by Faraaz Kazi
The fakir let his guard down and stepped forward, watching the figure with intent. He again started chanting and Ayushee wailed as if a swarm of bees had stung her at the same time. Nearing the bed, the Godman blew his breath on Ayushee's face. Mr. Bajaj watched in slow motion as his daughter's eyes gradually started drooping down, her movements corresponding in the same manner.
“Cut the ropes,” babaji ordered and the followers immediately started untying the knots.
“The thread ball,” he said, extending his hand and one of the followers placed a round ball of black thread in his palm.
The fakir then proceeded to tie the loose end of the thread ball to Ayushee's right toe.
“Whatever happens, whatever she says or does, don't interfere,” babaji said, turning to look at Mrs. Bajaj.
“She'll be fine, won't she?” Mrs. Bajaj responded with a steady stream of tears trying to overtake each other.
The fakir merely touched her head again and pointed skywards.
“Trust in him,” he mouthed.
“We'll be waiting outside. Whatever has to happen will happen tonight,” he added in a slow but confident manner.
He then moved out, his followers in tow to face Mr. Bajaj who had walked out of the room to shed tears in private, not wanting to show his weak side in front of his wife.
The fakir placed a hand on the man's shoulder and rubbed him gently.
“It's not a mental problem, Mr. Bajaj,” he said smiling slightly into a shocked face.
Sleep had eluded them for the better part of the night but Mrs. Bajaj sensed her husband's tiredness take over as he closed his eyes. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows take over their room when she heard the first sound of footsteps. They echoed across the silent house as the small pair of feet descended the stairs. Mrs. Bajaj quickly climbed out from the bed and peeked out through the bedroom door. She could clearly discern the figure of her daughter in the dark hallway, gliding towards the door as if in a trance, her face shrouded behind a veil of loose hair. Mrs. Bajaj gaped open-mouthed as the latch on the main door slid down on its own as Ayushee neared the exit.
“Ayushee's gone outside, get up,” Mrs. Bajaj said, shaking her husband out of his nascent slumber.
“Huh? What? How did you allow her?” he shot, pushing his frame out of bed.
“No, we can't stop her. Babaji asked us not to interfere, whatever happens,” Mrs. Bajaj said, trying to catch a glimpse of her daughter from the window.
“To hell with your babaji. He is mad and so are you,” Mr. Bajaj cursed in rage and stormed out of the room towards the main door.
“Wait… wait… please don't,” Mrs. Bajaj shouted, rushing from behind.
As she ran out of the house, she could make out her husband running behind their daughter who by then had almost reached the banyan tree that stood out menacingly in the moonless night. Before her husband could reach the gliding figure, three men in saffron robes intercepted him, holding him back as he struggled in their grip. One of them untangled himself from the mess and quietly followed something not quite visible in the darkness on the grass. As Mrs. Bajaj squinted, she could just about see the black thread slowly slithering forward. Not bothering to converse with her struggling husband, she followed the thread behind the fakir's disciple.
“Pooja, don't go there!” Mr. Bajaj warned and one of the disciples clamped his mouth, requesting him to be silent.
As they went further into the darkness, she saw a shimmer of white turn behind the huge tree and disappear out of sight. A minute later, they cautiously crawled behind the same spot and Mrs. Bajaj was surprised to find no one there. No alleys, no undergrowth, no alternative paths in the surrounding made the discovery of the girl's disappearance all the more mysterious. She swallowed the goblet of tears, muffling her sobs with the back of her hand.
She almost screamed when she felt a firm grip on her shoulder. The fakir emerged from behind in his white robes. Placing a finger on his lips, he signaled for her to keep quiet. Slowly, he pointed towards the lower bark of the tree, just above its mighty roots. Mrs. Bajaj narrowed her eyes, confused at what she was being asked to look at and then she stiffened as she saw the narrow dark opening between the tree and the ground where the thread had disappeared. The hole resembled a dingy black cave, dreadful and obnoxious.
The fakir slowly looked up at the sky. Somewhere in the woods an owl let out a long doleful hoot. The Godman looked at his disciple and nodded once. The man immediately pulled out a flask in each hand from the black cloth bag on his shoulders. Placing the bag near a bush, he started pouring the vicious liquid forming a circle around the tree. Mrs. Bajaj felt the strong acrid smell of kerosene take over her olfactory senses as the man emptied the flask on the roots of the tree. As the realization of the act dawned upon her, she shook her head and rushed towards the fakir.
“No, no… my daughter's in there… don't burn it,” she said. Babaji caught her hand and pulled her back.
“Nothing's going to happen to your daughter,” he assured, calming her down.
He looked up at the sky once again and nodded to the disciple. The man threw a large matchbox at the fakir who caught it neatly with one hand as it whizzed past his face. He shut his eyes and began chanting strange words, his fingers moving to light the matchsticks that seemed to be healthy torches of bright flames, emanating a sweet fragrance. He threw the burning sticks, each at an end of the tree and watched as the fire engulfed the lower half of the gigantic banyan. Another long hoot echoed across the wood and Mrs. Bajaj's stomach twirled, imagining her daughter inside. She shut her eyes and looked down, addressing the almighty.
