That Frequent Visitor: Every Face Has A Darker Side (The Ghost Whisperer Chronicles Book 1)

by John Harker

  ‘How dare you raise your voice to speak, wretched woman?’ her mother-in-law yelled.

  ‘Enough!’ I screamed in rage; I turned towards the old man and said, ‘If no one can give this girl a life, then I will!’ Oh yes, I had dared to say that. I made such a statement without even taking the girl’s consent. I had felt something in my heart and that gave me the courage to do so. Something I had never felt for anyone else before.

  I was in love. Love at first sight.

  I turned around, looked into the girl’s timid yet brave eyes ‘I would like to give you a life that you deserve. A life that these idiotic minds will be taking away from you. You do not have to love me or give me any material pleasure in exchange. All I wish is that the innocence in your soul, that shines those sparks of courage in your eyes, is not lost to the norms of this hypocritical society.’ I proposed. She looked at me. The rage in her eyes faded into a tainted confusion. I continued, ‘I understand the fact that you do not even know me. You might go by the color of my skin and risk of being enslaved to this white man for life, like your province. I will never do that, I give you my word over my mother. Nevertheless, if you do not come with me, these people will burn you with the effigy of your customs into ashes. So, I believe that my offer is a much better bargain than theirs.’

  O dear, I had sworn on my mother. The old lady was a pain in the neck and I wondered how she would react when she learnt that her younger son was bringing home an Indian widow for a bride.

  She did not speak, but she nodded her head up and down in affirmation. Tears filled down her beautiful eyes.

  That was my first moment. I took the girl by her left hand and dashed out of the crowd. A couple of youngsters prepared to block our way, but the old man gestured them to make way. He said from behind in a lower tone, ‘Let him pay for what he did. She is the curse!’

  I marched away as the crowd faded into the twilight. I kept moving ahead, leading the beautiful young widow. I was enraged, excited, and overjoyed. I could not believe what had happened in the previous moment. I fell in love with the girl ten minutes ago and I was taking her home with me now. I am perfectly sure that Shakespeare would have called this an act of intimate love.

  Chapter 19

  The Baxter Villa

  My mother stared at me like a keeper from the crypt. I was yet to introduce my accomplice by name to my family that consisted of a skeptical mother, henpecked father and an over excited elder brother. To be honest, even I was yet to be acquainted with my companion’s name. During my display of heroics earlier in the evening, I forgot to ask the beautiful girl’s name. She stood behind me, hiding herself from the wrath of my mother’s eyes.

  ‘How dare you bring this Indian girl to my dressing room?’ My mother shouted hysterically.

  ‘I already told you everything. Which part did not you understand?’ I shot back.

  ‘The part where you mentioned that you wish to give this poor soul a life that it deserves. How do you plan on doing that, by breathing air into her lungs?’

  ‘By marrying her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love her!’ I declared.

  ‘You do not even know this tramp! Do not be ridiculous. If there is any emotion it is sympathy, not love.’ She forced it.

  ‘And you expected me to marry girls from your tea parties? I never knew any of them either. I shall marry the girl that I love, for whom my heart shall sing a song.’ I looked at the young woman behind me and said, ‘My heart sings for her.’

  My mother hit her palm on her forehead and conjured, ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! , it must be a cacophony. This girl does not even deserve to be part of our family. How dare you compare her with those sophisticated English girls?’

  ‘Give me one rational reason to support your claim.’ I demanded.

  ‘For starters, she belongs to a slave race. We are their masters and a woman from her race can be domesticated for cheap labor, and not a potential bride for an eligible bachelor like you.’

  ‘I believe we are all humans and you do not have any right to disqualify a woman by religion or color.’

  ‘Well then, she confides her faith in an absurd religion that has crossed its expiration date.’ My mother put forth.

  ‘I believe it is your narrow-minded thinking that has crossed its expiration date.’ The talk of religion always brought out the worst in me, as I did not believe in any religion at all.

