by Faraaz Kazi
“Is… is she here now?”
Slowly, Ajit turned his head and looked towards the kitchen, staring at it for just a trifle bit longer.
“What do you want?” Mrs. Bajaj shouted getting on her feet, taking Ajit in her arms.
“Why the hell are you troubling us?” she asked the walls where Ajit was staring.
“Why don't you just go away from here and leave us in peace?” she shouted again, feeling Ajit squirm in her arms.
At that instant, the kitchen door banged shut with a loud thud, making her jump back. The very next second, the door bell rang, startling her. She rushed towards the door and peeped in through the door hole. There was no one outside. Clutching her throbbing head, she waked back when the doorbell rang again. Twice. She asked Ajit to stay close to her and walked slowly towards the door again. She opened the door warily, almost expecting someone to jump on her only to find her tired husband standing there with their daughter who was adjusting her shoelaces. They stepped inside and Mr. Bajaj was about to say something when upon witnessing the state his wife was in, he placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.
“Ayushee, go to your room and take your brother along,” Mr. Bajaj said.
“No!” Mrs. Bajaj shouted. “They'll be here with us.”
“Why?” Mr. Bajaj asked surprised.
“I'll explain later,” she replied, looking towards the kitchen again.
Her husband merely shrugged.
“I had gone to the hospital to see her body. The doctors say the locals found her hanging from the banyan tree. The reports confirm it,” Mr. Bajaj said in a low tone so that only she could hear.
“No!” Mrs. Bajaj screamed.
“Pooja, don't shout. You'll scare the children. I met a police inspector there. He might come to record your statement or might call you to the station tomorrow. Just relax,” Mr. Bajaj said.
“We've to leave this house as soon as possible,” Mrs. Bajaj said in a dreamy-voice.
“Don't be ridiculous. The police will find out who did that to the poor woman,” Mr. Bajaj reasoned.
“It's not something the police can solve,” Mrs. Bajaj argued.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Bajaj asked with a frown.
“This house is haunted by the spirit of a girl that can harm our kids,” Mrs. Bajaj spoke fast.
“What the hell are you talking?” Mr. Bajaj shouted.
“I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes… no, not the girl but… Ajit, our Ajit was bobbing up and down the bed and some invisible force had been slapping him left and right. See, see the marks on his cheeks,” Mrs. Bajaj said, her body shaking again.
“Pooja, you have been hallucinating due to the shock of Kanta's death. Calm down. I assure you everything will be fine,” Mr. Bajaj promised.
“No, look… look!” Mrs. Bajaj said, taking her husband by his hands to the couch in the living room where Ajit was seated.
“Pooja, are you crazy? You did this to him?” Mr. Bajaj said, inspecting his son's skin.
“No! You think, I'll hit my own blood in that manner… Ajit, tell papa. Tell him, who did that to you,” Mrs. Bajaj turned to the little boy, a maniacal look on her face.
He simply stared at his mother in a state of shock.
“Tell him, tell him now!” Mrs. Bajaj shook him hard by the shoulder.
“Pooja!” Mr. Bajaj pulled her back.
She shrugged off his hold and ran towards Ayushee, who was standing meekly behind the couch looking at them fight it out.
“Ayushee, tell your papa. Tell him about your friend… your friend… what was her name? God, I forgot… Why don't you open your mouth now?” Mrs. Bajaj screamed in her daughter's face.
“Pooja, enough is enough!” Mr. Bajaj pulled her back again, this time in a rough way. “I won't have my kids being slapped around and their ears filled with cock and bull tales. You go to our room now! Tomorrow, I'll take you to the police station to record your statement. In the current scenario, it is best if the inspector doesn't see the madness in our house.”
Mrs. Bajaj turned away with tearful eyes and made her way to their room, silently praying that no calamity should strike her small family.
She skipped dinner and the hunger worsened her insomnia in the middle of the night as she lay on the bed, twisting and turning again. On an impulse, she walked towards the bedroom window, pulling back the curtains staring out into the backyard with empty eyes. She focused in on a figure moving silently towards the woods in the distance. Without thinking twice, she rushed towards the main door. Though they always locked it before going to bed, the door was wide open. The kids were too short of height to open the two latches above. She ran on the green lawn, her feet moving quickly.
