Kuppuswamy Iyer : A Diwali Murder
Kuppuswamy had earned a reputation with the local police and his Tamil Brahmin community. He worked two jobs, one of a priest in the Nataraja temple and other of a private detective. As a priest he conducted religious rituals, matched horoscopes and advised on supernatural issues. As a private detective, he looked for scientific clues, material evidence, shunning superstition and heresy. His reputation gave him the authority to solve problems of this world and other, but last few months his confidence dwindled and a sense of fear chased him. For the first time in his life, he felt afraid to sleep.
Today, like a fortnight before, since last Diwali, Kuppuswamy Iyer woke up with a strange dream, a dream which had been chasing him, every dark night when the Sun and the Moon met each other in the same zodiac, also known as the Amavasya. He vividly saw himself leaving the Nataraja temple in the wee hours of the morning, after finishing his first family ritual of the day, abhisheka and puja offering to the deity Nataraja first and then Lord Shaneeshwara. Waiting outside for him was a spirit that tried to latch on to him. He ran in his dhoti and angavastra, barefoot, holding on to the abhisheka patra – a silver water pot passed on through generations. The spirit chased him across the streets of Chennai as people ignored his calls for help. It sat on his shoulder. He felt immense pressure. His breathing rupturing his chest. Blood trickled through the corner of his eyes. His brain was losing control. “Nataraja!” a loud cry for help escaped his mouth. Just then he sat up, his bed wet with sweat.
For the first time in his life, he had failed to solve a murder.
It was the morning of Diwali, when in the sound of bursting crackers no one noticed the rescue call of a young woman – Deepta. She was later found dead by the housemaid, in a crimson pool, her palm clutching a small black rock statue of Lord Nataraja. A small replica of the one Kuppuswamy Iyer’s family had been propitiating for generations. Diwali, the darkest Amavasya, was etched as a scar in the memories of the community. Many theories were floated: That Deepta was killed by a super natural force against which she tried to protect herself with the statue; That she slipped and hurt her head; That someone poisoned her with an undetectable chemical and then threw her from a height. These theories were as useless, as the forensic evidence and the post mortem report that arrived later. Kuppuswamy Iyer was sure it was a murder and not an accident or suicide.
“I had told her, never wear the stone of a maraka planet,” said Kuppuswamy to an uninterested group of policemen cordoning the crime scene. “She had come to me for horoscope reading, wearing a rare large diamond ring gifted by her grandmother. It must be worth a fortune today. I had told her to remove it, as wearing gemstone of a maraka planet can only bring problems.” The policemen went about their work ignoring him. “But the diamond ring she is wearing now is fake,” he said, now louder. “Someone has replaced the rare diamond ring. The small statue placed in her fist is only to distract us. It is a murder. Nataraja!” he said loudly and exited the house. As he hopped on his electric scooter he felt a certain heaviness, on his shoulders, ignoring the feeling he rushed to the temple. He had to check her horoscope again. That morning, while inspecting the dead body, there was something he had seen in the girl’s house that made his heart plunge into his gut. A small 2-inch pit was dug outside the left corner of the main door, a bracelet of small sea shells was peeking out of the pit. Tied to it was a small bone. Later that night, the night of Diwali, he had the first nightmare.
Deepta was cremated in the Virugambakkam cremation ground attended only by her step uncle, cousin sister, grandmother and two friends. Later when Kuppuswamy and police asked them a few questions they couldn’t get any conclusive clues. Her sister standing at the boundary of the cremation ground was visibly shaken with dark circles under her eyes. The uncle, Mr Sethuraman conducted the final rites and later mentioned that Deepta had recently lost her parents to the pandemic and that he had been her guardian since last one year. He mentioned that he had spoken to Deepta the previous night about her marriage to a boy they had recently seen and she was excited about him. “It seems like the curse has got her this time,” Sethuraman said wiping his eyes with his dhoti and excused himself. In few months, the family had given up hope and the police had pushed Deepta’s murder case under a growing pile of cases.
The case had not given up on Kuppuswamy Iyer, neither had his eerie dreams. After completing his morning rituals, he sat in the temple premises and tried to recall any clues from his scary dream, from the crime scene, from police report findings and from the discussions with the girl’s family. He recalled that Deepta had visited him a week before Diwali to consult on her horoscope. He was perturbed to see her change from an energy oozing popular social media podcaster to a nervous wreck with a pale face, sweaty palms, rapidly moving eye balls, biting of lips – tell-tale signs. In her multiple questions, one question had struck him as odd. “Anna, how can you remove a curse?”. Then suddenly as if someone was controlling her, she changed her questions. “Ok, I promise I won’t ask him again.” She murmured to herself. Then suddenly, she looked at Kuppuswamy, and said, “Sorry Anna!,” and left. Deepta kept her head low and was speaking to someone unseen, in low voice as she left the temple courtyard.
Deepta was younger than Kuppuswamy by few years and had grown up in the same colony. When Kuppuswamy’s mother was battling with cancer, she brought home cooked meals for his family for over a year. He was her Maths tuition teacher since sixth grade and was proud of her when she topped the state in her twelfth grade. Kuppuswamy folded his laptop and was about to close his book of panchang that he used for horoscope consultations when a pop-up notification of his mobile distracted him. As if a clue from the divine, it was a podcast in which Deepta was interviewing a paranormal expert. Kuppuswamy finished the long podcast, which had multimillion views and had ended on a verbal spat between the host and the guest. Doraiswamy, the paranormal expert had inadvertently made a judgemental statement about women being the usual victims of supernatural attacks and their innate weakness being the cause of it, to which Deepta had challenged him online to prove it to her audience. As Kuppuswamy left for the office of Doraiswamy on his scooty, a statement from the podcast haunted him, “Deepta, it appears you want the proof of the pudding. So be it. I am sorry for you.”
Doraiswamy’s home was in Nungambakkam a posh locality and probably quite expensive for a paranormal investigator. Kuppuswamy had to ring the bell a few times before a middle-aged woman peeped through a slightly ajar door. Invited inside, he noticed that the house had a dull – heavy energy. Niraja mentioned that over the last two years their financial position had improved significantly since moving into the house. Doraiswamy earlier worked as a clerk in a cooperative bank but had recently found a guru and become a paranormal doctor. “He solves problems which a normal doctor cannot,” she said with a hint of admiration. Suddenly her expressions changed when asked about his whereabouts. “He often leaves for days without telling us the location, but he never fails to call me. I have been waiting for his call for the last two days,” she said, worried. Kuppuswamy gave her his number and while she wrote it down in a diary, he noticed the large rare diamond ring on her finger. On his way to the funeral ground, where Doraiswamy’s guru was often found, he made a mental note to inform the police for re-searching Doraiswamy’s house, especially the glass cabinet on the right, where he had seen few bracelets of sea shells tied in a bone.
Venu, Doraiswamy’s guru stayed in a multistorey apartment built adjacent to the Virugambakkam cremation ground. Venu’s artificial intelligence powered doorbell scanned Kuppuswamy’s finger print when pressed and announced, “Mr. Kuppuswamy Iyer, a 37-year-old unmarried male, a detective and a priest. Last stopover at Mr. Doraiswamy’s house. Was in local news for investigating a murder case of Miss Deepta, which is yet unsolved. Body scan reveal no dangerous weapons. He has been having disturbed dreams recently. Safe to enter.”
The door opened as Venu welcomed him inside the house. “Don’t be surprised, we are modern day paranormal experts, we are scientists in our field and cannot do our work without technology. In fact, Deepta was doing her thesis on technology use by paranormal experts and accompanied me and Doraiswamy on some of our visits.”
“But how…how did it know about my dreams?” asked Kuppuswamy.
“Oh! I will come to that,” replied Venu.
“Also, I thought Doraiswamy was after Deepta, in fact indirectly threatened her,” said Kuppuswamy admiring a large round object that had images from different locations popping up on its sides and weird sounds emanating.”
“Ah! You are probably referring to the podcast, that was just some created drama. It helps with viewership you know!” “That object is not a crystal ball, but a projector that shows live photos of different sites we research and sounds that are beyond the normal frequency range of us humans,” said Venu as he guided Kuppuswamy to another dimly lit room.
“Do you know where we can find Mr. Doraiswamy?”
