Warlock

by Vickram E Diwan

  During the absence of the owner, a pack of ferocious Rottweiler dogs routinely patrolled the estate. Bred and primed to kill, they were capable of challenging even a tiger and could tear to shreds any man that dared to enter the grounds. But on the night in the description; they were not running around in a hunting formation and were hidden from view. For reasons unknown they were wailing - their shrill wailing only added to the macabre atmosphere of the estate.

  Unaware of all these morbid realities, a beggar-woman and her three children entered the estate from the broken wall near the graveyard. All of them were wearing taveez (a Muslim talisman in the shape of a locket) around their neck or had it tied to their arms. In addition to the square-shape and heavily hammered iron or nickel talisman, the woman also wore a talisman that was a square shape locket made of green cloth, tied to a black thread around her neck.

  The beggar was Mumtaz – a woman who had aged prematurely because of repeated childbirth. She had dirty, unkempt hair full of lice, which she had tied carelessly with a green ribbon. Her complexion was very dark, and she had a small forehead, eyes and nose, a non-descript chin, thin lips. Her face was stamped with selfishness, greed and cunning. She appeared to be uneducated, uncultured and a specimen of the lowest of the low variety amongst humans, whose existence is meaningless and whose contribution to the society is nil.

  The tobacco-chewing beggar-woman was holding a 1-year-old, weak and malnutritioned child next to her sagging bosom, and walking beside here were two other children. The older was a 6-year-old girl, with a trounced head, who was wearing a dirty knee-length & crumpled yellow frock with many missing buttons and patches at several places. The unwashed cloth smelled of vomit, stale food, and bodily discharges and was carelessly tied with a belt around her waist. The girl had a resigned and expressionless face. Her head appeared comparatively large than the rest of her body and her face resembled that of her mother.

  Her younger brother; or the beggar woman’s second child was 3-years-old boy who wore an old and dirty shirt and knickers with front buttons missing, and a black thread around his waist. He was also dirty and unbathed like his sibling and mother and had a weak body. He was a habitually crying child, who was beaten constantly by his ill-mannered and indifferent mother.

  “Kutti, jaike kuch khane ko dhoondwa; mere se kya chipka rahti hai! (Bitch; go and find something to eat; don’t stick around with me),” she said pushing away her daughter.

  The girl split up with her family and went way unknowingly in the direction of the distant farmhouse. Her name was Paagli (mad-girl), Ganzi (trounced girl) and Kutti (bitch) as per the mood of her mother. She was unaware as to which of male partners of her mother - that the latter changed monthly, weekly or even every night - had fathered her. Her ancestry and her real name were thus not known to her; the poorest of the poor could hardly afford such luxury. Privately, she liked to be called ‘Nuzhat’ - the name she had overheard a woman calling her daughter with - a fat kid with rosy cheeks who was lovingly being fed aloo-gosht (potato-mutton) and roti.

  Self-christened as Nuzhat, the beggar's daughter walked way in the search for leftover food to feed the family. She could soon make out the silhouette of a distant building plunged in darkness. If there was no one present, she could find and steal some food, she hoped, and she will get one less beating. And maybe her mother will not force her to keep awake for a massage after the former’s rendezvous with a man. Nuzhat hated the noise and the funny antics of the ‘tickling’ sessions of her mother with various men, as much as he detested the punishment of sleeping hungry, which was worse than beating.

  There was something sinister about the building, something ominous and frightening that Nuzhat could sense even with her primitive animal brain. But the fear of her mother’s thrashing forced her to keep walking barefoot on the thorns and bushes infested ground. She was overwhelmed with the stench of rotting cabbage, urine and animal carcasses. It was even worse than the stench that she had encountered outside an illegal abattoir in Azad Market area in old Delhi, where she had slept a couple of nights with her family.

