Curse of the Unknown

                                                       Episode 5

We rushed for the aid of the old man and resurrected him back on his wheelchair. He was so old and frail that it actually seemed that had I held him a little tighter, his bones would have crumbled into pieces. Asmi went to the washbasin and brought a water soaked towel to clean up his face. While she was busy with her work, I noticed that the dragonflies were still clung to his neck. It must be so painful for him, I thought, being bitten by one myself. But to my surprise, she cleaned up his face and hands, but not his neck. I wanted to tell her about the same, but soon dropped the idea, thinking that she might not like me intervening. But still I asked, however, in a different manner-

“Do you need any help?”

“No, its fine.” , she replied.

She looked so calm and composed which seemed so odd to me. Her grandfather, though he had not sustained any visible injury, looked every bit shaken and afraid. His body was completely paralysed, except for his left eye. The randomness, with which its pupil was moving gave me enough evidence that he was afraid, instilled with a fear which, out of my knowledge, was approaching me slowly.

The dragonflies were still there, fondling with his long scattered hairs and drilling his impaled skin with their stings. This had become unbearable for me now.

 “I think you forgot to clean up over there.”, I said to Asmi, with my finger pointing towards the old man’s neck.

“You don’t need to tell me how to take care of him, Gautam.”, said she in her very own sardonic tone and swept the towel across his neck.

I cursed myself and decided to head back to my hotel. And somehow fortunes were on my side that day. The bus was standing right in front of me when I reached the bus stop. Its fore tyres had got punctured (fortunately). It was within few minutes after I arrived that the bus was ready to go.

It wasn't crowded as I had seen it two days ago. Although I didn't got a seat but still I found a comfortable place to stand. The driver fastened the bus towards the highway as the skies grew darker.

The whole forest seemed alive by the constant bustling of monkeys, jumping from one branch to the other. The trees danced in ecstasy as the birds enchanted their melancholies. A flock of crows dashed just over the roof of the bus, hindering the already emaciated light from entering the forest. The situation was scary, but I wasn't, being with so many people at that time. And surprisingly though, they weren't afraid either. I was standing very close to the ticket collector. So I asked him, “Aren't you afraid of this place?”

“Yes, I am.”, he replied in a carefree manner, “But not now with so many people around. That witch never haunts a public transport. It is only seen by individuals.”

He was right. I didn't see any sign of that apparition throughout the path.

This became a routine for me. My mornings spent travelling to Asmi’s house; noons remained engaged in candid conversations (along with a hot cup of black coffee) over my book and other stuff; and my evenings witnessed the spooky Pagdandi Marg with not so spooky incidents.

It was my last day in Pune. I was busy trimming my beard and plucking out the white hairs from my head. Usually there are just four to five, but this time the count was as much as twenty hairs. I looked at my sullen eyes, and pondered over the plausible reasons for all this. And there was only one reason that justified my condition- love. Yes, I was in love with Asmi. Totally, madly, deeply. She was the woman of my dreams. Such calm and composed persona, such elegance of expressions iced with those sardonic looks (she looked very cute at the time) made me fall for her. The idea to pop up the big question against her had given me three sleepless nights. Though I was very sure that she had developed some feelings for me (as she had cried over my shoulder on our very fifth  meeting, telling me about the hardships she had faced in her life), but I was not sure that those were of love, like mine. But still I mustered all the courage inside me and decided to go ahead and propose her.

     I bought a bouquet of flowers on the way and at around 3pm I was at her house. I got late that day (due to those trimming and plucking and other grooming sessions) but still I was in no mood to leave early without asking her. I ranged the bell and there she came, dressed in a long white kurta and churidar. My heart beat raced to infinity after looking at her. She was looking the most beautiful woman my eyes had ever witnessed. Unlike the other days she had kept her hairs open, letting them being played by the canny winds. While I was enjoying this site, she was getting irritated and had just begun to tie up her hairs when I interrupted-

“Don’t do that. They are looking good. “

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she smiled coyly. With her eyes facing the floor she welcomed me inside. After some formal conversation she went inside the kitchen to make coffee. Not only her appearance but also her countenance seemed different to me that day. Her lips were stretched in a continuous smile every time I saw her. These signs further boosted my confidence and I went after her to the kitchen.

Suddenly the sky grew dark and winds stormy. She was busy in making coffee with her back facing me. I touched the left pocket of my pant to check whether the ring was there. I called out her name slowly, “Asmi.” But she didn't reply. I went near to her and called out again. She didn't reply this time either. I called her again and again but she remained frosted, busy in making coffee. I placed my hand over her shoulder and shrugged her, “Asmi!”

She turned around this time. Her hairs were scattered over her face. Suddenly the window of the kitchen burst open, letting the stormy wind peep inside. With her hairs blown away by wind, I saw her face- only to witness a dead white skin, just like the apparition I had seen on my first day in Pune.

To be continued…….

