by Nisha Singh
‘Sutte…’ she said in a sweet whisper that sent blood gushing to my veins. I could feel my temples throb with an excitement hitherto unknown to me.
‘Yes Savi…’ I said, my voice audible only to the wind.
‘Sutte!’ she cried suddenly and my dream turned into a nightmare. Why was she suddenly mimicking my friend? What had gotten into her?
‘Oh! Savita!’ I cried, shaking her thoroughly. ‘What’s wrong with you, dearest?’
‘SUTTE! WAKE UP!’
One moment I was with Savita standing on a rose petal and locked in a rosy world and the next I was lying spread eagled on the ground, hurt and confused. I opened my eyes and looked at the blurry but cross image of my friend sitting magisterially on the bed, wearing an indignant expression.
‘I am sorry I hit so hard that you fell,’ he said brusquely, ‘but you weren’t taking the name of getting up! I would have gone alone but you took my promise that I should wake you up at all costs. I should not have made that promise at all.’
‘But…but… she was here…’ I said as if in a daze.
‘Who was here?’ he cried with impatience. ‘Now stop gibbering and get on your feet. I just got a call from Nataraj Bhakti. I think he has seen or felt something. Now don’t waste another second. Get up quick!’
‘What time is it?’ I asked, rubbing my eyes and getting my act together.
‘It’s 1.20 a.m. Now come on!’
Disoriented, I got up and searched for my slippers. Somehow they had developed a habit of traveling under the bed while I slept. I retrieved them with some effort and then looked for my pants.
‘What are you doing?’ Bhrigu cried.
‘Searching for my trousers.’ I mumbled sleepily. ‘Do you want me to parade in my pyjamas?’
‘There is no time for good manners.’ he said with impatience. ‘We are not going for a dinner party. Now come on!’
I called him a few choice words and abandoned my weak attempt at decency in the wake of his agitation. Quietly, he tiptoed out of the room and I followed him in the darkness, afraid to even breathe lest it offended invisible entities of the night, prowling about in mischief, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The stairs were the most difficult to navigate. In the bleak light from the cell phone of my friend I could only make out that we had to go down a descent but what sort it was, remained a mystery. I clutched his arm sleeve tightly and hoped for the best. At his heels, I somehow managed to get to the bottom of the stairs and felt like a victor who had just emerged triumphant and unharmed from a battle field. From that point forward, I collected my bearings and walked along him with dignity. The night had fallen dark and thick and I could hear no sound except that of the dogs who had gathered under the tree outside the gate and as was evident from the noise, were in the middle of a very heated discussion. The door that led to the backyard was open and we entered it to at once spot the cabin of Nataraj Bhakti at a distance; the light from his window shining through the curtain of dark.
Bhrigu rushed forward and I tried to do my best to keep up with the pace he had set. In no time, we were standing outside his door, panting hard. Bhrigu firmly knocked at it.
‘Wh…who’s there?’ called a frightened voice from within.
‘Its us.’ he answered. ‘Please open the door, Bhaktiji’
In a moment the door flew open and framed in it stood our host, shaking like a leaf from head to foot.
‘I…they…it…’ he stammered.
‘Please sit down and have a glass of water.’ Bhrigu said. ‘We will talk then.’
I poured water from a surahi and handed him quickly. The poor man took it with fingers that shook so much that I was afraid he would not be able to hold it. With time, his grip strengthened and he took two long sips of water.
‘Are you okay now?’ I asked.
‘Y…yes…yes sir, thank you.’ he said with a quaver.
‘Now tell me, Bhaktiji, what did you experience?’ asked my friend.
He took a long drought of water and said ‘I…I was not able to sleep tonight as I was sure that the phantom would be up to some tricks again. The moment I tried to sleep, every little sound, real or imagined, would set my heart racing. For three hours I could do nothing but struggle with my fear and lay turning on the bed. I don’t know when sleep came after all but then in a half conscious state, I remembered that today was the phantom day and I woke up with a start and sat panting on the bed.’
‘That’s all?’ I asked.
‘No…no…’ he said in a voice close to tears. ‘I got up, shivering in every limb and switched on the light. I scrutinized my room and saw that every thing was in its place but I had a foreboding that something indeed had happened. Shaking uncontrollably, I opened the door and went to look into the kitchen to see if the pots and pans were there alright.’
‘And what did you see?’ I asked, getting excited myself.
‘They were just as they should be.’
I was a little tired with his ramblings that did not seem to go anywhere. What kind of a loose encounter with a ghost was this? ‘If everything’s alright, Mr. Bhakti, why are you shook up so much?’
‘Because…’ he cried ‘because…’
‘Did you look into your wife’s room?’ my friend asked.
‘No. I called you and waited to go there together.’ he said and with his face in his hands, broke into hysterical sobs.
‘Well, we’ll go there together’ said my friend as I tried to pacify the man with gentle assurances.
He agreed to accompany us but it took us a Herculean effort to get him on his feet and moving. I took his right arm, my friend grabbed his left and together, we almost carried him through the backyard, up the stairs and to the locked room of his late wife Damyanti.
