The Trickster

by Vinaya Bhagat

  Fear that someone would burn or dismember her alive scared her more than death.

  Diya tried to remember other incidents from her parents’ life, searching for clues to the secrets that had caused their deaths. Other than the childhood story of the Chakwa that her father had told her, there was nothing.

  HEALING WITH FRIENDS

  ‘A

  re you bunking class today as well?’ George asked Ronnie.

  ‘Nothing important is going on. You know that. I will borrow your notes.’

  ‘If your mother finds out, she will kill both of us,’ George pleaded.

  ‘I can’t just abandon Diya,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘You talk to her late in the night, so what is the need of missing classes and meeting her in the daytime?’ George said.

  ‘She has nightmares and is afraid of staying alone in the daytime.’

  ‘Have some control; that’s all I am saying.’ George shook his head and headed back to class.

  Diya and Ronnie walked hand in hand, along the winding tree-lined path in the company of gently falling leaves and soft birdsong. She could not remember when they had fallen into the habit of holding hands as they walked. She found Ronnie’s warmth safe and comforting.

  She cherished these small moments of fragile peace. At other times, turmoil and guilt raged through her, shattering the semblance of peace she had regained in the company of her father’s family. Now in addition to her parents’ death, the demise of Mrs Bhat and Zorro too stalked her in her sleep. Even her waking hours were not free of terror. The previous day, she had seen a child dressed in white from head to toe walk past the house. She had been afraid someone would attack the boy and had almost run out of the house until she saw the mother behind the boy. Every time she saw a lone person walking by, Diya was afraid for their safety.

  A bird swooped down from the trees, grabbed an insect from the leaves and flew away. It reminded Diya of the bird with a piece of Mrs Bhat’s flesh in its beak. She shivered and Ronnie put his arm around her.

  ‘You should have worn a jacket; technically it is still winter,’ he said.

  The warmth of his skin was like a beacon on a dark stormy night.

  ‘Did you read about the tiger that escaped from the circus?’ Diya asked. ‘Thankfully, they have caught it now. Maybe it was responsible?’

  ‘I think it’s a possibility. There has to be a logical explanation; it may seem farfetched now but I am sure it is there, hidden under these possibilities.’

  ‘I pray for a logical explanation. I can still see her arms resting on the fence. I almost touched them before I realized the hands were not attached to a body.’

  Diya felt a shiver run through Ronnie’s arm.

  ‘I am sorry, Ronnie. I should not have told you that, she was your friend.’

  ‘Diya, I will not wish such a death even on my enemy. Mrs Bhat had been my friend for years. Everyone in my family thought she was a nosy old woman but all she wanted was companionship. I still cannot help but look at the wall expecting to see her before I remember she is dead. Every day I pretend that I cannot see and smell the blood and every day I fail. Maybe these things never leave one.’

  Ronnie’s voice was steady but his hands trembled. Diya cradled his hands between her palms.

  ‘It’s difficult. I still can’t forget my parents’ charred bodies and even though I never saw the flames, I feel the heat sear me …’

  Ronnie pulled her close and she felt hopeful that life could go on, that she would survive.

  In less than six months, she would be at university. Once there, she would have no time to dwell on death. It was the inactivity and idleness that was responsible for her morbidity. She needed to look beyond and focus on life, not death. Her studies and finding her mother’s family were her two tangible goals now.

  Diya woke up early next morning. She had outlined the lesson plan for two subjects before Shelby’s alarm rang.

  ‘What are you doing up so early?’ Shelby asked, still bleary-eyed.

  ‘Studying.’

  ‘Wow! Don’t tell my mother or else she will make me study all through my vacation.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Diya promised. ‘As long as I can join you for a morning walk.’

  ‘Deal!’ Shelby hurried downstairs.

  Diya pulled on her sneakers and followed.

  Except for the melodious song playing on Mary’s kitchen radio, the house was quiet. A raucous advertisement interrupted the song. Diya only recognized the English bits.