  Forcing down her vomit, she kept walking until she reached the building. She avoided the main door and searched through an opening until she found a window of a room that opened in the basement with broken glass. Without any hesitance, she squeezed and lowered herself through the window pane and plunged in the darkness...she fell down on a cold, dirty stone-floor and felt a shooting pain in her shoulders and back. But like a trained animal she got up noiselessly and waited to see if there was any reaction. When none was forthcoming, she tiptoed her way to find the door in the darkened room. Like a blind-girl, she walked with hands outstretched before her to avoid banging against the wall.

  Once out of the room, she walked into a narrow gallery and climbed down a flight of stairs that took her down to a second level of the basement. On hearing a noise, she hid like a fearful cat at the bottom of the stairs in a womb-posture and peered around the corner. She saw a faint hint of light coming from below the doorway of a room in the corridor.

  Unknown to Nuzhat, deep down in the farmhouse building; two levels beneath the ground was that maze of secret chambers, where the light of day never reached. She heard the clank of iron against the stone floor for a while and the wailing of a person. The wailing turned into sobs and shouting, ‘Chood de mujhe; jane kuan nahi deta...kide padege tujhe, maa ke...” (Leave me, why don’t let me go, worms will eat your body, you mother***!” The outburst of the unknown female who used the choicest of expletives continued for 2-3 minutes before she started to shout again.

  Nuzhat walked up carefully to the door and looked through the keyhole; in the insufficient light of the flickering candles inside, she saw a padded wall with black & white photos. The wailing suddenly stopped - was Naushad’s presence detected? Lifting her ankles, she continued to gaze inside; nothing was making sense. Without any warning, an eyeball appeared on the other side of the keyhole. Nuzhat was thrown back with fear. She tried to get up and run away, but the door suddenly opened and someone pounced on her. She tried to fight back but was overpowered by the older female; who caught hold of Nuzhat by the wrist and dragged her into the room.

  Once inside, Nuzhat saw that her captor was a 15-16-year-old girl, who wore a tattered dress. She had unkempt hair, and her clothes & body smelled of vomit, urine, and defecation. The oppressive stench of the room reminded Nuzhat of the stench of used-condoms with dried semen that were left to rot in the bank ATMs in far-flung areas, where she slept with her family on many occasions.

  “Are you with him? No, why will he keep you?”

  “I..I came, look for food,”

  “Came to the wrong place...run away before he comes! No..no..first help me get out of these chains. I am from Bir Dadri village in district Jhajjar. That evil man made me prisoner here. We must get out before he comes. Help me find keys to these chains. See these black & white (Polaroid) photos on the wall - of women, girls, and kids? That shiataan told me that these are the last photos of his victims before he killed them. I don’t want to be a photo on this wall; the day he comes with a camera; that day will be my last day. He does dirty things with me, beats me and does not let me go. Please help me find the key.”

  Nuzhat stared blankly at the iron chains with padded clutches that were tied around the prisoner-girl's wrists, with the other end welded to the iron bed. The dirty mattress without a bed sheet had tuned dirty-brown, with semen, bodily discharges, and blood; a testament to the frequent and violent rapes and beating of the captive girl. There were empty mineral water bottles strewn around the room, as were the empty plastic disposable packets of a restaurant with leftover and rotten food. They did not appeal to the ugly black rats, who wandered in the room, gnashing their teeth.

  “What key?”

  “You idiot,the key to these chains! Are you dumb? You FARTHING IDIOT. FIND THE KEY FOR ME! Ok, ok, I will not shout...don’t leave me. The key to this handcuff is somewhere outside; in some key hol
der or a nail in the wall. I hear him when he picks it up from there. After which he does dirty things with me, beats me and goes away.

  “I try to find it.”

  “Yes girl; look, I am like your sister,” she said scratching her hair, “Help me!”

  With great difficulty and on the constant prodding of the prisoner, Nuzahat was able to find a key ring with various keys that hung on a wall mounted key ring holder. She put up two empty plastic cans one on top of another, slipped twice before she was able to reach the key ring. She went back to the room and handed the keys to the older girl, who said, “My name Shyama; you know that man is totally mad...says he get maaza (kick) seeing helplessness, fear, and pain on his victim's faces. He sees these photos, gets excited and does to me...let us go before he comes. I don’t know the way but we will find out.”

