Tamarind & the Star of Ishta by Jasbinder Bilan

Author:Jasbinder Bilan [Bilan, Jasbinder]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Middle Grade, Fantasy, Cultural, Asia, India, Family
Publisher: Chicken House
Published: 2020-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

After a pause, Ishta asks, ‘So . . . you like football?’

‘Yeah! I love it. I play it all the time back home.’ I grin and pretend I have a ball, dribble around her, tapping her foot. ‘This is how you tackle, now try and get the ball from me.’

She laughs and plays along, running a little circle around me. ‘Like this?’ She jostles forward, knocking the imaginary ball from me, and running ahead a few paces before stopping. ‘You must be fit,’ she pants. ‘I’m all puffed out!’

‘You weren’t bad,’ I say, laughing. ‘I think the Arsenal badge helped.’

Ishta steps towards me and puts a hand on my arm. ‘You’ve got kind eyes,’ she continues, ‘hasn’t she, Hanu? And lovely long hair. My ma likes me to tie mine up, but maybe I could wear it all out and flowing like yours one day.’

She’s wearing the flowery embroidered dress again with the loose trousers underneath, a sheepskin waistcoat over the top and her dagger in a sheath slung around her hips.

‘I like your outfit . . . it’s fun,’ I say.

She touches the Arsenal badge, like she’s really proud to be wearing something I gave her. It looks a bit weird against her outlandish clothing and I giggle.

She laughs too. ‘Let’s explore the garden, do something exciting like real friends?’

Even though I hardly know this girl I want to be her friend so badly. I feel the same as I did the first time I met Rafi; I knew we were going to be friends for ever through everything. Fire blazes through me, like an electric buzz going all over, right to the tips of my fingers.

‘Come on, take hold of Hanu’s hand,’ Ishta says.

I do as she asks, feel the monkey’s little hand clutch mine. ‘Let’s go,’ I shout, kicking at a giant pine cone as if it were a football. ‘Passing!’ I yell, dribbling it towards Ishta. She traps it with her toe, giggles, and kicks it back. ‘Not bad,’ I say, pushing Aunt Simran’s warnings, of wolves, tigers and other wild animals away again.

We continue through the garden, passing the pine cone between us.

Hanu joins in and grabs it.

‘Hey – handball.’

He chatters and rolls the pine cone ahead and we rush forward, ducking under low branches, jumping over pyramids of leaves, kicking the pine cone into new corners I didn’t know were here last time, until we’re out of breath and have to stop.

‘You’re getting pretty good at football,’ I say.

‘Maybe if I practised I could get as good as you,’ says Ishta, watching as I show off some of the tricks I learnt at camp.

I kick the pine cone and it goes off into the distance, landing between two thick tree trunks. ‘Goal!’ I jump up and down and Ishta does a victory dance.

She holds her side, her breath puffing out of her. ‘That was fun.’

We’ve ended up beside a dilapidated old greenhouse, and when I shine the torch towards it the light bounces off its shattered windows.

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