The Starling
by
Shereen Vedam
Too bad Heramba
hadn’t seen fit to take away his father’s ability to speak
when he turned him into a bird for insulting him. Now, that
would have been a magnificent spell worthy of a great
magician like Haramba.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Manu said, eyes tightly shut
and head stuck into his feathery back.
Nirad ignored his father’s cutting comment. Heramba had
been born in Nelgira and it was his favoured haunt. It was
also rumored the mage had headed this way not two days ago.
So he was sure to find him here. And inside Nirad’s pack
was the emperor’s writ ordering Haramba to turn Manu back
into a human. The moment Nirad delivered the writ he would
be free of his father. Free from slaving away at
innumerable never-ending chores. Free of his constant
criticisms.
“Starlings have short life spans, a mere twenty years.”
Manu fluffed his feathers and looked around. “You’ve now
cut that by twenty-four sunrises with this aimless
wandering. Anyway, you’re running out of time. Take my
advice and give up. As long as you have me, you have no
need to win Ishani’s hand in marriage. If I’ve told you
once, I’ve told you a hundred times, women are but a
boulder strapped to a man’s ankle as he attempts to swim
upstream.”
Daylight loomed and the day lightened. On either side of
the road, tall Sal trees bordered the pathway toward a
seaside village. A rabbit, startled by Nirad’s sudden
appearance, scampered down a warren. Thankful the rainy
season hadn’t started yet, and unable to repress a bubbling
happiness that accompanied his every step, Nirad slid his
way down the dry gravely ground.
The first sight of perfectly aligned rows of squat brick
houses to his right took Nirad by surprise. Where were the
gargantuan gold columns bordering the streets? The mage’s
palace surrounded by high walls with enormous statues of
lions and elephants guarding the gates?
Not a single multi-tiered building dared to kiss the
clouds. None shouted, Come,
travelers, to the home of the great and revered mage
Heramba, Most-Beloved-of-God.
Could his father be right?
His old life closed in like a steel cage. He shook off the
oppressive sensation, hoping that around the next corner
he’d see a sign indicating a mighty magician lived in this
little backwoods village.
Instead, each humble abode only boasted a small walled
central garden where the tops of bamboo, mango and citrus
trees waved a cheerful welcome. To the left, on its hurried
path toward the ocean, a river had been split and
splintered to feed rice terraces. At the foot of the
village, a wide sandy beach held back the lapping blue
waters of the Bay of Sandhal.
Nirad tilted his shoulder to alert Manu. “We’re here,” he
said with more confidence than he felt.
“Doesn’t look like a mage’s home. Sure you’re not lost?”
“We’ll ask a local if we’re in the right place.”
“Don’t tell them you’re rich.”
“I’m not rich.”
“Keep to that story, and don’t waste any more of my money.”
Nirad’s unauthorized pilfering of a big handful of coins
from his father’s secret stash before their departure had
been added on early to the surfeit of complaints.
Few people were about so early. The crisp air carried the
ocean’s tang. Nearby, a dog barked ferociously. Nirad
jerked in alarm and Manu flapped on Nirad’s shoulder to
keep his balance. Realizing the dog was tied to a post,
Nirad relaxed and continued, his pulse returning to a
steady rhythmic thud.
Far to the left, past the rice terraces, men stood waist
deep in the ocean, flinging nets into the white-tipped
water. Nirad, who’d never set foot in the ocean, stared in
wonder, for they seemed not in the least worried about sea
predators.
Closer to the village, men had just hauled rolled up ropes,
nets and sail cloth over to long, wooden, flat-bottomed
boats and pushed the loaded boats toward the ocean.
Breaking into a sprint, Nirad ran down to the beach hoping
to catch the fishermen before they left. He waved. “Ho! I
need to talk to you. Do you know of a mage named Heramba?”
The men looked back at him and then hurried off.
“Wait!” Nirad shouted. “I need directions to Heramba’s
house.” Reaching the beach, he slogged through the sand and
arrived at the waterline only to find the men deep into the
ocean, rowing as fast as they could.
“That’s strange.” He turned to Manu who had deserted his
bouncing shoulder to fly overhead. “Go ask them where
Heramba lives.”
Manu headed across the water. The moment he drew close, the
fishermen threw buckets, wooden rods and even oars at the
bird. Manu ducked a flying knot of rope and headed back to
shore.
