same time. As the light grew brighter, every detail became clearer. The wound in the dog's neck was deep; he had been attacked with a curved sickle the farmers used to cut grain. Who could have been heartless enough to take a weapon to a helpless animal? Her legs turned rubbery and she reached out for the wall to steady herself.

There lay her dupatta, wedged under its body, the blood making the green appear darker. Her eyes strayed to Lord Ganesh.
Why Lord
, she asked silently.
Why did
this happen? How can you allow an innocent animal to be
murdered within your home?

Her mother's words came to her, as they always did when she was troubled.
Things always happen for the
best. Sometimes, when they occur, you will probably be very
unhappy, but as time passes, you will see that the pattern
makes sense. It always does.

Yet Tara could not believe that this death and her dupatta being there made any sense. Someone was trying to frame her! And if it was discovered, she would be in deep trouble. She had to hide the dog. She stepped closer to the body. The whiff of decay and blood was overwhelming. The cloud of flies was getting thicker. She touched the dog's hind leg. It was cold and stiff. She jerked her hand away, her insides burning and cold at the same time. How was she going to do this?

The temple bell at the top of the steps pealed loudly. Tara jumped. They had left it until too late. Someone was about to enter, and, as was customary, he or she had rung the bell. Tara raced to the body and slipped in the pool of blood. Down she went, cracking her knee on the stone floor. Biting her lip to stop the howl of pain she tried to pull her dupatta out from under the dog. It was glued to him. Tara took a deep breath and scooped the body up in her arms, dupatta and all, trying not to faint as the smell hit her like a slap on the face.

Just as she stood up, Raka's wife, Sumathy, stepped into the temple with her thali. Her eyes travelled from Tara's face to the bloody, dripping bundle in her arms, to the pool of deep red on the floor.

For a moment the only sound in the temple was the buzzing of the flies, indignant about their meal being snatched away.

The next moment, Sumathy screamed and collapsed on to the floor in a dead faint.