“He will meet you in two days, as a protocol we keep our paranormal site visits secret, he is on a tour to Odisha.”
“What do you have to say about Deepta’s murder?”
“It’s tragic, she was a brilliant girl and in fact had developed interest in some of our paranormal techniques.”
“Did she speak to you about a curse?” asked Kuppuswamy looking at some sea shells tied with a bone placed in the corner table of the room.
“Yes, she mentioned it,” Venu replied. “She spoke highly of you, a priest and private detective. She said there was a family curse but didn’t elaborate.”
Venu continued, “Why not ask Deepta your questions directly? She may be able to help.”
Kuppuswamy looked startled, prompting Venu to clarify, “I’m not being facetious. As a priest, you know we have rituals to connect with ancestors. You can try contacting Deepta’s departed soul, just as the ghost is trying to communicate with you.”
“Light three til oil lamps on Amavasya day. One outside Deepta’s house, another at the place she was cremated and one outside your house. You should get a message.”
“You being a paranormal expert, why can’t you speak to Deepta and tell us?”
“It does not matter if you can communicate with the spirits, what matters is if they want to communicate with you. Try it! This is my number, call me anytime,” replied Venu handing over a fashionable business card.
As Venu escorted him out, he pointed to the fingerprint reader and said, “This machine can’t read your dreams, but it has retrieved data from your digital watch, which monitors your sleep. This data is captured in an app that shares it with your social media provider, accessible through our technology.”
On his way to Deepta’s grandmothers house, Kuppuswamy mentally listed the items he had to discuss with the police later and suddenly recalled ‘You can try and connect with Deepta’s departed soul like the ghost is trying to communicate with you’. How did he know?
Gita Paati, Deepta’s grandmother lived in an old row house with Deepta’s uncle close to the Nataraja temple. The door was opened by Sulochana, Deepta’s elder cousin sister. Her last two attempts at getting married had failed. The first groom met with an accident while travelling to India and the wedding had to be postponed and later cancelled. The second groom’s father had a heart attack a month before the wedding date. In both instances the wedding invitations had already been sent and Deepta’s uncle landed up neck deep in debt. As Kuppuswamy entered the traditionally modelled house with tiled roof, he sensed a certain melancholy in air. Gita Paati in her late seventies, was grinding course spices into powder on a large millstone stone grinder with a cylindrical metal handle, intermittently sipping filter coffee. She revealed that two generations ago, a house servant’s daughter was killed on her wedding day, casting a curse that prevented women in their family from marrying. Kuppuswamy’s great-grandfather had performed a ritual in the Venkateshwara temple, energizing a diamond ring that protected the women, allowing marriages to proceed uninterrupted. Gita Paati believed Deepta had contacted paranormal elements, attempting to connect with the murdered servant’s daughter, which backfired severely. This led to Sulochana’s failed marriages and ultimately, Deepta’s death. She believed this was no ordinary murder but a supernatural one. As Kuppuswamy was about to step out of Gita Paati’s house, she stopped him. Getting up she got up on a stool to reach a wall mounted rack and picked up a small container from which she applied a small pinch of energised grey ash on Kuppuswamy’s forehead. He felt a rush through his spine as he saw Gita Paati placing the container back on the rack and next to it were two miniature black rock statues of lord Nataraja, replica of the one found in Deepta’s hand.
Inspector Murugesh was dealing with a married couple who had landed up with their relatives at the police station. The sound of loud arguments between fighting parties could be heard from a distance as Kuppuswamy entered the station premises. Murugesh smiled as he saw Kuppuswamy and signalled his deputy to manage the conflict, who now took the negotiating chair reluctantly. Outside, at the tea stall, Kuppuswamy shared updates from his visits. Murugesh mentioned that despite Doraiswamy’s house coming up clean in the search, he remained a key suspect.
Kuppuswamy mentioned the sea shells and bone, requesting another house search. Before finishing his tea, Murugesh shared a finding that prompted Kuppuswamy to rush out, leaving his half-empty glass behind. He asked the inspector to pay and sped away on his electric scooter.
En route to Gita Paati’s house, Kuppuswamy purchased three earthen lamps, as suggested by Venu. He found Gita Paati pulling water from a traditional well in the courtyard and watering the plants in backyard. He approached her and whispered two questions: “Did Deepta tell you the diamond ring was replaced with a fake?” and “Are you missing a black rock miniature Natraja statue since Deepta’s death?” Gita Paati’s expressions provided the answers, and Kuppuswamy returned home as the Sun set.
The first half of the night was wasted as Kuppuswamy’s efforts to fall asleep failed; in the wee hours of morning, he did have a dream. Deepta was looking at him and smiling, she brought to fore a piece of paper which had her birth chart. With her finger she circled a triangular area, then suddenly Deepta was replaced by the familiar ghost. But this time Kuppuswamy was following him, as the spirit picked up speed he ran after it and suddenly Kuppuswamy fell down, in front of him was the Nataraja temple, at the gate of which the spirit had vanished. First thing in the morning he dialled Inspector Murugesh and requested his team to summon the suspects to the police station the next day. He visited the temple in early hours and tried to decipher the meaning of the dream. When after spending two hours he did not secure any clues, he decided to leave on his scooter. As if by the trick of fate or guided by an invisible hand, his scooter skidded over spilled oil outside the temple gate. While getting up and pulling up his scooter he stole a glance at the temple and then suddenly, as if Lord himself was giving him the message, he ran towards the Shaneeshwara idol placed in the temple courtyard. He held the idol in the grip of his palm, tried twisting it, but not before bowing to it with folded hands and then he suddenly realised it could easily be pulled out of the platform. He dialled Inspector Murugesh and asked him to reach the forensics office directly.
The following day at eleven in the morning, a group of people were seated around three conjoint office tables. They included Gita Paati, Sulochana, Deepta’s uncle Sethuraman, Doraiswamy, Venu, the housemaid and Deepta’s two friends. Inspector Murugesh signalled Kuppuswamy and he got up straightening his dhoti and then lifted two idols from a box and placed them on the table. Kuppuswamy started talking after bowing before the two idols.
“A supernatural murder, that’s what we were told from the beginning. Gita Paati’s firm belief and the circumstances surrounding the murder led us to consider this angle seriously. After solving the case, we partially agree with the statement; the murder wasn’t supernatural, but the solution came from following the supernatural lead.”
“I’ve known Deepta and her family for years and knew she wouldn’t commit suicide. But who would kill her? Why would someone murder a vibrant, full-of-life girl in wee hours of Diwali? Following the supernatural lead, we investigated the curse, and Gita Paati was partially right; the curse was part of the reason, but the real motive was the diamond ring. It’s value, not the curse, led to Deepta’s murder – by her own guardian, her uncle, Mr. Sethuraman.”
Sethuraman did not flinch.
“Deepta had realised that the diamond she wore on her finger was fake and had been replaced by Mr. Sethuraman. She had called him on the night before Diwali and they had a verbal spat wherein she threatened him about telling Gita Paati. Mr. Sethuraman, would you like to tell us how you killed Deepta?” asked Inspector Murugesh. You cannot deny your argument with Deepta, the housemaid was witness to it. Sethuraman maintained silence.
Kuppuswamy walked towards Sethuraman, “It was Deepta herself who led us to the murderer.” All eyes turned towards Kuppuswamy with unbelieving expressions. “My dream of Deepta led me to the temple, which led me to the murder weapon. Going back to the forensic findings, we knew that some hard stone object had fractured Deepta’s skull and led to her bleeding to death. But the only stone object in the room, the Nataraja statue in her hand was clean and had no forensic evidence. But after seeing Deepta in dream, I had a revelation that the statue of Lord Saneeshwara was used to kill Deepta and Nataraja’s statue was placed to divert the investigation. Without the supernatural dream we would never have found the statue that was used and the matching blood of Deepta on it.”
Tears rolled off Sethuraman’s eyes and he spoke stealing attention, “Yes, I had no choice. My mother believed in some stupid story about the curse and was not willing to sell the ring to repay the debt for two failed marriage arrangements of Sulochana. If I went to jail for the debt, who would have married her? I had no choice but to kill Deepta, because she was threatening to expose me. Hang me if you want, I killed Deepta!”
