Neslipūr

My thirteenth summer was the hottest of our time, or so the elders said. “It is the wrath of Kāth,” they would warn, with their pinched brows and distant eyes, “She punishes you for your desertion.”

Amma would roll her eyes and smile, remarking how neither Kāth nor any of the other old gods cared to bless us. “They are far too busy with grander schemes to pay us much attention, Pari. We have other gods to thank.”

I never strayed too far from the house, mostly because Amma had warned us how Caerul Nesli would kidnap us if we were caught us dawdling about in the street, but also because I loved watching her fingers weave the wicker effortlessly. She would be sitting on the chārpai before I had woken up and would still be there as the sun sank behind the corn fields.

My first few summers are harder to remember, when we lived closer to the slums, but the stench of sweat and dust and parched mouths stuck with me. I recall when Abba had finally taken us to see the new house and we could barely contain ourselves. As I was almost ten summers, I was allowed to choose my own room and I picked the one at the western end so that I could watch the flamingos in the rice paddies beyond. Of course Babur and Sai had huffed about it but that was quickly remedied once I promised to make the best kite in the neighbourhood.

The other reason I had chosen that room was so that I could briefly escape the towering Dam above us and the slums sprawling down it below. Dam. I will never forget when I used that word in front of the other children for the first time and they watched me explain in complete awe. My pride had almost dwarfed the hurt when Atiya Choudary had swiftly turned her nose up. “My Abba says reading is a waste of time,” she had said shrilly, “ and you couldn’t even get any books till your Abba stole his job.”

“Pari’s Abba didn’t steal anything Atiya. Caerul Nesli just likes his food better.”

Looking back, I shouldn’t have laughed along with them, but I was young. Besides, I got my fair share of humiliation when I returned home and Amma was waiting for me at the door, arms crossed. We were good kids, usually obedient and respectful, so she didn’t have to scold me, but I would hear about it later on in the evening when Abba got home anyway.

“Mrs Choudary called again today. How many times have I told you Kajish, she’s too old for all of that! She should be helping out; let her go with you or at least let me teach her how to weave.” Amma’s tone was hushed.

“Friya. Please, not now. I’m tired. I have other things to worry about.”

“Of course not. What’s the point in listening to me? What do I know? Ever since you’ve started working in the Nesli House you barely talk to me.”

“Why do you bring that into everything? This is the second time we’ve eaten korma this week Friya. Have you thought about that? Or that new sāree you wore yesterday? And that our children no longer smell like the jhuggi and can walk in the streets with pride?”

“That’s it, go ahead. Guilt me. You’ve been doing nothing else since they installed that tap.”

I wasn’t fooled by Amma’s frustration. There were times when I was sure she cherished that tap more than us. Abba had spent all of our appliance rations on having it installed and we were only allowed to use it on special occasions. Amma still told us to use the water collected from the pump. She was afraid, you see, that it wouldn’t stay lodged into the wall, that one day we’d wake up and the Caeruli would have taken back what was theirs and our mouths would be parched again.

Ah yes, the Caeruli. I’d seen a few of them once you know, when they came to speak to Abba. Of course I’d heard the stories, about how they were as tall as houses with voices like thunder and teeth as long as our fingers, so I hid in my room. Eventually, I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer and peeped over the landing. They weren’t as tall and didn’t speak as loud, but I’d been terrified all the same. Sapphire. That was the colour of their skin. It stood out starkly against our bleached chārpais and draperies. Smooth, silky, sapphire skin.

When Abba caught me watching, he had beckoned for me to come and say hello. I hid behind him the entire time and even when the Caeruless told me my churidār was beautiful, I trembled like a leaf, unable to look up. Instead, the glint of her locket caught my eye. It was a gold heart, shaped around a tiny sapphire. At the time I had no idea what it was but the way it glistened when she moved held an alien beauty that was hypnotic, like the Caeruless herself.

No one really understood how the Caeruli were created. Not even the elders. Not even Abba. All that was known was that they were just like us once, many, many summers before. Before the Dams were created, before all the people had disappeared, even before Bashek had caused the oceans to dry up. All of that didn’t matter though, because the Caeruli had created everything. They were the saviours, the new gods.

Everything changed in my thirteenth summer. Amma had finally convinced Abba to take me beyond the gates. “She could help out in the kitchen with you Kajish; you said yourself she has a good hand for it.”