  ‘I hope you are able to convince your dear wife-to-be about that.’ My mother said sadistically, ‘because from now on, you do not belong to this family. I shall exclude you, rather banish you forever from this family... unless you make up your mind and set this new desire of yours on fire and marry a nice English girl of my choosing.’ She set her conditions with that nasty smile of victory on her wrinkled face.

  If she was stubborn then I was as ardent as a steady mountain. My brother knew how this event would turn out, therefore he tried to step in to save the family from a disintegration of permanent nature.

  ‘Mother, I think we should not…’ he was interrupted by my mother.

  ‘You should probably keep yourself busy with your itsie plans to exchange vows with that sailor’s daughter. Defend your brother and I might change my mind. I do not mind ending up with no sons at all.’ She shot down my brother’s benevolent effort. What a clever move by her. I looked at my brother. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

  I took a deep breath, felt the red hot air passing through my wind pipe and hitting the walls of the alveolar sac. I did not like farewells. I would keep it short. I moved towards my mother, stared into her grey tiring eyes that were filled with pride and snorted piercingly, ‘Good Riddance!’

  She recoiled in shock and knocked her palms on the dressing table throwing down an expensive bottle of parfum de toilette. I did an about turn and took the girl’s left hand in mine and angrily rushed out of that demonic English house governed by my mother’s narrow-minded ethics and narcissistic ego. A powerless father and elder brother looked on as we dashed out of the front door.

  I ended that chapter and it was time to start the next chapter of my life.

  Chapter 20

  The next day

  Has it ever happened to you that the people with whom you take a leap are totally unknown to you? A complete stranger. Now, this is exactly what had happened to me. I was yet to know her name and then the moment came at the registrar’s office when she was asked her name by the registrar.

  The registrar was a corroded local man with thick framed soda glasses perched on his nose. He did not lift his face to look at any of us and was glued to the papers on his desk. He asked, ‘The wife’s name please?’

  A momentary silence was followed by that very silky voice ‘Lavanya Ghosh.’

  There we go; her name was Lavanya or as natives would say ‘Labonya’. Her name had a simple and metaphorical meaning- grace; a perfect name to describe this wonderful creation of the God that I did not believe. Graceful were her brown eyes, graceful were her thin lips, graceful were her silky voice and long black hair that scintillated right from the top of her head to her knees.

  Her grace had caught hold of my heart the moment I had set my eyes on her. Hardly a day since then, now I was going to be her lawfully wedded husband. Yet I knew nothing about her but her name and the valor in her eyes.

  Did she even like me or was it just gratitude?

  Did she think that I was good looking or had she realized that I was indeed in love with her?

  Did she like the blue of the sky or of the ocean?

  Did she speak my language? Would she help me perfect hers?

  Did she marry me because she had seen hope drawing into her life?

  Did she trust me?

  And above all, did she really carry a curse like that old man claimed?

  One of my cricketing buddies, Leonard Briggs, ran a decent inn in the upper hub of the city. He was kind enough to lend me a good room for couple of weeks. I took his offer
and moved in until I had a good job. I had grown up in my estate and had everything to my convenience. I never had had the chance or fortune of facing real life. I had lived in a house of mirrors, and all I could see was the richness inside it. I never had to work at an office, and the only profession I had had was that of a cricketer. It was a good one in fact. Do not forget I am still the captain of an unofficial English cricket team. However, since now I was on my own with another soul depending on me I had to look for a pennyworth job in an office or start a business of my own. Cricket can fill a man’s passion, but not his pocket. I wonder if cricket or any other sport could be made a full time profession, as I really do not see such a possibility in the next fifty years. The only way one can make a living out of a game like cricket is by fraudulence.

  Getting a job in the public offices was easier for me as I was a man of white skin and from one of the best families living in the city. The last name was enough for that, butI wanted to shed that liable credibility and stand on my own feet. I wanted to create my own identity. Talking about identity, here I was yet to identify my wife.

