The Third Eye by Mahtab Narsimhan Page A

But we won’t be here,
she thought to herself, and she smiled.
    Her mind was busy with plans for the escape. While Shiv, Kali, and Layla finished their morning tea, Surajand Tara excused themselves and went to the wooden cupboard in the front room. They rummaged through their belongings and clothes, smiling at each other whenever their eyes met.
    â€œWe’ll both need an extra pair of shoes; these ones are falling to pieces. We’ll need a couple of extra blankets, and reed mats to put on the ground when it rains.” The list was endless and Tara was starting to think they would never be able to carry it all, Suraj was so thin and weak.
    Tara searched for their warm clothes and her palm connected with something very soft. She pulled it out. It was her mother’s favourite sky-blue kurta — the only piece of clothing left of her in the house. Had Kali found it, it too would have been burned with the rest of Parvati’s clothes. Tara clutched it to her face, inhaling deeply. She was sure she could still get a faint whiff of the sweet lemony fragrance of the chameli flower. Suraj stepped closer as Tara held out the bunched-up garment to him. He buried his face in it and clutched her hand. For a moment, they felt that their mother was right there, embracing them.
    â€œTara, come here and clean up,” hollered Kali.
    Tara started. She was about to hide the kurta again when she heard a crackle. She scrunched up the kurta and heard it again.
    â€œWhat is that sound, Didi?”
    â€œMaybe a note Mother left us?” said Tara.
    Her hands shook as she scrabbled through the left pocket, then the right, and extracted a ten-rupee note.
    Suraj’s eyes widened. He had never seen so much money.
    â€œOhhhhh,” he breathed
    â€œThank you, Mother,” said Tara in a soft whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, Suraj.”
    She tucked the money into the pocket of her kurta and went back into the kitchen. There was a mess, as usual. Without stopping to acknowledge the annoyance and sense of injustice that rose in her whenever she had to clean up her stepmother’s mess, she got to work.
    Their father stepped out the back door to wash up. The rain had stopped and the sky had lightened to a smiling blue. A fresh breeze stirred the branches of the peepul trees lining the road and hundreds of droplets of water fell to the wet ground. Tara gazed out the back door. As far as the eye could see, vivid green trees swayed joyfully with their arms outstretched. All the dust and dirt had been washed away and the smell of damp earth wafted in.
    â€œHurry up, Tara, it’s almost midday,” said Shiv.
    â€œCan I come too?” asked Layla.
    â€œHmmmm,” said Shiv, and he stepped outside to smoke a beedi while he waited for his family to get ready.
    Soon the kitchen was clean and the house tidy. The family walked toward the market. On holidays, the farmers and their wives congregated under the large peepul trees with their baskets of fruits and vegetables. The men smoked beedis, lamented about the weather and the state of their crops. The wives gossiped, admired each other’s clothes, orswapped homemade cures.
    The air was cold and clean and Tara inhaled deeply. In the distance, the Shivalik Hills towered over the village. Their tops were covered in clouds through which the sun peeped cautiously, as if playing hide and seek. Tara and Suraj walked hand in hand a little ahead of Shiv, Kali, and Layla. Tara looked up at the hills, and the lush green of the forest that covered the slopes. They looked dark and forbidding. Tomorrow, Suraj and she would be fighting their way through it.
    â€œMother, buy me some red bangles, please? I don’t have any and my best friend has so many,” pleaded Layla as they neared the market. Already there were a number of families milling around, enjoying the cool weather and the companionship.
    â€œWe’re going to look around, Father,” said