He hadn’t been thrilled but gave in to my pleading eyes. That is how I found myself standing before the giant pillars at the entrance of the Nesli House. There was something otherworldly about it, and it took me a while to understand; it was the flowers. There were hundreds of them, pouring out of their pots, crawling up the walls and winding around the pillars, like Bashek had taken a fistful of earth and scattered His colours over the house. And then I saw the fountains. They were beautiful, unsettlingly so, soaring above me for what seemed to be miles. They danced and shimmered and shone under the baking sun. Abba saw my shock and laughed. “Close your mouth Pari, before something flies in,” he joked, eyes twinkling, but I was still trying to absorb everything. All I could think of was how much water there was. They had fountains and bathtubs and pools in almost every room of the house. They couldn’t possibly have use for it all. Even if everyone else came, all the elders and the adults and the children, they couldn’t use it all.

The work was tedious, and the summer heat burned what little tolerance everyone had. The other maids were too busy to pay me much notice. Except Nia. She was only a few summers older than me. I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, with her honey eyes and hair as dark as night, which she would braid and decorate with the fallen flowers from the courtyards. She was kind to me, too, guiding me through my work and sharing her paratha with me at lunch. She would tell me stories about all the wonderful places she wanted to see, from the snow-tipped mountains in the North to the lush jungles of the South. “To see the tigers Pari!” she had told me, laughing “I’m tired of looking out over the city and seeing only flat fields.” Her head would bobble in excitement and the way her nath swayed made me giggle.

It was her idea to take me to the Cauruless’s room. Of course I had been curious myself, but it was really her idea. I guess that’s how I consoled myself later. I should’ve stopped her though. Amma had taught me better than to snoop, and she had been especially stern about minding my own business while at the Nesli House, but Nia seduced me with her stories of all the jewels and sārees and crystal lamps. “No one will ever even know we were there Pari, trust me.” She had sounded so sure.

The room was deliciously cool, and the voile swayed gently in the breeze of the fans. It was extraordinary, with its azure mosaic tiles, embroidered flowers and ivory marble peacocks. I was still unsure, Amma’s voice ringing in my ears, so I stood shyly by the door, peering in as Nia explained the intricate mirror work depicting the fabled war between Kāth and the demon-god Reeva. Then she cupped her hands and drank from the fountain tap beneath Kāth and I was so shocked that I didn’t notice the pool at the base of the bed straight away. Or the head floating in it. I should’ve done something, said something, but my voice caught in my throat and I barely glimpsed the sapphire body that rose up before my legs recoiled away. The voice that followed was thunderous with rage.

“How dare you, you insolent brat!”

I don’t know exactly how I ended up back in the courtyard, but I do remember barely being able to breathe. You would think it was out of fear for Nia, but that didn’t come till later. No, I was still trying to understand who, or rather what, I had seen coming out of the water. The sapphire skin had been unmistakable, but the head was what terrified me. It hadn’t been blue.

I was still shivering when people started piling out into the courtyard. It was the servants, including Abba who kissed my head and clutched me close as the air was filled with hushed, anxious voices. Then came the Caerul and Caeruless, and behind them, trembling violently was Nia. Silence fell over the courtyard.

“We have called you all here because there was among you, a thief,” the fury in the Caerul’s eyes burned hotter than the summer sun and even the wind muted, “and I only wish she had stolen from us.”

“But instead, she stole something far more precious; she stole from all of you, the good people of this city,” the hush became deafening, “so we must exact a punishment that is worthy of the crime.”

And then I watched in silent horror as Nia was held down and her eyes were plucked out. Her pain was nothing more than subdued screams, and still the silence hung thickly in the air. Abba turned my face into his chest, but it didn’t matter. Somewhere a donkey brayed. Then everyone began moving out and it was all over.

I never looked back at Nia, never returned to that house. I think I heard Amma mention something once about a beautiful blind girl who would sometimes sing in the bazaar, about fantastic beasts in distant lands. She would never travel beyond the looming shadow of the Dam, never see what lay past the corn fields and rice paddies. Part of me regrets not visiting her but part of me didn’t; I did not wish to anger the gods. I wasn’t sure which gods, and too afraid to ask. You see, the gods had far greater things to concern themselves with than us. The power always lay with us and we decided who to take it from, giving it instead to every man claiming ascendency, every fear impressed in our minds and bellies. We wanted desperately to rise up in the image of the gods, touched by sapphire, playing the fool with stories about demon-gods and faraway lands, and we clung to that faith.

So I sit on this chārpai, weaving my baskets under the scorching sun and thinking, thinking, thinking. Always thinking.

[Word count: 2000]

Glossary:

Abba - Father

Amma - Mother

Bazaar - Market place

Chārpai - Handwoven bed

Churidār - Traditional Indian dress

Jhuggi - Slum

Korma - Lamb curry

Nath - Jewellery worn through piercing in the nose

Paratha - Buttery flatbread

Sāree - Traditional Indian garment