When the constables arrested Sethuraman with handcuffs, and were about to escort him to the magistrate, Gita Paati and Sethuraman faced each other eye-to-eye for a few minutes, exchanging painful glances. While Sethuraman lowered his eyes, Paati spoke in a low voice before slowly walking towards the station exit, “There has to be a curse on the family that I gave birth to a son like you, I will ensure I get my granddaughter married.”
Suddenly on cue a constable appeared on the station gate and displayed the diamond ring in his hand. Everyone turned to look back at Kuppuswamy with surprise as he walked towards the constable to collect it.
“Did you really think you could get away with the murder, especially when you used Lord’s statue as the prop?”. “Paati, answer me!” Kuppuswamy demanded.
“Gita Paati murdered Deepta, her step grandchild. She did not want to part away with the family diamond ring that Sethuraman had willingly offered to Deepta after two failed marriage attempts of Sulochana. The temple was constructed in Patti‘s youth and she knew the secret that Lord Shaneeshwara’s statue could be easily detached by slightly twisting it to the side. When I saw the metal handle attached to the grinder, we decided to inspect it today and found the ring too. Gita Paati killed Deepta and was going to send a willing Sethuraman to jail. This woman in the family is definitely cursed. Nataraja!” Said Sethuraman and moved away from the constables approaching Patti.
As people dispersed out of the station, Kuppuswamy, Venu, Doraiswamy and Inspector Murugesh chatted up over tea.
“So, the oil lamp suggestion worked?”
“Yes, seems it did, but I wanted to ask you about my dreaming about the ghost. How did you know about it?”
“Because I had been having similar dreams, I believe it was Deepta giving us subtle messages. Once you die you are not allowed to directly communicate with the people of this world, unless you call them to speak to you. Which you did with oil lamp.”
There was an uncomfortable silence between them and then they went to their ways.
Kuppuswamy wanted to ask Venu but refrained himself, ‘does that mean I won’t be seeing Deepta now on next Amavasya?’. A part of him still longed for it.
The Astrologer
Pandit Mangal Mishra walked quickly through the narrow lanes of Channa market and wrestled himself through the two parallel queues waiting to enter into the Vriddhinath Shiva temple. Some of them recognised the doppelganger of Pandit Ram Mishra, his father, the famous astrologer and allowed him space, others expressed their frustration. Mangal Mishra inherited the gaddi of his father as the primary temple priest and generational astrologer. His last attempt at the civil services was unsuccessful and with his marriage to Preeti Tripathi scheduled in exactly six months, this was not a matching compensation for status and income. Mangal took a few minutes to conduct the pooja of the main deity and then handed over the mantle to his brother Pulkit who helped the eagerly awaiting devotees with their offerings. Mangal took his seat on the cushioned elevated wooded platform and folded his hands murmuring a prayer in front of a red coloured book placed on a wooden plank – a practise he had copied from his father. People in the long growing queue assumed he was as gifted as the father, the grandfather and the preceding ones. Pandit Ram Mishra’s claim to fame was not just his inheritance of the family chair but the prediction he made for the election of the chief minister of the state. Soon he was successfully predicting the next cricket world cup winner, prospects of an emerging movie star, foretelling a natural disaster as if he had a time machine. The queue for his consultation continued to grow since then. Mangal was a fan of science and even though he had witnessed some of his father’s brilliant predictions first hand, he somewhat retained his scepticism. Being the natural heir to family knowledge, he had mastered the techniques passed on through generations.
Mangal hated to admit that Preeti had come into his life through astrology. He was helping his father on a book signing event, when Preeti and Mangal looked at each other and made up their mind. Unlike Mangal, Preeti was drawn passionately to astrology and enrolled herself into Pandit Ram Mishra’s course, where the eager lovers could meet daily. The unwilling Mangal Mishra was exceptionally brilliant at predictions, even if he dreadfully avoided the subject. Encountering multiple failures in securing a decent job or cracking an entrance exam, he accepted his destiny and sat on the gaddi.
Today he was clearing the pipeline of clients quickly as he had to meet Preeti, but the queue seemed to be only growing. Something was wrong today he felt, he looked at the queue again. He noticed a woman, possibly in her thirties who was held firmly by an older man, possibly her father. Suddenly she looked back at him, her eyes widened. Was she angry, frustrated or troubled, Mangal couldn’t guess. She kept staring at him. The line kept moving, people getting their predictions, some also getting remedies and paying a token amount of money as fees. They could pay what they liked or afford. The old lady who consulted before the staring girl, took a lot of time. She tried to ask questions about almost all her family members based on her birth chart. Without getting irritated Mangal tried to tell her that individual charts were a must for separate predictions. She reluctantly left after promising a revisit with individual birth charts. The staring girl and her father sat as he offered her birth chart, aka ‘Kundli’. Mangal looked at her with a friendly smile but she didn’t smile back.
“We are not able to get her married. All prospective grooms reject her. Can you check her horoscope?” said the father with folded hands.
Mangal noted in a quick glance that Sanvi was neatly dressed in a sleeveless salwar suit and her eyes were sunk into deep dark sockets. He suddenly felt a drain of energy and poured some water from the small metal container placed nearby. He feigned to ignore multiple cuts, albeit small on her neck going down through her left shoulder to her palms. It looked like a strange pattern that was replicated on her other hand. He had seen that pattern somewhere but couldn’t recall. ‘But why the bloody cuts?’ he didn’t want an answer.
He took a few minutes to make his calculations and then check current planetary transits before he said, “Your daughter is a Manglik , there is also a curse running within the family, it is better if you don’t get her married. If there is a child born from the marriage it will be the birth of the evil.”
The girl covered her face with her hands. There was a weird looking ring in black metal on her middle finger. The ring fronted a hollow space within which multiple strands of dirty hair were stuck through glue. He was suddenly distracted by her mourning sigh and heard her father say in a desperate tone, “there must be some remedy you can tell us”, as Mangal tried to get up from his seat, signalling others to come the next day. “We are not in a position to pay dowry and our health is not the same, we want to see her settled before we are gone,” the old man said in a pleading tone offering a small amount of money as fee.
“Uncle, she can pray to Lord Vridhhinath, offer red flowers and red gram for forty-three days on the Shiva Linga, but I doubt that will get her married.” Mangal refused to accept money from the old man and rushed out, signalling Pulkit to take the red book and his other materials home. He looked at the tilted mirror of his Bajaj Chetak, admiring himself as he rode off to meet Preeti.
On the dinner table in the evening before Mangal could place the first morsel of food into his mouth, he received a sharp admonition from Senior Mishra.
“How many times have I told you, an astrologer’s clients are more than customers. They can be his patients, students, children and even mentees from case to case.”
Mangal frowned at Pulkit.
“Pulkit didn’t utter a word. Preeti called me. She is far more mature that you are. Sometimes I doubt if you are ready to marry her.” Mangal placed the morsel back on the plate and was just about to respond when Ram Mishra continued, “When does one visit an astrologer? It is usually when he has explored or tried all other options. In a way he is looking for a miracle or a solution that no one else can provide. I know, I have taught you that no one can override one’s birth chart, but I have also told you not to be the carrier of bad news. It can come back to the astrologer as a curse.”
“When you told Pulkit that there is no marriage written in his chart, wasn’t that bad news?” argued Mangal.
“Yes, but I am his father, I am prepared to bear the effect of a curse if it benefits my child. You were uncaring and selfish with her. Weren’t you?”
“But I was just trying to not give them false hope. Maybe I am not as good as you as an astrologer, in fact I never really wanted to be one, but I am honest and I cannot change that,” said Mangal getting up, leaving the food on the table. Ram Mishra, regretted initiating this conversation and left the table too.
In six months Mangal Mishra’s popularity grew manifolds. He predicted that the marriage between a cricketer and a model wouldn’t last two months. It didn’t. He advised a prominent businessman against entering into a business partnership with a foreign partner. In few months the partner’s country started a war. Soon the date of marriage arrived. At his marriage reception function he enjoyed a status and popularity that he couldn’t as a civil servant. One of his clients arranged for his marriage reception to be organised in Lutyens Delhi, a day in advance of his marriage ceremony. The bride’s family gleamed during the function to meet celebrities and businessmen they could only see on the television. While they were seeing off the guests after the reception, Mangal saw someone staring at him from outside the gate. He asked Pulkit to check it out but no one was to be found. He saw someone again. This time he decided to run-walk towards the gate and check himself. As he reached the spot, he only saw a red envelop neatly placed on one of the cars. It was addressed to him. He opened the envelop and saw a small card within that which read,
“Don’t marry her, she is a Manglik.” Mangal crushed the paper within his palms and threw it.