Her prayers were broken by a scream that sliced through the night air, blowing a strong gust of wind in their faces. She stared in abject horror at the dark opening, as something seemed to crawl out of it. Her daughter walking on her hands and knees, appearing hideous enough to set the chattering of her teeth emerged out of the hole. Her hair flew freely even when the wind stopped abruptly, revealing an abhorrent face twisted in pain, the black eyes widened to the extent of bulging out. Mrs. Bajaj could distinctly make out the red puncture marks that seemed to glow in the darkness as blood oozed out of those wounds. The figure suddenly turned its vision towards Mrs. Bajaj, locking her breath.
“Argh… ahhh… mamma, save me,” the figure screamed in her daughter's voice.
For a moment, her heart quivered as she imagined the plight of her daughter.
“Mamma, she killed Ajit and now she'll kill me too. Get me out of here, please. Ask that man to stop this,” Ayushee begged. The mother in her stirred but she did not step forward.
“Mamma, Ajit is here too, right with us. We can get him back. I just met him,” Ayushee promised, her expressions flitting to various degrees of pain.
A glimmer of hope passed over Mrs. Bajaj's frightened face as she gingerly took a step ahead.
“Ma…Mamma, I miss you. It's so dark in here. I'm trapped. I want to come to you. Save me, mamma. Ask that man to stop,” Ajit spoke through her sister's mouth.
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Unable to hold her tears, she was about to rush to her son ignoring the fire when the fakir's disciple thrust himself between her and the flames, pushing her back and pinning her to the ground.
“She's not your daughter. She's playing with your emotions to release herself from the sacred fire so that she can overpower us,” the fakir described as the disciple moved away, allowing her to slowly rise up. Through the corner of her tearful eyes, she saw the face sneer in disgust and contort once again in an expression of pain.
“Stop babaji, you're hurting Ayushee,” Mrs. Bajaj said.
“The sacred fire won't hurt your daughter, Pooja. It will only tug at the trapped soul inside,” babaji replied and then took out a small bottle from the pocket of his robes, containing a paste of ash, white vinegar, sandalwood and water.
“The water comes from the well your mother drowned in,
Smita. She calls to you. Go to her. Let this water purify you and nurture your soul. Let it absolve you of sins,” the fakir said, hurling the bottle with all his force at the figure's feet.
The glass shattered upon impact with the fiery ground. The sound was followed by a long painful scream as the flames changed colour from a fiery yellow to a peaceful blue.
“No…o!” the figure shouted one last time, before falling down.
The flames shot up to their peak before snuffing themselves out as the figure touched the ground. The baba's disciple walked towards his spiritual guru, who placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Her mortal remains are in that black hole. Burn down the tree. That will set the soul free from all bounds.” He turned to bless Mrs. Bajaj before walking away.
Mrs. Bajaj tried to stand on her unsure legs, watching the slumped figure on the ground. Her heart skipped a beat as the figure stirred. She leaned forward and suddenly broke into a run, covering the small distance in seconds. This time no one stopped her, no one tackled her and no one pinned her down. She kneeled down and cradled the figure on her lap. She saw the face with the cuts and bruises smiling at her through the tears, the small neck devoid of any puncture marks and then she let out her first cry of joy since a long, long time as her daughter hugged her tight.
“Ma, where's Ayushee? I need to play with her,” the little girl said in a hoarse voice.
“We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.” ¯ H.P Lovecraft
Unfulfilled Desires
“ Jhinjhana, Jhinjhana!” the conductor shouted in his rough voice as the bus stopped at a non-descript roadside village. Dr. Rajiv
hoisted his bag and disembarked. He asked a half naked urchin
loitering around for the directions to the Primary Health Centre
and on finding out that it was two kilometers away from the busstand, he decided to take a rickshaw. He generally avoided taking a
rickshaw as a matter of principle but walking two kilometers in the
sun after a bone jarring bus ride was a distinctly unpleasant
alternative. The rickshaw trundled along on the brick lined street,
past a primary school and finally on a dusty path through the fields
to reach the distant PHC.
He arrived at the PHC an hour post noon. The building
looked like any other government structure in this part of the
country. It was a sprawling campus with a whitewashed brick fence
all around. A huge limply hung signboard feebly proclaimed it as
Primary Health Centre, Jhinjhana (District Muzaffarnagar).
Information on various National and State Health programs was
painted on the walls. He entered through the main gate and was
pleased to see the campus. It was a complex with the main building
in the center and many smaller buildings spread across. There were
many trees with mango seeming to be the dominant species. Rajiv made a beeline for the main building. The first thing that
his senses took in was the complete absence of any kind of noise. A shroud of silence covered the area. Forget the people; Rajiv could not make out the presence of any bird or insects. He could not spot even a stray dog around. He pushed opened the screen door and entered inside what appeared to be the waiting hall. The room was deserted. An open register was lying on the reception counter and there were around twenty entries on the current date. He peeked into the doctor's chamber. Everything was shipshape. The table was neatly arranged, the chair was in place but there was nobody around. “Hello, koi hai?” he shouted at the top of his voice. His voice echoed around. Suddenly he thought he felt a shadow fleet past behind him and he turned immediately to find the space unoccupied. He ran towards the wardroom he thought he had seen the shadow move towards but there too he could not find anyone. “Where have I landed?” Rajiv lamented.
