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. Ask for anything but your husband’s life,’ said Lord Yama.
“‘I wish to be the mother of a hundred sons,’ said Savitri promptly.
“‘Granted,’ said Lord Yama, equally promptly.
“Then he realized what had happened and he smiled at her cleverness. Savitri’s religion did not allow a widow to remarry and Satyaban’s soul was in his hands. He had no choice but to restore him to life to fulfill the third wish he had granted Savitri. Lord Yama, in spite of being outwitted, was moved by Savitri’s devotion. Satyaban came back to life again and both of them lived happily ever after.”
Tara awoke to a harsh caw and felt something wet on her forearm. She sat up. Was it raining? There was not a cloud in the sky. She felt her face. Her cheeks were wet. She shot a glance to where her father lay. The spot was empty.
She dragged herself up with a deep sigh. She had dozed off and it was late in the afternoon. She would get an earful from Kali, she was sure of that. Calling a reluctant Suraj to her, they gathered the empty dishes and headed home as fast as they could.
As they entered the hut they braced themselves for a torrent of abuse.
Silence.
“Tara, Suraj, you’re back already? Come here my children,” called out Kali in an unrecognizably sweet voice.
Tara and Suraj looked at each other in amazement.
“Is that Mother?” he asked in surprise. “I’ve never heard her speak this way to us. Do you think she loves us all of a sudden, or has a demon possessed her?”
Tara shook her head and shushed him as they entered the kitchen. Kali sat in front of the fire preparing dinner. To one side of the stove lay an open vessel that gave off the most delicious fragrance.
