The old man crouches beside a straw basket, weary from his travels, his skin glistening with sweat. Children run past him, tumbling through bright saris hanging from twine. Squatters look over his clothes, the few possessions he’s carried for miles on his orange turban. He closes his eyes and blows into the tip of a pungi, emitting a low humming sound. “Come one and all to see what the divine Nagas reveal! The guardians of water have surfaced from great depths to tell us their secrets.” A crowd slowly forms around the old man. He plays the reed instrument, carefully, teasing out the high notes; the music is strange, hypnotic. “But beware! The Naga’s message can only be understood by the one it is intended for.”

The basket teeters.

Sunny’s pulse quickens.

A cobra rises from the dark interior, roused out of a deep sleep. The serpent flares its spectacled hood, its head sways with the flute, in a ritualistic dance.

“The Naga is awake!” The old man makes a fist to trick the cobra into striking; the snake snaps its jaw forward and misses. The children roll with laughter.

The Naga flickers its tongue in a quiet fury, watching, waiting.

The charmer leans in to peck the cobra, the snake dives forward and locks its fangs in his beard. He wrestles the cobra with one hand while the other uncovers a saucer full of yellow milk. The charmer dips its head into the copper plate; the cobra thrashes back and forth, spilling milk on the dirt. Finally, a bubbling hush, the old man dangles the serpent from his hand, and slips it back into the basket.

Sunny scratches his head, and wonders, what it means. In the distance, he hears a voice calling his name.

A small boy with dark skin and shining eyes runs barefoot through the wheat fields. “Sunny! Sunny!” He sprints to the courtyard, his trembling knees collapse. He squats on the ground, his hands moving wildly as he tries to recover his breath.

Sunny stares at the pink wounds on the boy’s stomach. He must’ve cut himself again when he was hacking wheat. I keep telling him not to move the blade too fast but he never listens. Sunny shakes his head, and sighs. “What is it, Ashok?”

“There’s been a death in Kalka. Anjani told me to send you to her village right away,” Ashok says.

Sunny shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t worry, and stop slicing so fast! You’re bound to chop off your legs one day if you keep working like this!” He wipes his forehead with his arm. “Besides, it’s too hot to start a fire now.”

Ashok’s eyes widen. “But what happens if you don’t burn the body?”

“The soul can’t escape and be reborn.”

Ashok rubs the side of his head. “So it’s trapped?”

Sunny fastens his gaze on the old man. “Yes, now quiet!”

The charmer unveils a cloth-covered basket and throws a double-headed snake on the ground. The children marvel over the two separate heads sprouting from the same overlapping scales of brilliant golds and coppers. Its stout, muscular body elongates and slithers in horizontal waves between the children’s feet. They jump up, startled, one boy tries to scoop it up with his hands.

The old man calmly reaches for the snake, leveling the two heads on his hand for all to see. “They’re not the same nor are they different.” He dips his finger into a shallow dish of vegetable grease and lets only the left head bite it. The charmer yanks out his finger from the snake’s head, there are two noticeable punctures where faint traces of blood can be seen. He grabs the snake by the tail and throws it on the ground.

The right head’s tongue flickers over the left head. The right head tastes the scent of prey, snaps its jaw over the left head, and tries to swallow it. The crowd roars with excitement. Ashok hops and dances with other boys his age.

The sun sets over the horizon. Sunny rubs his neck, If I go back to the farmhouse, I’ll have to leave now before it gets too dark. He grabs a bamboo stick, and ties a cloth around it.

Sunny walks through the wheat fields, using his stick to detect hidden ditches where he might fall.  In the past three months, Sunny had to kill only two snakes on his way to work. Most of the snakes are lying dead on the road; they’re drawn to the headlights of cars. He crosses a road separating the two farms.

A warm light glows in the house, he stops at the back door, a brass urn full of water has been left outside the kitchen for him to wash his feet.

The young widow, Anjani, is dressed in white. She greets Sunny with a solemn look. “I was the one who called for you. Ravi’s brother is coming from England tomorrow so we can’t cremate the body until he arrives. I need you upstairs. Follow me.” The sheer chunni on her head trails behind her as she maneuvers past grieving guests.

Children play in the stairwell; elderly women spoon babies in their arms. The men are congregated in the living room, drinking chai in somber silence. Upstairs, women sit cross-legged on the floor, Ravi lies on the bed with a pale sheet drawn over him. A garland of jasmine flowers hangs over his picture.

Sunny kneels before the deceased, bowing his head to the floor.  

Anjani ushers him to the corner of the room. “I need you to stay here with Ravi tonight. There is no need to wash him. We washed and dressed him an hour ago.”

“In this kind of heat, the only way to stop his body from spoiling, is to pack it in ice,” Sunny whispers.

“I have left some water in the freezer for you. Use the back stairs to bring the crates into the room.” Anjani pulls her scarf over her head and signals the women to follow her downstairs. “I trust you can handle this?”

“Yes,” he reassures her.

After loading the crates, Sunny lays the slabs of ice on the floor. His knees buckle as picks up the corpse, trying to align its spine on the frozen surface. He weighs more than I thought. Maybe it would have been wiser to drag him by his shoulders first, and then putting his feet up on the ice, he thinks.

Ravi’s kirpan clangs on the floor. Sunny takes the spear, and hides it under his shirt. He tries to arrange Ravi’s hands in a modest pose by overlapping them over his chest, but they refuse and keep falling to the ground. Sunny shakes his head, his stubborn corpse won’t cross his hands over his chest and admit that he’s dead.

The fan whirrs in the background, diffusing slightly cooler air into the room. Sunny watches the cold water condense on Ravi’s feet. His chest and stomach are starting to deflate. I’m going to have to change the ice soon.

There is a faint knock at the door.

Anjani enters the room holding a club hammer. “The neighbors brought more ice, the crates are downstairs. I brought you a hammer to break it into pieces. It shouldn’t be a problem for a strong man like you.”

He drops a sheet over Ravi’s body. “What happened?”

Anjani pulls her chunni over her mouth. “The doctor told him he was sick and wouldn’t live much longer, but he wouldn’t stop working outside. In the rain or cold, Ravi kept destroying the wheat fields with all his digging.” She stares out the window at the overturned patches of dirt. “He had gone mad. No one knew what he was trying to find … His lungs were weak. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen … he was too stubborn!” She throws an indignant stare towards the body, and clasps her throat. “When he was dying, we had to give him some poppy milk to spare him from his agony. It was time for him to go.” She tilts her head back. “I resign myself to my fate…I was destined to be widow twice in this lifetime. I’ll leave you alone with him,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Sunny lies down to sleep, but awakens from his nap when he hears a familiar voice calling him in the yard.

“What is it, Ashok?” Sunny shouts from the bedroom window.

“I need to speak to you! It’s important!”  

Sunny runs down the backstairs into the yard. “What do you want?”

“Can you get me some water from the well?” Ashok says, holding a tarnished bucket.

“Why don’t you ever get your own water? Can’t you see that I’m busy working?” Sunny scowls.

Ashok rubs the side of his head. “I can’t go near the well.”

Sunny’s face turns a hostile red. “Why not?”

Ashok points to the house. “That’s where I used to live with my wife and our two sons. That’s the stone well where I was killed.”

“Killed? Who killed you? You’re alive,” Sunny laughs.

Ashok lets out an exasperated sigh. “My name used to be Anil,” he says.

Sunny gives him a stern look. “I don’t have time for your games!” He shakes the young boy by his arm. “Stop wasting my time.”

 “No, it’s true!” Ashok pulls his arm away from Sunny. “I used to know Ravi. We used to hack wheat in the fields. One night, we went for drinks after a hot day’s work. When we came home, I was really drunk and fell in the yard. When I looked up, I saw Ravi standing over me with a brick in his hand. He beat me on the head with the brick and threw me into the well!” He rubs his right temple and shows Sunny a dent on the side of his head. “I still have the scars from my past life.”

Sunny gives him an incredulous look. “You’ve lost your mind! Why would he want to kill you?”

“That night, when we were drinking together, I told Ravi that I had found a rice bag full of gold in the river when I was bathing. I thought it might be Suresh’s.”

Sunny’s jaw drops.

“Do you know the story of Suresh Devi? He was a wealthy man who tried to cross the river during the partition with his fortune. He almost made it, but the gold was too heavy, and he drowned in the current because he refused to let go of it. His body washed up on the shore but the gold was never found.”

“Everyone in the village knows that story. They said if anyone stole Suresh’s bag they would be cursed…so what happened to the gold?” Sunny laughs.

“The night before I died, I had a dream: I was swimming in the water and a drowned man called out to me from the bottom of the river telling me to hide my gold.” He points to a tattered shed. “So, I hid the gold in a wall, near where the buffaloes sleep, behind a loose stone. But I didn’t realize I was cursed until it was too late.”

“The villagers said he got drunk and fell down the well. They burned Anil’s body and spilled his ashes in the river.” Sunny smirks.

Ashok covers his ears. “I was pushed. I didn’t fall!” he insists, his cheeks glowing. “Can you get me the water now?”

Sunny yanks the rope in the well and transfers the water into Ashok’s bucket. “Here, I’ll give you the water for entertaining me with your crazy story!”

Ashok’s heart races, “It really did happen!”

Sunny glares at him. “If all of this happened to you, then why did you come back here?”

