‘Why?’ Darya asked puzzled. ‘Why follow me around? What do you want? I met your mom. I told her everything.’
He hesitated, squinting at her. Then, ‘I wanted to see if Paritosh is there,’ he said slowly. ‘Dad,’ he corrected himself.
‘I told you he died,’ Darya said.
‘I want to be sure,’ he said clumsily.
She softened. Her heartbeat had returned to normal.
‘He's dead. Are you sure now?’ she asked gently.
He flinched. Brought his closed fists together.
‘I am sorry for making you afraid.’
Looking at him steadily in the eye, she said like a parent to a child—
‘Joseph, what did you take from the house last time?’
He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
‘When you broke into the house two nights ago, what did you take?’
‘Broke into?’ he asked.
‘Broke the lock of the house. Came inside the bedroom. Turned everything upside down. Took away something,’ she spoke as slowly as she could, miming with her hands.
His frown deepened. ‘Kiten?’
She saw he was growing agitated, but she had to know.
She tried again.
‘Did you take something from the house? Papers? Books? Had Uncle Pari... your father given you keys to the house?’ she asked.
But he only gaped at her, his face in visible distress now. She realized he didn't know what she was talking about.
‘How many times have you been to the house?’ she asked.
‘Twice I followed dad home. Long back. My friend...’ He gestured ambiguously towards the bushes, ‘has a big bike and he brought me. He waits on the main road, doesn't like coming inside the lane.’
‘Why did you follow your father home?’
‘He said he has a big house. I wanted to see. Oolo said he will bring me. He told to wear cloth to hide my face.’
‘Who's Oolo?’
‘He rides a bike,’ the boy said. ‘He is my friend.’
‘And how many times did you come when I was there?’
He held out two fingers. ‘One day when you were in bedroom... I did not know you were there. I only looked through the window.’
‘And the other?’
‘Today. Now,’ he said.
So… he wasn't the thief.
Then there are two...? Oh, God, no. Her heart couldn't take it anymore.
Darya turned and started to walk towards Heliconia Lane. She gestured for him to follow her. He did.
‘Does your mother know you are here?’ she asked.
‘She is in church now. Evening mass.’
‘Come to the house,’ Darya said. ‘Have a soda or something.’
He walked alongside, matching her pace.
‘When did you start following me?’ she asked.
‘From the house,’ he said. ‘We saw you, but we were on road. Then we stopped and I came to beach. I cannot stay,’ he mumbled, throwing an anxious glance at the sky. ‘Oolo will get angry if I will make him wait. He will tell mom.’ Then he paused. Fumbled with the sides of his pants. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.
‘We need money.’
She sighed. ‘I don't know what to do about that,’ she said.
His face contorted as if he was going to cry. Darya took a step towards him. Instinctively, he took a step back, stumbled and his arms shot out to balance himself.
Darya froze.
What was that?
She grabbed his arm. His body jerked in surprise and he cried out.
‘Show me, what's that?’ Darya said, pulling at him.
‘Leave me,’ he cried, twisting his body to get away from her.
Darya dropped the hand. He was surprisingly strong.
‘Who did that to you?’ Darya asked, pointing.
He followed the direction of her finger.
‘Dad,’ he said. Casting a nervous glance behind her, he added urgently, ‘I have to go.’
‘How did he do it?’ she asked, her voice urgent. ‘Why?’
His shoulders jerked as if brushing away an invisible hand, but he said nothing.
‘Did your dad...like to do this?’ she asked, shakily.
Something like hot soup churned in her stomach. A throbbing pain was growing at the back of her head like the physical presence of a vague nagging memory that refused to go away.
Worse. Worse. Only gets worse.
‘We played games,’ he said stiffly. His face distorted as if he were struggling with the answer.
Darya took a deep breath.
‘What other games... what else did he do to you? To your mom. Her hair... did he do something to her? Cut her hair? Or her skin?’
She watched the confusion grow in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but—
‘Is everything all right here?’ someone spoke behind her.