“What’s the matter with them?” he squawked, huffing and
fluffing his feathers in agitation as he settled on a log
on the beach. “Lunatics! They almost killed me.”
“Something’s wrong,” Nirad agreed.
From beside a house near the beach, a head peeked over the
top of a narrow sheep pen and just as quickly disappeared.
“Did you see that?” Nirad asked.
“See what?”
Nirad crept up toward the house. Then leaned over and
snatched at the boy’s scruff. “Don’t be frightened. I only
want directions to Heramba’s house.”
His victim squirmed to release himself. When his captor
wouldn’t let go, the boy said, “It’s gigantic.”
“The house?” Nirad looked around, thrilled at the news.
“Where is it?” Surely he’d see it towering over these
lowlying dwellings.
“Twenty five fishes worth,” the boy answered.
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s as mad as those fishermen,” Manu said with disgust
and landed on the stonewall.
“Look, my name is Nirad.” Seeing the young boy staring at
the starling, he added, “Don’t be frightened. The bird’s
been spelled. He’s really a man. That’s why we’re here, to
turn him back to a human. Have you heard of a mage named
Heramba?”
The boy nodded vigorously.
“Good. Now, I’ll let you go if you won’t run away.”
The boy nodded. The sheep in the pen he stood in baa’d.
“Promise?” Nirad asked.
“Don’t let him go till he talks,” Manu warned.
“Twenty-five fishes.” The boy held his arms wide. “This
big.”
Disappointment sank inside Nirad like a stone. As his
father said, the boy was deranged.
“Want me to peck the sheep boy till he talks?” Manu asked.
“Ahhh!” the child screamed, squirming.
“It might help if you didn’t threaten him, father.”
“You were always such a disappointment,” Manu replied. “I
wanted a warrior for a son, not a pacifist. Hit him in the
gut, he’ll talk sense then.”
Nirad sighed and turned to the boy. “No running?”
The boy nodded.
He released the child, who fell and scrambled backwards,
shuffling sheep out of his way.
“Now,” Nirad said as the boy, with his back end covered in
dung, gained his feet. “Where is Heramba?”
The boy pointed to his right.
Nirad followed the direction to where the beach curved out
of sight around a grove of Sal trees. The boy took
advantage of his captor’s distraction to run among the
sheep, jump over the low wall and race round the side of
the house.
“That went well,” Manu said, landing on Nirad’s shoulder.
“The sun’s risen, so the villagers should be awakening.
We’ll find someone more sensible to talk to.”
“Just like your mother. Full of optimism that gets one lost
in the middle of a barmy village.”
“Leave mother out of this.” Nirad flicked the bird off his
shoulder.
Manu squawked and flew a circular path before dropping onto
Nirad’s head. He then used his son’s left ear as a ladder
to climb down to the shoulder.
“I’m your father, boy.” Manu fluttered his feathers. “A
little respect, please.”
“Then don’t talk about mother.”
“Sensitive, sensitive. The woman’s been dead ten years, you
should be over it by now.” Eyeing Nirad’s forefinger curl
around his thumb and his hand rise, the starling wisely
shut its beak.
The main road led to the village center where a large
fountain spewed clear water, spraying droplets into the
air. As he’d hoped, people awakened. Men and women called
to each other and children ran out to play. The cheerful
chatter mingled in a magical sense as if Heramba himself
had waved his magic wand and brought the place to life.
Vendors opened stalls. Carts were rolled onto the street,
tents set up, and bags and barrels of rice, wheat and dates
arranged for sale. Prawns fried in ghee over a small
potable brazier scented the air. A few women spread mats
and placed baskets of salt beside them, in readiness for
drying and salting fish or fish eggs their men would likely
bring later that day.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Manu asked. “Time’s a
wasting. I’ve got customers to get back to. Every day you
squander on this useless mission, I’m losing money. That
cheap bastard won’t ever turn me back to a man and we both
know it.”
“Then how much money you lose doesn’t matter, does it,
father?”
“Doesn’t matter? Who raised you? No wonder you’re
frittering away precious time here. You sound like a
lunatic who belongs in this village. Money is what keeps
this world revolving, boy. And how will you support your
precious Ishani without my money?”
“I don’t need your money to marry her, just you returned
home in human form. That was the bride price her mother
demanded.”
“Think Ishani will want you poor?” Manu asked. “Then you do
belong in this crazy village. Not that it matters, she’ll
be married by the time we return.”
