by Nag Mani
“What do you mean?”
“I ask again. Where is your husband?”
“I told you. He went to Purnia yesterday morning. The bank summoned him for something urgent. And please don’t drag him into this. You know how this happened!”
“We called the zonal office,” the inspector continued, ignoring her. “He never reported. And what’s more, he is officially on leave.”
Lying was one of the many things that could be expected of Manoj. This didn’t come as a surprise. But what if something happened to him… what if he never reached… “Where is he? Did he… reach home?” The words barely came out.
“Yes, he did.” Inspector Mishra crossed his arms and sat back against the chair. “Your tenant, Vinita, she said he came home two nights ago. They had kept a room arranged for him. But he left again the next morning. Where did he go?”
“I don’t know… His parents live in Naugachia. And he has a brother, Ajay Prasad. He lives in Madhepura. He runs a gas agency…”
“Ah! Ajay Prasad! Did you know he paid regular visits here? He had come quite close to our Mukhiya, our Om Prakash Singh.”
“Yes, I know.” She didn’t elaborate.
“And there is this Heera Lal Singh. He lives further in the interior of the village. Very interior area it is. He is a distant relative of Om Prakash. Did you know your husband visited him quite often?”
“I don’t know. Must be another of bank business.”
“Yes, it was! Turns out Om Prakash had mediated a loan for this relative of his. A big amount. And it was always Om Prakash who took your husband there. They were always gracious to welcome him. I am sure all loan-takers keep their managers pleased and happy. He had come to my station this afternoon, this Heera Lal Singh. All tears and words for his distant brother. Half the family wiped out in one night. Father and son…” Aditi waited for him to continue. “Did you know he also has an unmarried daughter? Gitanjali. I’ve heard she is very fair and pretty. But mentally unsound… just a bit. Doesn’t have much intelligence. She is innocent and naïve. Good at heart. Like a cow…”
She suddenly thought of the field trip she undertook with Manoj. The last customer, who had served them with lots to eat, what was his name? She recalled the pretty young woman who had served them. Was it her the inspector was talking about? “What are you getting at?” Her nostrils flared with anger. Of all the things her husband could do, she least suspected him of infidelity. She found herself uncontrollably defending him.
“I am not getting at anything… as of now. I wanted to inform you that this Heera Lal Singh has recently gifted two acres of land to your husband. He hasn’t completed the paperwork yet, but was going to do it soon.”
Aditi let out a gasp. This was too big a thing to hide from her. Land couldn’t have been very expensive in the interior of the village. But to pass it off as a gift… It could be the commission for the loan he passed. But the loan had to be pretty huge for a piece of land to be the commission. Bhagvati came and stood by the doorframe. She had been listening all along, but now she made it clear that she had been doing so. “What was the amount of the loan?” Aditi asked.
Inspector Mishra studied her face for a few heavy moments. He rose from his seat. Settled his belt. He seemed to have guessed what she was thinking. “Let’s hope it was big enough for that land.” And he left.
What the goddamn was this Manoj up to? Was it a reckless choice rashly made, or a calculated move? The bank hadn’t called him. Manoj had to leave the village for some reason and he did so only after Bhagvati had left to bring her daughter. And out of all the people, he chose the Mukhiya to be her host, the same Mukhiya who was beheaded that very night. The timing was perfect. The cards were well played. Did Manoj know, somehow, that the Mukhiya would die? Was there some plan set in action long before she even came to the village? She shuddered as another thought crept in. Was the Mukhiya supposed to die? Or was it someone else?
Did the Devi take the wrong person?
She had come to her first, hadn’t she? She remembered the fingers on her head, cold and long, extending right up to her lips. And even as Aditi continued to murmur that she did not kill her child, she saw herself lying in a cold dingy room that reeked of urine. And she saw it all. Re-lived her dreaded, dark past she had struggled to erase from her memory.
It started with an innocent visit. It was just a friend helping another friend. It was just a Dalit entering a Brahmin’s home.
