All the way through
that night, I was unable to sleep. I couldn’t find out the reason why it had
happened. No undue mental stress, and no more unsolicited happiness either, so
as to suffer from this sleeplessness. ‘ I am just like any other human
being. Aren’t I? But my profession is not like that of others. I write stories.
It simply means that I am a poor chap whose livelihood rests on telling lies
and receiving wages from the publishers, who could bear with those lies. The
lies I tell wield universal acceptance! It means getting them endorsed by the
majority of the world with fancy names like God and righteousness, etc. People
call it either creative output or a wander in the world of fantasy. These kinds
of liars are often called Second Brahma! 1 I am the one standing last in this
parallel pedigree of God Brahma. Thinking about all these makes me feel proud,
indeed. Doesn’t it? Are the creations of Brahma also lies just like the pack of
fabrications that we create? Am I also a lie? All of a sudden, if I indulge in
such a philosophical inquiry at about twelve at night, anyone would surely be
suspicious about my digestive ability. Wouldn’t he?’ Overwhelmed by that
thought, I got up and sat there.
The house owner had designed the bedroom in such a way that I
could switch the light on without having to get up. I switched it on. The glare
of the light hit my eyes. My wife was sleeping in the adjacent bed. It seemed
that she was dreaming in her sleep. I saw a grin in the corner groove of her
lips. It so appeared that she felt so happy about her culinary skills that it
could make a person sleepless and push him into a philosophical inquiry. She
turned her body to the other side on the bed with a simper, still sleepy. She
was in the third month of her pregnancy. Just because I was unable to sleep,
there was no point in waking her up to accompany me in my sleeplessness. Wasn’t
it?
I switched the light off at once. I loved to sit in the
darkness alone as I found peace in it. I could mingle with darkness, merge with
it as one, and could avoid seeing people around me. Couldn’t I? ‘ Sitting
in the citadel of darkness, one can enjoy the serenity of mental peace, as he
likes, at the speed of a bullock cart. Can’t he? People term the human mind as
a speeding chariot that can travel to any place it wants in no time. However,
the human mind still prefers to traverse the beaten track of thoughts that had
crept into the deepest part of the human psyche from time immemorial. The
track, lain with the fine powder of sand, resulted from the persistent rolling
of wheels and a not-so-much-used, untouched land strip between the tracks!
Sometimes it so happens that the wheels would skid from the beaten track, hit
the strip, and give a sudden jerk to the person sitting inside the cart.
Otherwise, it is a safe beaten track used by sober bulls anywa’y. It
seemed that I had applied more lime on the betel leaves in the dark as I had
immersed in the comforts of thoughts. The tongue was burnt. I wouldn’t mind it.
When you let your mind wander freely unfettered, you shouldn’t mind such petty
discomforts. Should you? I stuffed the tobacco pieces I was holding in my palm
into my mouth deftly.
‘What an odour is this! Chee… Like the smell of a corpse!’ I thought it was due to the poor
quality of tobacco, spat out the spittle through the window, gargled the mouth
thoroughly, came to bed, and lay there. The stench was unbearable. The air
reeked of a decayed, decomposed dead body. I couldn’t bear it anymore. ‘Is that
stink coming through the window? No sign of wind streaking along the window
panes’! I got down from the cot and walked down to the window. Within a
couple of steps, the stench disappeared. It was quite unusual. Wasn’t it? I
came back to my bed. Again the same stench! The same stink! ‘Is there
anything lying dead beneath the cot?’ I lighted a lamp. There was nothing
other than dust underneath the bed that caused sneezing. I cleaned up my body
and rose up. The sound of my sneezing woke my wife up.
“You haven’t still slept. Have you? What is the time now?”
She asked, yawning.
It was exactly one minute past twelve midnight.
What a strange thing it was! Now the stench had become a
fragrance. A scent of incense sticks! That too, the scent of very poor-quality
incense! Such incense sticks used to be kept near a dead body. Aren’t
they’?
“Are you able to sniff at an unusual scent?” I asked my
wife.
“I could feel nothing,” she replied.
She sniffed at for a while and told, “I guess it is a scent
of incense sticks. Someone may have burnt it. I feel sleepy; switch the light
off and sleep.”
I switched the light off. The fragrance was still lingering
mildly in the air. I peeped through the window. The night was wearing the light
of only stars.
I could see the doors of the entrance and windows were mildly
windblown. It was just only for a second. A dead silence followed that. Was it
an earthquake? A fruit-eating bat fluttered its broad skinny wings, flew across
in the light of stars, and disappeared somewhere beyond the grove on the
opposite side.