That last barb struck its intended target, and Nirad
stopped at the next tent, a fish fryer’s stall. “Good
morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” the vendor replied. “May I interest you in
a palm-full of the most delicious fish in the entire empire
for the lowly sum of one thin dremha?”
The starling snorted and muttered, “Thief.”
The vendor, with a face covered in wrinkles, sent the bird
a dark glance.
Nirad smiled to ease the sting of the bird’s muttering.
“I’m looking for a mage, good sir.”
“Ah,” the merchant said. “Go five stalls down and three to
the right and you’ll find the talented Sagi. Tell her I
sent you and she’ll give you a reasonable price for a
reading.”
Nirad shook his head. “I’m looking for Heramba. Can you
guide me?”
The old man stared wide-eyed.
“Are you deaf?” Manu asked. “Speak up, man. Where is that
charlatan Heramba? We’ve a quarrel to finish.”
“Quiet,” Nirad whispered to the bird. “We’ve no quarrel. I
merely wish to ask the mage a favor.”
“Show him the emperor’s writ,” Manu said.
Nirad flicked the bird off his shoulder and turned back to
the merchant. “Truly, good sir, I wish the mage no harm.”
“The rain is coming soon,” the fish fry merchant said.
Deciding to humor the man, Nirad nodded. “Yes, the monsoon
season should start in a few weeks. But the weather is nice
for now, thanks be to God. So, I thought today would be a
great day to visit the mage Heramba. Do you know where he
lives?”
The man held out a platter of fried fish. “Rain will be
coming soon.”
Manu returned to his son’s shoulder. “This whole village is
crazy. We should leave before we catch whatever they’ve
got.”
“I’m not leaving until we find Heramba,” Nirad said. But,
disappointed at his lack of progress, he moved away from
the fish fryer.
A few stalls down, a vendor catered to those with a sweeter
tooth. Here, rasabali made from milk, sugar and wheat, or
pitha cakes were on offer. Nirad purchased some rasabali
and moved on.
“That’s a wasteful use of our last few remaining funds,”
Manu said.
“I’ve still a healthy bagful left.” Nirad pointed to where
the bag lay hidden within the folds of his robe.
“Shush,” the bird said. “Are you trying to get us robbed?
And I expect you to pay back every last piece you use once
we’re home.”
Nirad held up a pinch of the rasabali on a finger for the
bird, more to stop his father’s squawking than from any
concern about his hunger. A monkey squealed from atop a
tent. It shook its tiny fists at Nirad, apparently scolding
him for wasting good food on a bird.
An old woman with a white streak running through her gray
hair peeled prawns beneath that tent. At the noise, she
looked up and shouted at the monkey to go away. When it
ignored her, she picked up a stick and threw it at the
animal.
The monkey evaded the strike, brushed by Nirad and
scampered over nearby tents to reach the safety of a Sal
tree.
Nirad looked down to find the remaining rasabali missing
from his cupped hand. A glance up showed the monkey licking
his fingers, thoroughly enjoying his stolen treat.
Manu wiped his beak on Nirad’s collar, muttering in
disgust.
Nirad licked the remnants of the treat off his fingers,
giving the monkey a resentful glare.
“Be thankful he didn’t take your pack too,” the prawn woman
said, returning to her work. “That one is a shameless
bandit. He’d steal your robe if you left it untied.”
“Thank you, good mother, for the warning,” Nirad said. A
stingray lay on a mat beside her, drying in the sun. Its
belly was split open and the underside filled with salt.
The sight reminded him of the men he’d seen standing waist
deep at the edge of the ocean, fishing. “It must be
dangerous to wade into these waters,” he said, nodding to
the stingray.
The old woman shrugged. “Like the monkeys and the herons
and the cougars, earth’s creatures are part of life’s
challenges. The stingray decides who is friend or foe. But
God decides who lives or dies. And man…”
Nirad’s eyebrow rose at her hesitation. “And man?”
“Well, my son,” the old woman said, “man is the mystery
element in God’s creation. He can befriend the stingray or
bargain with God.” She gave him a keen look, head tilted to
the side, prawn shells snapping under her expert fingers.
“Look into your heart, traveler. Is there a stingray you
want to befriend, or a bargain you wish to make with God?
The question unsettled him. Before he could reply, Manu
gave an annoyed squawk. “Have we wasted enough of my time
today?”
The old woman looked at the bird with startled eyes.