He rushed back into the reception hall, and was informed that the marriage had to be postponed by a day as the marriage ceremony hall had suddenly developed a major electrical problem and there was fire risk. Pandit Ram Mishra quickly took out his red book, his own version of panchang that he used for predictions. He said in an ominous tone, “if the marriage doesn’t happen tomorrow, we have to wait for six months. Day after tomorrow is inauspicious for marriage.” Mangal looked at everyone, including a desolate Preeti and said, “this cannot be delayed for six months, we are getting married day after tomorrow. Preeti and I will conduct a special prayer at Vriddhinath Shiva temple.” Inspite of repeated warnings, cajoling and threats to walk out of marriage function, Mangal was firm on getting married.
On the morning of the day of marriage, as the bride’s mother walked out of their building towards her car, her jewellery was snatched by two masked men. Mangal woke up to a huge quarrel in the colony outside his house as all the neighbour’s dogs had been barking the entire night. He ventured out and noticed that the dogs become even more aggressive as they saw him. He noticed someone staring at him from a distance. He called out to the figure twice but there was no response. As he reached the spot he saw the same envelope, it read, ‘don’t marry her she is Manglik’.
It was nine at night, the marriage pandal was bustling with people. The spirits were high, the large gathering seemed happy at the well organised function, the two priests, one each from the bride and groom’s side were trying to outcompete each other with their loud recitation of mantras. It was their sixth vow around the fire, when suddenly a large spark flew towards the bride’s lehnga and it quickly caught fire. It engulfed her lower half soon and with efforts the fire was put off, leaving significant burns on Preeti’s body who was now crying in pain. Mangal lifted her up and carried her around the fire one more time, ignoring the aghast crowd witnessing the evening events. She was rushed to the hospital and the doctor advised bed rest for six months, eliminating any possibility of consummating the marriage. Mangal was going through a hurricane of emotions, he was mad at himself for being helpless, he was mad at his father for his warning that came true, he was mad at the person who left the note, he was mad at himself for being afraid, really afraid. At night he went into his father’s room, placed his head at his feet and cried for the first time after decades. Senior Mishra listened to his son patiently and asked him to bring the warning note. As soon as he read the note, he asked Mangal, “Do you know where the girl and her father are now?”
“No, why would I?” replied Mangal suddenly realising where the note could have come from. They immediately called Pulkit, who looked unusually jittery.
The old bulb was flickering in the room and the tube light was dim as Ram Mishra got up from the bed and started walking across the room, speaking to his two sons. The customary decorative marriage lights were still on outside the house, unaware of the tragedy. “Remember the girl Sanvi? After I heard about the way you treated them, I went to their house after a couple of months to apologise. The girl has gone through a lot. If you would have spent more time on her horoscope you would have realised, she had Pret Badha, the block of an evil spirit. Depressed from continuous rejections she contacted a black magic guru who promised that her life would take off. She conducted rituals in a burial ground under his advice, where a malevolent spirit got attached to her. As I have always taught you, wheels of destiny are steered by divine will, she was destined to solve her problems after meeting you.”
“Me? but I was rude to her. I didn’t even try to help her seriously. I was in a rush to meet Preeti. To be honest I didn’t feel good about my behaviour,” said Mangal.
“When you are practicing astrology, it is the divine knowledge that speaks to you. When I met them, her father told me that her offering the red flowers and red gram to Vriddhinath, brought a new boy into her life. She had completed forty days of offering but on the forty first day she met with an accident. I think it is time we pay them another visit; I have a feeling the events in your marriage and that girl are linked in some way.”
“Let’s go now,” announced Mangal.
“Now, it is almost ten in the night, I don’t want to go,” asserted Pulkit.
“Pulkit your knowledge in mantras is unparallel, we will need you. Let’s not waste more time,” Mangal pulled his father’s hand and all three of them left for Sanvi’s house in a car.
The house stood at the corner of a long row of houses, as they approached it their energy levels dipped. While walking through the narrow lane towards the building a large flower pot came falling at them and missed Ram Mishra by an inch. It was a two-story building that was separated from other houses in the row by a wide waste water sewer. A dim light on the first floor indicated it was still inhabited. They had to jump over it to reach and knock the door. A lady in her sixties looked at them, not at all surprised and said, “so you have come. I was expecting you.” She had a wicked smile on her face as the they looked at each other.
“We are fine outside, we don’t want to come in. We are here to check on Sanvi and her father,” said Ram Mishra.
“Sanvi, oh she died a couple of months ago,” she said dispassionately. “You have to come in, I insist, don’t force me to call you again.”
As they walked into the house, they sensed a repulsive smell in the dimly lit room. The room had weird paintings of dead animals and some chants were playing in the floor above. “What happened to Sanvi?” asked Mangal.
“Pulkit, would you like to tell them?” she demanded and turned back smiling at them again. Pulkit looked away.
“After meeting Mangal, Sanvi started the remedy at temple. A couple of days before the final offering she met with an accident. But in those forty days, suddenly a boy came into her life. Pulkit had fallen for her, or so we believed, and got intimate with her. But when she met with the accident, he disappeared from her life as easily. My child committed suicide. I saw her die in my arms. I have been planning for this day since then. Pulkit will die soon and meet her. You will never get married Mangal, even though you are not Manglik. This is my curse on your family.” Suddenly the three men felt weak in their legs. The old lady ordered them to follow her to the first floor. “Today is full moon, the day my child committed suicide. Today Pulkit will meet her as a spirit and get married.” She kept repeating the two sentences as they followed her on the steps unquestioningly.
She was close to the door on the first floor, when suddenly the phone of Ram Mishra rang and broke the unnerving quiet and darkness. They were brought back to their senses as the loud Shiva mantra pulled them out of their half-conscious state. Mangal pulled his father and Pulkit out of the house and they rushed back home in their car. Mangal could see the woman cursing them and chanting loudly. Ram Sharma asked Mangal to drive towards the temple as he ordered the assistant priest to organise a special ceremony. A priest who was a specialist in conducting the final rites of the dead was also summoned.
The specialist priest has organised a fire ritual. With chanting of certain mantras, he conjured the spirit of Sanvi, who had still not found a pathway to next life.
“She is saying she still loves your son Pulkit but she will never forgive him for the death of their child in her womb. She holds him accountable for her suicide. She is saying your family is cursed by her,” the specialist priest relayed.
Ram Mishra bowed his head and asked for forgiveness for his family. He said she was like his daughter and that he will conduct special prayers for a better next life for her. The specialist priest again murmured certain chants.
“She wants a sacrifice. Sanvi says she loves Pulkit and cannot see him marry anyone else.”
“I will not marry anyone in this life,” said Pulkit, bowing his head down. I am ashamed of myself that I left her. Pulkit started weeping loudly.
Ram Mishra looked at his son Mangal and smiled.
Two years passed quickly. Pulkit had now become a full-time priest and astrologer at the temple. Mangal found a job with a call centre in Gurgaon. Preeti was expecting their first child and the family was celebrating the news with a grand feist in the Vriddhinath temple. There was a long queue of people who came down to bless the couple and left gifts for the family. At night the family was opening the gift envelopes when Preeti handed over a red one with a note inside, to Mangal. Mangal’s fingers trembled as he opened the note. It read.
“There is a curse on your family. If this child is born, it will be the birth of the evil.”