  Saturday. Sale. Fabulous discounts.

  The man made the announcement with so much enthusiasm that she wondered if advertisers had an enthusiasm scale and paid people based on how their voice registered on it.

  Diya smiled at the thought and skipped down the last few steps only to collide with a warm body – Ronnie with a towel draped around his waist. His body was still wet, warm, and fragrant from the bath. A faint aroma of lavender soap hung around him.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Ronnie stammered and tried to pass by her.

  Diya wanted to look away but couldn’t help sneaking a peek at Ronnie’s muscled arms and bare chest plastered with wet hair. Droplets of water from his body clung to her cheeks where her skin had met his.

  Diya moved left, and Ronnie moved to the same side; they moved as if in a pantomime until Ronnie placed his hands on Diya’s shoulders and stopped her.

  A jolt of heady current ran through Ronnie’s wet body, up Diya’s arms and through her body. Diya’s smile froze as she felt Ronnie tremble. He snatched back his hands and escaped, leaving Diya rooted to the spot.

  ‘Diya …’ Shelby’s voice released her from the magnetic spell.

  ‘Coming!’ her husky voice was unrecognizable even to her ear.

  ‘I started studying today,’ she told Ronnie that afternoon.

  ‘I am glad. I had better start too. My exams are only two months away.’

  ‘I can wake you up early if you want,’ she teased.

  ‘Oh!’ His voice was husky.

  Ronnie held her hand and a pleasant warmth spread through Diya’s body. She entwined her fingers through his and moved closer, his fingers tightened in response.

  They meandered back to the house in silence, afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell. When the house came in sight, they moved apart and reluctantly let go of each other’s hands.

  DEATH MAKES A COMEBACK

  ‘D

  iya, Ronnie!’

  Rini was standing at the gate.

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘What are you doing here? Why are you not in school?’ Ronnie countered.

  ‘Do you remember that girl from my school?’

  ‘Which girl?’

  ‘The one who went missing.’

  Rini’s lips trembled.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Diya asked.

  ‘She is dead,’ Rini said.

  The news was like a cold shower on the newly-lit embers of hope that had flickered to life in Diya’s heart.

  ‘How did it happen?’ Ronnie asked.

  ‘They didn’t tell us.’

  ‘It’s on television,’ Shelby said.

  Reporter: ‘News of the terrible crime has rocked the small community. Schools and colleges have been closed for the day to ensure the safety of students.’

  Police Commissioner: ‘This is a peaceful community; crimes like these have never happened here before. We have formed a task force to investigate the girl’s death.’

  Reporter: ‘Sir, is there any link between the death of this girl and the girl who has gone missing from Tulips International Boarding School?’

  Police Commissioner: ‘It is highly premature to link these cases. At this time, we have no evidence supporting such a theory. A task force has been created to investigate the other young girl’s disappearance.’

  Reporter: ‘How are you ensuring the safety of students? How long will the schools remain closed?’

  Police Commissioner: ‘Everyone’s
safety is of utmost importance to us, be it students or anyone else. We will do everything to find the criminals responsible.’

  ‘Who has disappeared?’ Diya asked.

  ‘A girl from one of the boarding schools.’

  ‘But I thought you said the girl from your school was …’ She couldn’t say dead.

  ‘Yes, she is dead. And another girl from a nearby boarding school is missing,’ Mary said.

  ‘How did it happen? The boarding school students don’t usually come to town alone,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘Yesterday she came with her class to watch the golf tournament. When they were leaving, they realized she was not with the group. While the police were searching for her near the area where she disappeared, they found the other girl’s body in an abandoned house behind the golf course.’

  Diya’s throat felt dry as she remembered another house and another dead body.

  The pall of gloom that had just begun to lift descended once again. All schools were closed so Mary, Shelby, and Rini were home.

  Mary and Diya tried to keep Rini and Shelby’s spirits up. They played board games and told stories. Mary recruited the three girls to make chocolates. Albert forbade them to switch on the television except at night for news.

  Schools reopened after two days. Diya had gotten used to having Mary, Rini and Shelby at home, so now the thought of staying alone in the empty house terrified Diya. The other option meant going back to Sunny’s home and the scene of Zorro and Mrs Bhat’s murders.

  Albert drove Mary and the girls to school in the family car. While Ronnie and George were getting ready for college, Diya decided to read the newspapers. She went to her favourite spot in the living room, an armchair near the window from which sunlight flooded the room. Unlike the room, the news was gloomy. Stories about the missing and dead girls dominated the local newspapers. Diya skipped the local news and opened the world section.

  ‘I am running a fever; I think I will skip college today,’ Ronnie moaned.

  ‘I think you have a running fever. You ran for an hour today,’ George commented.

  ‘Just for today,’ Ronnie pleaded.

  ‘You better cool down,’ George warned as he left for college.

  Diya pretended not to hear their conversation and retreated further behind the shield of the newspaper.

  Ronnie pretended to study while the maid was in the house.

  ‘Are you reading these newspapers?’ the maid asked.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to spread them all over the floor,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘I am tired of looking at papers and TV. They are only worried about these girls because they are rich. Is anyone bothered about the poor girls?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Ronnie asked, puzzled.

  ‘There are many other girls who are missing, so why are they only talking about these two girls?’

  ‘Why is this not mentioned in any of the newspapers?’ said Ronnie.

  ‘Exactly, because all of them are poor.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Diya asked.

  ‘My cousin has been missing for six months; one of our neighbours is missing for two years. There are many others. In my village alone, four girls are missing,’ said the maid.

  ‘What do the police say? Why is no one talking about them?’ Diya was aghast.

  ‘The police say that my cousin was of loose character and must have run away with someone. Many people don’t even go to the police. It’s a stigma if people think that the girl has run away. It becomes a problem for the rest of the family. My mother has broken all contact with her sister since my cousin ran away, else who will marry me? Some people just pretend that the girls went away to work in town.’

  Chhaak! Chhaak! Chhaak! The stack of glittery glass bangles around the girl’s wrists jangled in agitation as she swept the room.

  ‘You think those girls’ disappearance is related to these two girls?’ Ronnie asked.

  ‘That’s what everyone in my village is saying. They say the beast has woken up and is roaming the mountains once again.’

  ‘What beast? A leopard, you mean?’ Ronnie said.

  ‘No…’ the girl hesitated. ‘You will think it’s all just superstitious talk of illiterate people.’

  ‘No, we won’t,’ Ronnie assured her.

  ‘There are things in these mountains that are beyond reason. Everyone is saying that there is this monster that preys on young girls. He tricks you into trusting him, then takes you to a lonely place and kills you.’

  ‘What is the monster called?’ Diya’s heart was in her mouth.

  ‘Chakwa!’ the girl whispered.

  A shiver of terror ran through Diya’s heart like a sabre. Was there a common element to all these incidents?

  DISPELLING THE MYTH

  ‘I

  am outraged that such a barbaric crime has happened in our peaceful corner of the world,’ Albert proclaimed.

  ‘Why do you call it barbaric?’ Diya asked.

  ‘My dear, the dismemberment of a human being, dead or alive, is nothing short of barbaric. There is also evidence that the poor child’s flesh was eaten. What sane person would commit such a heinous deed?’

  ‘But the newspapers did not report this,’ Mary said.

  ‘They don’t want people to panic. Everyone is worried that this will impact tourism. If the details get out, no one will come here; the economy of the whole state will collapse!’

  ‘Even Mrs Bhat’s body was eaten and the newspapers did not report it,’ Rini said.

  ‘Who told you?’ Mary asked.

  ‘I overheard Daddy and Ronnie one night.’

  The family sat in shocked silence in the wake of the revelations.

  ‘Is it true, Ronnie?’ Diya’s voice sounded unusually shrill in the sudden silence.

