mumbled incoherently under his breath. Tara laid him down on his warm bedding and covered him with a blanket. She propped his head up and poured some water into his mouth. He was unable to swallow and the water trickled out the side. With growing apprehension, Tara realized that he was very sick.
“Please Lord Ganesh, make him well again. I need him. I can’t do this alone. I just can’t!”
Tears slid down her cheeks as she cradled Suraj’s head and prayed. Suraj moaned in his sleep. I have to try and get some medicine into him, Tara thought.
She reached for the small bag of herbs and undid the knot with shaking fingers. In it were a few pale yellow fruits: dried amla and dried fronds of the tulsi plant. She took one of each and carefully wrapped up the bundle of precious medicinal herbs and put them away. Tara put on some water to boil, dropped the amla and tulsi into it, and watched as the mixture turned a yellowish brown.
Suraj tossed and turned, muttering nonsensical things. Tara darted anxious looks in his direction.
“Let me go ... Mother where are you?” Suraj muttered. “I’m coming, wait for me.”
Tara took the vessel off the fire with shaking hands. Her mother had taught her that the forest had all that one ever needed: food, medicine, and shelter. Tara had often watched her make complicated medicines from common plants and herbs to cure the villagers. The tulsi and amla plants were well known for their therapeutic effects on fevers and colds. She was thankful that she had had the presence of mind to pack them.
Darkness lapped at the edges of the fire. She looked around uneasily as she waited for the water to cool. Now and then she saw movement: glinting red and yellow eyes. Nothing came close and she was relieved. She could not have warded off the attack of a wild beast just then. She tested the water with her forefinger. It was lukewarm. She took it to where Suraj lay and, cradling his head in her lap, tilted the vessel so that the liquid trickled into his mouth.
Suraj gagged, spluttered, and sat up weakly as the water shot straight out of his mouth. He fell back on the bed, breathing heavily.
“You have to drink this, Suraj. Come on, please try,” pleaded Tara.
She wiped his mouth with the edge of her shawl and tried again. Once again, Suraj coughed and spluttered, but not a drop of medicine went down his throat. Finally, she took the edge of her shawl and dipped it into the water. She gently squeezed the drops into Suraj’s mouth and waited till he swallowed. Painstakingly, she fed him the medicine, drop by drop, till half the liquid was in him. Suraj was breathing peacefully, now in a deep sleep. She moved a strand of hair from his damp forehead and, leaning forward, kissed him. She sat with her back to the trunk, ready for a night-long vigil. Distant roaring and snarling kept her from dozing off.
She stared into the fire, watching the flames reaching up to the night sky, occasional sparks swallowed by the darkness.
“I should never have left home. I am responsible if he dies.”
“Didi,” said Suraj in a faint voice.
“Yes, Suraj,” she said, crawling to where he lay.
“Didi, I’m so tired. I want to sleep forever and ever.”
“WHAT?” she said, fear clutching her heart. She shook him gently. “Suraj, don’t say that. You’ll get well soon. You must. Talk to me ... SURAJ!”
She cradled his head in her hands and gazed intently at the flushed face. His eyes were already closed and even as she uttered the words, a sense of foreboding gripped her. She lay down next to Suraj and hugged his burning body to hers as tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.
“Don’t leave me, little brother. Please don’t leave me.”
•••
The long night marched steadily toward dawn. Several times she saw gleaming yellow eyes in the gloom around her. The small golden-orange fire bobbed like a boat of light, adrift on a turbulent sea of darkness. A light fog sent wispy fingers curling around them so that Tara seemed to be looking through a gauze veil.
She sat up and occasionally walked around to keep awake, but as dawn approached, the urge to sleep was so overpowering that she closed her eyes, telling herself it was only for a short while. The last thing she saw as her eyelids drooped was Suraj. His forehead had turned a silvery black. His eyes had disappeared. How could that be? She forced her eyelids to open. A black band on his head? And it was moving? It was the last thing she remembered before she fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 9 A BROTHER IS LOST AND FOUND
When Tara awoke, all was still. Pale light filtered through a swaying green roof and it took her a moment to realize she was in the forest. The angle of the sun was all wrong. It should have been overhead, but instead it came from somewhere to the side.
The setting sun.
It was evening.
She had slept the day away.
She was tired and aching all over. Why was she so tired and why had she slept all day ...?
“SURAJ!” she screamed as everything came flooding back.
HE WAS GONE!
The bedding on which he had lain next to her was empty.
She was all alone.
“SURAJ!” she screamed again as she jumped up and ran, panic-stricken, first in one direction and then the other.
Silence.
“Please, Suraj, don’t play games. Be a good boy and come out.”
Silence.
No, he couldn’t be gone. He was playing hide and seek again. But he was too ill and weak. That meant ...
“Noooooo!” she moaned.
She envisioned a wild animal dragging him away as he lay unconscious. And she had slept through all of it. She had let him die. It was all her fault. She rocked back and forth, sobbing loudly, her chest heaving as grief poured out of her in waves. How could she have been so careless? She was responsible for the death of her brother.
“Why, Lord Ganesh, why him? Why my brother?” she sobbed. “Why did you let this happen?”
Tara covered her face and sank to the ground, devastated. For hours she sobbed, oblivious of the waning day, the mosquitoes, and that she had not eaten anything. Finally, her tears were spent. She felt so alone and empty. It seemed as if her own shadow had deserted her.
She sat on Suraj’s bedding and clutched his blanket. She inhaled its fragrance: that particularly sweet, sweaty smell that she knew so well. Wrapping herself in it she let the memories of Suraj wash over her.
Tara did not know how long she sat staring as the sun slipped below the lip of the horizon. She had no recollection of the day turning to night. All she could think of was the previous night, when Suraj lay burning with fever while she kept vigil. Now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but a bittersweet fragrance. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and lay back staring at the stars, which winked
