Mina and the Magic Lamp
"When you were born, Mina, a pink genie named Rafana gave you a gift. Well that's what she called it anyway. You were crying horribly, and Rafana gave a sympatric sigh at the ladyship, your mother, Shabane. 'Don't worry, dear Shabane, you will not have to hear your baby cry constantly. I shall grant her with the lovely, precious gift of obedience.' She used her spice and herb filled jasmine shaped ring, said an incantation, and twirled the ring around my small, quivering, body. 'Stop crying, dear.' In that moment you stopped." My old ayah, nurse, Menasha would often place me in her lap when I was eight and tell me of my birth. "Your parents and I were horrified, and begged the idiot of a spirit Rafana to take away the curse, but she refused and insisted that obedience was a lovely gift. Then she flowed into her magic, gold, ruby encrusted lamp, and then the lamp disappeared."
I could imagine the argument: Menasha's gray hair standing out even more than usual, the furrows in her fore head deep. Her copper-brown skin tense. Mother tired from labor, her lovely black hair wet, the sparkle gone from her eyes. Father, angry, and tense, sweating at his fore head.
I had smooth, copper skin; dark, long black hair; round, brown eyes; and little chubby hands and feet when I was born. I looked like Mother, but her eyes weren't so round. My eyes were more like Father's. Our family lived in India, and my father, Panipa worked as a mahout, and would sometimes teach me the ways of the elephants. My mother, Shabane, stayed at home and embroidered saris and sold them at the bazaar every week. She taught me to embroider, and in my spare time I would sew blankets and quilts. We were a small family, and Menasha stayed as my godmother; we weren't rich, but we were not poor either.
I first learned of my curse when I was about six years old. We were celebrating Dussehra, the ten day festival celebrating the victory of the goddess Durga over the demon Mahishasura. As was the custom, Menasha served rice; small, sour pickles; chunky soup; relishes and puri, which is fried, crisp, bread. Menasha's food was always delicious, and this dish was no exception. My parents handed me a dish a said, "eat." So I ate, and didn't stop, even when I was full. My parents were surprised. I was scared. Why can't I stop eating, I thought to myself. My tiny, chubby fingers kept grabbing for food, ever more slowly, and stuffing the food in my mouth. My mother was the first to realize it. "Mina, stop eating," she commanded. I ceased immediately felt much better, though I wanted to barf up all the food I had just devoured.
After that, my parents were more cautious of ordering me about, and only gave me "this is for your own good" commands like go to bed, help me with this sari, don't go outside. But I only had to obey direct orders. I didn't have to follow "I wish you would feed the chickens," or statements like, " Can't you be more careful?"
When I was almost 13, the plague swept through India, and my parents and I caught the terrible sickness. One moment we were hot, then we were cold. Many people died, and there was no cure. Surprisingly to me, Menasha did not catch the plague. She made a soup with the roots of peepul, the holy tree with parsnips and bread at the side. We all hated to see those peepul tree roots, floating around in the soup, looking like what I imagined witch fingers as, sickly green, and shrunken with thousands of wrinkles. We all knew that the peepul tree was sacred, but none of us thought it would save us from the deadly plague.
Mother and Father said that they would wait for their soup to cool, and when Menasha went to feed the chickens, they threw the peepul roots in the trash and sipped the rest of the soup. I thought that they would be fine, and started to throw the tree roots away, too, but ate them just in case.
The next day, I was completely healed but my parents were worse than before. I helped Menasha nurse them. We wiped their heads with cool cloths, trying to lower their fever. They shook around in the canopies, delirious from the high fever. I wondered why I was better and they weren't. I thought back. The peepul roots! They must have been most of the healing! I thought. Five hours after midnight, they died. Menasha and I buried them under the peepul tree in the yard. We cried and cried. The only thing we had now was our small house, more of a shack really, two chickens, Mother and Father's possessions, and a small, little parrot that my father brought from the rainforests.
After a week to adjusting without my parents, Menasha acquired the plague. Before she died, she told me to never reveal my secret about my curse. "Tell no one of your curse, Mina. When you leave the bungalow, house, take your father's copy of Shiva Purana with you. Keep my reed flute with you and play sweet songs from it. And if you need help, my spirit will forever be with you, precious. May you be blessed by all the gods and goddesses." And with those words Menasha spoke her last and died, keeping all my hope with her.
I was too young to inherit the house, so I gathered all of my special possessions. In a rice sack I packed all of Mother's saris; Father's treasured copy of Shiva Purana; all of Mother's most precious gold and silver jewelry; Menasha's reed flute; some of my favorite clothes; and most importantly, food for the parrot and I. If I was to take the parrot with me in search for a new life, he should have a name. I thought of names before we left our old home. His plumes were beautiful, ebony and rainbow at the tail. He was also graceful, with the flowing movement of the bharata natym, the ancient Hindu dance. So I decided to call him Shiva, god of dance- and sometimes destruction.
