by Nag Mani
No one spoke for a while. Aditi could hear Arvind sipping his tea in the veranda. The old woman removed a thin layer of cream that had formed on the surface of her tea and wiped it against the lip of her cup. She drank half the beverage in one gulp.
“Initially, most of us thought it was the Devi behind the deaths, that sacrificed queen…” she continued. “You see, she had inflicted far more terror than this spirit, this Jinn had. Unlike him, who was rarely seen, she used to freely roam the streets at night. That was long time ago. My mother used to tell me these stories. You could wake up to see a woman passing by your window. Many a farmer saw her gliding over their farms. That ruins of the temple, she would often be seen there. A dark figure floating from pillar to pillar. And no one had forgotten the killings. Yes, how can I not mention that. She had killed all the members of the royal family.”
“And this… Jinn…,” Aditi asked, “he continued to haunt this village while people thought it was her.”
“No. Not for long. These jinns are only interested in young women. Somehow, he grew powerless. He shrunk back to that ancient tree. You see, we had started taking precautions. We burnt all the rose plants in the village. Threw away perfumes and cosmetics. He couldn’t bother us for long. Unless a girl went close to the tree seeking trouble.”
The chair in the veranda creaked as something heavy lifted from it. Arvind cleared this throat, loudly. Then there was creaking of iron and TRING-TRING as he left on his cycle.
“So this man I saw, he is the Jinn?” Aditi asked.
The old woman nodded. “Maybe.”
“But why now? Why after such a long time? All of a sudden?”
“He is weak Madam. He wouldn’t have dared to leave the protection of the tree… unless someone made him do it!”
“What?”
“Unless the girls were offered to him!”
“But how? And why?”
“There are ways Madam, as I said, to set spirits upon someone. It is easier to do on someone you are related to, or live with, because you share a bond with them. But for others… there are ways. And there is one ritual I can think of. Dark magic. It requires a minor sacrifice for the tree, usually a young goat. You perform the ritual. To do this you need something that carries the fragrance of your victim. A piece of cloth often worn. Nails. Hair. A drop of blood. Then you put that something in a crack in the trunk, or bury it near the roots. This is done to mark your victim. Then you have to please the entity you desire to summon. Often it is a sacrifice, or a promise of a sacrifice if the work is done. I have seen things, believe me. And I have a feeling the Jinn didn’t act on his own. It can’t be a coincidence that he took two girls from the same house one after the other. Someone must have hated Razzak with his life and soul.”
“You told him? You told Razzak about the tree? Does he know?”
“My son did. But they listen nothing coming from our people. For all he knows we would lead him into more trouble. And his woman is bent on believing that you are the reason it happened, after all this time.”
“Why would I do such a thing to the girls? I loved them…”
“She is a good woman, Madam. But she is a woman. She doesn’t question. She accepts whatever is told to her. She and her little brain. She knows that roses are banned in this village. And you planted them anyway, even after she threw them away. Yes, don’t look surprised. Zoya saw them planted behind the coop. She knows that the forest is forbidden. Yet, you went there anyhow. She knows that the Devi must not be meddled with. That the haunted temple must be left alone. Yet you… she thinks you turned the wheel that had laid still for so long.”
“Yet you what, my son?” Bhagvati interjected.
“Yes, I went there!” Aditi screamed. “I wanted a child! I was desperate! So I went there, but I did not ask for this. I did not ask for anything! Just a child, my child!” Bhagvati sighed and shook her head, but otherwise remained quiet. Aditi went on, “Let her think whatever the damn she wants to. If someone is after the sisters, Zoya is in danger too. Laila must know. Don’t tell me it is too late, please! There must be something that can be done.”
“Maybe. If we can find what was put in the trunk, we might know what dark magic it actually was. Who the targets were. We can then look for ways… find the culprit. But first we have to be sure than my assumption is correct.”
“And how do we do that?”
“By searching for what was put there…”
“Didn’t you tell Laila? She is a mother. She can lay her life for her daughter.”
“Yes, that is exactly what she said. That she would lay her life. That she would sacrifice herself to the Devi and ask her to spare her daughter.”
“I will talk to her,” Aditi said, almost shouting. “I will get her to go to the tree. I will go with her if I have to. Tell me how to do it?”
“Are you mad, Aditi!” Bhagvati screamed, for the first time taking her name. “You are going nowhere. You will not risk your life, not while I am breathing. I don’t know what this old woman has gotten into your head.”
The old woman unfolded her legs and slowly stood up. “I must leave now. I have my own house to run. Cook dinner. It is safer in the sun. And whatever you see, don’t look at its face, don’t let it inflict fear in you.”
“What?”
“If you go looking, that is.”