“I’m looking for a friend, good mother,” Nirad said, not
mentioning Heramba’s name this time. “A powerful man, and
as dangerous as that stingray. Do you know of whom I
speak?”
The old woman’s hands stilled. “Are you prepared for the
rainy season?” She blinked up at him.
“Happy?” Manu’s sarcasm dripped from his beak like sugar
water. “May we go now?”
Nirad gave a frustrated sigh and bid the woman good day.
“Seems odd that everyone speaks normally until we ask about
Heramba. The mage must have put a spell on them.”
“And what if he has? It gets us no closer to him. I told
you this was a waste of time.”
“It means he must be nearby. And don’t you want to be
turned back into a human?” Nirad asked, exasperated. “How
will you make your money if you remain stuck as a bird?”
“I don’t need to be a man to accomplish that. You can
follow my direction and do all the work for me.”
That unpleasant image settled on him like a death knell.
“But Ishani’s mother is hoping you’ll marry her when we
return home.”
“Ishani’s mother can trick some other fool into wedding and
seeing to her lavish comforts. We’re better off on our
own.”
Nirad shuddered. He had to find Heramba. The mage was here.
Perhaps as someone they’d already met? One of the fishermen
in the boats? The fish fryer babbling about rain? Or the
prawn woman chasing away the monkey? No, not the fishermen,
for true fear had darkened their eyes. And both the fish
fryer and the prawn woman seemed innocent enough. But how
about that boy spying on Nirad from the sheep pen?
“We must find that boy again.”
Before his father could crush his idea, Nirad raced back to
the outskirts of the village. Manu took flight, complaining
the entire way.
Out of breath, Nirad came to a crashing halt by the pen.
The sheep backed away, bleating. The boy wasn’t anywhere in
sight.
Manu landed on the stone fence. “Now what?”
Nirad walked over to the house next to the pen and knocked.
An old man in a bright blue robe opened the door and then
tried to shut it fast.
Nirad jammed his foot against the door. “I mean you no
harm.” He spoke rapidly; afraid the old man’s cane would
crash on Nirad’s intrusive foot. “I’m looking for a boy
about seven years old. He was inside the sheep pen
earlier.”
“Ah,” the old man said and opened the door wider. “Are you
a friend of Rama’s?”
“He helped me this morning. Do you know where I can find
him?”
“A neighbor’s child. Takes care of my sheep.” The old man
gave him a considering look, as if gauging his intent.
Nirad painted an innocent expression and offered a friendly
smile, thankful Manu with his caustic tongue had chosen to
stay by the sheep pen.
Nodding as if he had come to a decision, the old man
pointed toward the beach. “Once Rama’s chores here are
done, he goes to fish along there. Keep to the right.”
Nirad turned to go and the old man said, “His father’s
protective of him. Harm him, and you will truly have need
of a friend.” The door slammed shut.
“Made another good impression on the locals, I see.” Manu
landed on his son’s shoulder.
Nirad hefted his bag and walked down to the beach. As they
passed a grove of Sal trees, something smacked Nirad on the
side of his head. He ducked, using a boulder as protection,
and the next volley flew over his head. From up high in a
Sal tree, a monkey with a white streak on his head hurled
seeds, shaking his arms, and screeching in fury.
Manu flew up to shout at the monkey and a handful of seeds
were sent winging in his direction. Nirad wondered how good
his own aim would be. He grabbed a handful of seeds to
fling back at the irate monkey when a cry came from down
the beach. All three turned to see a boy out in the water,
shouting for help.
“It’s Rama.” Nirad dropped the seeds and his bag and
sprinted to the water.
Manu flew ahead. Just as the bird reached the boy, Rama
sank beneath the surface. “Over here,” Manu shouted and
hovered, marking the spot.
Nirad splashed in, fear for the child obliterating his
earlier concerns about wading into the ocean. He dove and
felt blindly for Rama. His hands brushed cloth. He grabbed
it and hauled the boy to the surface.
As Nirad waded back to shore with him, Rama sputtered and
shrieked in pain. Once on the beach, the child hugged his
foot, crying.
Nirad pushed the boy back. Ignoring Rama’s horrendous
howls, Nirad practically sat on him to stop Rama’s
squirming while he examined the injured foot.
“What’s wrong with him?” Manu asked. “All that screaming
can’t just be for a leg cramp.”
A steady stream of blood oozed out of a finger-width hole
on Rama’s foot.