A Train Journey
Madhav brisked into the Indore railway station, panting, holding his suitcase in one hand and the ringing phone in other. The Tripti express was dragging her feet on the tracks, as if she too wanted a break on the Sunday, unaware of an excited Madhav, on way to his first out of village posting. In his three years stint as a field officer, he had become a popular go to man for the village woman. From wee hours in the morning until late in the evening he attended multiple meetings, where women of all ages gathered together, to meet and manage their microfinance loans. The experience of working with women had helped him land a job with LFA, Lingerie For All, in the big city of Delhi as a salesman. Madhav boarded the third AC compartment, his first air-conditioned train travel sponsored by LFA. He felt a rush of energy climb up his spine against a slew of sweat trickling down. He plunged on the cushioned lower berth and took out the Lingerie brochure of LFA. Madhav wanted to excel in his job from the first day and started improvising on his sales pitch, one he had been preparing for the entire last week since the receipt of his joining letter. He had secretly decided that he would bring back select lingerie for his wife on his leave break. In the last three years he wasn’t allowed a leave but LFA offered him twenty-one days of full day leaves in a year. Madhav couldn’t believe his luck. Flipping through the pages of fair coloured, attractive semi dressed young women in LFA lingerie, he imagined his wife Dimpy in them. His decision to marry Dimpy was instantaneous as was his decision to join LFA. Their first arranged meeting was at her small house, the prospective groom visiting to choose the bride. Her gleaming smile, in response to his approval on her question, sealed the marriage decision. Madhav suddenly got up and looked at himself into the small mirror perched uncomfortably on a loosely hanging nail. He sharpened his trimmed moustache with his fingers, combed his hair and grabbed the lingerie brochure again.
It must have been an hour at a station, when Madhav saw a group of people walking in, who gradually settled in his compartment. An old couple, possibly in their sixties and a young woman, dressed in bridal attire, her face covered with her saree in traditional way. Madhav had promptly sneaked the brochure under his suitcase. The old couple smiled at him as they sat on the berth and then they looked at each other. Their bodies suddenly relaxed and then the old man stood up to examine the entire compartment.
“There is less rush on Sundays on this train, where are you travelling to?” asked the old lady, expressionless.
“Delhi,” replied Madhav and turned his face towards the wall. His gut advised him to avoid the conversation, he wasn’t sure why.
“Are you married?” he heard the old man call him. Madhav reluctantly turned back and sat on the berth.
“Yes.” The couple smiled and looked at each other.
“Why travelling alone?” asked the old woman.
“For work,” replied Madhav slightly irritated. Though he was comfortable socialising in train journeys, he wasn’t sure of the source of his discomfort today. His face brightened as he saw Dimpy’s call on his mobile phone and walked towards the connecting space between the coaches to get some privacy.
“Already, forgotten me ji? No call back since you left home three hours ago ji?” asked Dimpy with fake anger and her habitual ‘ji’ ending the sentence.
Madhav cajoled his wife walking to-and-fro in the small wobbly space, only to be shocked twice in between, when he saw the old man and the old woman peeping at him through the glass wall of the door separating the cabin and connecting space. Madhav used the washroom and went back to his berth.
There was an unnerving silence in the coach for some time, subsequently broken by the old woman. “We need your help, son,” said the old lady. Madhav didn’t respond. “Our grandchild is in other bogey and we would like to go see her, Soni our daughter-in-law is travelling in train for the first time. Could you help her, if required? We will be back soon,” she continued.
“Why don’t you take her with you?” asked Madhav.
“She is wearing all her jewellery, it would not be safe to walk across the train with all the jewellery,” responded the old lady.
“You can take it off in the washroom and then go see your grandchild.”
“We are going to meet our son in Delhi, it’s a custom for the new bride to meet the son in family jewellery. Don’t worry we will be back soon, help yourself with food if hungry,” said the old man now pointing at a cloth hand bag under the berth looking at Soni. Without waiting for Madhav’s approval, they walked out of the door. The woman on the berth shifted herself towards the window, and her veil dropped. Madhav slightly squirmed in his seat as he saw the fair, beautiful young woman decked in jewellery. She looked back at Madhav and quickly put on her veil again. Madhav got up and rushed to the washroom. He tidied himself in front of the larger mirror. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling jealous. As he quickly walked back towards his berth, he felt a bolt of shock run through his veins.
He saw Soni, looking at the images in LFA brochure.
As she heard him, she threw the brochure on his berth and moved further towards the window.
“I can explain, he said, embarrassed, I am salesman….I can show you my card….,” for a moment his anxious eyes met her naughty expressions before she adjusted the veil.
Madhav heard back a soft chuckle and settled in his berth. He wished the old couple woudn’t come back.
The train was slowing down as the next station approached, it was almost two hours since the old couple had left and evening had segued into early hours of the night. By now Madhav had shared quite a bit of his life story with Soni. He stepped out of the train to get a local savoury and saw that a crowd had poured into the cabin as he walked-in. This time he decided to perch himself next to Soni, no harm if others mistook him to be her husband. It was not safe for women to travel alone after all, he convinced himself but just then, he received the second shock of his day.
“Already, forgotten me ji? No call back since you left home three hours ago ji,” he heard Soni. He stood up with a bolt, directly banging his head on the upper berth with a loud, “What?”
“When are my in-laws coming back?” she asked, now louder, looking directly at him with an uncanny smile. Suddenly for an instant, an image of a severe wounded woman, flashed his mind as he looked at her. He was calmed by her smile, a wanting smile. Madhav plunged back, still shocked and slightly embarrassed for his reaction. Soni bent down to pull the bag from the berth below and Madhav’s heart raced at jet speed. She opened the lunch box and offered food. The train pantry had already provided food but Madhav couldn’t refuse Soni. He silenced the third call from Dimpy. Nestled under the Indian bread were two pieces of prepared Paan, a popular Indian beetle leaves preparation. “I don’t eat paan,” said Madhav in his mind, nevertheless stuffing it into his mouth after finishing his dinner. He felt sudden heaviness on his shoulders. Soni’s hand slightly moved towards him and her palm slightly rubbed his knee. The train suddenly stopped with a huge jerk and there was commotion in the cabin. Madhav looked at his watch, the two hands were meeting at twelve. He felt sluggish and fell down on her lap plunging into slumber.
When he woke up in the morning, he saw Soni sitting on the other side. The train was empty. “I tried to wake you up, let’s go, everyone has left the train,” she said.
“Go where?” You find your relatives, I have to get going for my job,” said Madhav, flexing his still sluggish body.
“You are my only relative in the world, my husband, what are you saying?” she retorted, with anger in her tone.
“What! I am already married. I am leaving immediately,” he said as he got up. He felt a strong grip on his hand, Soni started sobbing loudly as crowd gathered.
They were taken to the railway police and when Madhav was trying to narrate his story, Soni asked them to open and check his suitcase. Within it her neatly packed dresses and jewellery were found. As Madhav ruffled through the contents, he found his joining papers were missing. In a desperate, frustrated mood, he tried to search his pockets, his phone was missing too. Madhav moved towards sobbing Soni, who was being pampered by many eager admirers wailing for her attention. With a firm yet warm grip on her hand he asked exasperatedly, “why are you after me? I have a family to take care of, a job to join.” “I am your wife,” she retorted in confidence and then looked at the cramped police station with eager onlookers, local freelance journalists and station staff. A lady constable sensing something amiss, asked her if there was a photograph or a marriage certificate. “Better than that. If you don’t believe me, tell him to ask me something only he and his wife would know,” said Soni. Lady constable now pretty convinced with the alternative raised her eyebrows at Madhav.
Madhav, thinking that Soni was now trapped, said with a gleam on his face, “ok, that makes sense, tell me what my wife asked me on our first meeting at her home?”
Soni, pretended to think for a few minutes and just before Madhav could celebrate his win said, “will you allow your wife to work after marriage ji?” The expressions on Madhav’s face needed no further convincing for people in the cramped room.
“I would never leave such a beautiful wife,” said a middle-aged creepy constable admiring Soni, as the duo were asked to leave together in an autorickshaw.