  Heedless of the family, Ronnie went and sat next to Diya and held her hand.

  ‘Yes,’ Ronnie finally admitted. ‘We didn’t want to upset you.’

  Diya returned the pressure of his fingers in silent gratitude.

  ‘You think the girl was killed by a human?’ Diya asked.

  She wanted to believe that if not an animal, at least a human was responsible, anything but the irrational superstition of the Chakwa.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ Albert said.

  The rumours she had heard from the maid that morning, combined with that footprint under her window, and the ones imprinted on the snow back home had thrown her off course.

  A glimmer of hope shone through once again as Diya listened to Albert’s measured academic examination of the two deaths.

  ‘And you don’t think an animal killed Mrs Bhat and Zorro?’

  ‘Pah! There are no big predators other than leopards and the rare tiger in this part of the country. Moreover, an animal would not waste its kill.’

  Diya was horrified at the thought of a human chomping down on the poor girl’s and Mrs Bhat’s remains.

  ‘There are rumours that it was a ritual sacrifice, even witchcraft, but nonsense I say. I am sure a bunch of psychopathic killers is responsible for this, and even as we speak, they are roaming these mountains planning their next killings.’

  ‘Uncle Albert, what about the Chakwa? Could it be responsible?’ Diya asked.

  ‘What? What did you say, my dear?’ Albert said.

  ‘Do you think that the Chakwa might be responsible for the killings?’

  ‘Who told you about the Chakwa?’

  ‘Some people were talking.’

  ‘These are nothing but superstitious tales of the mountain people. I say, a human is responsible for this; you will see, the truth will come out.’

  Albert flopped into a chair.

  ‘What is a Chakwa?’ Mary asked.

  ‘It’s just a myth of the mountains; the Chakwa does not exist,’ Albert reasserted.

  ‘But what is it?’ Mary persisted.

  ‘It’s getting late, Mary. I think the kids should be in bed. Let the police investigate the cases.
Our speculations are not going to help them find the truth.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to talk about the Chakwa?’ Rini asked. ‘I asked Daddy about it the other day, and like you, he too changed the topic. If it’s just an old superstition, why are you afraid to talk about it?’

  ‘Well, I mean …’ Albert trailed off.

  ‘When I was young, my father told me an incident. At that time, I thought it was just a story. He said it happened a few weeks after my father and Uncle Sunny turned ten,’ Diya said. She repeated the story of the mystery around the blue bungalow, Mrs Mishra’s overnight disappearance, and the footprints that led to the discovery of her body in the abandoned house.

  ‘How horrible!’ Rini said. ‘Poor Uncle Manu and Daddy.’

  ‘You think the Chakwa killed the girl and Mrs Bhat?’ George asked.

  ‘I don’t know, George. Chakwa or human, I am afraid that I was the real target and Mrs Bhat and Zorro merely came in the way,’ Diya said.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Ronnie scolded.

  She gave him a wane smile.

  ‘Why else are the same footprints dogging me everywhere? Have you forgotten the bloody footprint on my shirt and on the wall?’

  ‘We don’t really know that it was a footprint. It could just have been a blood stain, or as Uncle Albert is saying, maybe a couple of psychos were responsible for the deaths. And who can guess their motive?’

  ‘It was the same footprint.’

  ‘We all make mistakes; it is not advisable to read too much into coincidences.’

  ‘It was same as which footprint?’ George asked. Diya told them about the night the intruder came into the house and the odd footprints found in the snow next day.

  ‘That’s why I think the Chakwa was responsible for my parents’ death and now it’s following me. I think it wants to kill me as revenge for my father’s actions that day for discovering its hideout.’

  ‘You are a brave girl, Diya,’ Mary said. ‘But I have never heard of the Chakwa and I would be surprised if it is anything more than folklore. Do you really believe in ghosts and monsters?’

  ‘No, I don’t. That’s why it’s so hard, but when death is stalking me and leaving the same familiar mark, what else can I think?’