“Fly to the old man’s house,” Nirad said to Manu. “Tell him
we’re coming and the boy’s been bit or something.”
Manu took off, a black streak against the blue sky.
Carrying the squirming, crying boy, he was almost at the
sheep farmer’s house when the bird returned.
“The old man’s waiting for you.”
One quick inspection of the foot and the old man proclaimed
the wound a stingray attack. He treated the foot with
steaming hot water. Rama fell unconscious before the poison
solidified and oozed out of the opening. The leg bandaged,
the old man tucked the child into a cot to sleep off the
pain.
“You did good, Nirad,” Manu said, the first compliment his
father had ever given him.
Stunned by that praise and starting to recover from his
dread about the boy’s injury, Nirad sank onto a nearby
chair before his shaking legs gave out.
The sheep farmer turned to him. “The bird is right, you
saved that boy’s life.”
“And for that I am most grateful,” a voice replied from
behind.
Nirad jumped up and swung around. A tall figure barred the
light from the doorway.
The old sheep farmer bowed low to his newest unexpected
guest and murmured, “The rain has come.”
The stranger, a golden turban covering the top of his head,
and a matching robe falling from shoulders to
sandal-covered feet, waved his hand at his greeter.
The sheep farmer then added, “Welcome to my humble home,
Lord Heramba, Most-Beloved-of-God.”
“Thank you for taking care of my son.” The mage’s glance
encompassed not only the old man, but Nirad and,
reluctantly, the bird perched on the back of the chair.
“About time,” Manu said.
“Quiet.” Nirad blocked Heramba’s view of the bird. He had
to get the Emperor’s writ that would force Heramba to
change his father back. His pack, where had he put it? Then
he remembered. He’d dropped it on the beach.
“Looking for this?” Heramba asked, and held out his hand.
Nirad’s pack suddenly appeared hanging off the mage’s
fingers.
Nirad looked from the pack to the mage. He stepped up to
take it, but the pack disappeared. And in place of the
mage, the old prawn woman with the white streaked hair now
stood.
“What is it you want, traveler?” she asked. “To befriend
the stingray or to bargain with God?”
Nirad swallowed, his throat dry. How had he ever imagined
he could trick or force this powerful mage into doing his
bidding? In the wise old woman’s eyes, Nirad saw that only
true sincerity and humility would be accepted.
Before he could say a word, however, Manu landed on Nirad’s
shoulder. “Turn me back, you thief!”
Fury built in the old woman’s eyes, and Heramba
re-appeared.
Alarmed his father was about to get himself killed; Nirad
grabbed the bird and shut his beak with his other hand.
“Most honored mage,” Nirad said, “please forgive my father
for having insulted you.”
The mage pointed at the bird. “Why should I? He is not
sorry.”
Manu squirmed his beak free and bit the tender part of
Nirad’s skin, between thumb and forefinger. Nirad clamped
his teeth to keep from crying out. He wasn’t sure he could
hang on to the bird much longer, but Manu loose was
unthinkable, so Nirad shoved his father inside his robe.
“Lord Heramba, you asked me a question earlier. Did I wish
to befriend the stingray or bargain with God? I have an
answer for you now.”
The mage’s eyebrow rose. “What is your answer?”
“My answer is that I cannot befriend the stingray, for he
is my father. A creature of earth, his painful stings are a
challenge I live with every day. Nor can I bargain with
God, for His judgments are beyond my earthly
understanding.”
“Then what will you do?” the mage asked, surprising
compassion in his eyes.
“I am a man,” Nirad said. “I stand between the stingray and
my God, and ask Heramba, Most-Beloved-of-God, to forgive my
father, for he is incapable of asking this.”
The mage stared at him in silence. Then slowly a smile
curved his lips. “And thus man affects the outcome of his
life. Well spoken, young silversmith Nirad.” And Heramba
vanished.
Relieved to still be alive but disappointed Manu was still
a bird, Nirad brought out the starling and set him on the
chair. When Nirad stepped away, the bucket of water they
had washed Rama’s bloody foot in sailed up and dumped its
contents over Manu.
“Well, that was completely useless,” the bird said,
shivering and fluffing his wet feathers. “And don’t ever
grab me like that again. I’m your father; I can speak for
myself. I don’t need my son to apologize for me. You’ve no
concept of bargaining. You had saved the man’s son and
could have bargained for anything. Instead…”
“Father.”
“What?”
“You might want to put some clothes on.”