Also before we left, I arranged gulmohar blossoms for Menasha, Mother, and Father at their resting places. I also added a punka, reed fan, for if their spirits got hot under the blazing Indian sun. I lighted a candle for each of them, and then went on my way.
We entered the busy streets of the bazaar, Shiva squawking at everything that had feathers. He cawed especially loud at a fire dancer who was wearing a feather shalwar kameez. I loved the bazaar, where there was always something to do. People sold saris, and other clothes outside. There were dancers, fresh food and drink, and other things to do or see. It was like you could buy temporary happiness. While we were walking around, I questioned people if they had any jobs open for me. A man wearing a white muslin achkan walked up to me. He had a large mustache and wore a blood red turban.
"Excuse me, young lady. Who is your father?" he asked, grinning.
"Panipa Narasim, sir. He died a few weeks ago," I stifled a sob.
"You said Panipa Narasim, correct?"
I was puzzled, and frightened. What did he want of me? "Yes. Um, excuse me for being rude, but who are you?" I thought over what I said. I sounded extremely rude.
The man laughed and grinned again, showing his gargantuan, pearly whites. He reminded me of a rabbit. He spoke with a Moroccan accent, pronouncing his t's as z's. "I was your father's long-lost fourth cousin!" He frowned. "I came here to visit him but I never thought that there was a plague, here in India. I can't believe he's dead now!" He sobbed, but there was something extremely fake about it. He continued, happy again. "I am happy I have found his daughter! I would like to meet the rest of your family!"
He made me feel extremely uncomfortable, Shiva, too, I suspected, who was sinking his sharp talons into my shoulder. "Well, all the rest of my family died, too. Including my mother. So I am off to find my relatives in another city. My Aunt Parvati and Uncle Sundar. They will surely take me in."
"So you are an orphan now? Oh my poor child! I can take you to your aunt and uncle, but I know a shortcut around the desert. Would you like to come? Yes, you must come."
I flinched. It was an order. I didn't want to go with this man. This was my chance to break the curse, be free. I clenched my fists. Shiva, sensing my struggle, pecked me on the head with his beak. I thought I had done it, and was about to say no. But the symptoms started. I felt like I was going to throw up. My head felt as if there was a knife stuck in it. Any moment I would break in half. "Yes, I'll come with you. Ji, Yes." Instantly I felt much better.
I thought I need to find a way to hold back! If I don't I'll always be trapped in here! Maybe if I could find Rafana, and persuade her to take away the curse! But I didn't know where Rafana was. I knew she had a lamp as her home, but which one? There were probably millions of lamps in all of India! Menasha had told me that out of all the lamps in India, only a few occupied by genies. I would have to rub every lamp in India to find Rafana! And she could be some where else in the world. There's another million lamps to rub. I thought.
The man smiled and hugged me. He smelled of camel poop. He provided me with a flask of water, and led me down the path. He had three dromedary camels, each with a small, red-orange, decorative dhurrie. The fattest one carried sacks filled with clothes, water, food, and other necessities.
"Have you ever ridden on a camel before? Tie your bag on this one." He pointed to the fat camel carrying the cargo. I had ridden on a camel about five times, at the festival. I told the man this, and he nodded. He showed me how to get on, and I tied my belongings onto the overweight camel's stirrup, reluctantly. I was worried that they would fall. The contents in my bag were some of the only things I had to remember my parents and Menasha. "You can call me Uncle. The camel you are sitting on is named Gubuland. The one I am on is Ganesha, and the one carrying cargo is Dhoom-Dahm. What shall I call you, dear?"
I answered, "call me Mana." I didn't give him my real name, since I still didn't trust him. He made me feel nervous. If I wasn't trapped by the curse, I'd journey alone, not with this stranger. We started to ride. Gubuland's rhythmic pace made me feel sleepy. I started to close my eyes. Shiva, still on my shoulder, squawked.
Uncle shook me a bit. "Mana, wake up." A command. I was awake. I worried that he would find out about my curse, than use me. He claimed to be my father's cousin, but I wasn't so sure. But how would he know about me and my father? We had reached the desert. The sun was about to set, and Uncle stopped our camels. Uncle pulled a canvas tent. I helped him set it up, sticking the poles in the desert sand. After that was done, we made a fire from wood and matches Uncle had brought along. I brought out my food that I had packed. I couldn't help thinking of poison in Uncle's food. He had paan, lassi, vadai, and a small masala dosai. I brought out some puri, betel nuts, lassi, idli, and a small serving of sambar and rice. He offered me some of his food, but I refused, saying he had helped me enough. I knew it was rather childish, but I hoped he wouldn't tell me to eat, or I wouldn't stop until he said so.