  “This...bad place!”

  “Hold my hand; do not fear,” she Shyama as she held Nuzhat’s had firmly in one of her hand while holding a matchstick in the other. Once outside, she lit the matchstick occasionally to guide her. They climbed up two floors to reach the ground floor, pausing at every corner to hear approaching footsteps. When they finally approached ground level they found that the farmhouse was enveloped in darkness and the walls and floor was cold as a corpse. Since both were barefoot the coldness made their feet numb within a few seconds. To dispel darkness as much as to dispel her fears, Shayma lit the last of the matchsticks.

  As if guided by her sixth sense, she turned around. In the flickering light of the matchstick, she saw a tall lean man standing behind them. Instinctively, she took the little girl in her protective embrace. The man was dressed in a black robe with a hood. A golden ceramic mask hid his face with the openings in place of eyes, nostrils, and mouth, through which his sad, exhausted and expressionless eyes protruded out. He stood in a calm and unhurried manner of a seasoned sinner or an adept saint. With a barely noticeable chuckle he commented, “Tremendous; instead of one, now I got two.” He stooped and blew off the matchstick. After which he took out his tongue and licked the neck of Nuzhat and Shayma making a slurping noise. The gluey touch of his cold and rugged tongue gave both the girls goose bumps all over the skin. After which it was all silent and dark.

  CHAPTER 4: THE GOLDEN-HEARTED MAN& THE STARRY-EYED GIRL

  The studio of A&Z channel was located in a nondescript building in the film city of Noida. The building reeked with smelly toilets; bad plumbing had led to dampness in the ceiling and walls, which were crudely hidden by reeling wallpapers. The main shooting arena consisted of a large hall with a dance floor and two ‘newsrooms’ that were in much better shape.

  The shooting of ‘Lux India presents The Ultimate dancer’ was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. The two judges of the show were using the men’s toilet before the start of the shooting. One of them was a 37-year-old out-of-work B grade film director Nagapali and the other was TV comedian Sadadukhi Patel.

  “Did you see Shelly Daruwalla’s dress last night? Doesn’t she look hot? And when she wears a low-cut tee-shirt or semi-transparent top, bhai baithnamuskil ho jaati hai (it is difficult to sit unaffected)” said Patel winking his eyes.

  “Tharkhi (Pervert)! She is your fellow judge.”

  “So what, doesn’t becomes my sister because of that. This is not some family drama we are shooting for.”

  “Don’t waste your time; she is only interested in Rudolf Schönherr; we are like no one for her.”

  “I must butter this Rudolf Schönherr and learn some tricks; how he makes all those chicks eat out of his hand.”

  “This is the problem with woman mere bhai; they only chase men who are not interested in them; while they treat their real admirers like tail-swinging dogs.”

  “Yesterday, she was flirting with Rudolf; she even tried to put her hand on thhisis thigh; can you beat that?”

  “If I was in his place I would have killed the cat on the first night! But he is either impotent or Gay – the way he ignores Daruwalla’s advances! Isn’t he seeing that TV actress Leena?”

  “So I heard; but since when westerners became a one-woman man! In their culture, multiple partners, break up and casual hook-ups are fair game.”

  “I suspect he only pretends to be a saint!”

  “Or maybe he is.”

  “Arey Patel Sahib; what say? Glamour industry has only saints of flesh. I think devil and debauchery are either the end product or the womb of our profession.”

  “Maybe you are right; either saint do not come here or do not survive here.”

  “My mom should have married a white man!”

  “Why so; I thought you were a proud Telegu.”

  “Arey Patel bhai; if I too had white skin and blue eyes like Rudolf, girls would have been falling all over me.”

  “He is nothing but a novelty for them. Why don’t you shift to Germany or any European country; I have heard women their fancy dark-skinned people.”