When her father was questioning This-Boy, she hurriedly tidied her clothes and her bed, her heart maddened with dread. By the time her father came in, she was sitting on her bed. She didn’t dare meet his eyes. Maybe he understood…
She was sleeping that night when the Dalit houses were razed. Her father was angry with her, that much she knew. Of all the daughters, he could not believe that she would be the one who wouldn’t uphold the honour of their family.
The mere thought of what This-Boy had to go through was torturous. She discussed with herself different methods of suicide, the pain they inflict, the spontaneity of death and the consequences of failure, but didn’t have the courage to actually experiment.
That could have been a reason it took some time before she noticed that she had missed her periods.
It was almost three weeks when she complained to her mother about her abdominal pain. She was handed an antacid tablet. Days later she summoned the courage to tell her about her missed period. She was told that sometimes they were late.
One night as her parents lay on their bed waiting for sleep to takeover, her mother mumbled something about her periods. Her father couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He had noticed the subtle changes in her body. Those words were all he needed to confirm his nightmare.
It was well over a month. The nurses in the city would not keep their mouths shut. The news would spread. The honour her father had earned and maintained for years would all shatter in a moment. That was when Sangeeta Nurse entered Aditi’s life uninvited. She had assisted a doctor for over ten years before she decided it was high time she adopted the title herself. Doctor Sangeeta Nurse shifted to Purnia and started her own clinic.
The clinic a was shady building built (illegally?) behind a pathology lab. “It is nothing. Just a simple procedure. Everything will be all right, gudiya!” Doctor Sangeeta Nurse had assured her, lips smiling, eyes judging.
Aditi was shivering when they made her lie down on a dirty operation table. Of all the suicidal methods she had thought of, that definitely wasn’t one. How she wished she never woke up after the operation! Doctor Sangeeta Nurse loomed above her and caressed her hair, “Everything will be all right, gudiya!”
Everything was not all right. But Doctor Sangeeta Nurse chose to ignore that she had permanently damaged her patient’s uterus.
Was the Devi supposed to take Aditi instead of the old man? But then, why didn’t she?
And that shit load of the land her husband received as a gift? And who was this pretty girl the inspector was talking about? It must have been her, the girl who had served them. But why would a young, unmarried woman serve a professional guest when there were enough servants and even older women to do so? Aditi clenched her fists. It was a bloody show of their secret romance! That woman was performing the sacred duty of a wife – serving her husband – practicing for the time when it came. And they had the audacity to do it right in front of her! That bitch was as naïve as a cow, that was what the inspector had said. And that was exactly what Ajay had said, years ago, that a wife should be like a cow!
Something inside her began to cry. She had known long ago that she had a miserable life ahead with the man she was married to. It had been hard to accept, but she eventually did. But never had she imagined it would come to this. He had an affair. There was one whole year he lived alone, enough time to nurture it. Now that he had found his cow-like wife, there was no need for her. She had to be disposed of… And he had the perfect way to get rid of her – the Devi. That was why
he wanted her to come along even though everyone advised otherwise. That was why he made her go to the temple to bow and didn’t come himself. Damn! Was even the Mukhiya involved in it? Did they perform some dark magic in the temple to get rid of her? And he himself ran away so that no one would suspect him… What a fool she was to fall in the trap! Damn this woman’s heart! It was the perfect plan…
…only that the Devi didn’t take her.
She wiped her face. Her cheeks had turned numb. What about Zeenat and Zeba? Why had the Devi killed the two girls? And what about that tall, bearded man?
That old woman! Hadn’t she asked to call for her? Didn’t she say it was not the Devi’s way of killing? That they would know if the Devi killed someone.
And she was bloody right!
The Devi didn’t blacken her victims’ skin or rot their flesh. She dragged them to the sacrificial platform and chopped off their heads.
She had to talk to that woman; and the key to her was Arvind.
The clouds had parted in the sky laying bare a scorching afternoon sun. Bhagvati came in with a cup of tea. “I am sending Payal to the market. She will pick up some vegetables. Do you need anything?”
Payal poked her head through the curtain. She must have been what, about twenty-one. Thin and tall. Her bushy hair pulled behind and tightly tied. She was eyeing Aditi with wonder. “Go to the bank,” Aditi spoke directly to Payal. “Ask for a man called Arvind. Tell him Madam wants to talk to that old woman who goes to the Devi’s temple.”