Darya almost jumped out of her skin. Turning, she watched as a shadow approached, the smoky grey beach behind him and the moon above, a half cup in the sky.
The second one, the voice in her head said.
No, of course not.
‘It's me, Aaron,’ the shadow said.
‘What are you doing here?’ Darya asked. She heard the sound of scampering feet next to her; Joseph was running back to Oolo.
‘Wait, Joseph,’ she yelled.
But he ran faster.
‘Ask your mom to call me,’ Darya shouted.
‘He has a mild form of autism,’ Aaron commented, watching his retreating back.
‘How does he run that way then?’ she said.
‘You don't know much about autism, do you?’ he murmured.
‘And you don't even know him,’ Darya replied.
‘I've seen him hanging around your house,’ he said.
‘And you didn't think of telling me?’ Darya said tetchily. ‘It's not common to have strangers hanging around in Heliconia Lane. Didn't Vidisha tell you that?’
‘He seemed harmless enough,’ Aaron said, then hesitated. His eyebrows furrowed. ‘Was he any trouble? What did he want?’
She shook her head. ‘I came for a run and he followed... found me,’ she said shortly. ‘How do you know about the autism?
‘I used to be a doctor, remember?’ he said, lightly. ‘But it's difficult to say without a closer look.’ Then seeming to note the agitation on her face, ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
No, she was not. Her encounter with Joseph had thrown her off-balance.
That tattoo on Joseph's hand... she wasn't sure, but didn't Aunt Farideh have a similar one... at a similar place?
‘Is there a way to put something in your hand permanently other than say a tattoo?’ Darya asked.
‘You mean something as permanent as a tattoo but without ink?’ Aaron said. ‘Why do you ask? What's the matter?’ he asked, fixing her with an intent gaze.
‘Just... just tell me,’ Darya said.
‘There are a few techniques,’ he said. ‘The most common is scarification. A piece of metal is heated and pressed onto the skin.’ He showed her. ‘It was used to claim ownership of slaves or punish criminals a long time ago. It's banned in many countries, because of the risk of haemorrhaging and psychological trauma.’ He paused. Then quietly, ‘Why? What's the matter?’
She squeezed her eyes shut. The letters swam in front of her—the cursive script in thick, raised scabs—sickening reddish-orange in colour—white pustules at its edges. The word curled on the skin—appearing, pulsating, disappearing. Like tiny reptiles.
But she said nothing aloud though Aaron was now looking at her with concern on his face. She needed some time alone to sort out her thoughts.
Why would her uncle brand his son's arm to match the tattoo of his dead wife?
But don't you remember....
No, it was as bizarre....
Aunt Farideh's too.... And once he had cut her hair with a shearing knife...
...no, no... it was not possible.
It was not!
She was confusing things. That was not how it was. It was impossible. Just couldn't be.
But appearances, a voice whispered softly in her head, need to be kept.
Cobra Woman
Two days had passed since the obituary had appeared in the Times.
For the most part, Darya had stuck by the phone, hardly venturing out unless absolutely necessary. The phone did ring—a total of six times—but none of any use. Two asked for another Paritosh, a woman in Bhopal asked if Darya wanted to join their poetry club, a man who knew Paritosh in Vatkola wanted to confirm if he was the same who ran the fish shop and two men wanting to get to know her better. She was close to admitting that Francis was probably right; it had been a waste of ten thousand rupees. She wished she could go back in time and undo her idiocy.
Three days had passed since she'd spoken to her father. He sent her a message saying he was arriving on the 16th. A few more check-ups to be done before he got the green signal to go.
Come home, he wrote to her.
I want to attend the carnival, she messaged back.
But the real reason was that she wanted to be with her father when he met up with Inspector Nourahno. She wanted to be at Heliconia Lane when everything was brought to a logical end.
Also... there was Francis. She did not know yet where that was going, but something was happening for sure.
He had called her a couple of times asking to meet. She wanted to, she really wanted to, but—
‘Aren't you busy?’
‘I am,’ he replied. ‘But there's always after work.’ He said it was better he came by because it'd be impossible to catch him otherwise; when the bookstore wasn't keeping him occupied, he was flitting around town making deliveries.
‘No, that's alright then,’ Darya said half-heartedly. ‘Let's wait for Aaron to return.’ She didn't tell him the real reason for her dithering—she didn't want the Castelinos to spot him and tip off her father. She'd already told Zabel a lot and it wouldn't take her long to figure out who Francis was.
And Francis did sound quite busy.
One time when she called, ‘You're quite literally working hard,’ Darya told him with a giggle. He was panting over the phone. ‘Have you been running?’
‘Trying to find a quiet spot,’ he wheezed. ‘I'm at the railway station.’
‘Huh?’
‘Delivering an order to a tourist leaving town.’
Darya rolled her eyes but did not say anything. She'd been planning to ask him over, maybe later at night, when the neighbours had turned in—and this after much pondering and quelling of qualms—but that didn't sound possible. Probably a good thing.
So, for three days she did nothing of significance: slept, went for a run on the beach, cooked, stared at the phone and dusted the now empty house.
On Thursday though, two interesting things happened in quick succession. Both involved the now, much in use, landline phone.
The first time it rang Darya wondered hopefully. Could it be...?
She'd been making scrambled eggs. Switching off the stove, she ran towards the courtyard, praying all the while the phone wouldn't stop ringing.
Five minutes later she placed the phone's receiver down, disappointed. A woman asked for Paritosh, saying they used to work together a long time ago. She'd read the obituary and wondered if she could come visit his family to offer her condolences. When a crestfallen Darya interrupted to explain that he had no family and his wife was long dead, the woman hung up.
Damn, another dead end. Was it a prankster who had called? Because the voice sounded like that of a teenage girl. Did no one know her uncle and aunt at all? Why wasn't anyone useful calling?
With a weary sigh, she sat on the floor and crossed her legs.
She had to come to terms with the fact that her aunt was really dead, and no one knew what had happened to her. If her uncle, her father and the police could do nothing, what was she expecting to change with a disguised obituary twenty years later?
Really, D. Stupid Stupid. Spandan's voice whispered in her ears.
The phone rang again. Reflexively, she reached out and picked up the receiver.
‘Darya?’
‘Zabel Aunty,’ she said, surprised. ‘Why aren't you calling on my mobile?’
‘I remember this number by heart,’ she muttered. She sounded disturbed.
‘What happened?’ Darya asked. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ she muttered. Then her voice broke.
‘Aunty?’
‘Filip received a call from a hospital in Delhi.’ She barely managed to say the words.
‘Eh?’ Darya said, confused.
‘Filip was listed as the next kin. Don't know why. He has his own family. Not very close but still...’
‘Aunty, calm down. What are you saying? Who are you talking about?’ Darya said, sitting upright.
‘Gaurav,’ Zabel cried. ‘Ched-do Gaurav.’
‘What about Gaurav? What happened to him?’ Darya asked, her heart beating faster.
This isn't sounding good.
‘An accident!’ Zabel sobbed. ‘He had an accident. A car crashed into him as he was leaving his house. Hit and run. He has been admitted to Arogya Hospital in Delhi.
‘What?’ Darya said. Her throat tightened. Her mouth went dry. ‘What are you saying?’
‘He's alive but in coma...,’ Zabel said. ‘Filip is saying the doctor isn't too positive.’
Darya clutched the phone tighter against her face and whispered, ‘Are you sure, Aunty? Gaurav?’
‘Yes, Filip is flying to Delhi to see him tonight.’
‘What about Vidisha?’ Darya asked.
‘I don't know.’ Another sob escaped her, like a strangled cry. ‘What's happening to Heliconia Lane, Darya? Everybody is dying. We are finished,’ Zabel wept.
What does he look like now? Has he changed much? At all?
