The Trickster

by Vinaya Bhagat

  One day he discovered that the door of the blue bungalow was unlocked. He convinced himself that it was better to stash liquor nearby than drinking in shady bars far from home. He felt that being close to home, he would be able to restrict himself before things got out of hand.

  He used to sneak out on the pretext of going for a walk, have a drink and return home before Nayan became suspicious.

  As Manu grew older, he and Nayan had begun to rediscover the way they were before responsibilities had hijacked their marriage: Love had re-entered their relationship. He had become hopeful that very soon he would be able to let go of alcohol. Nayan had even talked of finding a job. So what had gone wrong?

  Drinking and being bypassed for a promotion were the obvious culprits. But were they strong enough to rob him of sanity and make him forget how much he loved Nayan and Manu? He was not sure.

  For the first time in his life, Anurag Mishra wondered if there was any substance to the Chakwa myth. Had the evil presence invaded his soul and forced his hands around Nayan’s neck? Maybe the Chakwa had done the real deed. After all, what he remembered was wrapping his hands around Nayan’s throat and staring into her luminous eyes. He had no recollection of actually killing her.

  A shiver of terror ran through Professor Mishra as he realized the implication of his deductions. If he was right, then the Chakwa must have killed Nayan, Manu and Meera. Even now, it might be getting ready to snatch Diya away from him.

  ‘What is the matter, Professor?’ His cell mate was shaking him, but Mishra was not asleep. ‘One of your nightmares?’

  ‘Yes, a nightmare,’ he lied.

  Fear for Diya’s life gripped his heart as rivulets of cold sweat ran down his body.

  STAGES OF GRIEF

  ‘W

  ell, at least we don’t have to worry about the Chakwa,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you Ok?’

  ‘In a way, I think my father did prepare me for this.’ Even though her father had not told her the entire truth, somewhere, his intense emotions had registered. She had made the mistake of attributing his grief to the fear of Chakwa.

  ‘Now that it’s behind us, let’s have some fun and focus on finding your other grandparents,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘After this, I am prepared for anything.’

  ‘Diya, I hope you are not too upset. I think the truth, however painful, is always the best.’ Albert paused. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I am not condoning his behaviour but he is not a bad man. I know that later in his life even Manu accepted the fact that his father was not a monster, just a human being who made a mistake.’

  ‘I feel the same,’ Diya replied.

  ‘Here, I have something you may like.’ Albert handed her an envelope.

  There were two photographs. In the first, her grandparents were standing with their hands on her father’s shoulder. In the second, Nayan and her father were seated on a low wall hugging each other. The tenderness of the moment sent a sharp spike of grief through Diya’s heart.

  Diya was subdued in the car, lost in her loss. Until now, her grandmother was someone’s memory, and her death the catastrophic epicentre of the earthquake that had shattered her family. Now Diya felt sad for Nayan, a woman in her prime killed before her life had reached its potential, betrayed by the man who had promised to love her forever. Nayan looked full of life. She had energy and a hint of mischief. Diya felt a spasm of anger at her grandfather, but even that was momentary. Heavy grief settled over her heart, a cumulative mourning for her parents and grandparents.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Ronnie asked after a while. ‘You are so quiet.’

  Diya could not speak through tears that choked her throat.

  Ronnie pulled over and looked at her.

  Diya handed him the photograph.

  ‘Her eyes are like yours, did you notice?’ Ronnie asked.

  ‘Actually, it’s the other way around. I have her eyes,’ Diya said.

  ‘And they are beautiful.’

  Diya smiled. She knew what Ronnie was trying to do and she appreciated his concern, but she needed to grieve. If she kept it bottled up, it would linger. She had avoided dealing with her grief when her parents died. Then she had nobody to take care of her, but now she felt secure in the safety net of her father’s family.

  ‘She looks so happy, so alive and then … life destroyed in a moment of anger …’

  ‘Only a breath separates life and death. That, and good judgment.’ Ronnie squeezed her hand.

