She leads me to the mirror behind the shrine and the pendant catches golden light from the flickering deeva, illuminating Ma’s face behind me, and in this moment a rhythm sweeps through my body as if I’m connecting to all the daughters in my family who have worn it before me. It’s as if I’m seeing my eyes properly for the first time, mountain green, flecked with fury, and the faces of my ancestors flash across them like stars from the distant past. The roar of a silent war cry thunders through my head—I won’t let the farm be sold, we won’t go to England and leave Papa behind, no matter what Ma says!
I prop myself up in bed waiting for our signal, and there it is, a flashing light through the small window; Jeevan is already in the mango tree.
I rush onto the roof terrace, trying to stop my chappala flicking the stone steps as I pick my way down to the garden, duck past the window where Ma sits sewing, and slip through the gate. I hurry away from the house. The velvet night is filled with the haunting call of owls on the hunt. I reach our big rock at last and sprint past it toward the mango tree, filled with the promise of a plan.
I throw off my chappala at the base of the tree and slot my bare foot into the first worn hold. Pushing through the rain-drenched leaves, I balance myself onto the branch next to Jeevan.
“What am I going to do?” I blurt out straightaway, my words strangled. I tell him everything that passed between Ma and me in a rush of words, and by the time I finish I’m nearly in tears. “And she said if we don’t hear from him by Divali, we’re going to go to England.”
Jeevan touches the lamagaia feather. “What’s this in your hair?”
“Oh …” For some reason the observation calms me down. “It’s nothing, just a feather I liked the look of.” I don’t tell him what happened in the garden earlier, that I hope the lamagaia is the spirit of my nanijee, in case it breaks the spell I feel every time I think of her. He might say spirits can’t exist … he might ask me: How can you prove it? And I know I can’t.
“Jeevan, what do you think’s happened to Papa?” I revisit all the possibilities I’ve imagined over and over again. “There must be a reason why he hasn’t written.” I force myself to say the words I haven’t dared to speak, as if saying them aloud would release some demon’s wrath and make them come true. “Do you think he’s … forgotten us?” My heart speeds up at the final words.
“No. Don’t say that. Your papa isn’t like them.”
We both know about men who go to the city to work but never, ever come back.
“I knew something strange was about to happen today,” I say after a pause. “The bell in the cowshed started moving all by itself at the same time those men and that woman, Meena, were down at our farm … and I’ve started having dreams again.” I turn to face him—I want to see how he’ll react to what I have to say.
“You know how Nanijee thought I could see things that others can’t?” I start slowly. “Well, last night I dreamt I was walking through the high Himalayas. It was so cold and snowy and I met an old woman. She let me warm myself by her fire.” I look down at my palms. “She said I had a message in my lines.”
I watch Jeevan’s face closely before the moon disappears behind a cloud and we’re pitched into darkness. But when he speaks again I can see that he’s not taking me seriously at all. “It’s just a dream, Asha,” he laughs. “All sorts of weird things happen in dreams.”
“Do you think I’m making it up?” My cheeks simmer with hot indignation.
“Calm down.”
“You never believe me!”
“It’s just … I can’t see these things with my actual eyes, can I? Anyway, the really important thing now is to find out about your papa.”
The moon reemerges, casting shadowy leaf patterns over Jeevan’s arms, and for the first time I notice they’ve suddenly gotten as hairy as those of the boys in the upper school.
“Look, Ma gave me Nanijee’s pendant today,” I say, pulling it out to show him. “She said it was a special gift.”
“Your ma must really trust you.” He examines it closely, and his voice softens. “Maybe only someone special can wear such a gift.”
I’m glad the moon is half-hidden behind the clouds so Jeevan can’t see me blushing.
After a few moments he speaks again.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe your dreams are guiding you in some way.” Jeevan picks a wide mango leaf and begins to crush it, releasing a mouthwatering sweet scent. “Even if it’s just your instincts, a kind of psychology.”
“Do you think so?” I stare up at the sky through the leaves.
“What do you think?” asks Jeevan.
I try to order my jumbled thoughts. “Ma says that now that I’m nearly twelve I have to start working things out for myself … I think the dreams are guiding me, but toward what? I need to focus.”
A hushed silence falls inside the mango tree while we both think, the soft raindrops soothing my racing mind.
Eventually, Jeevan speaks. “You know the lonely house at the farthest end of the village?”
A chill makes the hairs on my arm stand up. “The witch’s house?”
Jeevan nods. “Well, what if your dream is telling you to go and get your palm read? She can definitely do that!”
I’m surprised at Jeevan’s suggestion. I thought he’d say palm reading is a load of nonsense.
We climb down from the tree and start the trek up the mountain, taking the long way around to the farthest end of the village and then even
