Everyone knew of the Iccha Pori, or the Wish Fairy, the same way everyone knew of the ruby amulet that had supposedly broken all treaties during the dark ages, or how they knew of how the best roshogolla, a delicacy as soft as cotton balls, in the country was always sent off to the royal palace; they had heard of it, and they knew it existed, but they had never actually seen (or, in the case of the roshogolla, tasted) it with their own eyes (or their own mouth, respectively).

 

With glitzy wings and a wand made of starlight, the fairy was said to wander from town to town, and, as her name suggested, silently grant wishes to the passerby she happened to eavesdrop upon. However, she didn't just grant any wish. No, her wishes were of a specific sort. Say, if a father and son were quarrelling over the dinner table, about how one doesn't ‘get' the other well, the pori took it as a sign to put one into another's shoes, literally. After dinner was cleared away, father and son would go to sleep in their respective beds, only to wake up and realize that they had, in fact, switched bodies over the night.

 

Chaos would erupt in the morning. You know how the story goes. How the father, initially freed of responsibilities, would find himself in another cage of expectations, while the son would learn of how much blood, sweat, and tears are poured into the act of obtaining every loaf of bread on the table. The only way to break the spell was by coming to terms with the difficulties and tribulations the other person felt and acknowledging it. A lesson in empathy, perhaps.

 

Once, some man had the brilliant idea to write the local legend down on paper, and after that, news spread far and wide (while the man himself was able to retire comfortably by the time he reached his late thirties). Searches began, as well as hunts, led by wide-eyed men convinced that the fairy was truly a daini, an evil witch.

 

But whatever their intentions may be, try as one might, they could not get a glimpse of the fairy. Eventually, the stories got dismissed as folklore. Maybe she existed, maybe not. At any rate, if it didn't disrupt their lives, what was the point of getting worked up about it?

This, of course, was useful for the pori. It allowed her to go on with her work making the humas around her a little more considerate in quiet, without interference.

 

If anything, the rumors made her hide more easily.

 

Tonight, if anyone had been observing her, they would be surprised to see that she did not occupy any hidden shadows or secret realms. Rather, she could be found sitting at a village tea stall, dipping a piece of cinnamon biscuit onto her cup of cha. Contrary to popular belief, she possessed neither wings nor wands. Her clothes were dull and common, nothing to distinguish her as special, as a fairy.

 

A light breeze passed through, and in the background, the radio crackled. The pori let her eyes close for a moment. She was exhausted. She had helped out a man and woman the day before, but from the gossip shared by her fellow customers, the switch had made no difference. The acknowledgment had lasted only a few hours, and now, things were back to where they were. It truly bothered her, how futile her work had become. How could people be so stuck in their own heads to see outside, to notice the person they claimed to love.

 

When she reopened them, there was a girl standing in front of her.

 

The girl was wearing a salwar kameez the colour of midnight, covered with tiny rhinestones that shimmered under the kerosene light of the tea stall. Her arms, adorned with glass bangles, were crossed. "I heard a couple arguing down the road." Her kajol-lined eyes glinted, like she was in on a secret. It made the fairy's skin prickle with the sense that something about the girl was wrong, like she didn't belong here, in this time and place and state.

 

The girl sat down on the bench next to the pori. "The same couple from yesterday. Why don't you go and interfere?"

 

The pori took a sip of her cha, her heart rate increasing. Was she one of them, the hunters out to get her? She took a deep breath. Perhaps she was overthinking this. "I don't like to interfere with the matter of others."

 

The girl raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Is that so? Because I could have sworn I saw you there yesterday."

 

"Perhaps I was there, perhaps not. But I never said a word to them."

 

"You didn't have to." The pori said nothing, so the girl went on.  "Doesn't it bother you, how you can make them see each other's struggles again and again, and yet they keep on forgetting?"

 

The pori opened her mouth, but no words came out. Finally, she croaked, "Who are you? What do you want?"

 

The girl assessed her for a moment. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

 

The pori worked through her memories, wondering if she had been on the people to have had wishes granted upon them. There were simply too many such incidents to parse through, one mixing into another, and in the end, she shook her head.

 

The girl reached out and took her hands. The pori could see her clearer now, and she realized what had made her uncomfortable, and why the girl knew what she knew. It was like looking into the mirror. "I am who you are."

 

"It's okay," the girl whispered, pressing her forehead against the fairy's. "You can let go now." Energy pulsated through the fairy's palms, warm and comforting. She'd felt the same energy many times before, when granting others the wish to trade places. But this time, she knew the energy would not return to her. It would be gone for good. And in her heart, she knew she had to make peace with that.

 

Memories flashed through her mind. Distant eras, distant people. The girl in the sparkly outfit, granting wishes with a sly smile on her face. How the smile would begin to fade as people continued to forget. Then the exchange, the switching of places. It was now her, the girl with the drab clothes, now it was her with the power, the responsibility. Promises that it was only temporary, and they would soon exchange their places once more.

 

But years went on. Her sister could now rest, she told herself. She, on the other hand, was stronger. She would not burn out.

 

Yet she had, hadn't she? All those years of mocking strangers for forgetting the effects of the spell when she herself was no different. Time has a funny way of ironing over the creases in memory. Maybe she would forget again, sooner or later. But for a moment, they were one, their wishes intertwined and clear: the trade would go on.