The stench and scents disappeared all at once. I returned to
the bed and lay there.
2
When I got up the next morning, it was already noon. Picked
up the newspaper, thrown into the hall through the window, went to the front
yard of the house, and sat on the cane chair. It creaked uncomfortably under my
weight and then remained quiet.
My wife was standing behind me, admonishing me, “If you are
awake all through the night and getting up this late and prefer to sit like
this in the morning, the coffee served to you will become waste. Won’t it? Even
though I had an immense faith in the democracy and world peace that were caught
in the vortex of unified progressive military action undertaken by the Allied
Nations, I found it difficult to get along with what she had said.
“It’s all because of your culinary skills.” I retorted and
got up.
“Sitting idle, if you are determined to find faults in me,
you won’t have anything else to talk other than that. Will you? It is no way
inferior to the stories you write” she told me, entered the kitchen.
‘One shouldn’t get perturbed by such rants in family
life. So, should ’I? I brushed my teeth, I nestled the hot coffee tumbler
in my towel, and I started surfing the news items in the newspaper.
That time, a beggar woman, who was still looking young, came
near to the entrance of my house, singing a song, and called us out, “Amma…alms
please.”
I looked at her above the edge of the newspaper and held it
up high like a fence to obstruct her view so that I could avoid talking to such
nuisance elements.
“Aren’t you strong enough to work? Why don’t you work in a
couple of houses to earn your living?” My wife came to the entrance, chiding
her for begging.
“I am ready to do any work. But I should get some work to do.
Shouldn’t I? Water is boiling in the pot. I couldn’t get even a handful of rice
from this street. Please give me some pieces of clothing so that I can save my
dignity.” The beggar woman started shooting her applications of sympathy.
“I will give you a job. Will you stay with us? I will provide
you food for your stomach and clothes for your dignity.” What do you say?” My
wife asked her.
“It is more than enough, Mother! Isn’t it? Who else could
display such a benevolence these days like this? The beggar woman told, kept
staring at my wife, smiled at her.
My wife turned towards me and asked me, “I think we can
engage her in the house for two days to assess her work. You also know that I
have a frequent wheezing problem,” my wife told me.
“What! You have gone nuts. Haven’t you? How could you bring
an ass from the street into our house? Can’t you get any other person on this
earth?” I told her, visibly annoyed.
The beggar woman standing outside gave out a thick laugh. Her
smile was irresistibly attractive. My wife couldn’t take her eyes away from
that woman and kept staring at her. It almost appeared that she had surrendered
her senses completely to that anonymous woman.
“I am capable of identifying the persons by their face.
Aren’t I? ”Please come in.” My wife ordered and took that woman inside.
The beggar woman seemed to be extremely happy and followed my
wife. It was just an inadvertent act—I kept on looking at her feet after wiping
out my eyes. Her legs were not on the floor; they were floating above the floor
at the height of a jeweler’s bead. I got goosebumps. ‘Is it just an
illusion?’ I looked at her once again. The beggar woman turned towards me
and smiled at me. ‘O! My God! It’s not a smile. Is it’? It pierced
like an icy spear through my bone marrows and almost got me killed!
I called out my wife. I explained to her that bringing that
anonymous woman inside the house was not a good proposition. But she remained stubborn
to keep this strange element as her servant maid. ‘The morning sickness
caused by pregnancy has many flipsides like this. Hasn’t it? But there must be
a limit to it.’ My mind kept on cautioning me that her presence was a sign
of some impending danger. I looked at her feet once again. Just like any other
human being, they were on the floor. ‘How come that is possible? Is it the
same hallucination’!
Tenali Raman proved that a black-colored dog couldn’t be
changed into a white-colored dog. My wife also proved that a beggar woman could
also be changed into a normal human being like us. I was also convinced that
anyone who takes a bath regularly and wears clean clothes, even if they are
old, can become a friend of anyone. The beggar woman seemed to be very good at
cracking jokes and making others laugh. I could hear her laughing frequently. I
was astounded to see her helping my wife attentively. It appeared that the fear
I had just a while ago seemed to mock me now.
It was evening, dusk. My wife and the maidservant were
chit-chatting, cracking jokes. I lighted a lamp in the front hall, and in the
pretext of reading a book, I was watching her. A hallway was lying between the
hall where I was sitting and the place where they were chit-chatting. A
full-length mirror was hanging in the hallway. I could see their images clearly
in the mirror.