“Ayushee,” she called out but the figure would not turn.
She quickened her pace, her breath engulfing her lungs and caught up with the figure. She placed a hand on her shoulder and the figure suddenly stopped in its tracks. Standing completely still, the figure rotated its head a full three sixty degree, the back still facing Mrs. Bajaj.
Mrs. Bajaj screamed, horrified and retraced her steps, not quite willing to witness the scene. She could not run away, her body frozen by the shock of seeing another face on the body of her daughter. It was the face of a little girl around the same age as her daughter. Red puncture marks surrounded her neck and her eyes were completely black minus the pupils inside.
“Go away from here,” her daughter said but the voice was not hers. It was hoarse, boiling with malevolence.
Mrs. Bajaj was jolted awake as the figure laughed in a devilish manner, its head spinning fast like a whirling top over her daughter's body. Mrs. Bajaj turned and ran as quickly as her shivering legs would allow. Her husband was snoring when she entered the room, drenched in sweat.
“Wake up, wake up,” she shook him.
“Huh? What is it, Pooja?” Mr. Bajaj said in a groggy manner.
“Ayushee, Ayushee… something's wrong with her,” Mrs. Bajaj tried to describe what she had seen.
“What?” Mr. Bajaj said, getting down from the bed and switching on the lights.
Finding his wife mumbling incoherent words with dazed eyes, he walked upstairs to check on their daughter. Two minutes later, he came back to their room.
“What is wrong with you, Pooja? Ayushee is sleeping in her room. I just checked,” Mr. Bajaj informed, sounding irritated.
“No, I saw her. I saw her in the garden. Her head turned like this…” she tried to demonstrate holding her own head, but couldn't manage to turn it beyond her shoulder level.
“Her face… her face… It wasn't her face…” she tried to say.
“Shut up, Pooja. Stop this nonsense. You've been hallucinating again. I understand you're disturbed by Kanta's death. We'll go see a psychiatrist soon, ok?” Mr. Bajaj said, taking her hand in his.
“I'm not mad. I'm not lying,” Mrs. Bajaj said, freeing her hand from his hold.
“Go to sleep, Pooja. You've had a bad dream,” Mr. Bajaj said, switching off the lights.
Mrs. Bajaj lay down on the bed, thinking about what she had just witnessed. The dreadful black eyes kept coming back to her whenever she tried to shut her eyes. The silent house seemed to call out her name. She pulled the blanket over her body up to her face when she started seeing shadows on the walls.
As their car entered the premises of the police station a couple of kilometers away, Mr. Bajaj sneaked it in a corner. Turning to look at his wife, he sighed.
“Pooja, just relax. Let your fears go. Don't be nervous when you are talking to the inspector. It'll only complicate things. I hope you understand what I mean,” Mr. Bajaj said rubbing her back.
“Let's go back home. I don't want to leave the kids alone there. Please,” Mrs. Bajaj pleaded.
“Pooja, for God's sake. It's a holiday today. Ajit wakes up late anyway and Ayushee sleeps like a log till the time no one stirs her and it's only eight in the morning. Within a couple of hours we'll be back home. Just calm do
wn for now, ok?” Mr. Bajaj asked starting to unlock the car door.
Mrs. Bajaj nodded meekly and alighted out of the car from the opposite side.
The inspector walked in late, ordering the constables around as they scrambled around to salute him. He threw his baton-like stick on the table before calling them inside his cabin.
The horizontal black nameplate introduced him as Pramod Sawant. He smiled asking them to relax as the couple took their seats. The interrogation went smoothly and to Mrs. Bajaj's delight, his wife did not freak out, not even when the inspector mentioned the gory details of Kantabai's death. She seemed deep in thought and replied to the inspector's questions to the point.
“Getting late, are we? I understand you're a housewife,” Inspector Sawant said after noticing Mrs. Bajaj eyeing the wall clock on the opposite side for the umpteenth time.
“Ah, no… just…” she stammered.