“She is not going anywhere,” Bhagvati said firmly, standing up. Aditi wanted to argue, but instead, she felt touched by her concern. Maybe, it was after so long a time that someone had stood up for her. “I won’t let her. There was no third part, you wicked old woman! You just made that up. And don’t you take me for a fool! I haven’t greyed my hairs just for show. It appears to me that you want to send my son to that tree. That bloody queen is beheading people all around the village and you are asking her to go right into her lair. It is her, my son, don’t you see it? It is the Devi. I cannot explain the man you saw, but I am certain he had something to do with her. You say it’s the Jinn that killed the girls. What about the Mukhiya? Why did the Devi kill Om Prakash Singh? Ask this woman. Ask her!”
The old woman was quiet. She suddenly looked tired. Sick. Dying. “I don’t know. You can ask the Devi herself. She might answer.” With that she began to leave.
“Why don’t you stay a little longer.” Aditi followed her to the hall, furiously signalling Bhagvati to stay back. “Have dinner with us?”
“No. Madam. But some other time. Maybe when all this is over. I will bring my Bijju along. But not now.”
It was already dark. A crescent moon was hanging low in the deep blue sky. Aditi watched from the veranda as the old woman made her way slowly to the main road. Two police constables were sitting on a charpoy outside Razzak’s house, chatting away secretly. “Constables!” she murmured. “Constables watching their house. As if they are going to catch the culprit.” A damn jinn! What else the village had in store? “I am going to Laila’s,” she declared.
“No, you are not!” Bhagvati said with authority.
“It is important. Zoya is in danger. If there is something that can be done, it must.”
“No, you are not,” Bhagvati repeated, “because she is not going to listen to you. You will give her more reasons not to go to the tree.”
“But Zoya…”
“You will not! Let me go instead. Let me talk to her. You stay here. Wait for me.” With that, Bhagvati stepped down the veranda. Bachcha emerged from the corn plants and followed her.
“What should I cook for dinner, Didi?” said a soft voice from behind.
Aditi turned around to face Payal. She was somewhat pretty. Her hair fell to her waist. Thick and lustrous. “Anything you like,” she replied with a smile. They were going to get along well, she thought; a sweet little sister she had always wanted. Then, with the little energy she had left, she went about packing her belongings. She would be leaving the next day, after all this dark magic had been taken care of. She would see if the river could be crosse
d and whether the roads beyond were flooded. It would not be that difficult with Bhagvati and Payal with her. At the very least, she could go to Bhagvati’s sister and seek shelter for a few days. And as for Manoj… let her go to Purnia first… let her talk to the officers’ association…
Bhagvati returned an hour later to tell her that Razzak had planned to leave the village with his wife and daughter. “He is waiting for a way out,” she said, “and he said he might go down south. Some ten-twelve kilometres from here there is a village, Sikti, but the connecting road is all puddles and holes. Very tricky. He has a relative there. From there, if the conditions are good, he can go to Purnia and then Naugachia, you know, his wife Laila is from there.”
“And that black magic that Arvind’s mother talked of?”
Bhagvati lowered her head. “Doesn’t want to meddle with these things, lest something worse happens. And I will tell you what my son, you don’t go around meddling either. You don’t know the woman, or the mohalla she comes from. They are shady people. For all I know she wants to lure someone there for reasons only she knows.”
Aditi didn’t argue, as it was that her strength was weaning. She closed the suitcase she was packing and sat still on the bed. Her wounded wrist began to throb.
“But there is something I want to tell you,” Bhagvati continued. “Something happened in this village this evening. I can sense it. And those policemen, they are not keeping a watch on Laila’s house. They are keeping on ours.”
“Why?”
“They will not tell. I think it’s that inspector. But don’t worry about that. We will leave tomorrow. The three of us. We will go to Purnia. We will stay with you till you are better.”
“But will they allow us to travel with them?”
“Who said we need them? Don’t underestimate this old woman, son! Why go west to this flooded Forbesganj. We can go east, to my sister’s place in Deepnagar. Bahadurganj is not far from there. Once we are in Bahadurganj, we can go to Araria, or directly to Purnia. You go to sleep now. I will take care of the rest of the packing.”
*
It was as if an alarm had gone off. Aditi’s eyes darted to the clock. 6 o’ clock. Bhagvati was still sleeping, legs sprawled. Her sari had come loose around her waist, revealing a dirty cream coloured petticoat. Looking around the house, Aditi found Payal in the toilet. She had thought about it a lot through the night, but now that she was alone, the impulse to do it had never been stronger. She went out in the veranda. The sun was creeping up through the maize plants. They had grown taller than her by now, coarse, brown filaments erupting from their tops. An empty cot lay in front of Razzak’s house. The constables must have left.
Aditi stepped down and headed for the trees. Her forehead was burning with fever. Her back ached. But she had to know what was happening. And who was doing it. Bachcha emerged from somewhere and followed her. She would find the tree and then find what was inside it. She would take whatever it was to Laila and show her. And god forbade whosoever put it there. Was there a way to find out? There must be. But first she had to find the tree. She walked briskly in the cold morning along the path she had once taken to the bank. The ground was wet. The trunks and leaves were glistening.