CHAPTER 16
THE ANCIENT TREE
Aditi was standing by the window in her room. The maize field was swaying slightly under a scarlet sky. Stars had begun to appear eastward. The fan had stopped moving and the bulbs were reduced to mere glowing filaments. She had made up her mind to leave the village on her own. She would find a way out no matter how flooded the lands were.
There was a soft knock on the door. She opened the other window and found the old woman standing on the veranda.
Aditi’s eyed the woman as Payal brought in two cups of tea. Bhagvati was filling a bucket with water in the backyard. The old woman was examining the stained ceiling, the dead fan, the dim bulb. “Arvind didn’t replace your battera?” she asked.
“He…” Aditi fumbled for words, though she wanted to ask point-blank how the hell did she know Arvind and that he changed the battery of her house.
“But then,” the woman continued, “you were not here. And with all the… you know… things… happening here, who can blame him!”
“How do you know Arvind?” Aditi blurted out. And the answer came on its own. Battera…
The woman smiled. Her teeth were yellow and stained, broad gaps in between. Wrinkles swarmed around her eyes. “I am his mother, Madam.”
His mother! What the hell had she been thinking? Of course, she was his mother. She was lighter skinned though, tanned and patched. And unlike him, she was thin and frail. “Oh, I am sorry. I couldn’t tell. I see the resemblance now.”
The old woman didn’t reply. Aditi wanted to ask about her son’s sickness, whether it was true, or just a rumour, but she thought better of it. There were so many questions, she did not know where to begin.
“You saw a man, you said,” the old woman spoke, still examining the room, her cup untouched.
“Yes. I wanted to ask about him. And the Devi. About the Mukhiya…”
Bhagvati entered the room and after a brief greeting, sat down on the bed beside Aditi. Payal brought in another cup of tea and left as quietly as she had come.
“That is a lot many questions you have.” The woman settled the aanchal of her withered sari. Aditi noticed a string of rudraksha around her neck. “To begin with…” she heaved and crossed her legs on the bed, making herself comfortable, “… I have to tell you about the temple and this Aambari.”
“I know about the legend of the Devi, about the queen who was sacrificed,” Aditi glanced at Bhagvati, “and the killings that took place in the Aambari.”
“You do?” The woman raised her eyebrows. “Then let me start from where it began. With the birth of Puran Devi.”
“The birth of Puran Devi?” Bhagvati interrupted. “You mean how her shrine came into existence? Why, correct me if I am wrong. It’s similar to the story of the Shakti Peeths that are scattered across the country, where different parts of Goddess Parvati fell. Puran Devi is another form of Goddess Kali. Once, a long time ago, Goddess Kali was chasing a demon across these lands. In a deadly duel, two little parts of her body fell to the earth. One fell here, in this village and took shelter in a mango tree. Another part fell in the old city of Purnia and clung to a stone. The stone was worshipped there, and then a temple built around it.”
“Yes, that was the exact story I was going to tell, except, there were three parts that fell, not two.”
“What?” Bhagvati said on the verge of mocking, “When did this third part come in the story?”
“There are two versions of the story,” the old woman replied calmly. “One that you just told. With two parts. And another that I am going to say.” Aditi held her breath as the woman searched for words. “The Puran Devi temple here has an old mango tree. That was where one part of the Devi climbed up to. People worshipped the tree. Then a stone was accidentally dug out from its roots in the shape of a woman’s torso. A temple was constructed, the ruins of which you see now, and the stone was placed in the shrine and people began to worship it instead. This continued till the queen was sacrificed. Angry with the villagers, the Devi left her seat. The stone crumbled to pieces and the tree dried.”
TRING. TRING. Then a knock.
Payal opened the door.
“Namaste, Madam,” Arvind greeted from the door, rather dully. Then there was a sound of something heavy being kept on the ground. Something else was lifted and then placed. Silence for half a minute. Then CLICK and the bulb suddenly grew brighter. The fan began to move. “Should I wait?” Arvind asked from the hall itself.