He retraced his steps, parked his bag in the doctor's room and came out. He blinked in the harsh sunlight and looked around. The buildings at the side appeared to be some kind of residential quarters. He decided to check them out. He was walking towards the quarters when he saw a man hurrying towards him. He was dressed in white shirt, the uniform of a PHC health worker. He peered short sighted at the smart young man dressed in jeans, T-shirt and dark glasses and decided that the doctor had arrived. “Namaskar, Dr. Babu. We have been waiting for you since morning.” He turned around and shouted, “Sister, Ramu, Aslam, Doctor Babu is here!”
Rajiv sat on the swiveling chair in his office and met the subordinate staff. The office was small but clean. It had a table, few chairs and an examination couch for patients in one corner. The
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table had been dusted and a clean sheet put on the couch in anticipation of his arrival. There was a duty room for doctors with a bed, an air cooler and an attached toilet behind his office. Rajiv was told that there had been no doctor in the PHC since the last one had been transferred some six months back. The skeletal staff of two nurses, one pharmacist, one health worker, two sweepers and a Chowkidar had been managing the health center. There were few patients and there was not much to do. The staff had been informed that a new doctor would be arriving and that is why everything was spic and span. They had waited for him till half past noon and then gone off for lunch.
The nurses and the health workers lived in the village and only the Pharmacist and the Chowkidar lived on campus. Rajiv's quarters were still not furnished and he did not want to spend his fees seeking rural accommodation. On learning that the new doctor intended to live on the campus, there was a general air of consternation.
“No sir, you cannot live here.”
“The power supply is erratic and sometimes it comes for only six hours. The generator is not working. The inverter also lasts for just three hours.”
“Where will you eat?”
“It is too far from the village and not safe at night, Dr. Babu.” The above statements from the staff repeatedly formed the
chorus of protest that greeted his announcement.
“Listen, all of you. I am going to live on the campus and so shall
the rest of my staff. I'll get the quarters repaired, the generator fixed
and other arrangements made in a few days. I'll live in the duty
room till then. Ramu will get me food from the village three times a day. Now that I am here, we will start the indoor by next month,”
Rajiv declared emphatically.
He then dismissed his staff and decided to take a bath before
Ramu brought his food.
“Sir, believe me. It is not safe to stay here at night. The
Chowkidar has night blindness and the Pharmacist is a hopeless
drunk. They don't know what goes on here at night,” the rotund
nurse muttered ominously.
Rajiv dismissed the warnings with a shrug. 'No doctor for six
months has spoiled the staff. They don't want to work and simply
want their salary. Never mind, I'll soon fix all that!' he thought. After his lunch, the fatigue of travel caught up with Rajiv and
he dropped off to sleep.
He woke up in the evening, refreshed and raring to go. He
decided to explore the surroundings. The PHC was situated on the
edge of agricultural land and spread over a large area. The
compound had many large trees. There were a number of three
bedroom quarters meant for the doctors on one edge. He checked
the first and found it dirty and unkempt. There was a lawn behind
the house but it was ill maintained and run over with weeds. A few
ornamental flowers had survived and added a bright touch of color
to the surroundings. As he was about to turn back, he spotted a
large well at one end. He walked up to it and peered in. T
he water
seemed cool and refreshing.
“I'll have to get the quarters repaired and get a gardener as
well,” he thought. He again noticed the absence of insects and
birds. “These idiots have been spraying all the insecticides meant
for this area in the PHC itself,” he grumbled to no one in particular. He found the subordinate staff quarters on the other side of the
PHC in a similar state of neglect. The setting sun cast an orange
hue on the surroundings and Rajiv felt a kind of peace descend on
the surroundings. He felt slightly tired with the long walk around
the domain. As he had nothing else to do, he went back to his
office, took out a book from his bag and was soon immersed in it.
His concentration was broken when Ramu, the Chowkidarcame in
with his dinner.
“Why have you brought it so early? It is not even dark yet!” But Ramu just stood there staring down without answering
back. Rajiv remembered that Ramu suffered from night blindness
and said, “Theek hai, leave it on the table and leave.”
The night descended almost in the blink of an eyelid and brought with itself a calm loneliness which Rajiv was not accustomed to. He wondered if he had been foolhardy in deciding to stay there all alone. Then he remembered that the Pharmacist and the Chowkidar were also around. In fact, he could see the lights in the last two quarters.
'I'll have to get a few halogen bulbs requisitioned for the PHC,' he made a mental note. After some time the moon came up and he realised that it was a full moon night. He pulled out a chair, positioned it in the lawn, switched on some ghazals on his music player and lit a cigarette. The PHC and its surrounding shone in the silver moonlight, while he heard Jagjeet Singh and dragged on his cigarette. The smell of tobacco gelled agreeably with the sweet smell of night queen blossoms while a pleasant breeze cooled things down. Just as he took the last drag, the lights went out with a pop.