The Trickster

by Vinaya Bhagat

  He scanned her face, searching for the girl he had loved, the one whose dreams still made his heart race at night and whose death stalked his nightmares.

  ‘But why are we talking of such morbid subjects when we should be talking of having fun? Go to the fair, you will enjoy it. Ask the goddess to protect you from evil.’

  Why would Arun think she needed protection?

  ‘Arun, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Sure, my child, ask me anything.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of a creature called Chakwa?’

  ‘The bane of my childhood …’ Arun laughed. ‘Of course, my dear, I am sure everyone from my generation who grew up in the mountains knew about the Chakwa. It was one of the most famous ogres of our times.’

  ‘Were you scared of it?’

  ‘I was terrified of it. There was a time when I would not look at anyone’s face before making sure his or her feet were pointing towards me.’

  ‘Is it true that it can take any form it wanted, even the form of someone who is dead?’

  ‘Well, it’s been a long time since I thought about that childhood monster, but we were told that the Chakwa could take any form, animal or human. That once it had killed you, it would take your form and lure away your loved ones, mostly grief-stricken parents or children who would follow those they loved. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It all started one night after my parents were killed …’

  She told him the story.

  ‘I think it killed my parents and now it’s stalking me.’

  ‘These could just be coincidences.’

  ‘Last night I saw someone. I don’t know if it was a man or a woman. It had curly hair and a deformed face, and it was standing outside my window. At first, I thought it was my reflection but then it moved …’

  ‘Disturbing. Very disturbing. We must investigate this further.’

  ‘So do you believe that the Chakwa exists?’

  ‘I once did but I was ten at the time. I think it is only a metaphor for evil; the real evil lies within each one of us. My advice to you is to be watchful. There is more wickedness in the living than the dead.’

  In the stark light of the day, her mind echoed his sanity, but fear still refused to relinquish its grip on her heart.

  A GRANDFATHER'S PROMISE

  ‘D

  iya, what a pleasant surprise!’ Professor Mishra beamed. ‘Sunny said you were staying with your mother’s family.’

  ‘I am staying with them, but how can I miss the opportunity to meet you?’ Diya’s eyes welled up.

  ‘Diya, what is wrong? Please don’t cry. I cannot bear tears in your eyes!’ Professor Mishra leaned over and held Diya’s soft hand within the security of his rough palms.

  Diya felt like a child in the presence of her grandfather. All her fears and agony tumbled out in a flood of words. She was probably not making any sense but her grandfather did not stop her. He listened to her patiently, and asked a few questions.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ she confessed.

  The force of her confession took her by surprise. After her parents’ death, she had just wanted to curl up in a corner and die. She had pretended that she did not care to be alive and lonely. The will to live must have always been there, buried under her grief.

  ‘You are not going to die.’ Her grandfather’s voice was soothing. ‘I will not allow anyone to harm you.’

  The soothing rumble of his voice gained power, like furious waves pounding the coast.

  ‘All these incidents are deeply disturbing. They could be coincidence or it must be someone or something with bad intentions towards you. But we all carry the risk of death. You can get hit by a truck while crossing the road, eat something, or be unfortunate enough to have a loved one who turns against you. The risk always exists. Death is always waiting around the corner, ready to ambush you.’

  ‘I know …’

  ‘Just because death is the final destination, it does not mean you should be afraid of it and cower in a corner waiting for it to strike. Don’t let it suck the joy out of your life. Make every day of your life count. Enjoy simple pleasures. Achieve something. Fall in love! Live your life!’ Diya’s grandfather got up and hugged her.

  There was a comfort and surprising strength in his embrace. Diya clung to her grandfather, feeling his warmth and listening to the metronomic beat of his heart.

  ‘You are right, Baba,’ Diya said.

  A smile crinkled her grandfather’s eyes and Diya couldn’t help smiling. This was the first time she had called him Baba – an acknowledgment of their relation as grandfather and granddaughter.

  ‘No matter what happens, I am not going to allow the fear of death to rob me of life,’ Diya promised.

  ‘That’s my girl, be brave!’

  They looked at each other for a long time and smiled, connected by the thread of love and loved ones they had lost, taking comfort in the fact that both of them were alive.

  ‘And this Gowrish thinks the Chakwa is out to get you?’

  ‘No, actually Gowrish says the Chakwa is all nonsense and that I should not pay any attention to such superstitious things.’

  ‘Sound advice, in my opinion.’

  ‘OK, I must leave now. I promised Ronnie I will come home today.’

  ‘When will I see you again?’

  ‘Next Saturday.’

  Her grandfather was incarcerated but his desire to protect her was comforting. There was nothing he could do. She doubted that anyone could come to her aid if the Chakwa really did exist and decided to kill her. But the thought that there was someone in her corner, unconditionally and without any stake in her, other than love, comforted Diya.

  ‘Akka.’

  Diya turned at the familiar voice. Sona was standing near a table behind her. A man sat in a corner; when she looked at him, he retreated farther into the shadows.

  ‘Akka, what are you doing here?’

  ‘What are you doing here Sona?’