  “Yeah; you also have fun at my expense.”

  “Come; let us take our chairs before the reporting time.”

  They reached the main hall, walking through a maze of dark corridors and sat in the glare of bright spotlights that hung from the high ceiling. As always, their fellow judges, the choreographers - Shelly and Rudolf Schönherr were immaculately dressed and looked groomed & peppered to be presentable to millions of prime-time TV viewers. The dance show started off with scintillating performances by the participants. The highlight of the show was the announcement of the results; which were to eliminate 2 contestants and decide on the final 5 participants. As the judges and studio-audiences watched with bated breath; the audience favourite - a 15-year-old female dancer Nisha got eliminated.

  She broke down on hearing the result and falling on her knees started to cry before the cameras. In her baby pink gown, she looked like a Cinderella that had just escaped from the clutches of her step-mother and was awaiting her prince charming.

  Rudolf Schönherr got up, went on the stage and made Nisha stand embraced her and patted her on the back to console her. She cried uncontrollably with her face buried in his chest. “Nisha; my child,” he said, “Your performance has been consistent throughout. You are a good dancer, a great dancer and this is not the end of your career and life. Please calm down and show us the same smile and sportsman spirit that you are famous for.”

  “You don't know Rudolf Sir. No one knows,” she said amidst her sobs. “But my younger brother is suffering from a rare disease. I needed the prize money to take him to the U.S. for his advance treatment or he will die.”

  The camera panned on her mother sitting in the audience, who was wiping her tears with the corner of her saree as the pictures of a beautiful boy of 11 years were flashed on the screens. There was stunned silence and disbelief and camera showed a close-up of many people who had moist eyes. This was reality TV at its best. The gleeful producers sitting in the glass-fronted room that overlooked the shooting arena were already thinking of dreamlike TRP ratings of their show when they used that footage in the weekly teasers.

  “Nisha; beta, please understand that life and death are in the hands of God. Nothing will happen to your brother. He will be just fine. You are a fighter; who have fought your way here; overcome all adversities and challenges in life to make a place for yourself in this world. Losing one competition will not end that.”

  “But my brother will die! I have failed him! I have failed my family.”

  “No; you have not! You have made them proud; they will always be proud of you. Just as we all are proud of you and just as we all love you. Before everyone here; I announce that I am selecting and will sign you for the next song that I am choreographing for the movie of Bollywood’s reigning superstar Jolly Khanna. And I will also sponsor the entire medical treatment of your brother in the U.S., including the cost of your family’s travel and stay there.”

  She fell on her knees crying and held the feet of Rudolf in gratitude. The entire studio audience and the rest of the judges rose and th
e standing ovation for Rudolf Schönherr continued for a long time. The news was flashed along with the video-grab of the announcement by TV channels, and was also reported widely by newspapers and film magazines. When the episode was telecasted 4 days later; millions wiped their tears watching that emotional moment that acted as a catharsis for people.

  Among those millions of viewers was Payal Chatterjee; who was bowled over by the compassion and humanity of Bollywood's ace-choreographer and thought she had finally found the mentor who could help her realise her dreams.

  In the pleasant sunshine of the winter-afternoon, the auto–rickshaw halted on the side street and Payal climbed down from it; she paid the fare and walked a few steps and found herself standing before a huge and spacious bungalow that stood in its full majesty. Besides the gate, on its boundary wall, hung a green coloured signboard with bold silver letters - ‘Rudolf Schönherr’s Institute of Performing Arts’. The bungalow was at a walking distance from the famous marketplace of South Extension part I market, on the ring road of Delhi.

  The place outside the bungalow to the entire length of the boundary wall; was filled with imported cars, telling of Rudolf Schönherr’s rich students. Payal walked up to the gates where she found a Nepali watchman sitting on a stool. She inquired about the reception; the Gorkha gave her directions to the front desk. Payal walked on the driveway of the building; on the right was a large garden with many flower-beds and plants, while on the left was the tall wall beyond which stood a similar bungalow.