Darya had wanted to talk to somebody, to expend some of the apprehension she was feeling but neither her father nor Francis picked up when she called. She came down to the beach, to have the sea air clear her head, her thoughts largely of Gaurav, now lying on death bed, in a hospital a thousand kilometres away.
And then... as if a candle had been lit in the deepest recesses of her mind, her most vivid memory of him came alive.
She had been eleven. Anton had been keeping sick that year and plans were afoot to send him for treatment abroad. Vidisha had grown into a peevish teenager, besotted by pop stars, TV shows and petty gossip. So, it fell upon Gaurav to entertain her. He happily complied.
That year he had discovered an old Goa legend, narrated to him by a fellow student. The story thrilled him to no end, and he made sure everybody else heard it too. Darya remembered him narrating it in his teenage-moving-to-adult voice, accompanied by appropriately large doses of drama and parody.
Darya and Gaurav had been playing on the beach when he told her the story of Christalina—a young bride who killed herself waiting in vain for her husband to return from the city. Her ghost was said to live in a banyan tree in the village of Saligao. It was considered only legend, until fifty years later, Padre Pereira came to town, went for a walk one night and never returned. The next day, his body was found, barely breathing, next to the banyan tree. His face down in the mud. The villagers took him home, and for the next four days he sat, speechless and motionless on his bed.
‘Then?’ Darya had asked, her voice hushed, at an age when ghosts were more enamouring than God.
‘Then—saiba bugos!—on the fifth day, he began talking in Konkani, in a female voice. Once or twice, he shouted Christalina. Everyone knew then—the Padre was possessed. He was admitted to a hospital. Then ran away to Portugal,’ he said gleefully, ‘he became mad,’ dancing around in the sand.
There was a poem too; she remembered only parts now. That summer Gaurav and she had chanted it all day long, all the time, until her parents and the rest of Heliconia Lane banished them t
o play outside. Told them to come back only after they'd ridden themselves of it.
A woman, yea, it was, both young
And lovely to behold;
Dressed in an oil of stainless white
And decked with gems and gold.
(...)
Protect him, Heaven! - he knows not why
The woman's staring so.
The while each moment she appears
Less lovely and less young;
Oh! - can he trust his eyes? - he thinks
He sees a forky tongue... ...
Vidisha is the cobra woman, Gaurav had cried in delight. She's the one. See her tongue.
That had riled Vidisha to no end, more so when Darya joined in the taunts. She bawled, complaining to her parents and everyone who heard her. She ran to Anton for help since he was her refuge most of the days, but that year, apart from a few words of comfort and a token protest, he was unable to stand up to Gaurav. This encouraged Gaurav, who amplified his teasing and bullying, not giving his sister a moment's peace.
Until one day, she picked up a knife and threatened to slit her wrists with it.
This silenced Gaurav but not without a coup de grâce. One night when everyone was asleep, he dug out a white lace dress from his mother's cupboard and arranged it on the rack next to his sister's bed. Then he waited in the dark, rustling the dress, making slithering snake-like noises to wake her up. When she finally did, she was so frightened that she screamed as if possessed herself, lashing out in the dark, toppling a big photo frame by the bed which crashed on her and hurt her. She was in bandages for a month and till date bore a scar from that incident on her forehead.
Darya regretted it now. She wished she hadn't tormented Vidisha so much, despite the loathing she felt towards her. But Gaurav was a strong-willed child—a great, big bully—and Darya had felt the need to impress him.
But... the weird thing was... when Gaurav had told Darya the story, and later the poem, it was not Vidisha that she'd thought of, but of Farideh. She'd told Anton this and he'd agreed. Christalina and Farideh were both unlucky women, he'd said. Gaurav pooh-poohed the suggestion. Farideh was an angel, he'd said. Vidisha is a snake.
Did he ever think of the Cobra woman in the years afterwards? Could he ever look at his sister without thinking of the legend? Then a morbid thought stuck her: the Cobra Woman—Vidisha—had she finally gotten her revenge?
The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Page 19