Mannat was started awake by a sharp pain in his legs. He jumped to his feet— he tried to, only to find his legs cold and asleep. He half expected the floor to creak in response to his sudden movement, but it was robust compared to the floor of his house. That reminded him—
He had fallen asleep on a chair, inside the Witch’s hut, and he was not getting on his feet anytime soon. He couldn’t determine whether it was a good or a bad thing that the Witch had left him undisturbed through the night. Surely, he wouldn’t have minded sleeping on a bed. If only the Witch had one lying around somewhere. He would have liked it.
The hut, for all its implied secrets, was one huge-circular hall; there were on other rooms, kitchens, lobby, basement, trap doors, nothing.
A blistering ray of light brightened the space. A cross-shaped shadow danced in the left corner, proving that he had indeed survived the night.
He hadn’t taken a look around last night, because of darkness, tension, tiredness, and stress, but in the day it was clear to see that the hut… hadn’t had a visitor in quite a while. Maybe never, Mannat thought. He looked around while massage his cold legs.
The round table and the chair he occupied were set up at the dead center and he sat facing away from the door. Dark wooden cabinets with glass windows lined every inch of the circular wall. They were brimming with colorful hardcover books. Books were things he had heard about, seen once, but never held. Therefore, he was instantly curious toward them— If only he could get up and walk to them. No wonder a sigh left his lips.
Shaking his head, he let his eyes fall and turn toward the table. Half of it was dirty, covered in ages of grim dirt. The other half had blackened his hands and the elbows of his shirt. There were melted remains of a candle at the centre. He remembered seeing it from the window last night.
Mannat passed a hand through his hair and the fingers came away stuck with spider web. Not again. He thought, and rubbed his hands together to get rid of the mucky web. His heart had pounded heart when the Witch had opened the hut’s door for him at night. She had then insisted he entered before her, and he had become the naive victim of an abandoned house. He hadn’t felt a choice then, but now he was starting to realize he had been foolish.
The dust covered every surface, corner, table, chairs, cabinet, and floor. Everything had a layer of shining brown flakes. He could imagine his mother’s twitching face if she was to see the huts state. His mother would have had a heartfelt conversation with the Witch about cleanliness and its importance, if she was around.
Be patient. Mannat told his bubbling thoughts. She’ll be fine in time.
He kept looking around while his legs healed, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the Witch standing still in a small empty space among the cabinets. She stood in the dark and stared at him with eerily white eyes. He almost choked. That was spooky! Thank God he hadn’t been drinking water or he would have spurted it all over the floor.
“Good morning,” The Witch greeted.
Mannat stared back, speechless.
“Are you awake now?” She asked Mannat the second time, and he didn’t really have an answer. She had shocked him silly.
He didn’t think he was going back to sleep anymore. So, “Probably,” he answered, making the Witch smile.
“That’s good enough.” She said and tapped the butt of her stick on the floor, creating a loud thud. Nothing happened. “Let’s get on with it then. Follow me,” She said and walked away. His eyes chased her till she left through the open door, adding another trail of footsteps on the dirt floor.
Had she been standing there all night? He doubted it.
Wait! There were only two trails of footsteps. One stopped at the chair he occupied, and the other she had just left on the floor. Then where was the trail she should have left behind when she first entered the hut?
His jaw dropped. It was another mystery. He looked back at the empty space she was just occupying and noticed the bird stand standing there calmly. He instantly remembered the famous Raven. There were even some old and webbed feathers on the floor right under the stand. Did a raven really live in the house? He was again doubtful. The signs indicated that not even the Witch lived in the house, much less a bird. Birds like freedom, and there was none to be found in the house. On the other hand, a place so closed would surely invite all kinds of critters and wildlife, so he wasn’t sure. At the moment he was not any different from a caged bird.
The door was open; He could run, make his way down the narrow path through the gardens, and escape through the road.
Mannat shook his head and slammed his hands on the table. A dust cloud rose into the air on the other side as the sound rocked inside the hut.
That’s it. No more dallying. He only had a month of time. His legs were awake and no longer feeling like there were spiders trying to eat him. He rose to his feet, pushed the chair under the table, and strode out through the door. He made sure to not disturb the old footprints. He would investigate them later —out of curiosity. He didn’t want any trouble.
It was bright outside, but the sun wasn’t up yet. The air was in a cold mood, but the birds were up and singing in the woods. Their music was a pleasure to his ears. Surprisingly, the magical tree had lost its glow and was as calm as the breeze. It possibly only glowed in the dark.
No wonder, there weren’t any rumors circulating in the village about it.