The rickety vehicle navigated through Delhi’s heat, Madhav forgot his troubles intermittently as he looked admiringly at the tall buildings on the way, wishing that he would be asked to work in one of them. Madhav decided to take her to a lodge instead of his uncle’s house and instructed the driver accordingly. As they stepped into the cosy room of the lodge, Madhav felt a surge of anxiety, being with a stranger woman alone in the room. His eyes sneaked a peak to her exposed midriff and he thought Soni was not a complete strange after all. Just the previous night he had bared his life story to her in the train. It was Soni who was after him, not the other way round. Just before he was to give into his temptations, he was reminded of repeated calls from Dimpy and possible consequences if the family came to know about his secret stay with Soni. He quickly excused himself from Soni suggesting his joining at office and assured her of his return by the evening. Soni poured herself some water in a glass and as soon as she drank it, she fainted. Madhav sensing the opportunity dragged and placed her on the bed and left the room. He called his uncle on the way and narrated his situation, who then unleashed a chain reaction by calling Madhav’s family members who immediately boarded the next train to Delhi. Madhav’s shoulders felt heavy again on way to his new office and felt sluggish. Assuming it was the heat he satisfied himself with a glass of fresh fruit juice on the way, which didn’t seem to help him. Madhav managed to appear for his joining at office slightly delayed and asked for a few days of extension, citing the loss of documents in travel. The evening approached and he decided that the lodge was best avoided alone. He decided to visit his uncle’s home instead, afraid of succumbing to his temptations this time. As soon as he entered his uncle’s house, he heard a woman’s voice, loud and sharp. “You shouldn’t have eaten the paan.” Madhav looked at an old woman as she placed a piece of white Indian sweet in her mouth and stared back at him. “She is Kamala aunty, a devotee of Bhairava, stays in our colony. I called her over and narrated your strange incident. You can share the remaining details with her.”
“I know all that he can tell me,” roared the loud voice again, pausing for the moment, “and then more that he can’t.” Madhav didn’t know why he felt a bit guilty from the way the old woman looked at him.
“My family will be here tomorrow. I want to get rid of that woman. I have left her in the lodge and don’t want to go back,” he blurted as he took the seat next to her. The old woman straitened herself on the backrest of the sofa, looked at Madhav and smiled with a large grin. “Left her? She is with you, right here,” and she laughed out loud. She murmured something and suddenly Madhav’s voice turned feminine, spewing expletives at the old woman. The old woman closed her eyes and raised the pitch of her prayers and suddenly Madhav fell down with a shriek. Uncle requested the old lady to stay with them for the night, something inside him, told him, worse was coming. Madhav and his uncle slept on a mattress placed on the ground in the living room, the old lady slept on the diwan, uncle’s two daughters slept in the bedroom inside.
Exactly at twelve, they heard a loud scream. Uncle bolted up and switched on the light. Madhav was sound asleep and the scream was coming from the bedroom. The younger daughter came running to them, shivering in terror, her body soaked in sweat. Uncle was just about to move into the room, when the old lady stopped him and ventured inside first. His elder daughter, had a knife in hand. She had cut herself on her hands and legs and now had placed the knife close to her face. The old lady and the girl looked at each other and the girl started another round of expletives against her. “He is mine..He is mine…He is mine.. He is mine..” She repeated it non-stop like a mantra. The old lady took some ash from her purse and applied on the forehead of the girl. Suddenly, as if nothing had happened, she calmed down and fell on the bed. They bandaged her hands and all of them decided to stay awake and keep watch through the night. Madhav will still in deep sleep.
Next day when Madhav and his family members including Dimpy, his father, uncle and the old lady visited the lodge, they were told that the young woman had left within an hour of Madhav’s exit. The old lady took them to the Bhairav temple in Pragati Maidan wherein she had arranged a special ritual. As soon she lit the fire and said her prayers loudly, Madhav started crying in a woman’s voice. Stuttering, she narrated the story through Madhav.
“Madhav is my husband. He ate the paan I gave him as the acceptance of our marriage. I will not leave him. My earlier husband, Rakesh, I eloped with him from Kota, taking all my mother’s jewellery when I was just sixteen. We got married in a temple, had our honeymoon hiding in a lodge. My community was after us, to kill us, Rakesh panicked and we escaped on a train to Delhi. On the way he gave me a paan and I was dizzy. Late in the night he took me towards the door and threw me off the running train. I bled for one whole day and was never found. Rakesh escaped with my jewellery and never cared to even give me a pathway to next life. But I found him one day travelling with his bride Soni and his old parents in the same train. I latched on to him. I made sure no one found his body too, but I wanted my jewellery back. The ones I saw on Soni. They begged me to leave the family, suggesting it wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t mine either. I did not leave Soni, until they found me another husband and gave me my jewellery. Madhav is my husband, in this life and next.” The old lady said some prayers again loudly and Madhav entered a half-conscious state. She placed a paan in his mouth and he became unconscious. The ritual was completed and Madhav woke up normal at home.
Life changed for the better for the family with the old lady’s blessings. Dimpy decided to stay back in Delhi with him, a chance opportunity from the tragic episode. Madhav joined the largest showroom of Lingerie For All in south Delhi and performed well as a salesman. They both liked the city life of Delhi and in a couple of years, Dimpy was expecting a child. Her family insisted on the child to be born in their native village and the parents came down to Delhi to take her back to Indore. Madhav though reluctant, let Dimpy travel back to Indore for her delivery and dropped them on New Delhi railway station. As the train slowly gained momentum, the anxious Madhav promised he would visit her every month. He received a call from his boss and his phone fell down while stepping out of the moving train. He suddenly heard a woman’s voice, “Already, forgotten me ji? It’s been three years ji,” with a turning wrench in his gut he looked back. Soni was smiling back at him as the old couple was grabbing her hand and pulling her inside the train.
The Interview
Sanjay stepped out of his house in Janak Puri, when he was greeted by Nita aunty who was on a morning walk with her daughter Bubbly, of marriageable age. He managed to answer with a slight nod and a bleak smile escaped his lips looking at an eager Bubbly, who measured him from bottom up with a look of infatuation. His family was still recuperating from the tragedy but life must go on his father had said and pressured him to attend his interview. Sanjay had received confirmation of him being shortlisted for the position of Cabin Crew, while he was standing in the cremating ground looking at the body of his only elder brother vanishing into ashes and smoke. The news had meant nothing to him that day. A sudden loud honking of a horn brought his senses back to where he was standing, in the middle of the one-way road outside his house. Sanjay quickly moved to his car, a Maruti 800, prized possession of his deceased brother. He jiggled the bunch of keys to find the one for the car and found himself driving towards Chanakya Puri. It was early November and the streets looked misty with the morning fog. Sanjay had left early and the traffic on the roads was sparing. He wanted to have his quick fix breakfast of Chole Kulche and Chai at Dhaula Kuan before the interview, his coping mechanism for stress. Sitting in his car, Sanjay switched on the Sony car stereo and pushed in the cassette tape that he grabbed randomly from the car dashboard. The stereo, a copy of the real, bought from Ajmal Khan market at a throw away price played his brothers favorite collection of songs from Kumar Sanu. Abhishek his brother had suddenly shifted from listening to Anup Jalota in the morning to Kumar Sanu, raising suspicion, further investigation of which led to the discovery of a sudden love interest in his life. For about last four months Abhishek had crawled out of his stressful job as a ground staff in an airline and found a new zest for life. He had decided to shift their family from a rental home to own mortgaged house and bought a car to travel to work. The biggest shock for them, was that he became a regular at the local gym and quit non vegetarian food. He started spending few nights, every week, purportedly with friends. The parents, ignored these minor transgressions of adult life while Sanjay felt happy as a precedent was being set for him.
Then suddenly, he had left them, just like that, as if they didn’t mean anything. There were signs that he was in stress and looked desolate, but blamed his work. It became apparent to Sanjay’s family that Abhishek had a rough breakup and had got himself entangled with a girl who worked for some sort of a racket. Sanjay dismissed these memories raging through his mind as he emptied the last sip of tea and threw the remains of his breakfast to a loitering dog, circling his car in expectation. He had to reach the venue before traffic swarmed the roads.
Sanjay looked at his watch, it was 8:30. He had managed to reach just in time. He quickly parked his car on the side of a tall old tree, that looked at the Azaad complex with disdain. Azaad complex was way past its prime and had a fall of fortune from being one of the premium office complexes at one time to now being a shady building with small time businesses struggling to survive. “Ohh God, save me.” Sanjay blurted out as he accidently stepped on a lemon covered with vermilion while getting out of the driver’s seat. Not that Sanjay believed in superstitions, but mannerisms of parents often reveal themselves through their children during unexpected situations. He looked at the mirror and adjusted his dark grey tie once again and rushed his palm through his wavy hair. Of the seven applications to different airlines this was the only one that had progressed. Sanjay was the most handsome guy in his colony, or at least that was his mother’s belief. Nevertheless, he knew ‘5.4’ in height could at best get him a position of ground staff in an airline. Still his application to ‘Eagle Airlines’ had been shortlisted and he had been called for final interview.