  ‘Maybe that night, my father did make an error of judgment and that’s why the car skidded and jumped off the road. The cops said that was the most likely reason, but I was unwilling to accept it.’ Maybe now, she could make peace with that and move on.

  The next days passed in a hazy blur. Diya spent most of her time with Grandma Elizabeth.

  ‘Nayan was my best friend, our connection was instant. When they moved into the house next door, she was already pregnant. I was pregnant with Sunny. The house was not even complete, only the kitchen and two rooms were ready. The rest of the house was just a shell without doors and windows, but it did not matter to them. They loved each other and when Manu came, their happiness was complete.’

  ‘What changed?’

  ‘Professor was not getting promoted at work and Nayan was busy with Manu and the house. He withdrew more and more into his shell, and then he started drinking. He was never unruly but his behaviour was erratic and unpredictable. He never beat Nayan or Manu but the smallest of things would make him angry.’

  ‘How did my father cope afterwards?’

  ‘Poor Manu. He suffered so much. He loved and missed them both; he was angry and confused. He was like a scared wild animal, afraid to trust anyone. Even when he woke up at night screaming from nightmares, he would pretend that nothing was wrong. He would just sit there with his arms wrapped around himself.’ Elizabeth wiped her tears. ‘The only person he trusted was Sunny. It took me months to gain his trust, for him to let me hold him and soothe him to sleep. I never tried to replace his mother, no one can. We had a good relationship and I did the best I could for him. He was a sweet child and a responsible man.’

  ‘What about her family? Did they visit after it happened?’ Diya asked.

  ‘I don’t think they even knew what had happened. It was in the local newspapers but in those days, televisions were rare, so news coverage was limited. Nayan’s family may have never heard about her death. And even if someone was there, I could never bear to send Manu to strangers.’

  ‘My father was lucky, and so am I. If I was staying alone, by now I would probably have gone mad.’

  Talking to Elizabeth helped. Diya felt hopeful that one day she too could be pragmatic about her loss and live a full life. Her parents would have wanted that. They had overcome loss and gone on to build a fruitful and loving life.

  ‘Manu was the best son anyone could ever wish for, and like him you too are a brave and delightful child. Life comes full circle and death is inevitable. Just as we cannot choose our birth, we cannot choose the manner of our death. You must remember that death is just an event in our life, just the gateway to the beyond.’

  ‘How do you feel about my grandfather?’ Diya asked.

  ‘Well, there is a difference between then and now. Then I was angry. I wanted him to suffer the way Nayan had suffered, but over the years, I have forgiven him. Being alive and haunted by his crime is his biggest punishment. I know he loved Nayan. Manu’s death has devastated him. Now, I only pity him.’

  Diya nodded, reassured. Ever since meeting her grandfather, she had had mixed feelings because despite her revulsion towards his unforgivable crime, she was unable to hate him.

  THE SEARCH

  ‘D

  iya, I am so glad you came.’

  Baba looked neater and even younger than the previous week.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for anything,’ Diya smiled. ‘Did you read any of the books?’

  ‘Ye
s, yes. I started but before we discuss them, I have some news for you,’ he whispered.

  Baba took out a piece of paper from under his tunic and handed it to her.

  Diya unfolded the paper. A crude map was drawn on it.

  ‘A man here recognized Meera’s photo. He thinks Meera belonged to one of the old coffee estate families. Here is a map of the area where he thinks the family lived.’

  ‘Oh …’ Diya had expected to feel happy but her emotions were like stale flat soda. she felt nothing.

  After that, they did not talk about her mother’s family. She and Baba discussed the novel he was reading. Professor Mishra enquired about Elizabeth’s health and Rini’s tennis match.

  ‘How do you know so much about us?’ Ronnie was puzzled. ‘It’s almost like you live with us.’

  ‘All these years, I have lived through your father. He has been my lifeline telling me not only about Manu but also about his own family. I was the first person to know he was going to be a father. I could experience his grief when your grandfather passed away. I know when Rini refused to eat until Sunny bought her a tennis racket. I know of the day your mother bought the sewing machine.’

