Aman followed his friends out of the hut, but through the millimetres of space between the beads of the curtain, he thought he saw something familiar. A cardboard box that seemed identical to the one Aman had left behind on the bridge. Why did Sanaka retrieve it? Why did he not give it back to him? Aman’s head swam with questions and shock—the one clue he had that could lead him to answers about his father’s final mission was so near, yet out of his reach.

16

Angithi

The wind outside Sanaka’s hut carried the aroma of morning chai. Aman, Idhika, Fayza, Ujal and Prithvi hurried to Aahaar to catch the early hours of breakfast when the stew was hot and the fruits were fresh. Although the contents of the letter from the kirtimukha’s hut played on their minds, they put aside their thoughts and ate to their hearts’ content.

Despite the shocking possibility of his box being in Sanaka’s possession, Aman too was assailed by hunger and the exhaustion of the journey. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why had Sanaka gone back to retrieve it from the bridge? Aman recalled him shrugging off its importance when Aman had said they needed to go back for it.

‘The letter, Idhika,’ Prithvi said. ‘Whose signature was at the bottom? You managed a glimpse, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. More than a glimpse,’ Idhika said, looking around. ‘Let’s get some chai at Sudama’s? We can talk in private there.’

On their way to the tea stall, they walked past a fortune teller sitting on the path under a mature poplar tree. ‘That’s Sadhu Agami,’ Idhika whispered, ‘a fine palmist in his time, but one that is said to be lately going crazy.’

‘Stop there! Come here and take this, you pitiful soul . . .’ Sadhu Agami called out, holding in his hand an amulet. ‘I can see your future . . . Pri-Prithvi?’

That made her stop.

He said again, ‘Take this, poor soul. You do not have much time to live. He’s never just. Taking a soul in the spring of her life.’

‘Take it, sister!’ Ujal said. ‘It’s just like in the tribes.’

From between the sadhu’s sticky fingers that were swarming with flies, Prithvi took the amulet and paid the man a dana. It was a rusted ring in the shape of a coiled metal snake.

‘It’s a Nagsutra. Live your life like each day is your last. And if Indra wants, this Nagsutra might save you,’ the sadhu said to her with a smile and pointed out his other offerings to her friends—shiny stones, bracelets and beaded necklets, all for a dana each.

They politely refused and soon reached Sudama’s tea stall at the edge of the bazaar.

Idhika, Aman had noticed, wasn’t too comfortable around the twins, which meant that there hadn’t been many moments when the five were together. The tea spilt over the clay cup’s edges and turned the outer surface sticky, but Aman held on to it for warmth. He didn’t feel too good.