“Actually, the kids are alone at home and after all this, we are a little scared of leaving them to their selves for too long,” Mr. Bajaj butted in.
“Oh, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting then. This should do. Thanks for coming down. If there is anything else I require to know, I'll call on you again,” Inspector Sawant said, getting up from his seat and ushering them towards the exit.
Mrs. Bajaj almost ran towards the car, turning back and urging her husband to walk faster.
“Pooja, don't get so hyper. We'll be home in half an hour,” Mr. Bajaj said, annoyed again.
The moment she stepped inside the house compound, she knew something was wrong. She could make out from the distance that the front door was open.
“Something's not right,” Mrs. Bajaj proclaimed, quickening her pace as soon as she got down from the four-wheeler. “How's that damn door open? I had locked it, the keys are still in my pocket…” Mr. Bajaj said joining her steps.
“That's not important. Please hurry up… Ayushee!” Mrs. Bajaj called as soon as they stepped inside their house. “Sshh… what if there are thieves inside? Let me alert the police first,” Mr. Bajaj said, fishing for his phone.
“No,” Mrs. Bajaj said and rushed to the kids' room upstairs. Pushing open the door, she faced a vacant room.
“Where are they?” her husband asked, soon following her, panting from the effort of running upstairs.
Not bothering to reply, Mrs. Bajaj immediately rushed downstairs. She checked all the rooms, continuously calling out for her children. Mr. Bajaj combed the rooms upstairs and checked the terrace. He joined her when she was about to check in their own bedroom. Just as she neared the window, Mrs. Bajaj slumped on the ground without speaking a word, her entire body shivering from the effort of holding back her scream and tears at the same time.
The Other Side
243
Through her clouded eyes, she saw the curtains fluttering, the windows moving back and forth showing her daughter as she stood motionless looking up at the banyan tree on whose sturdy branch the limp body of her son was hanging from. Even from the distance, she could make out that devilish dark gleam in her daughter's eyes that moved left to right, observing the wind caress her brother's body.
“We have to leave this house tomorrow itself,” Mrs. Bajaj said, her voice still choked as soon as her husband returned from the funeral.
“Pooja, get a grip on yourself. We can't find accommodation overnight,” Mr. Bajaj reasoned softly. He was pretending to be rough but his wife could make out the pain inside his chest.
“We'll put up in a hotel till that time. You can ask your colleagues to find us a good place. I no longer want to live in this cursed place, please,” Mrs. Bajaj wailed, joining her hands and falling in her husband's feet.
“All right, Pooja. Get up… ok, give me sometime. May be
Shirke can do something,” Mr. Bajaj said, taking her in his arms. “Shirke!” Mrs. Bajaj exclaimed, breaking free from his hold. “Shirke?” her husband asked, surprised.
Mrs. Bajaj swiftly turned and picked up the receiver of the
telephone in their room. She dialed the number. The agent answered almost immediately.
“Shirke, what kind of place have you sold us?” she blasted. “Who's this?” Shirke asked as Mr. Bajaj moved forward to placate his wife.
“I'm the mother of that deceased child who was murdered by…”
“What are you talking, madam?”
“You sold us this cursed house with that damn banyan tree in our backyard and now that girl is destroying us. My daughter's going mad… the maid was murdered… my little Ajit is dead… my husband doesn't believe me…”
There was silence at the other end.
“Answer me, damn it!”
“I didn't hide any facts from you, madam. Everything was communicated. You decided to go ahead with the deal. I had informed you that a girl had been murdered there, hung from that tree…”
Mrs. Bajaj sniffled, trying to find her voice between her tears.
“I'm sorry but it was a transparent deal…”
“What was her name?”
“Sorry?”
“What was the name of that girl who was murdered?”
“Oh, I don't remember… wait, yes… yes… her name was… Smita.”
The receiver slipped from Mrs. Bajaj's hand as her husband rushed forward to hold her.
“What? What is it?” he asked.
“Smita,” she said, looking up thinking about her daughter who was chained to her bed.