  ‘Oh!’ Ronnie was astounded by Baba’s revelations.

  ‘Did you think he read newspapers to me?’ Baba guffawed. ‘I can read them myself.’

  Diya smiled, and her heart felt lighter.

  Once home, Ronnie took out the hand-drawn map and began locating familiar landmarks.

  ‘As per Google Maps, there are five estates near this place,’ Ronnie said. ‘How about we check them out tomorrow?’

  ‘That would be nice.’ Diya squeezed his hand.

  The first plantation they visited belonged to a coffee company, and so they headed to the second one on their list.

  From the main road, there was no sign to indicate that any manmade structure lay behind the dense cover of trees, but Google Maps showed a large house with a cluster of satellite buildings set amidst the greenery. They drove between a huge stone wall on one side and a deep green forest on the other. Tall gates, at least twenty feet wide and seven feet tall, barred access to the wide driveway beyond.

  ‘What’s that?’ Diya asked, pointing to what looked like grains spread on a blue plastic sheet across most of the driveway.

  ‘Coffee beans,’ Ronnie smiled.

  ‘They smell funny.’ Diya wrinkled her nose.

  ‘These are almost dry. Wait till you smell freshly fermented beans. Their stench is so bad you will never want to drink coffee.’ Ronnie laughed.

  ‘Whatever …’ Diya made a face. ‘Even if I take your word that it’s normal for a coffee estate to stink, is it normal for it to be deserted?’ Diya said. ‘There is not a single soul in sight, not even a dog.’

  ‘Well, there is the cat.’ Ronnie pointed to a cat grooming itself atop a mossy stone wall.

  ‘First, she is steadfastly ignoring us and second, I doubt she owns this place.’

  ‘Well, if no one is here to welcome us, why don’t we let ourselves in and find out who owns this place?’ Ronnie opened a small gate set into the big one.

  ‘Back home, this would be called breaking and entering.’

  ‘We didn’t break anything. I was very careful when I opened and closed the gate.’

  ‘Don’t be flippant.’

  ‘Anyway, what are you worried about? If this turns out to be your grandparents’ estate, you have every right to this place and I am sure you wouldn’t mind inviting poor Ronnie for a visit.’

  Diya pummelled Ronnie’s back.

  ‘Hey, hey, no need to get violent!’ he protested. ‘Back in your country, what do they call it when someone beats another person?’

  ‘Shush!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do be quiet. I thought I heard something,’ Diya whispered.

  It was a low sound, somewhere between hissing and growling. It set her teeth on edge. It was barely audible but there was no mistaking the menace or the underlying ferocity.

  They searched for the source without moving too much, in case whatever was making the sound took it as a threat and decided to attack.

  ‘I think I found it,’ Diya said, pointing to a barred window in a building to their left.

  ‘What the hell is it?’

  ‘I think it’s a dog,’ Diya said.

  ‘Eight dogs, actually,’ a pleasant well-modulated voice replied.

  A man was standing behind them. He was fair, almost pink, with a clean shaven cherub face lit up by a mischievous smile. He wore peach and white checked shorts, a matching polo shirt, and a cap. The man took a swing at an imaginary ball with his golf club.

  He looked like a character from the P G Wodehouse novel Diya was reading. On the cover of that book, a similarly attired man stood in the middle of a muddy field while a cow serenely chewed on his golf bag.

  Diya suppressed a giggle at the man’s uncanny resemblance to the bumbling character in the book.

  ‘No need to worry; they are locked now, but if I were you, I would not come here at night without an appointment. They roam free through the estate at night and since they are fed only once in two days, they are always hungry.’ The man’s smile widened into a grin.

  Diya was not sure if he was serious or joking.

  ‘We did not mean to intrude. There was no one around so we came in …’ Diya said. She realized that it sounded as if they had tried to sneak in.

  ‘That doesn’t’ sound right, does it?’ the man smiled.

