The Lost Fragrance Read online

  Often, he would point out to someone in the village and tell her, ‘Get into his mind. Tell me what he is thinking of.’

  She would close her eyes and concentrate. ‘That’s our friend, the policeman,’ she would say, ‘and he’s thinking about the money he took from the thief when he promised not to arrest him!’

  ‘And what about the baker?’

  ‘He’s upset that he’s putting on weight, and that his wife may not love him anymore!’

  Her father had patted her on the head and said, ‘Good. Stay alert! Believe in the power of your mind. Only then will you be one step ahead of The Serpent.’

  And so, it passed. Days, weeks and months of training—the little girl learnt the art of entering the minds of people. Of understanding how they thought. She began to learn to anticipate things.

  ‘A new lesson,’ her father said one day. ‘Look at the man down there, the pompous civil servant, walking with his briefcase and his umbrella. He will pass the old lady by and let her get soaked in the rain because he lacks civility and courtesy. Get him to part with his umbrella. Teach him some manners!’

  She had closed her eyes and focussed.

  The civil servant stopped in his tracks, almost as if an important thought had suddenly occurred to him. As the old lady passed him by, he hailed her. Then, he smiled broadly and gave her the umbrella. ‘Keep it,’ he said, ‘silly me, to have missed the fun of a good soak! O this blessed rain!’ And then, he walked with great finesse, letting the water from the skies wash his face, wet his hair and ruin his suit. He did not seem bothered one bit. Those around him looked on with stunned silence. The old lady smiled gratefully as she held the umbrella and warded off the rain.

  And, the little girl practised and practised. Every day she had grown a little better. Getting into people’s minds, getting them to do what she wanted.

  Her father had stood beside her and held her face in her hands. ‘If it should be ordained, dear love,’ he had said, ‘that we never meet again, remember always that your mother and I love you.’

  She had been teary-eyed, as she had held her father in a close embrace. They had stood holding one another, not saying a word. Then, she had asked her father, in anguish, ‘Is there something special I should know about my uncle…when the time comes?’

  Her father had sat her down and said, ‘Remember always that he is an evil sorcerer, and possesses far greater skills than you are in command of today. Practice, so that when the final reckoning comes, you are ready and he is not!’

  ‘What does he know that I do not?’ she had asked.

  ‘He knows how to win friends and influence people,’ her father had responded with a chuckle, ‘evil and good can both be fairly persuasive. It all depends on what you choose, my love. Your choice determines your future, and that of many others.’

  ‘It is not a choice,’ she had said, ‘for you know, as well as I do, that I would like to be like you and Ma. Kind and gentle and gracious and giving. I will shun evil.’

  ‘That will be your biggest asset, when you meet my brother. He will try and break you. Do not for once believe that it will be easy to evade his charms, or what he offers you. If you do succeed, you will break him. If you succumb, much would be lost and many will wait for another to come!’ Her father picked up the flute.

  ‘How do I recognise his presence?’ she had asked.

  ‘The smell,’ he had responded, ‘it is an absolute giveaway! I’ve told you before that if you fail to smell him, you are already almost his. And then, when you do meet him, he will look far more sinister than The Serpent. He will look familiar. You will be tested then, and will need to dig deep into your soul to fight him!’

  ‘How would I know if I have succumbed, or if I have defeated him?’ she questioned.

  ‘Simple,’ her father had replied, with a big, big smile, ‘there will be stars in the sky, and there will be the heady scent of the delightful blue jasmines!’

  It all sounded quite complicated but the little girl seemed to understand it all. She knew there must be something to it. So, she had nodded and said to her father, ‘I will not let you down!’

  Twenty

  One day, in the flower market, there was great commotion. People were shouting and running here and there. She was returning after fetching a glass of water for her father and could not understand the reason behind the excitement. A terrible stench seemed to fill the air. She gasped for breath. Her uncle, she told herself, her uncle must be here!

  Then, on a bed of freshly plucked jasmine flowers, she saw her parents lying. A deep cry rose in her throat at the sight of their still bodies. She could feel a strong evil presence.