Sanjay walked into the reception, ensuring his suit and tie was in order and approached the receptionist with a certain bounce in his steps. Receptionist looked back at him with an appreciative glance and suggested he wait with other candidates on the sofa. Sanjay had mixed feelings when he saw other candidates. He considered the three male candidates to be in short height and average in looks. On the contrary the five young women were quite attractive. He saw space between two of them and neatly seated himself.
“Hi I am Aakriti,” the one on his right with hair tied in a bun, introduced herself. Sanjay noticed, she was probably a year or two younger and taller. They spent the next few minutes chatting while one of the male candidates was called for the interview. Sanjay noticed that the girl to his left was perspiring. The sockets of her eyes were sunk and the periorbital skin was pale dark. “Even with makeup, she looks underprepared for the interview,” he thought. She repeatedly pulled the cuffs of her wrists towards the palm, looking at others suspiciously. Sanjay stood up, grabbed a glass of water from the table in the corner and offered her. Her hands trembled when she received the glass and while she emptied it. Sanjay and Aakriti moved closer to her and introduced themselves. Shefali lived alone in the city, hunting for work while her family was in Gorakhpur in Uttar Pradesh. She was at the boundary in terms of age eligibility and older than Sanjay and Aakriti. While Shefali was speaking she looked at Sanjay in a peculiar way. “I think, I know…, ” before she could complete, Sanjay leapt towards the door with his ringing phone. “Don’t take that call..,” Shefali said but Sanjay was already out of the door. It was Sanjay’s father on the call
“Son, the collection guys from the Bank have come to repossess the car. They have also sent a notice for the house loan repayment. They will come again tomorrow. We are praying that you get the job.” Abhishek’s suicide under mysterious circumstances had left a mortgage on the house, loan on the car and personal loans. When Sanjay walked back into the reception hall, he saw Aakriti and Shefali chatting, Aakriti’s demeanor had completely changed. Her legs were restless and eyes were glued to those of Shefali. The three male candidates had completed their interview and were waiting in an adjoining glass walled conference room. Aakriti wanted to tell Sanjay something, desperately. Sanjay excused himself and went to the washroom. As soon as he entered the washroom, he felt dizzy. When he relieved himself and got up, he felt as if he saw the commode lid close by itself with a loud cracking sound of the plastic hitting against the base. His head felt heavy and he sat back on it. Someone was speaking inside his head. He felt his brother Abhishek next to him, inside his head. Then he saw his image clearly. Sanjay lost his physical consciousness and slumped back on the commode tank. A conversation started in his head.
“Abhishek, is it you? Why did you leave us?”
Abhishek didn’t respond, he just lowered his eyes in despair.
“Are you in peace, we did all the last rites as per Panditji?”
Abhishek nodded. He then tried to tell Sanjay something and suddenly a loud knock on the door shook Sanjay back into his consciousness. He opened the door and stepped out. The receptionist indicated that he was next. Sanjay wasn’t sure what had just happened with him.
When he sat for the interview, he met a panel of two men and a woman. While the two men were dressed in suits and the woman draped a saree, their mannerisms didn’t befit those of a recruiter from an international airline. After asking the usual introductory questions, they started probing more deeply into his background. They seemed extremely professional and told him that the chances of him becoming a cabin crew were weak, they however had positions for ground staff. Sanjay knew he didn’t have a choice. He agreed. They however had a condition. He had to sign an offer letter immediately and then fly to the training center in Chennai the same night. Sanjay requested them a weeks’ time for him to settle things at home. They said that the next batch was in six months and that he could be back home in fifteen days once the training was over. They concluded the interview by asking him to speak to his family and share his decision by waiting in the glass conference room if he was taking the offer.
As Sanjay exited the room, he saw Aakriti packing her stuff in a hurry. She was visibly frightened and was about to leave the reception. Sanjay grabbed her by the wrist and looked at her enquiringly. “Sanjay, I am leaving. You have to leave with me too. Immediately,” she said.
“What, Why, What are you saying?”
“There is no time Sanjay, let’s go down.” She grabbed him by his arm and pulled him out of the room. They heard the receptionist calling them as she pulled him into the lift. They heard the footsteps of the guard as the lift door closed.
“Why Aakriti, I need that job. You don’t know my situation. I am going back.”
“Look here,” said Aakriti and pulled out her phone. She started swiping pictures and stopped at one that she had taken with Shefali. The photo had Aakriti’s face captured perfectly but Shefali’s face was distorted. Shefali’s lips were contorted towards the side and her eyes were almost faded.
“Your phone has some issues,” said Sanjay. Aakriti continued scrolling and showed him few more pictures, all had similar pattern. Then she stopped at another one. “Look closer,” Aakriti pulled him closer as they sat on a bench outside the building under the tree. Sanjay could see a shadow in this photograph right in front of Shefali’s face, he knew the shadow. It was Abhishek’s face.”
“Sanjay, I know it’s difficult to believe. Shefali is not normal. I heard a man’s voice from within her. He asked me to get out. He asked me to take you with me. There is something seriously wrong here.” Sanjay saw the lemon while getting into his car. On the way he dropped Aakriti. He wasn’t sure, what he was going to tell his parents. How they were going to deal with the loans. A voice within him urged him to go back and take the offer but then he recalled Abhishek’s face.
Next morning Sanjay woke up to the sound of a loud knock on his door. His father got in with the newspaper. On the front page was the news of five missing persons reported by their families, who had vanished after going for an interview, three men and two women. The police had raided the interview venue and found it abandoned. They suspected that it was case of human trafficking for organ trade but were still investigating.
Ice Cream
Jaggi loved his spices of Delhi. Every evening he would leave his office after battling with books of accounts of his employer firm – Khurana & Sons and walk down to the corner chaat stall for a plate of hot aloo cutlets drowned in spicy chutney. Today there was an unusual spring in his walk as he hunched upon his Yamaha RX 100, his lone companion over the last five years. That was about to change as he was only a week away from his marriage to Goldy. At thirty he was already late for tying the knot waiting through a long list of rejections from prospective brides. His well-paying job surrendered to the tyranny of his below average looks that came from a big nose bent left and a face infested with acne. The elongated oval face with the peeping long front teeth distracted even the most compassionate of hearts. Goldy saw in him what others missed, Jaggi was as trustable as her grandmother’s homemade recipe for flu. He was also extremely caring, something she craved since losing her father at her early age of sixteen. Jaggi loved everything about her, including her daily habit. Every evening Goldy would walk down from the third floor of their DDA flat in R K Puram and satisfy herself with a serving of ice-cream. Though her first preference was a mango dolly, she was the adjusting types and would settle for anything as long as it was an ice-cream. Jaggi was elated to find this magic key which would melt even the fieriest of their arguments over a stick of mango dolly.
A year into their marriage, it was a Saturday evening and the couple were off to a ride to Faridabad, an hour’s romantic trip on the trusted RX 100. They left at about six and Jaggi slithered his bike through the evening office traffic as Goldy gripped his shoulder with one hand and heldg the blazer of his dark green suit in other. A cousin of Goldy was getting married to a local businessman. Goldy was wearing a maroon lehenga, only partly visible under the long overcoat she was wearing in the Delhi winter. She quickly mingled into a crowd of young women as they disembarked outside the large shamiayana – ceremonial tent in the park ground of a local housing colony. Jaggi went straight for the makeshift bar organised in the trunk of the car of bride’s brother. He quickly shot down two glasses of whiskey mixed with plain water and walked into the gathering of guests with a confident gait. Goldy shined in her group with her broad smile adding beauty to her confident Punjabi eyes. Jaggi pulled her towards him from her waist and Goldy’s friends let out low gasps of surprise. Several other elderly aunts muttered dismissively. Goldy feigned anger as he pulled her to a corner, the group still keeping an eye on their acts. He asked her if he should bring her anything from the buffet for her. She felt embarrassed and refused. He pestered her with choices and finally landed on the one she couldn’t refuse. An ice cream. Jaggi covered the expanse of the elaborate buffet thrice in slightly staggered steps, failing to notice muffled laughs when he asked for ice-cream in December. Jaggi believed he was a man of commitment.