“You have visited a lot of places. Haven’t you? You can tell
me some stories. Can’t you?” My wife asked her.
“Yes… I have gone to Kashi and Haridwar and other places
alike. When I was in Kashi, I heard a story there. Can I narrate it to you?”
she said.
“You can. Please tell me.” My wife asked her eagerly.
“It must be more than five hundred years, they say. There was
a king in Kashi, and he had a daughter. No such beautiful girl was found
anywhere on the earth. The king got her educated in all the subjects under the
sun. The person who was appointed as her guru was actually a cunning conjurer.
He was a master of black magic, sorcery, and witchcraft. He was eying up this girl.
But that girl was in love with the son of the minister and wanted to marry him.
The conjurer came to know about it… Who came to know about it? Yes…it was that
Guru.”
I was stunned to see the wonder that unfolded in front of me.
I got confused whether I was listening to her telling the story or reading the
book, which I was holding in my hands. The book I was holding in my hands was
“Historical Documents.” The page that lay spread in front of me was staring at
me with the story of the daughter of the King of Kashi. The last sentence of
the pages under my fingers was the English translation of ‘the conjurer came to
know about it.’ The sensory ability of my brain stopped for a while.
Pimple-like sweat droplets appeared on my forehead. ‘O! What happened to me?
Have I become crazy’? My eyes were glued to the pages spread in front of
me. The letters started getting blurred.
Suddenly I heard a loud demoniacal laughter. It sucked up the
interiors of my mind with a tremor. I raised my head in shock. My eyes fell onto
the full-length mirror. A ghastly ghost showing off its sharp teeth was
guffawing hysterically in it. I had seen many such ghosts in my dreams and the
imaginations of sculptors. But I had never seen such a ghastly ghost. All its
savageness was reflected only in its eyes and teeth. The face carried a deadly
silence, capable of evoking lusty intoxication. Thirst for blood in the eyes!
The teeth with a craving for tearing the flesh! Behind this propitious image
were the flames of fire. I was not under my control; I kept on watching it. The
image in the mirror disappeared. In a minute, I could see only the face of the
beggar woman in the mirror.
“I forgot to ask your name.” I could overhear my wife’s
question.
“You may call me Kanjanai. Like the character in the story
who also had the same name. Calling by any names doesn’t matter. Does it? One
should have a name. That is it,” the beggar woman told her.
It didn’t seem to be a good idea to leave my wife there
alone. Anything could happen. ‘Once the mind is preoccupied with fear,
there won’t be a limit to the shudders one gets in one’s body. Will there be’?
I went inside. Both of them were talking cheerfully.
I entered with a smile, which I brought on my face with
considerable effort. “What business do you have at the place where women are
working?” A sharp question was thrown at me.
The woman who called herself Kanjanai was chopping off
something with her head bent down. A naughty grin was frolicking at the groove
of her lips. I just became a mute spectator, standing like a bystander hiding
behind the fence of books. My wife was a pregnant lady. I couldn’t let her be
perturbed with fear. At the same time, I had to do something to save her. How?
We all had our dinner. Went to sleep. Both of us went
upstairs to sleep. The one known as Kanjanai was lying in the front hall.
I was just lying on the bed. I couldn’t close my eyes. ‘How
could I close it?’ I didn’t know how long I was lying there. My heart was
filled with anxiety as to when I would have to face the same foul odour once
again.
A clock from somewhere rang; it was twelve in the
night.
The eleventh ringing didn’t stop. The door creaked
somewhere.
Suddenly, some sharp nails scratched my body and disappeared.
I sprang to my feet. My goodness! I didn’t say anything
funny.
It was my wife’s hand, resting on me.
‘Was it her hands?’
I got up, bent a bit down, and watched her closely. She was
sleeping peacefully; her breath was stable.
I thought of going down to see. But fear didn’t allow me.
I decided to see. Without making noise, I tiptoed and went
downstairs.
The time moved as slowly as an era.
I peeped into the front hall furtively. The outer door was
kept closed. The moonlight seeping through the windows was falling on the mat
and pillow—an empty mat and pillow.
The earth beneath me caved in. An inexplicable shudder
overwhelmed me.
Without turning back, I stepped backward and came near the
staircase. ‘Has she gone upstairs?’
I rushed to the upper floor. There was a deadly silence. The
same old silence.
My mind was still muddled up. Stood near the window and
watched the moonlight.
No sign of human activity around.
Only a dog somewhere afar howled its lament longer.