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Diya laughed. ‘Actually, we are looking for a woman who probably lived here a long time ago.’

  ‘How long ago did she live here?’ he asked.

  ‘Twenty, maybe twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘What was her name, any other details?’

  ‘Her name was Meera, she was my mother.’ Diya handed him her mother’s photograph.

  ‘She looks like a well-educated woman, and all we hire are labourers.’

  ‘Someone told me she came from a rich family from these parts,’ Diya said. ‘Maybe if you can remember …’

  ‘This estate has been in my family for over a hundred years and I can honestly tell you that I have never seen your mother.’

  ‘What about your neighbours?’

  ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I am already late for my golf match.’

  The man did not follow them to the gate. He just stood there, still as a statue, watching them until they left his property.

  ‘I don’t think we convinced him. I have a feeling he thinks we are thieves,’ Diya said.

  ‘He is just a spoilt brat. Did you notice how he dismissed us? Golf match indeed, looks like a bloody clown. He barely looked at your mother’s photo. His family may have owned this estate for generations but put him on the streets, and he will not be able to earn even a hundred rupees on his own.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Diya said.

  ‘Just because I don’t drive a swanky new car bought by my father, it doesn’t mean I am a thief. And who the hell is he to think that he can set his dogs on us?’

  Ronnie was livid at their sudden dismissal.

  ‘I don’t think he can do that. He is just a ridiculous man. I mean, he does not even look real, does he? All dolled up in golfing clothes straight out of a novel,’ Diya said remembering her first impression of the lord of the manor.

  He seemed unreal, like a ghost; not ethereal, just unreal, like a cardboard cut-out.

  ‘I am glad you are not related to that idiot,’ Ronnie said.

  ‘What did you say?’ Diya asked, still distracted.

  ‘Shall we go to the next estate? It’s a little far and it might get dark when we return.’

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Meera Manor,’ Ronnie smiled.

  ‘You knew I would not be able to resist, didn’t you?’ She punched Ronnie’s shoulder.

  Ronnie picked up Diya and twirled her around before setting her down.

&nbs
p; ‘What are we waiting for?’ Diya tried to sound flippant, but her voice was hoarse.

  ‘The right moment,’ Ronnie replied.

  Diya knew he was not talking about their journey.

  ‘I think we have company,’ she said.

  The man was standing near the gate now as if afraid they might sneak back into the estate.

  Diya couldn’t resist the urge to wave at him as they drove off.

  He smiled and waved back.

  They might have started on the wrong foot, but she was glad they were parting on a good note. Life was too short to hold grudges.

  MEERA MANOR

  M

  eera Manor was higher up in the mountains. The sun had already started descending behind the mountains when they reached.

  Here too, a carpet of coffee beans was spread out in the sunlight, but unlike the previous place, it was not deserted.

  A plump man was raking the beans. A tall thin man was sprawled in an armchair nearby, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine. They hesitated, but the man waved, asking them to come inside.

  ‘At least they are friendlier,’ Ronnie commented.

  The thin man sat up straighter and stared at Diya for a long time over the rim of his glasses.

  There was curiosity and something else in the man’s eyes that she could not fathom.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably less than a minute, he cleared his throat and spoke.

  ‘Welcome to Meera Manor, how may I help you?’

  ‘We are looking for someone who lived in these parts a long time ago. Her name was Meera,’ Diya said.

  ‘Ah …’ the old man said. ‘And may I ask the reason for your search?’

  ‘She was my mother,’ Diya said.

  The manservant came back with chairs for Diya and Ronnie.

  ‘Please sit down, children. One thing I have learnt in life is that nothing can be achieved in a hurry. My name is Arun. What are yours?’

  ‘Diya.’

  ‘Ronnie.’

  ‘Diya,’ Arun repeated. ‘It is a beautiful name, powerful yet mellow.’

  Diya relaxed; after the rude experience at the previous estate, she had only expected hostility. There was a stillness about Arun which she found calming, and a twinkle in his eye that hinted at a good sense of humour.