by Faraaz Kazi
Mrs. Bajaj said, taking Ajit's hand with her left while blocking a yawn with the right.
The door of the children's room was wide open when she walked in with her son in tow to notice her daughter sitting up on the bed surrounded by the dolls in her toy collection.
“Ayushee, why are you up at this time of the night?” she admonished in the most stern voice she could come up with in her sleep deprived state.
“Ssshhh, mamma. Smita and I are playing 'house-house' with the dolls,” Ayushee said in a low-voice, placing a finger on her lips. “Smita? Now you have started naming your dolls?” Mrs. Bajaj asked in the same stern manner.
“No mamma, Smita is my friend. She stays with us in our house. Actually, it's their house, she says but never mind, she is willing to share. You know she doesn't have any friends and I'm already her best friend, she says,” Ayushee said looking towards her left.
“Hey Smita, don't pull the hands of that doll, my papa gave that to me… I want you to meet my mamma. Mamma, say 'hi' to Smita,” Ayushee grinned looking at her mother.
Mrs. Bajaj felt a chilly sensation grip her stomach, the little follicles of hair on her unwaxed hands standing up.
“Ayushee, what…?” she tried to say, her legs shivering for some reason she could not fathom.
“Mamma, Smita's gone. She said that she would come to play with me later. She is angry with you for disturbing us. I was not feeling sleepy and you shouldn't have scolded me in front of her,” Ayushee said, the annoyance back in her voice.
“Ayushee…” Mrs. Bajaj had just begun to frame something in the back of the mind when her daughter kicked the dolls off the bed and stretched her body.
“Goodnight mamma,” Ayushee wished, before switching off the bedside lamp.
Before Mrs. Bajaj could gather her thoughts, she could hear the light snoring coming from her daughter's nostrils. She silently tucked a sleepy Ajit into bed and walked to her bedroom.
“What was it?” her husband mumbled in his sleep as she shut the bedroom door.
“What a wild imagination your daughter has! She's naming her dolls, playing with them in the middle of the night,” Mrs. Bajaj said, shaking her head.
“She must be missing her friends. Once her school here starts, she'll get along well with the girls,” Mr. Bajaj said, turning in his sleep.
“Now switch off the lights and shut your eyes,” he added after a shortwhile.
The next morning while Mrs. Bajaj was bathing Ajit in the bathroom downstairs, the child was extremely silent for someone who chattered constantly.
“Ajit, are you feeling unwell?” Mrs. Bajaj asked to which the boy shook his head, eyes opened wide, staring behind her.
“Why are you so silent? And what are you staring behind me again and again…” she turned back to notice the door ajar. The soap dropped from her hands, sinking in the bucket of water at her feet. She was very sure she had locked the door from the inside.
The evening before the day Ayushee was scheduled to attend her first day in school, Mrs. Bajaj called out for her as dinner time neared. While rushing through the corridor upstairs to reprimand her daughter for not responding to her calls, she heard a distant tinkle of laughter. She immediately retraced her steps and peered out of the window in the corridor, overlooking the garden. There she could see her daughter, hands crossed, body arched back yet not falling down almost as if someone was holding her as she whirled around enjoying the merry-go-round exercise.
Mrs. Bajaj rushed downstairs, holding the fold of her sari between her nervous fingers.
“Ayushee, Ayushee,” she called, as she stepped on the lawn. But there was no trace of her daughter where she had seen her playing just moments back.
She ventured towards the climbing darkness. A few meters ahead, she heard a faint giggle. Ayushee! She could recognize her daughter's laughter even in her sleep. And then she cringed, hearing another giggle, slightly hoarse and raucous as if someone had choked the windpipe of the person that voice belonged to. She crept warily towards the banyan tree.
“Ayushee!” Mrs. Bajaj shouted, noticing her daughter whispering words to the wind.
Immediately, her daughter stood up and stared at her.
“Sorry mamma, Smita said you're coming and it would be fun to hide,” Ayushee said, shifting her gaze to the left near the banyan tree.
“Ayushee, I've had enough of this whole Smita thing. To the house, right now!” Mrs. Bajaj scolded, feeling the anger rise in her brain.
“But mamma, Smita doesn't like it when you shout on me and don't allow us to play together,” Ayushee protested feebly. “Now!” Mrs. Bajaj said, her finger pointing towards the direction of their house.
Ayushee rushed towards the bungalow, a hand covering her sobs. Her mother monitored her steps, watching her slam the main door behind her and then she turned to look at the banyan tree. It stood, tall and mighty stamping its authority all around its presence. Its round leaves rustled in the evening wind and its sturdy branches seemed like multiple hands, outstretched as if it was flexing its muscles. Long brown vines fell from its bark and branches surrounding it with a diabolical aura. Mrs. Bajaj shivered in the cold, feeling the fierce eye of the tree overtake her.
She brushed away the matter as a passing negative thought and started walking towards the house. Twice she turned, hearing faint sounds of little footsteps following her, crunching the dead leaves of the banyan lying on the ground. She could only feel the wind behind and the gaze of the banyan penetrating into her back. Inside the house, she checked whether Ayushee had finished her meals and drank the glass of milk and made sure both the kids had retired to their beds. Lying on her own that night, she considered sharing her doubts with the person sharing her bed.
The next morning Mrs. Bajaj packed off an anxious Ayushee to her new school and then started cleaning the house with the new domestic help, who seemed to eye the corners of the house in such a manner that it seemed to Mrs. Bajaj as if she was almost expecting someone to jump on her any moment. It had been difficult to obtain a maid but Mr. Shirke had somehow arranged for this middle-aged Marathi speaking woman who did not seem too excited at the prospect. Mrs. Bajaj was dusting the walls when a voice made her jump out of her skin.
“ Memsahab, don't allow baby and baba to venture in the garden, especially after dark,” the maid whispered.
“Huh? Wh… Why do you say that?” she stammered.
“It's not a good place,” the maid replied looking around and soon left for her home.
Mrs. Bajaj pondered over the strange statement and the somewhat weird behavior of her daughter since the last few days.
Ajit was watching television in the living room when she stepped into the kitchen to prepare a meal. She could easily keep an eye on her son through the kitchen as it was almost opposite to where he was resting.
Mrs. Bajaj's wandering thoughts were broken by voices coming from the living room. She left the mixer grinder on and walked towards the kitchen entrance. She could hear her son talking in soft murmurs even as the television kept playing scenes from a 'Tom and Jerry' episode. She tiptoed silently from behind, trying to catch a glimpse of the couch on which her son was seated.
“… don't know when she'll be coming back, I swear,” Ajit was saying softly, his eyes turned away from the television screen, focused towards his left.
Mrs. Bajaj couldn't see anyone sitting there but through the corner of the eye, she saw the depression on the pillow parked on the couch. It seemed like someone invisible was occupying that place.
“Ajit!” Mrs. Bajaj shouted in a sudden response to that scene. The next instant, she saw the depression rise up and disappear completely. The pillow was whole and fluffy again.
“Come… come with me to the kitchen now,” Mrs. Bajaj ordered.
“Why mamma? I'm watching TV,” the little boy answered.
The Other Side
229
“Mamma needs some help with the cooking. Please come,” Mrs. Bajaj req
uested, her tone mellowing down but the anxiety in her voice, increasing. The obedient son, that he was, Ajit got up and walked towards her.
“Whom were you talking to just now?” Mrs. Bajaj asked drooping down to her son's level.
“Didi'sfriend, Smita,” Ajit replied, eyes not blinking. “Mamma will be very angry if you make up stories, Ajit,” Mrs. Bajaj threatened.
“I'm not lying. She wanted to know where didi was and when she would be back. She got angry when I said I don't know. I feel scared of her, mamma,” Ajit said, rushing to wrap his mother in his little arms.
“Your didi has been stuffing your brain with lies.,” she said, patting his back lightly. Mrs. Bajaj shivered slightly. No doubt, Ayushee's antics had started affecting her little brother.
The loud sound of the grinder's motor made her stand up and rush towards the kitchen. As soon as she pushed open the kitchen door, the heavy lid over the motor came off with a pop and flew in her direction. She hardly had any time to duck the whirling sharp circular metal as it narrowly missed her head and crashed into the door.
Mrs. Bajaj couldn't move her profusely sweating body. She almost fainted imagining what would have happened if she had not ducked.
When she informed her husband about the incident on his return from work, he raised his voice rather than sympathizing with her. He would just not listen when she was trying to explain the reason of her rushing out from the kitchen.
“Anything could have happened, Pooja. What if Ajit had come into the kitchen with you and the lid had flown towards him?” Mr. Bajaj asked, clearly infuriated. She shivered at the possibility.
“I don't want to hear anything. From tomorrow, ask Kanta to stay here itself and take a weekly off. We'll pay her twice her current wages,” Mr. Bajaj continued.
“B…but we're already paying her an outrageous amount for agreeing to work here,” Mrs. Bajaj tried to say.
“No, please don't argue. This is the limit of carelessness, Pooja,” Mr. Bajaj rebuked.
Mrs. Bajaj saw to it that the kids had finished their meals. She had not allowed Ayushee to step out of the house, keeping a strict eye on her movements since her daughter had come home from school.
“So how was your first day at school, Ayushee?” Mrs. Bajaj asked when she went to collect the empty glass of milk in the kids' bedroom.
“Good,” Ayushee said and pulled on the covers.
Packing off a sullied Ayushee to school soon became an integral part of Mrs. Bajaj's routine. A week later when she had just laid out the dishes on the table, she left the dining room to call Kantabai to help her in getting additional bowls. Two minutes later when she returned, Kantabai in tow with the bowls in her hands, a fowl stench hit their nostrils. It got worse as they neared the dining table and Kantabai covered her nose with the drape of her sari while Mrs. Bajaj used her palm.
The Other Side
231 “Memsahab, the food has gone stale. I can see worms crawling in the gravy,” Kantabai said.
“It is fresh. I just cooked it. How can it go stale?” Mrs. Bajaj said and placed a hand over the bowl of rice.
“Oh no,” she said and checked the curry and the pulses in the same manner.
“What is it, memsahab?” Kantabai asked, seeing the nervous look on her face.
“It was boiling hot just sometime back. I used a cloth to hold the bowls from the sides and now…” Mrs. Bajaj tried to say. “… It's as cold as ice,” Kantabai finished, placing her hand on the rice bowl.
“Don't worry memsahab. You take rest. I'll get something for the three of us from outside,” she added, trying to calm down Mrs. Bajaj.
In her heart, Kanta was just waiting to burst out of the house. On her way to the door, she remembered how last evening she had shouted at Ayushee for not keeping her room clean, making her mop it up daily. The girl had stood up and glared at her balefully. She had vividly seen her eyes change colour as she stared into her. She had screamed, dropped the broom and ran out to bump into a worried Mrs. Bajaj.
“What happened, Kanta? Why did you scream?” her memsahabhad asked.
“No… nothing. Lizard.” she had managed to say, not knowing how to explain what she had seen.
Mrs. Bajaj would call her stupid whenever she heard her chanting the Hanuman chalisa while cleaning the corners of the house. She knew she had not been called stupid for chanting it but for being naïve enough to believe in something that she had been trying to make her memsahabunderstand.
She would see shadows following her whenever she used to go upstairs. Once she could swear she had seen the table move on its own in the kids' room. And more than once, she had seen babyji whispering to the air around her and then breaking into giggles. Kanta would cringe every time Ayushee passed her. She could feel an extra pair of eyes boring into her back and she could hear an extra pair of feet tip-toeing into the house behind her memsahab's daughter.
She had been skeptical about taking up work in this house even though the pay was great. She was not keen to do a full-time job in that house but she needed the money for her younger daughter's marriage. At night, she had contemplated leaving the house abruptly but her consideration towards the memsahab had argued, urging her to help. And today, the meals went stale just like that in a matter of minutes. It was the work of the devil. There was no questioning that, she knew. She confirmed her decision of not coming back to this place ever again and walked on the lawn. Something bad was about to happen to the Bajaj family, she could sense it. She would call in sick from home later on and never ever return.
She was thinking about the entire scenario when she passed the banyan tree, treading the narrow path that would take her straight out of the woods and onto the road outside from where she could walk to her humble quarters half a mile away. She had hardly gone two paces ahead of the giant tree when a faint rustle of dead leaves alerted her. It sounded like someone had crunched them lightly
The Other Side
233
beneath their little feet. She turned around feeling frightened to look over her shoulder. A sudden gust of wind blew in her face; dust entering her eyes as a strong flowery fragrance clouded her senses.
Kanta quickened her pace, almost breaking into a jog, panting as she went ahead rubbing her eyes to see as much as she could of the jungle path ahead. She tried to keep up with her rapidly pacing heart and in the process failed to notice a cluster of rocks lying ahead. She crashed to the ground, letting out a painful cry. She clutched her ankle with both hands, taking away the attention from her still hazy eyes. She tried to stand up twice but fell down both times, unable to bear the pain.
“Kanta,” a voice sounded in her ears. It was more of a whisper yet it seemed to echo around the woods. Kanta whimpered, trying to remember the lines from the Hanuman chalisa hearing that croaky voice. She squinted hard, looking around wondering where it came from.
And just a few yards away, she could see a little girl walking towards her, a bunch of flowers tied to her bouncing hair, the banyan tree touching the skies in the background. As she came near, Kanta could not control her body from trembling much like the dead leaves in the wind. She could not help noticing the red rope marks around her little neck as she joined her hands in prayer, trying to mutter words with sweaty lips. The last thing that Kanta remembered were the girl's eyes focusing on her. They seemed as dark as the sky on a moonless night.
Four hours later, a frantic Mrs. Bajaj was trying to get through her husband's number. She finally found him on his office number.
“Come home now, please,” she said between sobs.
“What happened?” he asked in an urgent manner.
“Kanta… Kantabai…”
“Yes, what happened to her?”
“Some locals found her dead body in the woods…” “What?”
“She had gone to order some food and…” Mrs. Bajaj started wailing.
“Calm down, Pooja. I'll be on my way. Is Ajit with you?” Mr. Bajaj asked.
“Y… yes.
Collect Ayushee from school,” she said, before disconnecting the call.
She sat in a corner of the hall, silently sobbing and thinking about everything that had transpired from the time they had arrived here.
“Mamma!” her thoughts were broken by Ajit's voice from the kids' bedroom. She immediately rushed upstairs where she had put him to sleep. She forced open the door and jumped back, horrified. Ajit was bobbing up and down on the bed defying all theories of gravity, his horizontally lying body bouncing up and down on the bed covering a distance almost up to the ceiling of the room, his head twisting from left to right.
“Mamma, help. Please make her stop,” the little boy screamed on seeing his mother rush in through the corner of his eye.
Mrs. Bajaj ran towards her son and with all the energy left in her body, she pulled him down holding onto his waist. In a state of aggravated shock, she carried him in her arms out of the room. Ajit was crying loudly and Mrs. Bajaj was too stunned by what she had witnessed to console him.
“What was happening?” she finally asked, hugging him to her bosom.
“Didi's friend hit me, mamma,” the little boy answered, pointing to his cheeks. And sure enough, Mrs. Bajaj could make out the indisputable mark of fingerprints.
“Wh… Why?” she stumbled.
“She wanted didi. I told her I don't know when she'll be coming from school and she started slapping me. It hurt, mamma,” Ajit said, rubbing away his tears.
Mrs. Bajaj wiped the sweat of her forehead and leaned in closer to her son.
“Do you see her with didi often?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“Every night she used to come to our room and they used to sit together, chatting and playing. But since didistarted going out, she doesn't talk and play much. She gets tired, she tells her. So she gets angry and fights with didi,” Ajit narrated.
“C… can you see her?” Mrs. Bajaj asked in a dry voice.
Ajit nodded slowly.