A gigantic bat came flying towards my house from somewhere in
the opposite corner of the sky.
I started coming out of fear slowly as I kept looking
outside. I reconciled myself that it was nothing but just my
hallucination.
But the mind was still not at rest. It wanted to see what was
happening downstairs.
I went downstairs. My walk lacked courage, though.
Yes…yonder… It was Kanjanai sitting over there. She smiled at
me. The same poisonous smile! I stood frozen. I feigned as if I was
cool-headed; I climbed the steps murmuring, “Aren’t you feeling sleepy?”
‘Wasn’t there the fragrance of frankincense?’ I could remember that it was its
fragrance there.
When I got up, it was already late.
“What happened to you? Your sleeping patterns have gone for a
toss. Coffee is getting cold,” my wife woke me up.
Everything seemed odd in the daytime, as it had no hiding
place for both darkness and fear. But the fear seemed to have been deep-rooted
in the heart. How to get rid of it?
‘One can’t confide his mental agony caused by his wife’s
amoral behavior to anyone just to find solace. Can he? My situation was almost
akin to it. The person like me who boasts about his literary service to
society, holding himself in high self-esteem, can’t go to a sorcerer with a
complaint that a demon has entered his house and it might do some harm to his
wife and hence requests to help him get rid of it. Can he? Asking for such help
would make him suspect for sure if I was simply mocking him or I had become
mad. How to find out a solution to this problem? Who could help me in this
matter? How long will I be able to linger on this issue without seeking help
from someone’?
I was very much restless as it might lead to some serious
consequences. I was wavering between fake courage and real fear. ‘What sort
of stupefying potion had that servant maid given to my wife?’ They
were spending their time happily without even a tinge of suspicion or
fear.
Today, the time passed faster, as if the daytime was chasing
the night. I had never experienced any daytime that passed this faster earlier.
While going to bed, my wife told me, “Today Kanjanai will
sleep in the adjacent room on the upper floor. I felt as if I was carrying fire
under my belly.
‘What sort of a connivance is this?’
I decided not to sleep that night; I spent the whole night
awake.
“Aren’t you sleeping?” my wife asked me.
“I don’t feel sleepy,” I said. The fear was piercing my heart
like sharp spears.
“As you wish,” she turned her body to the other side. Within
seconds, she slept. ‘Is it just a deep sleep?’
Sitting for a long time cost me dearly. I lay down on the bed
to sleep.
The clock rang twelve.
The same odor!
My wife, lying beside me, screamed loudly, quite not like a
human. I could hear only one word, ‘Kanjanai,’ amidst voices without forms that
were coming in the form of words.
I switched the light on immediately and woke her up.
Once she gained consciousness, she got up, still tottering.
“I felt that something bit my neck and sucked up my blood.” She told him as she
wiped her eyes.
I watched her neck. There were two tiny drops of blood in her
throat the size of a pin tip. Her body was shivering.
“Don’t be afraid. You might have dreamt something bad,” I
told her. It was a lie deliberately told, I know.
Her body was still shivering. She fell on the bed
unconscious. That time, the sound of Chemakkalam3 was heard
outside.
Along with its music, a song sung in a grating voice was also
heard.
Someone called out, “Kanjanai…Kanjanai…” - a commanding
tone.
An extremely loud scream came out of the house, quaking. The
doors were terribly windblown.
Followed it, was there a silence. The silence of a burial
ground!
I peeped out of the house. One person was standing in the
middle of the street. What a spruce he was!
He signaled me, “Come here.”
I came out of the house and walked towards him like an
immobile puppet.
While going out, I couldn’t help looking into the room where
Kanjanai stayed. It bore the very appearance that I had imagined in my mind.
Kanjanai was not there.
I went to the street.
“Smear it on the Amma’s forehead. Kanjanai won’t come here
anymore. Smear it immediately. Don’t wake her up.” He told.
The Vibhoothi 4 was hot. I brought it
to her and applied it on her forehead. I suspected whether it was a plain
Vibhooti or something else. I very vividly remembered that there was no
Chemakkalam in his hands either. Didn’t I?
Three days passed.
While giving me coffee in the morning, my wife told me,
“These men are just like this.” I wouldn’t be able to reply to her question.
Would I?”
***End***
Note:
1. In Indian mythology, Brahma is the
God of Creation.
2. Tenali Raman was a character in the
history of the Vijaya Nagar Empire, known for his wits.
3. Chemakalam is a musical
instrument.
4. Sacred ash.
