“Don’t be afraid,” says Nahul’s ma, leaning over me. “It’s Asha, isn’t it?”
I’m overcome with exhaustion, unable to keep my eyes from sliding shut, so I dig my nails into my palms to force myself to stay awake.
“Teenu,” she says to a little girl. “Come and sit beside me.”
The whole family gathers in front of the fire, staring at us inquisitively.
“Now, where did you find these children, Nahul?” asks his papa. “So far from anywhere.”
“In the forest,” he says. “There was a tiger.”
His ma clamps her hands to her mouth.
“No one was harmed, Ma … In fact, we think the tiger saved Jeevan from being attacked by wolves … Tell them what happened, Asha.”
“Let them eat something … all this talking,” says Nahul’s grandmother. She ladles two bowls of cinnamon-scented stew from the pot above the fire, hands me one, and straightaway begins spooning tiny amounts into Jeevan’s mouth, which he swallows slowly. I warm my frozen hands around the bowl.
Everyone is watching me expectantly. I try to concentrate but my eyes are drooping.
“Wh-when we arrived at the shelter I knew something was wrong,” I begin, reliving the intense fear I sensed the moment we approached the clearing.
Between us, Nahul and I begin telling them the story—how the horse was skittish, how the tiger was standing in front of the shelter, bloodstains in the snow, how I picked up a log from the fire and Nahul fired a shot—and how we found a dead wolf nearby.
Everyone is absolutely silent, their eyes wide.
“Perhaps it was the spirit of an ancestor,” says Nahul’s grandmother, pausing in her task of feeding Jeevan.
“The tiger had the same eyes as Asha,” Nahul adds eagerly. His grandmother nods. I wonder if it’s true, if another of my ancestors was watching over me. I touch my pendant, feeling the rhythms of generations past.
“You have the gift, my child,” she says to me. With her free hand she flips my palms over and traces my lines with a rough finger. I shiver, reminded of our visit to the witch at the very start of our journey. “Yes, you are an adventurer … lots of journeys here.”
Jeevan hasn’t spoken the whole time, and suddenly I realize that he’s burning up again, falling asleep. Nahul’s grandmother has noticed too, and she sets the bowl down.
“I’ll boil some hot ginger and tulsi tea,” she says gravely.
Jeevan’s entire weight pushes against me and his cheeks glow hot, and silently I beg him not to die.
It’s been four nights. Divali is only a little more than four weeks away and we must leave for the temple today if we’re going to have a chance of reaching Papa on time. Jeevan’s fever has gone, but is he really strong enough to carry on?
It’s morning, and while he’s still sleeping, I untie my bundle of things, pulling out my journey clothes: the jeans and green hoodie. I yank them on before trying to wake him.
“We have to go,” I say, shaking Jeevan gently. I try to be as patient as I can but hardly sound it.
He doesn’t stir, so I shake him some more. “Jeevan … Jeevan.”
He wakes up. Traces of the dark fever circles are still visible below his eyes, and I feel bad for not letting him sleep longer.
“Jeevan,” I say with a pretend lightness. “What if you stayed here … and let me go on by myself?”
“What?” He sits up suddenly. “You can’t do that—”
“Look,” I say gently, kneeling on the rug. “I’m worried about you … You’re not that strong and it’s still a long way to Zandapur.” I stand up, turning away from him, because I can’t bear to look him in the eye. “Maybe you could stay with the family for a bit longer.” I pause. “A-and then get the train back to Sonahaar.”
“No way, Asha—I’m coming with you,” he says fiercely. “All for one and one for all—remember? I heard how you built that shelter in the forest … and the way you fought off the tiger.” He sounds annoyed. “And I know you’re getting so good at doing things by yourself now … but we have to stay together till the end.” He gives me a hard stare, then tosses his head away. “Unless … you don’t need me anymore.”
“No! You know that’s not true. I can’t manage without you. I’m just really worried that you could get ill again.”
Jeevan turns away from me. “Only if you’re sure … I don’t want to be a burden,” he mumbles stubbornly.
I force him to face me. “Yes, of course I’m sure … Please, Jeevan, I need you … Let’s collect our things and get ready.” I feel so guilty for even suggesting he stay behind. I put my hand on his shoulder. “You must tell me if you need to rest … I promise I’ll listen.”
“And we have to stay friends this time, be kind to each other,” says Jeevan, spreading the scarf out on the floor. “However hard things get.”
“Yes … You’re right,” I say, giving him a hug. “Here, you load up while I pass you the things.” I pick up the mango stone, still safe in its banana leaf pot. “It hasn’t grown any shoots yet.” I hold it up to the light just in case I’ve missed something. “Tuck it in safely.”
“All you can do is keep watering it—you never know; it might grow.”
The horse is already whinnying outside, which means everyone is awake, preparing for the day ahead. I kiss Papa’s letter and stow it safely in my pocket.
“There, it’s all ready,” Jeevan says, slotting the penknife into the pile of things.
We go outside, where Nahul’s papa is grooming the horse. Nahul fiddles with the stirrup and looks in my direction,