He was oddly optimistic and poetic in the morning. It was the result of his association with Pandit.
“I hope you are all right,” He mumbled and shook his head. His father would not let anything happen to his friend. There were many things he hoped to change about the night, but a new day was already up and everything else had already become a memory. it was all in the past.
He found the Witch standing next to an empty fire pit that had a pot strung above it. So she cooked outside. Ah, no wonder there were no chimneys inside the hut. That was good thinking, actually. He knew how easily paper burned; it would have only taken a few wayward sparks to land upon an open book and the whole structure would have gone up in flames in minutes.
Mannat wasn’t hungry, but he really wanted some water to wash up, or at least clean his face. His mother would never let him sit at the dinner table without washing up. She might be no longer around to force him into the habit, but he wasn’t going to slip up just because of that. He feared ending up with a chest long beard like his father.
He didn’t know where the Witch got her water, but he really didn’t see any vats or barrels around.
“Can I have some water? I want to clean up.” He asked her and she pointed toward a small indiscrete wooden bucket. Someone had put a lot of effort to carve it form a single piece of wood and sand it until its surfaces were as smooth as a flower petal. Its creator had likely spent days on it. To think something so beautifully was casually lying on the ground among the rocks and grass. Did she not care for it?
“It’s empty.” He snapped out of his thoughts, but what she said made no sense to him.
“There is a hand pump in the back.”
“A what?”
“Of course a village born pup like you has never seen one before. Come with me.” The Witch said and hobbled away from him. Mannat hugged the bucket in his arms and followed after her.
He grew intrigued when he saw the thing she called a hand pump. It was even more impressive than the bucket. The pump had a long cylindrical body, a handle jutting from the crown, and a curved nozzle midway pointing downward. Finely carved from wood and meticulously polished, so it could wear the weather, it was another fine piece of work. Beauty aside, how was it supposed to give him water?
“Put the bucket under the nozzle. And work the handle.” The Witch instructed. That was a surprise in itself. Mannat worked the handle like he would a bellow. The handle was made of thick wood, and he could see a metallic rod move up and down inside the body of the pump when he worked the handle, which grew heavier with each motion. Then water spurted out of the nozzle and goosebumps went up his arms and down his legs. He snapped his hands off the handle and bolted away from the thing. How? What?
“Magic!” He exclaimed, and even the Witch’s snort couldn’t dampen his mood.
“How is it possible?” He asked, but the Witch refused to answer.
“Figure it out yourself later. Wash up,” She told him and smiled. “Don’t be late.” She said and left him there. Her last words sounded ominous enough to dissolve his excitement. He didn’t dare dally and made quick work of cleaning up, then picked up the bucket full of water and returned the same way he had come.
The Witch was waiting for him near the pot when he returend. She looked excited. Mannat wondered what she usually cooked in the pot. He hoped it was not frogs or rats and such. He already didn’t have much of an appetite, but those things would have outright killed his stomach and will.
“Took your sweet time washing up didn’t you?”
Well, looks like he spoke a little too soon. “What do you want me to do?” He asked.
“Get me some vegetables, of course. What else can you do? Can you hunt?”
“No.”
“Then walk your sorry ass into the garden and pick me some nice and plump carrots and potatoes. You can identify them, can’t you?” He could hear the sarcasm dripping right from her words.
“Of course,” He said, and thanked his mother for taking him to the market when he was young. Or he would be pulling radishes out of the garden rather than what the Witch wanted, and getting impaled by the pointed end of her sharp tongue.
Mannat marched straight toward the garden. The gardens on the two sides were built differently. While the left garden had only root vegetables, the right garden had both fruits and things like tomatoes, capsicums, and peppers. He couldn’t think of a vegetable that wasn’t growing there. It was a mystery how the Witch had done the impossible, and he supposed she wouldn’t tell him? Well, at least not until he got the job.
He stopped to look at the few ladyfinger plants growing right near the edge of the right garden and his mouth watered at the sight of them. His appetite woke up from its slumber and roared out from the pit of his stomach. Now he was hungry. He wanted that, but the Witch stopped him as if she knew what he was thinking.
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“Do what you are told. You are not good enough for the vegetables in the right garden.” She said.
Mannat raised an eyebrow. What did that mean? He was going to the garden to harvest vegetables, not fight them! He decidedly shook his head and did as the Witch asked him to. Though it pained him to ignore the ladyfingers, he didn’t want to go against the Witch for something so trivial.