“Go back to Bijju. She will be hungry. I will come,” the woman shouted back.
“Let me make some tea at least,” said Payal timidly, standing at the doorway to the bedroom, the curtain draped around her. Arvind must have said something for she began to smile. She went to the kitchen. Arvind dragged a chair to the veranda and sat heavily with a sigh.
“And what about the third part you were talking of?” Aditi whispered, not sure if the story should be continued.
“That third part. Yes. There was a third part also. An evil part. It fell from the demon she was chasing. That time, long before people began to settle, there were only two mango trees here. And that part of the demon crawled to the second mango tree, the older of the two, and instead of climbing the branches, it went down to the roots. And there it stayed, down in the darkness, where it was stronger and protected. And there it stayed, growing deeper and deeper.”
“So that was the man I saw, the one who killed the girls?”
“Ah no, Madam,” the old woman chuckled to herself. “These powers are too unworldly to interfere with us petty humans. This power, this evil bit that we are talking of, took no part in the history of the village. It stayed underground, growing in its own world. It could be a reason why Puran Devi could not destroy it, because it never interfered with her or her world and she had no claim to interfere with his. Maybe, it knew, that she was waiting for it to come out, to give her one small chance, to end that duel once and for all… for it never came out. Even after she had left. But there was something else that happened. Powerful as it was, it attracted evil spirits! Tormented souls… evil, dark… they were all lured by its aura. They took shelter in the tree. While the Devi resided in her temple, she warded off these spirits. But after her departure, they swarmed like fleas. Pret, pisach… The dead dacoits, their victims. They all live in that tree now…
“You see, Madam, this ancient tree, it is not far from here. It is right in the heart of this plantation. All these mango trees, they w
ere planted during the reign of Puran Devi. They blossomed and bore fruits, but none dared to even touch that old tree.”
“There is a path,” Aditi interrupted in a small voice, “from here to the market. At one point it branches off to the left. Is it...”
“Yes, Madam, that is where it leads to.”
“One of the ghosts that live there… did it haunt the girls?”
“It could be. But there is still more to the story. That tree, Madam, that old tree swarming with ghosts was a haven for those who practised black magic.”
“Aren’t the people where you live known for black magic?” Bhagvati interjected as-a-matter-of-factly.
The old woman hung her head. Then quietly, she continued, “There are procedures, Madam, ways with which you could call upon a spirit and ask him to do something for you. I know a person whose son was taken away by a chudail. Of course, there is a price, but when you are desperate enough, price is often overlooked. Most of these spirits are summoned out of jealously. I can tell you Madam, of farmers whose farms withered overnight, of small boys who were lifted into the sky and carried off to somewhere no one knew, and of beautiful wives, who disappeared while sleeping in their beds. Then another spirit came wandering to the tree, or maybe he was summoned. We call him the Jinn.
“Those were terrible days, I remember. Young girls would suddenly fall sick, and then die before anyone understood what had happened. One sneeze, and who knew you would be dead within the hour. How can I forget those days! That was when we stopped going to the forest altogether. Girls were not allowed to wear lipstick or kajal or perfume, for it would attract him. They were not allowed to keep their hair untied. They were not allowed to go out after sunset. But of all the things that attracted him, it was the fragrance of a red rose. It made him come pounding to you.” She took a deep breath. “I saw him once. I was very small them. Must be like what, nine or ten. And unlike now, we had a good home. My father lived with his three brothers. And we had this big courtyard surrounded by houses on all sides. I remember it was a full moon night. Because the moon was so big, so bright. You could read right in the middle of the night even without a lamp, that is if you knew how to read. We were sleeping on a charpoy. I was in between my mother and my father. It was cold, so she had covered me with her aanchal. I was sleeping and all of a sudden, I opened my eyes. I didn’t know why, but I opened them and I saw a man on the roof right above me. He was leaning over, looking down at me, his hands behind his back. He was tall like no man I have seen. I was terrified. I thought he was a robber or something. And then he started walking around the perimeter of the roof, hands behind his back, head held high, calmly, proudly as if he was a king surveying his kingdom. I closed my eyes and wriggled into my mother’s chest.”