‘Key please.’ I said and Bhakti produced it after fumbling for it a long time, in the inside pocket of his Kurta. He gave it to me and stood in the shadow of Bhrigu, as if trying to hide himself under him.
The lock opened with a click and we entered the grim room in silence. It smelt of many things; dust, grime, fresh paint even sweat but I could detect among the infernal smells something fresh and light. I could not say it for sure but mingled with the common smell of a dusty old room, came to me the dull fragrance of wilting lilies.
Bhrigu flicked on his cell phone and threw its light around. In a corner stood an old dressing table; the one that is used by women in the villages. It was a very simple one, handcrafted by a local carpenter in plywood, with an oval mirror that was covered in dust and a table that held odds and ends of a simple make up kit; a used, cheap brand lipstick, a dusty packet of black bindis, a few hair pins and a couple of black rubbers strewn about carelessly. There was a steel holder set on the table that sported a hand made Japanese fan.
‘Oh my god!’ shrieked Nataraj Bhakti and fell on the ground unconscious.
‘What…what happened?’ I cried, trying to revive the man.
Bhrigu was calm but I could see his tension in the beads of perspiration sticking out on his forehead. He gently drew the drawer and we peered inside together. In the middle of it, sat a beautiful silver comb, shining brightly in the general atmosphere of dust.
CHAPTER 16
A Man-Child
It took us quite a bit of slapping the cheeks of the retired clerk to get him to end his trip to the other world and return back to reality. He woke up with eyelids drooping with the shock he had just received and his mouth foaming at the end. We offered him one hand each and he stood up uneasily by putting his entire weight on our strained limbs. The man was so unsteady on his feet that I had a nagging doubt he would swoon soon enough and collapse yet again.
‘S…see…the…I…’ he stammered incoherently.
‘Mr. Bhakti.’ I said ‘We are having trouble understanding the syllables you speak. Please relax. I
don’t think that there is anything particularly terrifying about combs and the direction in which they are laid.’
‘But…but…I always keep replacing it in the holder but the next I see it, it is always sitting in the drawer, exactly in the middle! I…I can’t take it anymore. My nerves are now beyond repair.’
‘Bhaktiji’ said Bhrigu ‘Is there anyone else in the house who could have access to this lock other than you?’
‘No. Of course not.’ he replied firmly. ‘Only I have the key and no one else.’
‘But keys can be forged, you know.’ I said, offering my expert advice.
‘Thank you, Sutte.’ said my friend curtly ‘If you hadn’t told me, I would never know.’
I somehow tried to swallow the jibe he had thrown at me. ‘Well,’ I said, heatedly, ‘If you don’t allow for my theory, you’ll have to go along with that of the ghost. It’s your pick, after all.’
‘Are…are you suggesting.’ said Bhakti with a visible gulp. ‘That one of my relatives is behind this?’ A determined look of anger had now replaced the harassed, frightened one. ‘And why not? They would love to do anything that would create trouble in my life. Why did I not think of that before but…’
‘But what?’ I asked.
‘But the one who is playing with the comb should also be the one behind the spooky phenomenon, right?’
‘Mr. Bhakti’ I said, confused and irritated. ‘What are you trying to arrive at? Please speak clearly.’
‘The shrill cry of my wife that I heard a couple of times during the first phase of the haunting…I…I can swear on my life that it belonged to my wife and no one else.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked.
‘100 percent sure.’ he replied firmly. ‘My wife had a very thin, high pitched voice. Very distinct from the rest of my relatives.’
‘That’s certainly opened new areas to explore.’ said my friend from somewhere behind the dressing table where he was observing god knows what.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked.
‘Never mind.’ he said with a half smile. ‘I was just saying that the phantom is now opening new areas for us to explore. That’s all.’
I was struggling with his esoteric remark yet again when he came striding towards us and said. ‘Bhaktiji, I have not yet had the privilege of meeting your younger brother, Chiranjeev.’
‘Yes, sir. You have not.’ said Nataraj Bhakti. The subject of his relatives had distracted him from the current crisis and his nerves made the most of it by steadying themselves. He now looked almost as well as he had looked earlier in the evening when we had taken that happy trip to the house of Manjunath Gupta. ‘The brat always spells trouble for me. I was so engrossed in scolding him myself that I completely forgot that such vile a person could also be introduced to anyone, let alone as distinguished a person such as you. I was afraid that he would insult you in some way and I could not bear to let that happen.’
Don’t worry, sir.’ said Bhrigu with a smile. ‘In my line of work, most often than not, I meet with people who are not quite happy to see me. Still, somehow, I survive.’
‘Well, sir, if that’s the case, I will bring him to your notice tomorrow. I will catch him in the morning because once he steps out of this house, you would only find him come evening. The loafer.’
‘And now’ my friend said again. ‘I think we have seen the worst of what this night had to offer. Please go into your room and sleep well, sir. The phantom will spook you no more. His work is done.’
Nataraj Bhakti sighed deeply.
‘Fancy the phantom following a schedule.’ I said under my breath. ‘I think it could belong to a deceased army man. That’s a good theory too, isn’t it?’