In the left garden, all the vegetables were roots one like carrot, potatoes, beets, and radishes. They grew in patches like they had been planted by a complete maniac! Who does that really? Even he knew plants needed to have some space to grow, but the garden was in a state of total madness. Did a bird shit out the seeds or something? It was the raven, was it? Jokes apart; the garden was amazing in the variety of things it produced, and Mannat was excited to get his hands dirty.
He checked the carrots first. From what he remembered from helping his mother in the kitchen, carrots take about 40-60 days to grow, and when ready to be harvested they would have 6-9 inches tall shoot with a dense cluster of leaves on top. It was common sense that the older a plant, the bigger and darker its shoot and leaves would be. So, going with his knowledge, Mannat picked the one with the biggest shoot and denser fronds and pulled it out.
Well, he tried to, but the root resisted. He heard laughter from the hut. The Witch was definitely enjoying herself.
He got on his knees and shook the carrot from the shoot. It still gave resistance, but he could feel it coming out. Just how big was the damned thing? He really wanted to know, as did his rumbling stomach.
The roots hairs popped like tiny threads and a smile grew on his face when the carrot came out of the ground.
Finally, he sighed in relief. So much work for a single carrot. Then he saw the fruit of his laborer and his smile turned into a frown. The carrot was too small, smaller than his pinky. Adding salt to the wound was the Witch’s laughter.
He peered and saw her smiling from ear to ear.
“Do you want to come out? Is that enough to curb your hunger?” The Witch asked. Mannat answered with silence. “What are you waiting for then? Carry on,”
Mannat put the baby carrot down on the ground and mulled about another thing he had forgotten to bring: a bag.
He found another carrot with the same specifications and went right to work. It was once again growing inches deep in the ground and he couldn’t quite reach it with his finger. Thankfully, it loosened up easily when he shook it, and came out nicely without any effort. The root came out covered in a big ball of dirt. He was elated. He took a knee and raised the carrot high for the Witch to see.
Then the ball of dirt fell to the ground from its own weight, leaving another baby carrot in his hand. The Witch bowled over laughing. It was a hit on his intelligence. Really? His face scrunched up. His heart thrummed heavily inside his chest. Was it possible that the ones with longer shoots and darker leaves were not the right ones? Though it defied common sense, he decided to pull a carrot that was much younger next.
He found another baby carrot. This time the Witch cackled out loud in her shrill voice. It had to be her doing. She could make the tree roots move. Who says she couldn’t suck the carrots… no, that was impossible to do without destroying the root. And it served no purpose. However, there had to be a reason why she was still standing there and hadn’t left him to it. She hadn’t shown such interest when he was working the hand pump.
Mannat glared at her. She was still going strong with her hands on her waist, and her sagging breasts bobbing up and down every time she cackled.
She really was an eyesore. What to do, though? Mannat felt like he had something to prove. He couldn’t let a bunch of carrots defeat him, could he? So he left her to her own and went back down to it.
This time he chose a carrot whose shoot was small and leaves were young and green. He couldn’t shake or loosen it, and it was harder to pull. And that reassured him. The root had to be large to be able to resist his tampering.
Mannat got on his haunches again for the second time, got a firm grip on its shoot, and pushed up with his legs. He felt his face heating up and his veins bulged. Thankfully, the shoot didn’t snap in his hands, and the root came blasting out of the ground with another shower of dirt. He didn’t pay attention to the Witch this time, and indeed, he was right. The carrot was as big as his hand and plump as two fingers. It was red and full of vitality, almost glowing. He did it!
A hot stream of emotions rose inside his chest. He raised the carrot in the air like a trophy and really shoved it in the Witch’s face. She went quiet at the sight of it. It was very satisfying. Now he knew what he had to do. Mannat stalked his way through the field to another carrot with the same aged leaves, got through the strenuous task of pulling it out, and was rewarded with laughter, louder than ever before. This time it was a baby carrot whose crown was as wide as his thumb, but it had no tail. That was possible, really? It was absurd. He could not believe it.
What was he missing? He threw the carrot top on the ground and clicked his tongue. Was it possible that all the natural signs that showed the maturity of a carrot, or any other root vegetable for that matter, was not applicable in the Witch’s garden? He had to see. It was not just a matter of pride anymore, but also knowledge. And it was interesting.
This time he was excited when he went down into the thick of it. He started pulling carrots and radishes one by one. He was mostly met with disappointment but was also able to figure out that he was right. It might look like there were a ton of vegetables growing in the garden, but in reality, only a few of them were ready to be harvested. He harvested a total of fifteen carrots, out of which only two were nicely juicy and plum. He could feel their warmth by just holding them in his hand. He decided to not waste any more time on carrots and take a look at the other roots available too. Who knows when the Witch might pull him out and when he’d get to enter the garden again. He really wanted to know the secret to growing out of season vegetables. He was also worried about wasting too many of the resources. Each baby carrot or undergrowth carrot he harvested was one that wouldn’t get to grow.