  ‘I came to see my father.’

  Diya had forgotten that Sona’s father was in prison.

  ‘I heard you are going away to America today. I am glad I met you before you left.’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘I just heard someone say that,’ the girl hesitated.

  ‘I am going back now; I hope you can come before nightfall.’

  ‘Ok,’ Sona promised, and went back to the dark corner, to her father.

  The only reason she had to go back to the coffee estate was to get a definitive answer from Gowrish about the Chakwa. If her guess was right and Dolly was the daughter of her great grandfather’s French mistress, she too must know how to stay safe from the Chakwa. If Dolly could help, she had no reason to return to that lonely estate. Ronnie had promised to visit Dolly that day; she could wait for him there and go home with him.

  ENCOUNTERS WITH THE DEAD

  ‘S

  t Ursula’s school,’ she told the rickshaw driver.

  Diya rang the bell, but no one opened the door. She waited and rang again.

  She had almost given up when Dolly opened the door and peered at her myopically.

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ Dolly smiled. ‘That day, you left so abruptly.’

  The old woman beckoned her inside.

  Dolly was dressed in a shimmery green gown that hung on her frail frame. The gown was beautiful and well maintained but it stank. Dolly must have generously spritzed herself with perfume, but even that could not mask the stale rotting smell that followed her. Maybe something had died in the closet where the gown hung and had permeated the beautiful fabric with the smell of deathly decay. Even from a distance, the smell was potent. How could Dolly wear the smelly gown? Maybe the smell of her old glory was stronger than the stench.

  An emerald necklace hung around Dolly’s wrinkled neck while matching heavy earrings stretched her lobes, and heavy rings sparkled on her arthritis-twisted fingers.

  ‘Is everything all right between
you and your young man?’

  ‘He is not my young man,’ Diya protested.

  ‘You all say the same thing. Let me tell you, life is too short to play games. When you find the right man, you should not let him go, however ugly he may look.’

  Dolly cackled so hard that tears ran down her cheeks, zig-zagging through the wrinkled crevices of her face.

  Diya was afraid the force of laughter would kill the frail old woman, but Dolly seemed more resilient than the last time she had visited. There was even a twinkle in her faded blue eyes, a spark behind the cracked, age-ravaged face.

  ‘Did my young man come and visit you today?’ Diya asked.

  ‘Did he?’ Dolly turned her face and smiled coquettishly.

  ‘I go through all the trouble of dressing for my visitors and they never show up. The worst part is that they don’t even inform me that they are cancelling.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Diya said.

  ‘And you should be sorry; serves you right for trusting that treacherous boy. Didn’t I always say that he was a bad one? Why did you trust him?’

  Diya had no idea what Dolly was talking about. Who was the boy she was not supposed to trust? Was she talking about Ronnie?

  ‘Should I not trust my young man?’ Diya asked.

  ‘You should not trust any young man,’ Dolly cackled. ‘They all want the same thing, don’t they? Once you give away your flower, they lose interest in you.’

  ‘Yes, they do,’ Diya agreed, unsure if Dolly and she were talking about the same thing.

  A bitter smile twisted Dolly’s face, and tears gathered in her cloudy eyes. Dolly started speaking softly and despite trying hard, Diya could not understand what she was saying.

  ‘Was my young man here today?’ Diya asked again.

  Dolly took no notice of her but continued with her murmured monologue.

  ‘Dolly,’ Diya called but Dolly was in her own world.

  Her wrinkled arms moved in animation and she seemed to be arguing with an invisible interlocutor.

  Diya felt uneasy in the dim house alone with the old woman. There was no sign of the chirpy young maid; what if Dolly had another meltdown?

  ‘I must be going,’ Diya said, raising her voice.

  ‘You must wait for your young man. He said he will come.’

  Diya was taken aback by Dolly’s immediate response. She tried to steal a glance at the old woman’s feet, but they were hidden under the voluminous skirt of her gown.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ Diya said.

  ‘Don’t worry, he will come. He was worried about you. He said he did not know where you went.’

  Ronnie must have tried to reach her; she had not told anyone about her plan. Diya felt around in her backpack for her phone, but could not find it.

  Brriinnggg! Brriinnggg!

  The jarring ring of a telephone startled her.

  ‘Oh, I think it must be him.’

  Dolly shuffled towards a doorway that led into the dark house.

  She once again tried to catch a glimpse of Dolly’s feet but the folds of the gown trailed behind the old woman, as if the garment belonged to someone taller or Dolly had shrunk in her old age.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  Diya heard the murmur of Dolly’s soft voice punctuated by her girlish laughter.

  ‘Diya, come in. I have a surprise for you,’ Dolly trilled. ‘I know how you love surprises.’

  ‘Coming ...’ she responded.

  Diya had no intention of going into the dark house. She picked up her backpack and retreated through the still open front door. Maybe she was making a fool of herself by seeing the bugaboo at every turn, but she did not feel reckless enough to take chances.

  Once outside, Diya ducked into the first side-alley and kept weaving through the narrow lanes between houses, unheeding of where she was going; only making sure she could see light.