After we ate, Uncle brought out some rugs and blankets. He said, "I shall sleep in the tent. You can, too. But if you prefer, you can sleep outside on the sand. But don't go too far away, bandits might get you." He smiled again. This time I thought of him as a donkey.
I was disappointed, I had been planning to run away, but now I couldn't. My hope was really gone now. In other words, my bubble had burst. "I think I will sleep outside. I like to sleep under the stars," I lied. He nodded, then crawled in side to the tent. I sighed. I longed to have someone to confide my dreams and feelings. When I was a child, I always ran to my parents or Menasha. I didn't have many childhood friends. Mainly because I didn't see any, even at the bazaar. Children were supposed to stay inside, except boys, but my parents believed that I should see the world. Sometimes I would see pictures of the royal family at the bazaar, the raja, king, rani, queen and the yurajava, prince, whose name was Rama. He was showed up most, mainly because the raja and rani wanted India to see their future ruler. I wondered what it was like to be rich, but it didn't really matter much to me.
Shiva ruffled his feathers and settled beside me. He had found an old tree beside me and flew to a branch. He shook his feathers again, buried his head into his shoulder, and fell asleep. I spread out the blankets Uncle had given me. I laid down, thinking about my future. Would I ever have the power to do whatever I wanted? Would I ever feel whole? Would I ever live the life I desired? I laid thinking these thoughts, and soon lulled to sleep.
In the morning, we continued through the desert. I began to adapt to the camel's pace and did not fall asleep again. Shiva left my shoulder and flew ahead. I wasn't worried, because he came back to my shoulder every ten minutes. When the sun started to set, I saw a tan colored snake, rolling over the sand. Uncle warned me to be careful, and to be quiet as possible. I shut my mouth. As we walked through the dunes, more and more snakes rolled by. They all went towards the setting sun, the same direction we were headed to. I was worried, but Uncle had ordered me to be silent, so I could not ask whether we should go in a different direction.
The sun went down. The snakes stopped, and they all slithered into a circle, and the largest, and cobra slinked to the center of the circle and raised his hood to the darkening sky. I saw Uncle grin. I shuddered, and Shiva buried his head into my hair. Drongoes were afraid of snakes, and I began to feel troubled, too. Uncle however, grinned evilly as lightning flashed. Rain fell. I stood paralyzed as he got off his camel and walked toward the snakes. Uncle strode as though he was the god of the world, and when he reached the snakes, they all broke away from their circle, including the cobra in the middle.
He held his arms up to the sky, and yelled, "Lamp, lamp come to me!" He lowered his left hand and held up his right hand into the sky. A gold ring with a large jasper stone in the middle was on his middle finger. I had never noticed it before. A bolt of lightning struck the ring and it flashed brilliantly. He still stood. I watched at a distance, terrified. I couldn't move. Uncle laughed, and thrust his right hand up again, and yelled three times, "Door of magic, open, open, open for me!" At once the lightning stopped. The sky cleared, and a piece of jasper emerged from the sand, shaped like a lamp. Uncle walked down, as calmly as ever and walked back to me. I still sat there, and Shiva peeked out from behind me.
"What just happened?" I stuttered. "I wanted to reward you for bringing my joy. So I opened the gateway to treasures for you. I am a magician. Beneath that jasper lies all the riches you could ever imagine. I only ask one thing from you. I cannot go down here. You must go alone." A command. I had to go down to this "riches" place. I agreed. I didn't want him to see my struggle against the curse. Since he was obviously knew magic, it wouldn't be too hard for him to turn me into a mosquito or whatever animal or thing struck his mind. "What must I do?"
"Take this ring," he handed me the jasper ring, "and touch the stone. You will find a gold staircase. Walk down. There, you will be in a large chamber, with all the riches to your hearts desire. Take as many things as you want from that chamber. At the end of the room, you will find a silver door. Open it. Here, lamps of all assortments you will see, but do not touch any of them. In the middle of the room, a golden lamp, with jewels of all kinds awaits you. Pick this one and come back the way you went. You may keep all the riches you can carry in the first room. Just bring me the lamp. All I want is the lamp. No questions. Just go. Now."
Commands, commands, commands. I did not care a bit about those riches, but I had to go down there anyway. Oh, all right, it would be nice to have soft, silky sheets, on thick, fluffy pillows, on top of a large, bouncy mattress. But I was frightened. What if I got lost? Would I be stuck there forever? As I said, I was scared. But as always, I had to obey, though I shrank away from Uncle's nasty odor.
"Yes." Then he looked thoughtful, and fingered his chin. "But if you find a bottle of cologne, it'll probably be in a very intense pink. The glass will be very thin and will look brittle, but it is strong and will not break. Cologne is worth a lot- er, your auntie likes to add bottles to her perfume and cologne collection."