“I wanted to be close to Anjani and our two sons. We got married and started our life here. My memories brought me back. When Ravi married Anjani, he tore down all of the walls and remade the house, but I still recognize my home. When I work in the fields, she always comes and offers me food even when Ravi warns her not to. Where is Ravi anyway?”

“He’s sleeping upstairs,” Sunny says.

Ashok grabs the handle; the heavy bucket knocks against his knees, cold spurts of water leap from the pail and fall to the ground. He heads back home, disappearing into the tall grass.

Sunny returns to the bedroom and packs new ice on Ravi. As the evening draws to an end, the household grows quiet, visitors say their goodbyes, and leave for their homes. Unable to sleep, Sunny waits until the voices in the two adjoining rooms are silent.

In the early morning hours, Anjani wakes to the sound of someone digging in the yard. She peers out from her bedroom window and sees a shadowy figure hunched over a stone wall.

“It can’t be,” she says, rubbing her eyes. Anjani leaps out of bed and runs downstairs. “Ravi! What are you doing here?” she cries. She runs forward and halts, recognizing the man with a rock clenched in his palm.

Sunny searches frantically for a loose stone along the base of the wall. He grips the rocks, his despair mounting, when he finally discovers one that’s easily dislodged. He sticks his arm into the wall, grasping air until he feels something further back. Sunny pulls out a clay pot covered in dirt, he removes the lid, and empties the container. Twelve gold bars sparkle under the moonlight. Sunny wraps them in a cloth and ties it around his waist.

“Thief! Thief!” Anjani screams, running back into the house for help.

Sunny realizes that it is only a matter of time before the men in the house rush outside. He removes the spear from under his shirt, and runs into the field, hiding in the tall grass. Night has fallen. Maybe they won’t be able to find me, he thinks.

Kerosene burns in the air. Five men emerge from the farmhouse; two carry swinging lanterns, another holds a club hammer over his shoulder and the remaining two men wave spears, warning him to show himself or suffer at their hands. Sunny hears an older man’s voice ordering the men to split up and search the farm. One man with a spear and one with a lantern head off towards the hills where coyotes feast on the remains of buffaloes. Two others disappear into the grove of mango trees.

The man with the club hammer stands guard in front of the wheat field watching for movement. He looks over at the horizon and sees the moon creep up over his shoulders.

Sunny lies still, but a dry stick gets caught under his shirt, and snaps.

The man looks through the slits in the crowded rows of wheat, trying to determine the origin of the sound. He pries open the grass with the wooden handle, scanning the crops, left to right, slowly making his way towards Sunny. “Thief! Stay where you are!” he looks up to see if any of the other men have returned from their search. “Stay where you are! Don’t move!”

Sunny slowly rises to his feet with the blade shining in his hand. For a moment, he wonders what will happen if he surrenders. He looks to the horizon and sees the swinging light bounce towards the field. The men are coming back. He runs farther into the grass with his spear.

“Wait! Come back here!” the man shouts.

Sunny hacks furiously at the straw, trying to clear a way towards the gleaming road. The man chases after him with the hammer clamped under his arm, shouting “Thief!” over and over again.

An uncultivated patch of land lies outside the bed of wheat. Sunny races through the field, the man with the hammer starts to lag behind him. Sunny runs past the last row of wheat, he cuts through the knotted vines ahead, his lungs breathing fire. Further back, he sees the man bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. If I keep running, I can make it back home, he thinks.

Sunny slides down a muddy hill. He sprints over a layer of rotting lumber, but his foot gets sucked into the soil. He pulls his leg, trying desperately to free himself.

The man with the hammer watches with a grin on his face. He dashes towards Sunny. Sunny folds his hands, pleading for forgiveness. He drops his hammer, and snatches Sunny’s ankle, dragging him closer. Sunny tries to squirm out of his hands, but his other foot sinks deeper into the hole.

Sunny grinds his teeth. “Please, please, let me go!” He feels the tendons in his foot snapping, his ankle popping. He kicks his right heel in the mud, trying to free it. Not again, not again!

The man with the hammer pulls Sunny’s left leg closer towards him. Sunny kicks his trapped foot until it slips out of the hole. He reaches for his spear and cuts the man, escaping into the darkness beyond the road. Sunny runs past the other farm to the edge of the silver river, and collapses on the ground.

Sunny wakes under a neem tree in the early dawn. He sinks his feet into the cool mud, and glances at the long scar on his leg.

He remembers, a warm light cutting streaks into the sky, yellow birds flying over his head, the shoreline bobbing in front of his eyes as water filled his lungs, his leg trapped between rocks, blood unravelling like smoke, the current pulling him further away, panic setting in when he realized he could no longer resist, his last breath, the night he drowned.

Sunny counts the gold packed in his shirt for Mumbai. “This time I made it to the other side of the river.”

– Geeta Johal