  I was standing on the balcony of the allotted room holding my precious pipe in the right hand, exhaling puffs of warm tobacco smoke into the misty night air of Calcutta. I heard the door behind me open and close. Upon turning around I found my wife standing in her new saree that I had bought for her. In that glimmering red saree she resembled Queen Kunti, who found a prominent mention in the Indian epic, the Mahabharat. Beneath that unforgettable face, a tempering grief swiveled. She was shy to speak for I was a stranger. She was holding something in her right hand.

  Finally she spoke in that thin voice of hers,

  ‘Aami jaani na aami ki korchi, Thikk ya bhul. Kintu aami jaani k tumi eeshborer abotar. Aamaar jibon esechile aamaaar jiboner shob durdosha dier korte, ar ishbor kakhono bhul korbe na.’

  She paused to look at me. I had been totally mesmerized by the treble of her sound; however, I listened to each and every word carefully so that I did not miss out on anything.

  ‘Go on, I am listening.’ I added.

  ‘Taai aami tomaake bharosha kori, aamaar ishborer ee moto. Aami shaara jibon tumaar sheba kor jabo.’

  She held out her right hand and slowly opened her fist. She was holding a brand new minted coin. The light of the moon reflected off the surface of the silver half-rupee coin and the reflected ray formed a sparkle in her tender eyes.

  She explained, ‘you are my husband and it is our custom to begin a life of matrimony with the exchange of any auspicious entity, shuvo mudro. This is the symbol of luck and I have prayed to all the gods to bless the holder of this coin at all times. Please accept this,’

  I took the coin from her reluctantly. I wondered if she had passed on some coin to her previous husband or maybe he might not have been carrying it. Had he been carrying it he would not have faced an untimely demise. More mumbo-jumbo, nevertheless, I did not wish to disrespect the beautiful young woman’s first gift to her new husband. She kneeled down and touched my feet, ‘Bless me, my Lord.’

  I quickly withdrew my foot and brought her up with my hands. The pipe dropped down on the floor in this process.

  I saw sincere tears of gratitude in her eyes and I knew I still had to win her heart. I was not wrong in choosing my soul mate for what she said was something that every man strived and yearned to hear from his woman. I pulled her to me and opened my arms around in embracement. She gave a satisfied sigh of relief and surrendered herself completely.

  What she had said in her mother tongue was a woman’s pledge that meant:

  I have no idea of what I am doing, right or wrong. But all I know is that you are the incarnation of God who came to save me from my miserable life. Moreover, God can never be wrong, so I place trust in you as my God and wish to serve you forever.

  Chapter 21

  1946

  Years passed like a baby’s nights in a cradle that rocked itself to a song of the seasons and we grew fonder of each other with each switch in season. I learnt her language and she learnt mine. There were talks about Mr. Attlee granting complete independence to the unformed Indian republic. Most of my fellow Englishmen had already left for their motherland but India was my home and I could never think of leaving this place.

  My life as well as my wife was Indian. Together, we had lived four years of complete attachment and never had we been happier in our lives before. However, the only shortcoming was that we did not have a baby as of yet. Lavanya and I could not make a baby. We tried every hook in the book to this little thorn in the fish; medicines, yoga, tantra, mantra (that was her, for me it was all mumbo-jumbo). Maybe that was our fate. But we were happy because we had each other and did not have to share our love with a third one. I asked her to restart her college studies which she had given up after her previous marriage. She was a student of fine arts, she even taught little kids to paint.

  I had joined the civil services and work was really going well. The Second World War finally ended last year. Peace restored to chaos. As for cricket, I was losing my touch in the game and I was more into work now. My new passion was my wife and I did not regret sacrificing cricket for her.