  Only after she was satisfied that she had put sufficient distance between herself and the house with its strange inhabitant did she pause and search her bag again, but she still couldn’t find her phone.

  Diya walked on, unsure of what to do next. Maybe she could take a rickshaw and go to Uncle Sunny’s house. It wasn’t safe, but it was safer than wandering the streets.

  She started searching for familiar landmarks, but in the growing dark, everything seemed unfamiliar and menacing.

  Then she spotted the brick wall that surrounded the large group of buildings she had seen near the jail. Arun had dropped her on the main road adjoining the wall.

  Diya walked along the wall looking for the main road, but the road narrowed into a dark tunnel with trees on either side. She turned back in an attempt to find another path to the main road.

  Once again, she reached the same dark track that hugged the walls.

  There were no houses on this street and no one in sight. She wanted to run but was afraid of attracting attention.

  Diya walked steadily with the safe harbour of a distant streetlight as her goal. When she reached it, the harsh light of the lamp gave her little comfort and she felt vulnerable under its glare. It was unwise to make her presence known.

  She retreated into the shadows and searched for an escape route from the dark maze of side streets.

  She could no longer hear the muted sound of traffic or see the flickering glimpses of lights from houses. She couldn’t just stay where she was. She had to find the road or a place with people so she could get help.

  Diya kept in the shadows and walked softly, willing her rasping breath to slow down.

  As the trombone of her heart slowed and grew quieter, she became aware of another sound – a barely-audible rustling through the leaf-littered dusty road. At first, she thought she was mistaken, but the sound continued to grow steadily.

  Diya quickened her pace, wondering if she should risk a glance back and find out what or who was slithering behind her. Suddenly, the slithering stopped and turned to footsteps. Overcome with panic, Diya abandoned caution and broke into a run.

  The footsteps grew louder, as did the thumping of her heart. If she could reach the end of the road, maybe there would be people and safety.

  Diya ran through the empty street towards the faint glimmer of a distant light. By the time she reached it, her heart ached and her muscles were on fire. She looked around for help but only disappointment lay in store for her. The glimmer of light turned out to be a yellow bulb dangling from a wire in a half-constructed building. Diya turned around and dove down a side path.

  The terror of the Chakwa had made her forget about other kinds of dangers that a lone girl could face on a dark uninhabited street. Diya shuddered as she remembered the girl from Rini’s school whose mutilated dead body was found in an abandoned building.

  Quite by accident, Diya stumbled upon the main road. The long dark road stretched on both sides like a sea of shadows. The dingy yellow islands of light under the occasional street lamps made the shadows gape like big black holes.

  A van zoomed past her and she slowed down. A few more vehicles passed by, and she felt relieved that the town was not as dead as she had feared.

  Diya retreated into the alley near a well-lit house. A cheerful babble of voices filtered from its interiors. Maybe she could ask them for help. The house looked friendly enough, but the thought of entering a strange house was terrifying.

  Once again, Diya cautiously approached the main road, searching for an auto rickshaw.

  A car went past, reversed and came to a halt in front of her.

  Diya was ready to take flight when she recognized the driver; she almost cried with relief. Once again, he had come to her rescue.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I ...’

  ‘Get in the car, I’ll take you home.’

  Diya climbed into the car grateful to her rescuer.

  She glanced back at the dark alley. She could not see anyone but her senses still buzzed with primal fear.

  PROFESSOR MISHRA'S ESCAPEr />
  ‘Who is that girl?’ Sona’s father asked Professor Mishra.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ the old man was instantly suspicious.

  Ever since Diya’s visit, he was feeling uneasy; coincidence alone could not account for these many misfortunes.

  ‘I am just trying to help because she has been good to my daughter. I thought if you knew her, you could warn her that her life is in danger.’

  ‘She is my granddaughter. Why do you think she is in danger?’

  Professor Mishra listened intently as the man confided his suspicions.

  ‘And you think that whatever lives in those woods is out to kill my granddaughter?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not, who knows?’ the man stalled.

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ the old man pleaded.

  Sona’s father had seen the signs for many months now. At the time, they had not made sense, but in the last few weeks, he was sure that something sinister was roaming the estate. He believed that the dogs were more restive and ferocious than ever, as if they had smelled their prey.

  Today when his daughter recounted the events of the past few days, he had no doubt that the curly-haired girl’s life was in grave danger.

  ‘Thanks,’ Professor Mishra nodded and returned to the bath queue.

  After a bath, he went to the prison bakery where he worked three days a week. He had been working in the bakery for over a decade and was familiar not only with baking but also with the process of loading and unloading the loaves; he also knew the drivers. Many a time, he had wondered why the prison authorities did not realize what a perfect escape path the bakery van provided. Not that he ever wanted to escape; imprisonment wasn’t enough to atone for his crime, but at least it was penance.

  Professor Mishra shook his head; this was no time to think about the past. Diya was in danger and he had to act quickly.

  He pushed his way through the queue to find a spot near his cellmate.

  ‘What’s eating you?’ his friend asked as they loaded the loaves on trays and put them in the oven.