By the time she reached the junction where she had seen Arvind, her throat was dry. Drops of sweat were trickling down behind her ears. Bachcha was still behind her, sniffing anything he could lay his nose on. The path to the left… it cut its way through trunks and wild bushes. She clenched her fists and took a step forward. Bachcha stayed back at the junction, ears raised, alert, looking at her questioningly. Aditi began to follow the path. It was barely visible. Most of the bricks had dislodged or crumbled. Yet it was there. A mere trace on the ground where it used to be. Bachcha began to whimper. He circled the junction impatiently, never taking his eyes off her. He dug the ground with his paws. Then he gave a bark.
“Go back!” Aditi shouted at him, her voice shaking. And how she wanted him to follow…
Bachcha stayed. Aditi hurled a stone towards him. But he wouldn’t leave. He sat there, at that junction, whimpering, worried, as Aditi continued down the path. He had still not gone out of sight when something else caught her attention. Far to her left, where the trunks were lighter, somewhere closer to the river, Aditi saw someone walking, wandering rather. It was a man, his back towards her. He seemed oblivious to his environment, walking, staggering, lost. Aditi was about to call out to him when someone whispered above her. She looked up to see a piece of tattered sari hanging from a branch. She raised her hands in terror, as if it was going to fall on her and strangle her. But it stayed there, swaying in a breeze only it could feel. Aditi hurried away from under it.
The man… he was still wandering… wandering… Aditi lifted a hand. Took in a deep breath to call for him… but then he disappeared into thin air!
She let out a shriek.
She turned to flee, but her knees buckled and she fell. She sprang to her fours, her breaths coming out in wheezes. No! She could not return. Not yet. She took a deep breath as she stood. Paused a moment. Tucked her hair behind her ears. Then she continued. Her head hung low, eyes on the path. Un-hearing. Un-seeing.
She did not know how far she had come when the path ended at a puddle filled with murky water. It must have been knee deep. She raised her eyes as she tried to circle around it. And then she caught a glimpse… it was close by, standing next to a trunk. Quiet. Still.
The man in rags… he was watching her!
Aditi broke into a run. There were movements. Something was moving swiftly through some bushes. Coming towards her. She turned around to see. Nothing. She lost her balance and fell again. And then emerged from the bushes something small and fast…
“Bachcha!” Aditi yelled with relief as the dog came whimpering towards her, ears pulled low, tails between his legs, looking around in terror. She patted him and rose. The man had disappeared again. She could hear the gushing of the river. She was almost there…
Not far ahead, she saw the clearing. Something whispered again, above her. Then there was a giggle. A woman’s laughter. Curiosity made Aditi look up… almost… she lowered her gaze immediately. Hadn’t Arvind’s mother warned her about looking directly at their faces? Bachcha cowered behind her. A group of men began to talk angrily somewhere close by. Someone said something. Then they all burst out laughing.
Aditi kept her eyes fixed on the clearing. Bachcha followed. She was aware of something else following her from above, moving from tree to tree. It began to whisper again. It was saying something to her. Aditi listened. It was a crude, insulting poetry mocking her. A child began to cry and the whispers stopped abruptly. Aditi felt a weight lift from above.
She caught a glimpse of the old tree in the clearing. She inhaled deeply, preparing herself to face the abode of all the whispering and stalking.
The foliage above gave way to the early morning sky and in front of her rose the ancient mango tree. She had taken a moment to summon courage for what she was going to face, but never had she imagined it would be like this. She stepped into the clearing and her knees collapsed with fear. The tree was so… massive… ferocious… evil… The branches were dark and gnarled. Red resin oozed out from the thick bark of the trunk. The foliage was impenetrable. It seemed to be holding some sort of darkness within. The roots burst out of the soil and slithered outwards like giant snakes before diving in again. Kneeling on the periphery of the clearing, Aditi imagined the many spirits living on the tree. She almost saw their faces peeing down at her.
Bachcha yelped. Crouching low, he ran across the clearing and looked back for her to follow. Trembling with fear, almost weeping, Aditi rose to her feet and stepped under the branches. Coldness engulfed her. She spotted a charred mark in front of the trunk. Patches of blood. There was a rose plant blossoming under the branches. Blossoming, despite the lack of sunlight. She noticed withering ends of three stems where a flower had been plucked. She went closer and studied the tree. Something wa
s sticking out from the roots at the base of the trunk – a leg of a white goat.
A sudden dread crept into her heart. There was a wave of weakness and her knees began to wobble again. She heard whispers in the foliage above. She tried to focus on the trunk, its rough texture, the many burls that erupted from the bark, the trails of raisin flowing from unnatural cuts. Slowly, she went around the trunk, and there, a foot above her head, was a gaping cavity. She raised her hand, then dropped it immediately. She tried again, but withdrew the moment her fingers touched the bark. She stepped closer, sobbing now, her eyes on her feet. She almost heard-felt-sensed a rhythmic beat coming from the tree. She shut her eyes and on the third attempt, finally forced herself to put her hand inside. Her fingers crawled their way in, feeling for anything un-woody. The cavity was warm, moist, alive. Her hand went deeper. And just when she was about to give up, she felt something…