The old sheep farmer chuckled and fetched a robe for the
merchant, who was no longer a bird.
Manu checked over every body part. “I still think we could
have gotten that silver conch shell back or more money for
it. I can’t believe you’re the eldest son of the best
merchant in all of Candhana.”
“I’m your only son.” Secretly, Nirad was thrilled, for his
future with Ishani was now assured. Feeling generous, he
handed the old sheep farmer a silver coin.
Ignoring Manu’s protests over that, Nirad went in search of
his pack. It wasn’t where he thought he’d dropped it. A
sound made him look up. The monkey up in the tree was
rifling through his pack. Caught, it squealed rudely and
threw the pack down.
Nirad caught and slung the pack over his shoulder and
headed out of the village.
“Remember, we didn’t use the emperor’s writ,” Manu said,
joining him. “That means the emperor doesn’t get to keep my
silver elephant. Let me do the talking when we get home.”
“Yes, father.”
“Once we’re home, I’ve decided you may marry Ishani. But
we’ll do it quietly. Money shouldn’t be wasted on one day
but savored and spent judiciously over a lifetime.”
Nirad bit his lip. He had wanted to give Ishani a grand
wedding. One she would remember for the rest of her life.
“And there’s no need for the two of you to live by
yourselves. You’ll live with me.”
“But you’ll be married yourself,” Nirad protested.
“Not me. One wife was enough. Besides, with you and Ishani
to look after me, why do I need a wife?”
Nirad’s gall rose at that idea, but without his father’s
help, he and Ishani could not afford to live on their own.
That painful realization slowly settled, stirring a new
wave of depression. Nirad looked around at the peaceful
surrounding, the rice paddies, the river, and the houses
with their Sal trees waving in the wind. And knew he didn’t
want to go back home. Didn’t want to take up his old life.
Didn’t want to let his father control him again.
“Father.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to marry Ishani just yet.” The words
punctured his heart the way the stingray had stabbed Rama’s
foot. The pain was as intense, and he felt his blood drain
away from his body. He wanted to cry out as deafeningly as
Rama had.
“Smart boy,” Manu said. “Maybe this trip wasn’t completely
wasted. We’ll be fine on our own, just as always.”
“No!”
“No?”
“No, father. I will apprentice with another silversmith.
Until one day, I own my own shop. Then, I’ll ask for her
hand.”
His father choked, sputtered, and burst out laughing.
“I will succeed, father. You’ll see.”
“‘Course you will.” Manu wiped at his eyes. “But Ishani
won’t wait for you, boy. She’s after my money. The minute
you tell her you’re leaving me, she and her mother will
disappear.”
Nirad smothered that fresh gush of blood. “If she won’t
wait, I’ll find another wife who thirsts for adventure as I
do.”
“Adventure, huh?” Manu gave his son a sideways look. “I
spent my life giving you an easy life and you want the hard
road. That lunatic village did rub off on you. I suppose I
can’t fault you, for that path also brought me my wealth.
I’ll wish you luck, instead, boy.”
His father’s agreeable response surprised and pleased
Nirad. “Thank you, father.”
“Now give me the writ,” Manu said. “I don’t trust you
anymore.”
Nirad bandaged his hurt and dug into the bag. His hand
fumbled against an unfamiliar object.
“What’s this world coming to,” Manu muttered, “where
children abandon their elders just when they need them
most?”
Nirad explored the odd shape. A conch shell? Smooth as
silver? And beneath it, layered among his spare robe…coins?
“If you leave, who’ll cook and clean for me?”
The size, heft, and indentation of the emperor’s face on
the round flat pieces suggested gold! Enough for a splendid
marriage ceremony. Possibly even for a journey across the
entire empire. In his mind, the images of the
white-streaked monkey, the old prawn woman, and Heramba,
all merged.
“Hurry up with that writ.”
With a hidden smile, Nirad handed over the writ.
“That’s better.” Manu tucked the rolled parchment inside
his robe. “Who knows, by the time we’re home, you might
rethink this wild decision.”
“Maybe, father.” Once he and Ishani married and moved to
their new home, perhaps as far away as Nelgira, Manu might
agree to marry Ishani’s mother. It would give the lovelorn
widow the second husband she desired, and Manu the
housekeeper he apparently wanted.
Enveloped by such happy thoughts, Nirad walked on in the
company of a stingray that had suddenly lost its barb.
Copyright
2009 by Shereen Vedam