The Lost Fragrance Read online

  Nor indeed was Crow to know that the little boy was serious.

  ‘I see that you need proof,’ the little boy sighed.

  He closed his eyes and said, ‘Magic, how about a simple turkey sandwich for me? Some lettuce, a sprinkling of salt and pepper. I’ll avoid the mayonnaise. Thank you!’

  No sooner had he uttered the words that a not-so-large turkey sandwich appeared in front of him along with a glass of milk.

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘Forgot the milk.’ He took a huge bite of the sandwich. ‘Your turn now,’ he said to Crow.

  Crow’s eyes almost popped out, as he looked with wonderment at the sandwich. This was quite extraordinary. Strange sort of magic but highly recommended, he decided. To be able to eat like this was like a dream come true! He slurped at the thought of the gourmet meal he was about to order.

  The turkey sandwich looked most inviting and would indeed have done fine, but Crow was greedy and hungry. And moreover, he told himself, if things did, in fact, happen in this strange place, why not go all the way and indulge?

  ‘Lobster,’ he said aloud, perhaps a bit too loud. ‘Lots of garlic butter. Some tuna fish thrown in. Naturally some chopped parsley. I’ll avoid the salt and the pepper. But garlic bread is OK, with a side dish of the finest tenderloin you have. Medium rare, of course, with pepper sauce.’ He picked up the nearest piece of cloth he could find and put it around his neck like a napkin.

  But the food did not arrive.

  Balloon was feeling terribly left out. And so, she struggled out of the comfy bag and stuck her head out. ‘Hello everyone,’ she said, stifling a huge yawn, since she was actually quite sleepy.

  ‘Perhaps lobsters are not in season,’ said Balloon helpfully. ‘Try something you are used to.’

  Crow thought about it. What Balloon said did appear to make sense. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘then I’ll settle for quail with a bit of mushroom, butter sautéed, of course, and the side dish of tenderloin.’

  He waited. But to no avail, for nothing happened.

  Frankly, this is getting a bit too much, he told himself. So he threw caution to the winds and thundered, ‘Where’s the food? I am hungry,’ and he drummed impatiently on the table with his claws. Crow was clearly annoyed at the delay.

  Almost instantaneously, a worried-looking apparition floated in through the window wearing a large white cylindrical cap, which resembled the sort of thing that chefs normally have on their heads. He had an odd face that was round like a poached egg, with an enormous moustache that would have hung down to his knees if he had not carefully wound it round his neck like a muffler. He had then tucked it under his starched white collar and neatly tied it into an elegant-looking bow. He wore black trousers which, along with his legs, disappeared in a wisp of grey smoke, curling like a coil at the ends. He effortlessly carried an enormous tray with his right hand.

  Clearing his throat, he placed the tray on the table with exaggerated flourish. It was filled with the most unbelievable assortment of the best-loved delicacies in the world, fit for a king. Crow’s lower beak dropped, and so indeed did the fork and knife that he held in his hand!

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, gulping his surprise with a bit of orange juice. ‘I say, you do live in style!’ Crow was highly impressed.

  Taking this to be a compliment, the apparition wiped the perspiration from his forehead with an enormous white handkerchief that he dramatically whipped out of his back pocket. He was clearly flustered. Bowing deeply and continuously, he said, ‘My profound apologies, O noble bird.’

  Crow could hardly be bothered with any sort of conversation at this stage. ‘Dhish deeleeshoush phfood, dhish magniphishent!’ he said, gorging away, ‘moshth bhelcome, I shay.’

  ‘Really, Crow!’ said Balloon most distressed, ‘do stop stuffing your mouth like that! It’s extremely impolite!’

  Crow burped apologetically in response. ‘Who dhish?’ he enquired from the little boy, pointing at the apparition with a piece of duck bone, while simultaneously proceeding to strategically insert a bit of tenderloin (medium rare, of course) into his mouth, in between the roasted quail and the stir-fried broccoli.