  The crowd parted to give her space. She could hardly understand the words that were being spoken.

  ‘It’s quite strange really,’ someone said, ‘I could have sworn that I saw a snake.’

  ‘Enormous! And so swift that it must have had at least two heads!’

  ‘Don’t be silly! Two heads?’

  ‘But where could it have come from?’

  ‘Flew through the air!’

  ‘I’ve never seen a snake this big!’

  ‘Something funny is going on here. Where is the snake? Where indeed are the fang marks?’

  ‘Did you…did you smell the stench…the awful, horrible and overpowering smell?’

  ‘Really?’ someone asked, sniffing the air, ‘nothing unusual!’

  ‘Poor girl. Does she have anyone to look after her? An uncle?’

  ‘They were a nice family.’

  ‘Death happens. We all need to move on.’

  ‘Another vagabond on the streets!’

  Each one had a theory as to what had actually happened. But no one seemed to actually care.

  She sensed it. There was that awful smell in the air—unclean and evil. She could hear the hiss.

  She knelt beside her parents and took their limp hands in her own, as her tiny body wept and wept.

  Twenty-one

  She could never remember what happened after that, or how she returned to the forest. How day ended and night came, or how long she had stared at the sky and the stars.

  Or how, as time passed, the jasmine f lowers lost their scent and disappeared and, with them, the birds too seemed to have left.

  She moved away from what was their home because of the memories it brought back. She carried only her father’s flute, and a small bag that her mother had given her.

  Some of the villagers took pity on her and gave her tea and bread in the beginning. But no one really liked orphans, for they were seen as harbingers of bad luck.

  The bicycle man, who was short of help and a bit of a miser, thought that he could save money by letting her clean the bicycles and pump air into the tyres. He did not pay her any money for her labour. ‘Don’t know what she’ll do with the money. Buy drugs or other bad things. Better to feed the wretch is what. I say,’ he would say. And so, every evening after sundown, he would give her a loaf of bread and some fruit as wages for a day of work.

  With the death of her parents, her world had changed, suddenly and completely. Gone was the time when she would be tucked into bed with stories, smell the jasmines in her mother’s hair or wake to the sound of her father playing the flute. Gone indeed were laughter and love.

  The other children rarely spoke to her. They would find her torn clothes and matted hair amusing and disgusting. They spoke of her loss as retribution for the sins of her past life. This was her punishment and atonement, they would say.

  At night, she would lie under an enormous tree, gaze at the stars and dream. Could it be that her parents were up there in the distant sky, she wondered. Or, were they still struggling to become stars, because she had not yet learnt to let go. She would sigh and, many a night, cry herself to sleep for she could not let go.

  She had not known the geography teacher then, or indeed, his kind and gentle wife.

  Twenty-two

  One evening, while wandering around in
the forest, which had by now become her home, she came upon a path she had never taken before. She walked along the path and quite suddenly, she heard the sound of children’s laughter. She hid behind a tree and saw the most beautiful balloons bouncing around the place. She could see an old man arranging the balloons, and an old lady fussing over the children, bringing them fruit and cakes. From that day on, every evening, after she finished at the bicycle shop, she would hurry to the same spot, sit under a tree and watch the children play.

  The old lady saw her one day and brought her a fruit. The little girl did not know what to do. At first, she thought of running away. But she was hungry and the old lady looked kind and gentle. And so, she stayed.

  And soon a new friendship began between the little girl, the old balloon-maker and his dear wife. For the first time, after her parents died, the little child smiled. She was like a forsaken puppy, which had once again found kindness and not been spurned with a kick.

  The memories came flooding back. She felt her eyes smart with tears, and she looked from the corner of her eye to see if Lost was watching her.

  ‘It is such a relief not to be Lost anymore. My family will be so happy to see you all,’ Lost said as he smiled at her. He then waved, to the three figures, who were standing by the street lamp, looking in fact quite lost, but of course only in thought.

  ‘There’s Lost,’ one of the three figures yelled excitedly.

  ‘He’s Found,’ shrieked the other.

  ‘Hmm!’ said the third.

  ‘That’s my family,’ said Lost proudly, looking as happy as ever. ‘My sister must be inside, pacing the floor with worry.’

  ‘How fascinating!’ said Crow, scratching his head. ‘Do tell us who Worry is because Curiosity wants to know.’ He paused. ‘I take it,’ he asked sarcastically, ‘that you’ve met him. Oh, pardon me! Did I get the gender wrong?’ Crow raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  He mulled at the thought and continued, ‘Strange…very, very strange, indeed! Wonder what Worry or Curiosity are like!’

  Balloon kicked Crow, as only balloons know how to. Crow did sound terribly rude and sarcastic.

  ‘Things have to be a bit different from what we are used to Crow, because this is a neither-here-nor-there slightly mixed up sort of place,’ Balloon whispered softly and knowledgeably in Crow’s ear.

  Lost was so excited on being Found that he did not reply. It is doubtful if he had even heard Crow’s caustic remark.

  The three brothers cautiously approached them, as indeed anyone should when they see strangers. But seeing Lost with a big smile on his face, they were naturally reassured.

  Little Girl noticed that the brothers were in varying age groups. While one was terribly old, another was just a little boy, and the third somewhere in between, or what one may refer to as being neither-here-nor-there.

  ‘We thank you for bringing Lost home,’ said the oldestlooking brother, with a broad smile of welcome and with great caution.

  ‘Everyone calls me Old,’ he continued, ‘because I am old and it’s so convenient.’

  ‘We would never have guessed,’ said Crow sweetly.

  Old scratched his bald head. Did the bird talk or was he simply hearing things, he wondered. His brothers were equally startled.

  ‘Hush!’ he told the others. ‘Hush, my brothers! Let them speak!’

  ‘We’ve come from a far-off place and we are strangers here,’ said Little Girl hastily, clamping one hand tightly around Crow’s beak, hoping very much that Old had not heard Crow’s quite unnecessary remark. Most impolite, she thought. She would need to talk to Crow about it sometime. It would be best to do the introductions right away, she decided, before Crow put his foot into his mouth once again. So, she politely curtsied and said, ‘I am Little Girl. You may call me Little Girl, sir. Everyone does. And these are my two very dear friends, Balloon and Crow. It is Balloon who flew us here from a distant, distant land!’

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Old. ‘A girl child accompanied by a talking bird and come to us from the sky!’ He came near them and peered closely. ‘Could it be that you are…? Oh dear! Oh dear!’ he mumbled. ‘We’ve been misled so often, you know. Makes us cautious.’

  Old kept on muttering somewhat mysteriously.

  His two other brothers stood beside him expectantly, waiting to be introduced.

  ‘Oh dear me!’ Old grumbled. ‘I hate to do these rounds of introductions and can’t for the life of me figure out why it is always me who has to do it. I find it most complicated and rather confusing. Fails every time.’

  ‘I don’t see why!’ interjected Crow. ‘Fact One! You are called Old. And pardon my saying so, you are rather old. Fact Two! You are much older than your other two brothers. Anybody can see that. Fact Three! One of your brothers is only a little boy. Deduction…going by the sort of names you all seem to have in this place, I’d say that the names of your two brothers are Younger and Youngest. Quod Erat Demonstrandum, shall we say?’

  Crow folded his wings across his chest triumphantly. ‘Well dude,’ he asked, ‘am I right or am I right?’

  ‘Actually,’ mumbled Old apologetically, ‘it’s Youngest and Oldest. You are right about one of my brothers being younger to me but wrong with regard to the other.’ He sighed, knowing that it was not making much sense, but decided nevertheless to continue, ‘You see, while one of my brothers is younger to me, the little boy who looks the youngest is actually the oldest amongst us. Terrible problem really, this introductions business,’ he said sadly, ‘and I did say that it fails every time.’

  He paused for a while, and on seeing the blank expression on Crow’s face, muttered, ‘Oh dear me! I wish I knew a simpler way of putting it.’

  ‘How can the youngest-looking be the oldest?’ asked Crow indignantly. ‘I’ve never heard anything more absurd in my whole life!’

  Crow was, in fact, most upset because he had honestly believed that by the sheer use of brilliant deductive logic, he had guessed the names of the brothers correctly.

  The little boy, who looked the youngest but was the oldest, smiled and said, ‘It’s a long story and difficult to cut short. Let’s just say that it’s something like letting your mind decide rather than deciding for the mind, which is what we normally end up doing.’

  Seeing Little Girl looking most perplexed, the little boy suggested indulgently, ‘Why not give it a chance? A little time perhaps? Who knows what might happen.’

  He smiled mysteriously.

  Balloon, who had taken an immediate fancy to the little boy, promptly said, ‘I totally agree with what has so wisely been said because there really is no point in hurrying things. After all, we are here for a holiday, aren’t we?’

  Balloon smiled at the little boy, seeking his approval, and then proceeded to counsel wisely, ‘As we all have learnt, things are quite strange and mixed up here.’

  ‘You most certainly are as wise as an owl!’ said the little boy. ‘What I would recommend is a good meal and a night’s rest. Does wonders and opens up the mind!’

  Little Girl nodded gratefully because she was by now terribly confused by the entire conversation and extremely sleepy too. The thought of food, of course, brought a big smile to Crow’s face.

  Old opened the door to the cottage. ‘We’ve returned,’ he said, ‘with the prodigal lamb and some guests who seem to have dropped in from the sky.’

  Lost’s sister stood wide-eyed as she looked at them. She could not believe her eyes. Then, a broad smile slowly enveloped her face as she said, ‘Heaven be praised! Our prayers have finally been answered. Welcome, welcome to our home!’

  Twenty-three

  Crow was extremely hungry. But like all birds, he was wary of little boys. So, he meekly cawed. The little boy smiled in return. Crow decided that the little boy was a friendly sort. Emboldened, he asked as politely as possible, ‘Food? Ring a bell? You did mention it on the way here.’

  ‘Ah!’ exclaimed the little boy mischievously. ‘He breaks his silence.�
��

  ‘Do be a dear,’ Crow said, ‘and rustle up last night’s leftovers, for I am simply ravenous.’

  ‘I thought only ravens could be ravenous. You are a crow, aren’t you?’ the little boy asked with a smile.

  ‘Caw! Caw!’ said Crow, not in the least bit amused.

  Deciding that it would indeed be unfair to tease him any further, the little boy said gently, ‘We don’t eat leftovers in this place, because here, you may eat whatever your mind can think of. Let your imagination run, Crow, if you are not keen on the plat du jour!’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Crow, naturally disbelieving every word the little boy said. ‘Fancy that! Well, why don’t you lay it out for me then?’ he said sweetly.

  ‘That is something you would need to do yourself,’ the little boy replied. Seeing Crow frown, he said, ‘The problem with thinking is that we accept only what we understand, and we understand only what we can explain. It’s what perceptions are all about. You see, if we perceive something as not being possible, we will always consider it as being impossible when, in fact, it might just be possible.’

  Crow was in no mood for a lecture on philosophy and sat with a frown. Smiling indulgently, the little boy continued, ‘Think of it as an experiment. First, unchain your mind, believe in its power and free it from your thoughts, because your thoughts are holding your mind down. Second, believe in magic. Once you do that, you’ll find that magic is nothing but the mind without restraints. And then,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye, ‘don’t forget to order your meal.’

  Crow was getting quite impatient by now. ‘Did you hear that?’ he said and irritably pointed at his stomach, which was by now rumbling away. ‘I am hungry,’ he grumbled, ‘and the host talks about magic and the mind.’ On subjects of import, particularly those that concerned Crow’s stomach, ramblings were rarely in order. But then, the little boy was hardly to know that.