On his motorbike at around eight in the night he took the road, looking for mango dolly. He enquired at neighbouring small markets and local autorickshaws, yet no one could guide him to an ice cream. Stepping out of a small dilapidated market in his quest, he saw a young woman standing under a large tree across the T shaped ending of the road. Even at a distance of about two hundred meters, he was sure she was smiling at him, an inviting smile. Jaggi decided not to wear his helmet and kickstarted his bike, gliding towards her. A voice inside him urged him to turn back. Her smile overpowered the voice as she now looked directly into his eyes from a distance. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing. She was a woman in her thirties with a broad Punjabi grin wearing a maroon lehnga. He sensed his vision flicker as he approached her, her face changed and he saw Goldy. He was afraid that she will chide him for approaching a lone woman late evening. But how could she be here on her own? He stopped his bike a few feet from the woman and was relieved to see it was not Goldy. But he was sure he had seen a maroon lehnga and the smile that took his heart. He convinced himself that it was the alcohol working. The woman had a constant inviting smile on her round face. She kept directly looking into his eyes, as if she knew him, but there was something off about her eyes. He asked her if she was waiting for someone, she signalled a yes with her eyes and went up to him seating herself on the RX 100. Unsure, Jaggi started the bike and turned it around towards the marriage ground. On the way she pressed his shoulder slightly and he looked back through the mirror. She suggested him to keep straight instead of taking the left turn towards the Shamiyana. Cruising quietly for about five minutes, a big smile erupted on Jaggi’s face as he saw an ice cream vendor a few metres ahead, counting his meagre sales with an expression of disappointment. Jaggi quickly ordered three Mango Dollys and paid full in cash to the vendor, who was now looking back at him terrified. No, not at him but across his shoulders. The cash fell off his trembling hands and he bolted leaving his cart and the days sales unattended. Jaggi felt a surge of fear but emboldened by the effect of alcohol decided to look back. He managed to take a peep at the rear-view mirror, which now displayed a deserted road. He found himself alone in the stretch of road both ahead and behind him. With trembling hands, he started his bike and managed to reach the marriage place where he met Goldy, angry and worried for him at the entrace. He then realised; he had been gone for over two hours. While the slew of complaints bombarded him, he meekly handed over the pack of ice-creams that immediately changed Goldy expressions. She asked suspiciously, “why the third ice cream?” “I got two for you, since you look better than the bride.”
Every evening since their un-eventful return to R K Puram, Jaggi would rush down to the ice cream vendor and bring three ice creams home. Goldy noticed that Jaggi’s mannerisms changed including his voice late in the evening. He now looked at her with cold distant eyes, slept on the sofa and argued over non issues. In a week he started avoiding office, claiming he was unwell, yet every evening he would rush down from the third floor for ice creams. In a month Jaggi had fought with and alienated himself from his family and friends. Goldy decided to consult her grandma who whispered a ritual. On the late evening of the new moon day, Goldy wearing the maroon lehnga, visited the local temple and offered three ice-creams to the deity and then took them to Jaggi. As soon as he finished the second one, Goldy saw that Jaggi’s body was visibly agitated, his voice turned feminine and his face contorted. A voice erupted from his contorted mouth in ascending tone, “he is mine.”
Goldy’s face flushed with fear, she repeated the chant she had practiced at the temple as suggested by the grandma. Jaggi suddenly stood up and with a smile, an inviting smile, slapped Goldy for the first time and walked out of the house. It was also the first time that Goldy felt nauseated looking at the third ice cream. Jaggi came back at around five in the morning, his clothes stinking of stale meat and directly plunged into the sofa. Goldy spent the entire night trembling in a corner and woke up groggy to find Jaggi, dressed neat in the green suit at the table with an elaborate breakfast with the inviting smile. Goldy excused herself and rushed out of the house to her grandma’s.
The grandma, an octogenarian, had withstood more crises in her life than the number of wrinkles on her face. They immediately left for the Mahashamshan, the great funeral pyre located in Central Delhi. They waited at the boundary beyond which women were not allowed, for a resident priest, who the grandma mentioned specialised in occult. In an hour he approached them, his eyes turning grim the moment he looked at Goldy. “You should never have taken the ice – cream,” he said walking towards a large tree, Grandma gave a light nod to the terrified Goldy and they followed him.
“Jaggi didn’t have the ice-cream at the marriage, I only had them. How come he is in this state?” asked Goldy, wiping off the mixture of sweat and tears from her face. The priest went into a trance, murmuring an inaudible chant, a smile erupting on his face. “It was not the ice-cream you ate in marriage; it was the one your husband ate a day before. Someone you know, who knows you love ice-creams had sent one energised with a particular type of pishacha, a spirit which died with immense desire for food, a spirit which died of hunger, to be attached to you. Since you had observed the annual fast that day, your husband ended up consuming the same and the pishacha has now got attached to him. It will satisfy all its cravings through him.”
“But who would do this to us? We haven’t done anyone any harm. What is going to happen to Jaggi?” Goldy had an unending train of questions, which stopped upon a silent gesture from the priest.
“It is most important that we treat your husband immediately. In seven days, it may be impossible to retrieve him. The spirit might take him with it.” Goldy shivered at the thought and begged for the priest to help him. “I have renounced the world so I do not leave the shamshan, come what may. There are three things you need to do,” he said. “Do not let your husband out of the house, feed him food after offering it to God, feed him bland food or what the spirit doesn’t like. We have to weaken its attachment to the body.” Goldy was unsure how she would keep Jaggi under her control, but her grandma’s wrinkled expressions gave her some assurance. “Bring him here on the night of day six from today, the spirit will be most powerful and try and take full control of your husband’s soul.”
For the next five days, grandma gave her a recipe of a powerful homemade sedative, mixed it in water, which kept Jaggi mostly in bed. Goldy followed the instructions of the priest religiously, despite the occasional pleading, violent outbursts and numerous attempts to escape by Jaggi. On the night of the sixth day, a Saturday, with the help of few men from the family they dragged an unwilling Jaggi to the mahashamshan. They trapped him into a taxi, blocked his exit from all sides and when Goldy was paying the driver, a sardarji, he smiled back with a thank you, an inviting smile, “he is mine”, erupted from the sardarji’s mouth and Goldy shivered.
The night inside the mahashamshan was nothing like the world outside. Goldy felt her energy levels sink as soon as she entered the gates with others. She felt slightly dizzy and her shoulders heavy at the same time. While the men were dragging an exhausted Jaggi into the compound and Goldy followed them, she saw his face twitch. A little first and then more, unnoticed by others. He was now looking directly into her eyes. An inviting smile first, then with a thrust he stood on his feet and walked himself towards the lighted pyre where the priest was chanting in silence. As the priest conducted his procedures, the state of Jaggi changed from despondent, to violent, to grief, to extreme happiness to crying. The spirit belonged an adolescent girl, who was left by her father in a jungle to die. Initially she survived on wild fruits and leaves, but then one day she fell into an abandoned pit, dug to trap animals. She could not survive beyond six weeks. A relative had conjured her spirit. Just about when the name of the relative was to be revealed, a coconut placed in front of Jaggi suddenly burst by itself and bird cries consumed the entire shamshan. Jaggi was unconscious and the priest allowed them to leave after carrying out some concluding procedures.
The pink on Goldy’s face was making a comeback as Jaggi was slowly regained his energy. He started eating normal food and had visitors from family and office. In a week he was as independent as before. On the Friday evening he left for office after the long break at about eight in the morning, went to the chaat stall at about six in the evening and reached home at five minutes to seven. He rang the bell thrice, surprised not to see Goldy at the door at his usual first ring. She opened the door and looked as beautiful as the day she came into his home as the bride. She was wearing the maroon lehnga and she rushed to give him a hug. He stopped her and her expressions changed looking at Jaggi. There was something off about Jaggi’s eyes. She looked at his hands and a shiver climbed through her spine. “Let’s do this inside, but first I have got ice – creams. Three of them,” he said with an inviting smile.
“Easy reading is damn hard writing”
Nathaniel Hawthorne
The above statement sums it all for the quality of creative epiphany I feel every time I read masterpieces by the author.
Reading Sairam is akin to consuming a “creative drug”. : One always wants more (to read)
How beautifully the normal and paranormal have been stitched together to focus on a harrowing issue of organ trade subtly.
Need more of such creative steroids….
Thanks Sai
God Speed