“And you know all the names of the stars, so if we have to travel by night you’ll know exactly how to navigate.” It’s all making sense and falling into place.
Jeevan puffs up, taking control again. “And once Papa’s busy we’ll find the train station and get going on our journey.” He’s speaking quickly, like he can’t wait to get started.
“We can take the map of India that Papa left me,” I say. “And mark the trail on it so we know exactly where to go.”
“We’ll get it all sorted,” says Jeevan, rushing forward. “But let’s hurry. It’s getting late, and you know we’ve got old Mrs. Malhotra for math tomorrow.”
I make a face. “And I haven’t done my homework.”
“Don’t worry, just copy mine in the morning … as usual.”
“And you can copy my English,” I say, shoving him gently. “As usual!”
The pendant rocks against my collarbone as we climb away from the witch’s house toward the grazing pastures. “You’re such a good friend, Jeevan. I know exactly what I have to do now and, just like Ma said, I’m working things out for myself, making my own decisions.” I feel an invisible force, like a powerful hand pulling me toward my destiny. “Divali is only seven weeks away and I’m going to Zandapur to bring Papa home before Ma can take us to England.”
The week zooms by as fast as a flickering sunbird’s wing and I can’t believe it’s Friday evening already; tomorrow, before the sun rises, we’ll be gone.
Ma’s writing something at the table when I come in from doing my chores. “You stayed out really late and … look at you.” She quickly folds the paper over and pushes it into her pocket.
“I had to go back and rub some butter on little Sunny’s hoof,” I explain as water from my braid drips down my neck.
“You’re soaking.” She grabs a towel and wraps it around my shoulders. “Come and sit with me.” She’s trying to sound cheerful, but the circles around her eyes look even darker than they did yesterday.
I touch the stitches on the kurta she’s been making for someone in the village. “You’re so clever—it’s so neat, Ma.”
“That’s sweet of you. I can teach you to make one when we have some time.”
I give Ma a tired smile. Going to Zandapur will make things worse for her; I know she’ll be desperate with panic when she discovers I’ve left, and there won’t be anyone to help her and she’ll have to do everything all by herself, but I hope she’ll understand that I’m doing this for all of us.
“Come,” she says, taking my hand. “Let’s go.” She leads me up the stairs.
Rohan and Roopa breathe noisily on their side of the room, and just this once I’m glad they’re asleep so I can have Ma all to myself, one final time.
The sheets are soft under my chin as she tucks me into bed. “Like when you were a baby … do you remember the little rag doll I made for you?” She touches my hair and hums distractedly. “The storm’s taken some of the heat out of the evening so you’ll sleep well tonight. Goodnight, dear little Ashi.”
How she’ll fret when she sees my empty bed in the pale morning light. “Goodnight, Ma. Could I have a hug?”
“Come here.” She snuggles me close and I breathe in her smell—oniony, mixed with the heady scent of jasmine.
I cocoon myself against Ma’s body, not wanting her to let me go. “What would I do without you?” she says, her eyes watery. “You’ve had to grow up too quickly these last few months.”
Ma’s words hit me hard—what will she do without me? I burrow my head deeper into the comfort of her arms and we stay like this until I feel myself drifting off to sleep. Eventually I hear the door click as she goes to bed, and I’m left flitting in and out of dreams, late into the guilty night.
I wake in a sudden panic and sit bolt upright. Is it time to go? I check the alarm clock by my bed but there’s still half an hour to wait. My mouth is dry, my breathing fast, and I can hardly believe that I’m leaving home today.
In the hushed darkness of the room, I kneel on the bed, feel for the map of India on the wall, and pull it off.
I flick on my flashlight and lay the map out, but Rohan turns in his bed and I freeze, holding my breath. He wakes and calls out to me, like he does in the middle of the night. “Asha?” He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Asha, what are you doing?”
“Shhh … nothing, you’re just dreaming, go back to sleep,” I whisper, hurriedly patting his cheek and kissing his clammy hand. “I … It’s only a dream.”
I hold my breath tight, watch his chest rising and falling, before I dare gasp for air again.
I go back to the map and begin to mark my route, the sharp flashlight beam spreading long shadows across the paper. The city of Zandapur is on the other side of the mountain—Papa circled it for me before he left—and we have to go through Galapoor first and then Kasare to get there.
Papa caught the train from Sonahaar, so I use my pen to mark it on the map, then finally find our village, Moormanali, and put a large heart shape around it.
I hastily get ready to write my messages for Ma but my hand hesitates—she says it’s wrong to lie, but perhaps it isn’t a lie. After all, I’ll light a deeva once I get to the temple at Kasare. Trying to control my shaking hand, I begin the note I’ll leave on