The Other Side
245
It had been a tough period for Mr. Bajaj, the death of the maid, followed by the police interrogation and before he had time to breath, someone had murdered his son and his daughter had gone mentally sick. It was too much for him to absorb and he found the best way to deal with that was to support his wife and live in a state of denial seeking some plausible explanation for the same. He was a rational man but no amount of rationality would dry up his silent tears that he held within. He was thinking about his dead child while looking out of the open window when he saw four people walking towards their home.
In a short while, he was livid on seeing the Godman step into their property along with three other followers, all dressed in saffron robes, bright orange bandanas covering their forehead. He walked out to confront the fakir and his entourage. The Godman smiled at Mr. Bajaj as he neared, informing him before he could open his mouth that his wife had summoned him. Mr. Bajaj immediately called out for his wife, who came out all teary-eyed and weak but the moment she saw the fakir, she ran past her husband and fell in his feet.
“Please help my daughter. Save her, babaji,” she cried as the baba gently helped her onto her feet.
“What the hell is this, Pooja? I've taken an appointment with Dr. Shah, the country's leading psychiatrist. Don't spoil it with this mumbo-jumbo. Such people are not god men but conmen. This is all bullshit,” Mr. Bajaj said, looking at the old man dressed in white flowing robes, his beard reaching his chest, hiding the numerous talismans he wore around his neck.
“No, if there is someone who can help us it is babaji. I have heard about him from Aunt Mridula, who had called to offer condolences,” Mrs. Bajaj broke down.
The baba took a few steps ahead, placing his hand over her head. She immediately felt a wave of relaxation soothing her senses, a sliver of hope passed through her heart. Just for his wife's sake, Mr. Bajaj allowed the fakir to enter his daughter's room.
“It is a mental illness. She could not adjust to the new house and took up the tales she heard about this place. Just accept that fact,” Mr. Bajaj whispered to his wife as soon as they entered the room along with the fakir.
Mrs. Bajaj turned away unable to look at her daughter's withered condition while her husband had stared, terrified as Ayushee started convulsing in bed, the moment the fakir placed his foot inside the room. Worried, Mr. Bajaj rushed ahead but the baba's followers held him, requesting him to be patient.
Babaji walked around the bed seven times muttering under his breat
h, his eyes closed not even checking his steps as Ayushee wailed and fought to free her bonds. The little innocence of her face was lost as it morphed, scars appearing on the skin; deep gashes running across her hands and legs; eyes turning pitch black, her neck arched back to reveal deep red puncture marks. The Godman seemed to pay no attention to her.
As soon as he had finished the seventh round, Ayushee let out a hollow high-pitched laugh that gave boiling goose bumps to her parents.
“Go away or I'll kill you,” Ayushee said in a hoarse voice unlike hers.
The baba stared hard at her threatening form.
“Who are you?” he asked in a soft yet powerful voice.
“Smita!” came the answer almost as if the ugly voice was compelled to speak. Mrs. Bajaj clutched onto her husband's wrist on hearing that name.
“In the name of God, you'll leave this innocent girl and move on. You won't harm anything living or dead, tangible or intangible on any plane. The power of light calls out to you,” the fakir raised his voice, drawing invisible scriptures in the air.
“No, I won't. I won't go!” Ayushee screamed.
“This little child does not deserve to be tortured. You'll leave because…” the fakir was saying when Ayushee cut in.
“Even I didn't, you old fool. They hurt me, they killed my mother and then left this place when I came back to claim half of them. I killed the remaining half even as they tried to escape me by shifting to new locations,” Ayushee let loose a sinister bout of laughter.
“And after a long time, I have someone to call my own, a friend to play with and these… these filthy people…” the figure that was their daughter spat towards the Bajaj family, a thick slimy greenishblack paste just dropping short of their feet. “These filthy people wouldn't allow her to even play with me. She would not come to me, so I came to her… and I'm here to say. I'm not leaving… not leaving till I claim her and take her back with me,” she added, twisting her head a complete three sixty degree staring towards the direction of the banyan tree, hidden from view. Mr. Bajaj put his hand to his mouth, almost losing balance and eyed his wife, who held onto his shaking body for support.