The Witch hadn’t told him off yet, but that didn’t mean she would keep looking at him so favorably. Still, he moved on from carrots to beetroot.
He had a much better time harvesting them since their crown was visible from the ground. The method was opposite for beetroots.
He even managed to pull one that was larger than the size of his hand, but the rest was a sad reality. He had some time with potatoes. They were the easiest to harvest as they grew in clusters, and even though none were large enough, he accumulated enough of them by the time his stamina fell to the dregs that they could cook a meal.
“That’s enough,” Finally, the Witch called. “You have destroyed enough plants. I thought you knew what you were doing? Do you want me to teach you how to harvest vegetables?”
Only then did Mannat notice the sun shining right above his head. He swept the sweat off his brows with a finger and nonchalantly flicked it into the air. He had been going at it for hours! What was he doing? Nothing, just harvesting carrots, and the result was half a kilo of bite-sized potatoes, a handful of baby carrots, one overripe beetroot, and a few green onions. All in all, it was a morning of harsh realization and sad reality.
He had some ideas. He knew the Witch had nothing to do with the distribution and condition of the roots. The stem and the leaves didn’t pay much importance in the growth of the roots either. He had found more success with moderately aged shoots than with the older ones. The beetroots were the easiest to pick, and the potatoes gave the most. The carrots were like large nails hammered deep in the ground, and harvesting them usually ended in frustration.
Mannat folded the shirt into a bag and picked it up. He was using it to hold the vegetables. It was another reminder that he should have brought a pot or a box or something to carry the loot.
He didn’t talk to the Witch but noticed she had tomato and other vegetables ready. When did she pick them? It was his ‘focus’ once again. He had lost sight of not only himself but also his surroundings, it seemed.
“Wash them properly and cook a meal,” The Witch said, surprising Mannat. She wanted him to cook?
“What? Can’t cook?”
“I can,” Mannat said hurriedly. He was flustered for some reason. His mother had made sure he could cook. He was not good at it, but he wasn’t bad either.
“Come inside when you finish. Don’t be too gluttonous and save some materials for dinner.”
Mannat looked at his makeshift bag of holdings. It barely weighed a kilogram in total. Surely, he had picked a lot, but it was not enough food for a growing boy like him.
“Can’t I harvest more roots later?” He asked and was snorted at.
“Wouldn’t you want to do that?” The Witch said sarcastically and left.
Mannat became aware that she had forbidden him from entering the gardens after morning. She didn’t tell him her reason, but it was not like she told him much of anything. So he made himself a meal: boiled the potatoes with beetroot and roasted the carrots over the fire once the pot had a boil. He crushed the loaf of ginger he had miraculously found and seared the boiled potatoes, beetroot, and roasted carrots in the pot.
He didn’t have salt to season, or oil and spices to flavor, but the meal came out delicious. The ginger was good. The mix of vegetables was almost on the same level as what Gande had cooked for them last night. The carrots were crunchy and the onion was tangy and sweet, while the potatoes brought a heavier earthy taste to the mix. He knew his skill had nothing to do with the taste. It was all on the vegetables. His mother would have cooked a finger-licking meal with the same ingredients.
Mannat finished eating, and scrubbed the pot with grass and dirt, and cleaned it with water. Only after he was done with all of that did he find his way back inside the hut. He hesitated at the door but didn’t shy from going in. He found the Witch standing on the other side of the table, waiting for him. A book with a hard grey cover lay in front of her.
“Sit down,” She told him. Mannat pulled a chair out and took a seat. He felt an urge to ask her about the garden and its secret, but decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being. It was a matter of pride. He wasn’t going to ask her help when she had clearly told him to do it himself.
Along with the book, there was also charcoal and yellow paper on the table. He had seen those in his father’s shop before, the paper at least. The orders from the town officials came written and officially stamped on paper of much worse quality. They needed to retain the parchment in order to cash on the order and receive payment. He still couldn’t wrap his head around that the paper was worth more than months of their hard work. He found it both fascinating and stupid that a piece of paper held more value than people.
He was interested in the characters used to write the language, but he had never found the time to learn them. Maybe he would now? He found his eyes going back to the book, but the Witch had different intentions.
“What do you know about attributes?” she asked.