The two men bluntly ignored my brainwave. Nataraj Bhakti was about to set the comb straight when Bhrigu said. ‘Leave it, Bhaktiji. If the ghost is set on rearranging it, your efforts are wasted.’
‘Yes sir’ said the man, taking his steps back and in a queue, with Bhakti taking the lead, we slowly retreated from the room. Our host locked the door and took to the stairs, bound to his cabin, while we went upstairs, eager to hurl ourselves on the inviting bed. Before drifting off to sleep, I could not control myself and risking his temper, I asked ‘Say, B, I was wondering if the comb was not…’
‘Hold it, Sutte.’ he said in a voice heavy with sleep. ‘I don’t want to lose my temper in the dead of the night.’
That response, which I had suspected all along, was enough to curb my curiosity and helped me fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.
The next morning I had the privilege to sleep as late as 10 a.m. With the grace of god, I woke up naturally and found Bhrigu perched on one of the chairs that he had shifted towards the window and was reading a newspaper.
‘Good morning’ he said to me as I lifted my sleepy head. ‘Slept well?’
‘Y-yes’ I replied through a huge yawn. ‘When did you wake up?’
‘At my usual time’ he replied and disappeared into the newspaper again. ‘If you want something to eat then you’ll have to get up and brush your teeth. Bhaktiji informed me a little while ago that Chiranjeev is going to bring us some tea and snacks.’
‘What? Chiranjeev?’ I replied a tad surprised. ‘He did not strike me as a person who would help with the domestic duties.’
‘The newspaper is agog with stories of a certain politician who has fallen in love with a woman less than half his age.’ he said with eyes trained on the blasted paper and an ear that had turned deaf to my questions. ‘They are calling him all sorts of names, the chief being ‘a hedonist’. The politician’s wife, who was struggling with her unhappy marriage, is happy with the result and she is also getting a fat alimony from the divorce but our media…It is happily lambasting the poor man with all kinds of ridiculous ‘alleged’ allegations. I sometimes wonder that for the media, it is imperative that you be either a villain or a hero; you cannot afford to be a human because then you won’t make an appealing story.’
‘What are you blabbing about?’ I cried, irritated. This man had the gift of really getting under my skin at times. ‘I asked you a question.’
‘Oh that.’ he replied, still speaking from under the paper. ‘I am where you are, Sutte. How would I know? The only explanation I can think of is that our host is a man of no mean an influence and also that the power of money can sometimes make a man out of a mule.’
‘Hmm.’ I said. ‘Quite possibly. He must have gotten a good tip for his service today.’
I could see the top of his head bobbing under the newspaper and I understood that he was nodding. I did not want to miss the opportunity of meeting the man who had come out in Manjunath Gupta’s assessment as quite a contradictory character. Hunting for my slippers that had somehow shifted under the bed again (supernatural phenomenon-Phase 1?), I set out for my ablutions.
Once outside the room, I could see that Savita was in the process of getting inside her’s. In a cream colored sari with a green border, she looked like an angel of heaven, descended on earth to grace the eyes of men. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds and I could feel the warmth of a blush spreading across my cheeks. She smiled and greeted me with a nod of her head and I returned it quite happily. But even before I could approach her, she disappeared inside her room and locked it from within. With a heavy heart and feet, I took to the stairs, enroute to the bathroom.
On my return, I saw that the door to the kitchen was closed informing me that Chiranjeev was now headed towards our room with the breakfast. I made a mad dash for the stairs and upon reaching the threshold to my room; I almost bumped into a stunted, overweight man, almost knocking him off his feet. Like a big golf ball, hit by a stick but still managing somehow to hold its position over the tee, he stood before me, holding his own ground but shaking from head to foot in a most undignified manner. With an effort he composed himself, steadied the
plate in his hand and turned towards me with a face red with either anger or embarrassment…or both.
‘Look where you are going, mister.’ he cried shrilly, in an androgynous voice.
‘Sorry’ I said apologetically. ‘Are you Chiranjeev?’
‘That I am’ he replied in a somewhat mellowed tone. ‘And you?’
‘I am Sutte.’ I replied with an amiable smile. ‘I hope your brother told you about us?’
‘Yes, yes, sure.’ he said, with a broad grin. ‘You are his city friends.’
I smiled to show my agreement.
I could see his eyes twinkling at my admission, as he asked eagerly. ‘Tell me, sir, have you met with film stars? As soon as I heard that you had come from the city, I was meaning to ask this question. They all live in the cities, don’t they?’
‘That they do.’ I replied, confused. ‘But shall we not get into the room first? Thresholds don’t make for excellent conversations.’
‘Yes, sir’ he replied, almost laughing and we entered the room together. I should mention here that the man with me was getting intriguing by the second and I could not wait to see what my friend would have to say about him.
CHAPTER 17
A Man-Child
Continued
I could see my friend’s eyes go wide with amazement when he beheld Chiranjeev and myself walking into room, almost arm in arm, like old pals. He looked at me quizzically and then as I was beginning to enjoy his bafflement, the impossible man dissolved into one his impish smile that is one of the most hated things for me in the world.