  ‘This is Magic, our head cook, chef par excellence, chief honcho in the kitchen department, so to speak,’ the little boy explained. ‘Bows unnecessarily, but then, who cares. Excellent cook.’

  Magic bowed deeply in acknowledgement and adjusted the angle of his moustache. Then, he slowly floated out of the window, feet first, as it would have been extremely impolite to show one’s back to a revered guest.

  ‘Head chef, eh?’ Crow said, wiping his face with a napkin. ‘God bless his cooking.’ He closed his eyes but his hands remained busy and his beak moved continuously. He lazily stretched his hand and took a sip of the red wine. ‘This is the sort of life you only hear about as fairy tales,’ he said with a contented burp.

  The little boy smiled.

  Balloon yawned and decided that it was time for a nap. It had indeed been a long and tiring journey. She remembered how Little Girl had helped her break free and fulfil her desire to enjoy the sky. The memories of the day came back to her. The morning, the sky, the clouds, the storm. They had found the secret Land of the Blue Jasmine. And then, they had bumped into that funny man, who called himself Lost but became Found when he met his family members. And Magic! Balloon stretched as she yawned. Adventures would follow, she told herself. How exciting! She curled up in the bag and drifted off to sleep.

  Twenty-four

  By now, word had got around and the entire village had gathered outside the house to catch a glimpse of the celestine visitors. There was virtually a queue outside. The villagers stood at the doorway, humming like a swarm of bees.

  ‘She has come! The Awaited One is here!’ they all said excitedly and stood with folded hands, grinning like school children who shared the same secret. Everyone had come with a plateful of something or the other as an offering. Some had brought fruit, others had brought bunches of the blue jasmine flowers. There were incense sticks all over the place. They reverentially left these at the doorstep.

  Little Girl caught bits and pieces of the conversation. Perplexed, she turned towards the little boy. ‘What are they talking about?’ she asked.

  He softly said, ‘It is written in our sacred legends and ancient books that a girl child, known to us as The Awaited One, would come from the sky, accompanied by a talking bird, from a distant land to which we all once belonged. She would be as innocent as a child and full of good thoughts. But woe to all who underestimate her, for her fury will be like that of the burning sun and the mother of shamed sons. She would stand before The Serpent, and it is said in our scriptures, that their meeting will be monstrous and terrifying.’

  ‘There is something else my father told me,’ Little Girl said.

  ‘You mean,’ said the little boy, ‘who is it that awaits The Awaited One?’ He smiled as he spoke, ‘Don’t you remember, your father told you that you would learn of it when the time comes?’

  ‘This is all so confusing,’ said Little Girl. ‘What you speak of, you couldn’t possibly have known, for it was all a story that my father once told me. How can you possibly know about The Awaited One or The Serpent or that I would need to wait till the time is right?’

  ‘It is so essential,’ said the little boy with a sombre look on his face, ‘that we learn to realise that no one ever knows when a story ends or when it truly begins.’

  She wondered about his words. Was all this real or just part of some dream? Would she suddenly wake up and find herself lying under a tree surrounded by a stillness that was unbroken by the music of the birds, or the sound of her father’s flute, or the scent of the jasmine flowers? And would she find Balloon still lying on the ground—covered with dust and the unhappy, shattered dreams of a broken old man? Had they truly undertaken the journey, she wondered, and discovered the magical and secret Land of the Blue Jasmine? Did Crow really talk to her and help her to find this strange and mysterious pla
ce? Who was The Serpent and why did he seem to evoke such fear? And what secret did this ageless little boy hide?

  Little Girl yawned and turned to the doorway. Her eyes grew large for she was greeted with a most extraordinary sight. She could not believe what she saw. The crowd outside the door seemed to jostle for space as they fought to catch her attention. Grinning faces covered the entire doorway from top to bottom! Some heads were jumping up and down behind the crowd, as those behind tried hard to catch a glimpse of the little girl. Other heads poked their way through shoulders and chests that seemed to dissolve, as if they weren’t actually there! Heads appeared everywhere. Where a stomach ought to have been, where you would expect a shoulder or a thigh, and in some cases, there was only half a head as another head pushed and prodded and found a place!

  A very strange sight indeed, with heads that looked funny because they seemed to borrow an eye from one face and an ear from another! There must have been a queue outside, for different heads appeared and disappeared, as every head seemed to be given their turn to see the little girl.

  It really is rather strange, the little girl told herself, to have a doorway of heads, and worse, that they should all be smiling!

  She lay down and closed her eyes. Vaguely, she could see the little boy bend over her and put a bunch of jasmine flowers on her pillow. Then, he put his hand on her head. She hoped to feel his hand but strangely, all she felt was like warm and gentle breath, as his hand floated through her hair and forehead.

  ‘Sleep now,’ she heard him say, ‘for tomorrow, the real adventures will begin. And one day, these jasmine flowers will rediscover their scent.’

  ‘This must be a dream,’ she murmured to herself, ‘for I can see him but not feel him. As though he is there and yet, not really there. It’s something like the heads on the doorway. They couldn’t possibly be real and yet…’

  She drifted off to sleep, clutching the jasmine flowers.

  Twenty-five

  The villagers huddled near the fires, warming themselves under a pitch-black, starless sky. Those who had caught a glimpse of Little Girl sounded excited and happy.

  ‘She is just like I had imagined she would be. Simple and innocent,’ one of them said.

  ‘There is a kindness in her face, and a strange mystical strength,’ another added, ‘she has the willpower to resist The Serpent.’

  ‘Then it is certain that there will be a battle, and a most terrible battle it will be,’ someone whispered grimly.

  Another nodded knowingly. ‘Just like it was foretold.’

  ‘Let it not be forgotten that she would need to make a choice. The Serpent has his charms,’ another cautioned. ‘We have yet to see if she will pass the test!’

  ‘That is right,’ another responded, ‘only time will tell if she is The Awaited One.’

  ‘The Serpent will meet his match and the sky will be filled with stars, of this I am certain.’

  ‘But she looks so young and fragile.’

  ‘It is known that he is at his most vicious as The Serpent. Even the bravest would tremble at the sight of a double-headed snake,’ another said.

  ‘It is also said that the final test would lie in everyone joining in to defeat The Serpent.’

  ‘Yes,’ said someone, ‘we are all trapped, and we all need help!’

  ‘Why?’ asked another. ‘She has the powers that we lack. It is her job. Not ours. If we could do it, would we have waited for her?’

  ‘But it is all part of the stories we have been told, and the legends that are on record. Can we abandon them now?’ argued one of them.

  ‘I pray she succeeds,’ said an old man, who had only one leg and hobbled with a wooden staff. ‘We can only hope she has practised well and that she is ready.’

  The villagers nodded and then, they clapped their hands in unison and sang songs to celebrate the coming of the girl child.

  The crippled old man, who had advised caution, walked up to the little boy and sniffed the air. ‘The stench,’ he said, ‘tells it all. A snake is watching.’ He leant against the staff that propped his only leg.

  The little boy nodded for he could feel the back of his neck tingle. Evil seemed to fill the air. He shuddered as he turned to look at Snake Hill, on top of which stood the castle where The Serpent lived. The bushes on the hill seemed to be alive and hissing. Word of Little Girl’s arrival had surely reached the castle and its residents by now. The curtains were parted in one of the windows and a shrouded, shadowy figure, hunched like a vulture, watched the village.

  ‘Watch well,’ said the little boy, ‘for you watch your death. She is here.’ He smiled grimly. ‘God alone knows how deeply I have longed for this day,’ he said, ‘soon, you will die! May you be damned forever!’

  The old man with one leg turned to Snake Hill and spat. An overpowering gust of putrid air seemed to suddenly gush out and then, it hung over everyone like a thick shroud. The old man gasped and would have fallen if the little boy hadn’t held him.

  ‘Close your eyes and remember,’ said the boy softly to the old man, ‘the scent of the Jasmine.’

  The crippled old man nodded and stood upright. ‘I have survived your stench,’ he shouted out to the castle, ‘I will do so yet again. I will give my other leg rather than let you take the little girl as one of yours. I will not fail the Jasmine this time!’

  Before that night, no one in the village had ever dared to speak about the castle or turn their gaze towards it. ‘Never forget that you are constantly being watched,’ they used to remind themselves, ‘and if you are fool enough to return the gaze, stay forewarned that something terrible would happen to you, and it would be far worse than the damnation we are suffering now!’

  But tonight, the villagers felt no sense of fear as they turned their heads and looked towards the castle. This night was not like any other. The little boy sighed, as he knew the die had been cast. Looking straight at the castle, he sang softly,

  It’s quite impossible, it’s often been said,

  To escape the secret world of the un-dead,

  But our legend says it will be done,

  When The Serpent falls to The Awaited One.

  The crippled old man watched the little boy and the villagers with a sly smirk. He knew that somewhere the seeds of discord had already been sown and would manifest. The little girl would find life increasingly difficult!

  Twenty-six

  Under the starless sky, the steeples of the feared castle reached for the sky like the gnarled fingers of a witch. In a large room upstairs, lit by the flickering light of a million glow-worms, a shrouded figure swathed in shadows stood by the window. He gazed at the village below, and played with the beads of the bracelet he wore around his wrist.

  Many said that he had only one friend, the night.

  But that was not true.

  He had, in fact, two friends—the night and the starless sky.

  No one really knew how old he was. Some said that he was as old as time itself. That he enjoyed eternal life, spoke in different languages, and took on different faces in different lands.

  Very few had ever seen him face to face, and those who did, had never lived to tell the tale.

  But word had indeed got around, in hushed whispers, that he had long and dirty finger nails, a pointed chin and crooked teeth. Some said that he was thin, almost emaciated, and yet full of evil energy. It was believed that he could move as quickly as the desert winds. His head was always covered with a hood, and his eyes shone in the dark.

  It was also said that when he spoke, the words came gushing out from the deep recesses of his abdomen, gurgling and hissing. He had a serpentine tongue that travelled great distances, dripping poison-coated saliva. In his hand, word had it, he carried a magic stick, and perched on his shoulder was a one-eyed vulture. Dressed in black, he and the night consorted with the vampires and the wolves. He never slept and he knew neither rest nor death.

  They said he was a double-headed serpent with a long tail t
hat ended with the sting of the scorpion.

  All this and much more were spoken of only in whispers.

  Many also said that since no one really lived to tell the tale, the stories doing the rounds were grossly exaggerated. But there were others who believed in the stories and never uttered a word to anyone.

  The shrouded figure turned from the window, his expression thoughtful. ‘She is finally here,’ he whispered to himself. His face was almost entirely hidden under a hood. What little could be seen was elderly.

  Yet, it was an odd and horrible face.

  Perhaps it was the eyes and their cold, cold stare.

  Perhaps it was the double-forked tongue that flicked in and out from a mouth that looked more like an abyss.

  Or, perhaps it was the evil stench that flowed out of his breath and filled the room.

  His shadow detached itself from him and as it snaked up the wall with serpentine ease, it said, ‘I just came from the village where everyone is singing silly songs, and I must confess my performance as a crippled old man hobbling around with a staff was masterful!’

  The shrouded figure said wryly to his shadow, ‘You did look like you were getting somewhat carried away by your performance.’

  He did not wait for an answer but paced up and down the floor, looking preoccupied. He hissed, ‘All I have ever wanted is her. She was never meant to be my brother’s child, nor her mother, my brother’s wife. Both deserved better and both deserved me! Now, as it was foretold, the little girl is here. She will see my charms. She will resist in the beginning and then, she will come home to me. With her by my side, I will become invincible. Let her mother grieve that she chose to wed my brother and not me!’

  In the village below, the innumerable candles the villagers had lit shone like a thousand constellations. He frowned as he heard songs of joy.

  ‘Show us the girl child!’ he snapped as he touched the window with his finger.