Chapter 6: The Long Road to Kaveripur

I had never left home before, and after dying at nine, I never went to school again. My world was the lane outside our house, the peepal tree at the corner, the old paan shop near the bus stop.

But now, I had to go far—far beyond the world I knew.

Luckily, I could read the signboards along the way. I traced the painted letters with my finger, sounding out the names of villages and towns. Every milestone was a small victory, a piece of the world opening up.

I asked many ghosts for directions—some pointed the way, others led me towards mandirs or dargahs on purpose, laughing as I wandered lost. Some temples could harm spirits for hundreds of metres; their bells would ring, the air would shimmer, burning my skin like hot tea. I avoided them, slipping through alleys, praying not to meet a priest with holy water.

I got hurt many times. Once, a sadhu flicked ganga jal my way, and I collapsed by the roadside. Another time, a woman tied lemon and green chilli at her door—the smell made me dizzy for days.

I wanted to tell Amma about my pain, to bury my face in her lap and confess the hurt, the loneliness, the hunger that never left. But I knew she would cry her heart out, and I could not bear to make her suffer more.

Forget it, I thought. I was about to disappear anyway—no need to make Amma cry again.

So, after seeing her, I’d just tell her how much I missed her. I practised my words, making sure they sounded cheerful, full of love. I’d persuade her to move on and not think of me anymore. If she forgot me, maybe I could finally rest.

I would lie and say I was going to be reborn. In the next life, I’d be very happy. I imagined myself in a house full of light, a family who loved me, with festivals and laughter every day.

Thinking about what to say gave me strength. Even though my whole body hurt, nothing could stop my longing to see Amma. My feet bled, my head spun, but my heart was steady.

Amma had moved very far away—her new home was on the other side of the state. I walked along highways, hitched rides on bullock carts, drifted through crowded railway stations. At one station, a chaiwala’s radio played an old Lata Mangeshkar song—something Amma used to hum while making my tiffin. For a moment, the music made me feel alive again.

It took me half a year to reach Kaveripur—six months of wandering, dodging sunlight and temple bells, following the scent of Amma’s coconut oil and the sound of her laughter in the wind.

Kaveripur was just as aunty said—lush green trees, rivers, and breathtaking scenery. Fields of sugarcane, mango orchards heavy with fruit, a river so clear I could see the pebbles at the bottom. The air was sweet, full of birdsong.

Mother had come to a wonderful place. I felt happy for her, knowing she was surrounded by beauty. The pain in my chest eased a little.

Kaveripur was big, and it took me a long time to find her. I searched every lane, peeped into every house, followed the scent of Amma’s sambhar and the sound of Ashu’s laughter. The days blurred together, but I never gave up.

I was foolish—after so many years, the only ability I had was to send dreams. Unlike older spirits who could fly or vanish, I was just a little girl, stuck in old habits, my powers limited to whispers and dreams.

But after searching Kaveripur for a month, I finally found Amma.

As I stood before her new home, the night wind carried the smell of frying onions and distant drumbeats from a nearby temple. For the first time in years, I felt hope flicker inside me.