Curse of the Unknown

                                                Episode 4

Next day I found myself standing right in front of Ms Asmi Mathur’s house holding a bouquet of white lilies in my hands. I was very sure that she was the same woman who had saved me a day before on that ominous night. I knocked on her door twice but no reply came from inside. She must be having difficulty in walking, I thought. I knocked on the door once again and this time there was a reply, “Wait there. I am coming.” By the time she reached the door I kept myself busy looking around, thinking that how difficult it could be for her to live at such a place, a place so nonchalant with very few houses in the neighborhood.

“Yes?”

The door was open. She was standing there, dressed immaculately in a tank white kurta and skin tight slacks. But to my surprise there wasn’t any kind of plaster or bandage over her left leg which had got injured that night.

“Hello, who are you? Hey, wait a sec…”

She narrowed her eyes and scanned me from her head to toe. “Hello, Ms Mathur.”, said I, in a rather stilted way.

“Okay, I…I remember now who you are. But…”

“You must be wondering how I got to know about your place.”

I paused for a few seconds to observe her reaction. She was confused, no doubt, but at the same time she was petrified as she slowly cringed behind the door, probably thinking of me as a stalker. I thought it was enough of playing games with her. “Well..”, said I, “I had been to your office yesterday. They told me that you won’t be coming to the office for few days and I…

“…..thought that come here and meet me in person or to be more precise find an opportunity to be alone with me, right.”, said she sardonically, cutting short my words.

“No!”, I cried, albeit I knew that she would be thinking like this, “No lady, you are getting me wrong.” This was followed by a few minutes of silence after which I continued, “I have come here to show you the manuscript of my book Ms Mathur. That’s the reason I am in Pune.”

She narrowed her eyes and examined me once again from head to toe. The sardonic look of her eyes was gone within the minute she realized who I was. “Mr. Bhardwaj?”, she said, looking visibly embarrassed. “Yes, Ms. Mathur.”, said I, borrowing her sardonic overtone, “ I am Gautam Bhardwaj from Delhi, author of ‘The Mystery Woman’. I think I have an appointment with you today, if you have been informed about that.”

“I am terribly sorry Mr. Bhardwaj.”, she said while opening the door, “Please come inside.”

I followed her into the living room. The furniture was mostly made up of wood and seemed very antique from its design. A thin layer of dust had formed over the bookshelf, something which again seemed quite strange to me as she, being from the literary arena, must have been book frenzy. I picked up a book from the shelf as she went to the kitchen to prepare tea. There were a lot of classics in the lot, such as Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, Shakespeare’s Othello and Romeo and Juliet, Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibilities and many more. But something was strange here too. Most of these books were old editions. Othello was the oldest among the lot with a 1924 edition.

“These are my grandfather’s.”, she said as she came into the living room, holding a tea tray in her hands, “ he himself was an editor at mint.” “That sounds great.” , I said as I took the cup of tea from her hands. Silence prevailed over the next five minutes as we busied ourselves with the tea. I was the one to break the silence, “So how’s your leg?”

“What has happened to my leg?”

“I think you had injured your leg that night.”

“Oh that! That’s nothing. I have survived worse. It was just a scar by the way.”

We finished our tea and then discussed about the layout of my novel. I don’t remember how the time got lapsed and when we got up it was almost five in the evening. “Where are you staying?” she asked. “At the Grand Shivaji Hotel.” I replied. “How will you go there now?”

“Of course by bus. The bus driver’s strike is over, isn’t it?”

“No… I mean that the bus arrives at around 4:30 at Pagdandi Marg stop. And it’s almost over five now.”

“Thank you, Ms. Mathur. I’ll manage.”

“It’s your choice then.” after a pause she said, “I need not tell you what lies there, in the forest, do I.”

She was giving me a valid reason to avoid that path. But there wasn’t any option other than this for me. I dare not ask her for a night stays either because more and so I was still a stranger to her “I should go now, Ms. Mathur” I said. “Okay then. And it’s your wish altogether and one more thing” she said smilingly “don’t call me Ms. Mathur again. It seems that I am a hundred years older than you.” I chuckled “what should I call you then?”

“I think Asmi would be fine.”

We both laughed. It was the first time I had saw her expressing any emotion, and that too of joy. While her almond shaped eyes danced in ecstasy, my eyes stationed over her face, arousing a feeling I had never felt before. But her laughter soon effaced into a wry smile. Her brows got tensed and she turned away her face from me, probably trying to hide the reason which had cut short her laughter. I was about to ask her why she got upset when suddenly I felt a tinge on my neck. I slapped on my neck and found a dragonfly clung to my hand. A dragonfly doesn’t usually bite, but its sting was somehow more painful than that of a bee. I brushed aside my pain and asked her, “Are you alright?” Suddenly a noise came from the house as if someone has fallen off from a height. We both rushed inside the house. She led me to a room, second in the kitchen- living room gallery. There I saw an old man, pale like a corpse, lying flat on the floor with a dozen of dragonflies clung to his neck.

To be continued…..