  One fine morning somebody showed up at my workplace, someone from my past. I had not heard from him in these four years. I never blamed him, for he did not want to lose the girl he loved, so chose to abide by my mother’s blackmail. Even I would have done the same, had I been in his place. His wife did send me postcards occasionally. They had taken to the rumors of India’s independence, so our mother had sold off everything and returned to England with everyone else right after the war ended. It had been a year since then.

  My brother was standing at the reception of the secretariat where I was visiting that day, waiting for me in a dark blazer and a pair of creased trousers. It was Winston and he had not changed an inch in these four years.

  We greeted each other; there was an unusual formality in our casual exchange of pleasantries. I requested him to take a seat. He formally informed me that they had settled down in London in 1945 and were doing well. He came right to the point after a few minutes of catching up.

  ‘Brother, I have some news.’ He frothed.

  ‘Good or bad?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it is for you to decide. Our mother…’ he sighed and continued, ‘…has not been keeping well. Her condition is worsening as we speak.’

  The news shook me. I always wanted to get rid of that old woman, but never realized that wish when granted would leave me in shock. I could not decide if it was good news or bad.

  ‘I understand if you do not wish to say anything, you have absolutely justified reasons. I respect that. However,’ he locked his gaze on me, ‘mother has written down her will that, surprisingly, includes your wife as well.’

  That was the second shocker.

  He continued, ‘Maybe it was driven by guilt, but she had taken everyone by surprise. We all knew that she was very strong willed. She had everything in her name right after she got married to father. She has left the entire property and money to her two daughter-in-laws. I had written a letter informing you about her ill-health and had also sent a telegram, but seems like you did not receive them yet.’

  ‘Brother, I do not know how to react to such news but I am sorry, I cannot accept this, neither shall my wife.’ I clarified.

  ‘But… but… Richard, she really misses you.’

  ‘I doubt that. She had been very unjust to my wife and me. She had herself thrown us out of your family.’

  ‘Our family…’ He corrected.

  ‘No, my family is limited to my wife and me. I reject her offer on behalf of my wife, you may have her share.’ I declared.

  ‘At least visit her one last time. She really wants to see you. Do not take the property, but give her a last visit for Gods’ sake.’ My brother started pleading, ‘At least for my sake, Richie. Please!’

  I could not bear to see my brother beg in front of me. He had always been the one
who supported me back until I left that family.

  ‘I will be there next week. Please make it clear to her that I shall come alone, my wife cannot travel as she is not well.’ I set my conditions.

  ‘Very well, thank you, Richard.’ He smiled.

  Later that day I took him home and introduced him to my wife formally. We had a short get together. He left the next morning.

  As promised I left for London the following week. I had never been to London before; in fact, I had never been to any place outside Calcutta. I had visited Madras a couple of years back as part of my job but that was it. I wanted to travel the length and breadth of India and the urge had started growing in me over the years. I arrived on the day my mother passed away, alas; she could not see me before dying. Maybe that was her destiny. A rational man does not believe in destiny, but I was vulnerable.

  After her funeral, I wrote off everything to my sister-in-law on behalf of my wife and started back for India. There were some non-transferable entities in her will, which I could not dispose. My brother insisted on keeping that with us to invest in some property or charity. That little amount was worth a fortune itself. I had written about this to my wife and was yet to find a way to make good use of the fortune that my mother left us.

  I could not get a flight owing to the non-availability of tickets due to the pre-independence rig in the Indian subcontinent. Everybody was coming back to England before they were thrown out. The English lived for pride. So, I took a vessel to India.

  There was a growing restlessness inside me. I felt guilty about my mother, and for not being able to make it in time. I condemned my arrogant ego. Once again, she had forced her authority over me, this time in the form of a fortune. I had to let it go and had to find a way to do that. I knew if I went back to Calcutta, the memories of my mother would haunt me. That was when I saw an advertisement outside the bar in the vessel. It showed a dozen travel destinations in the Indian subcontinent. The poster had a gold coin at the center and there was a caption from the company, it read: