The Trickster

by Vinaya Bhagat

  One of the dogs pushed its nose out of the window and sniffed. The other dogs joined it and together they tried to push through the open window. Diya hoped the window was strong enough to withstand their efforts. The dogs looked hungry, their long fangs and lolling tongues craving food. She was sure they were looking at her not out of curiosity but as a tasty treat.

  Terror raced across Diya’s spine. She wanted to move away but the dogs’ hypnotizing stares held her captive, rooting her to the spot.

  Then they turned away, en masse, and ran back into the dark depths of the room.

  Diya breathed again and stumbled back, released from the spell of their malevolent gaze.

  ‘They were starving,’ Raghav said, coming out of the room.

  Diya went to the window and saw the dogs busy attacking something, but it was too dark for her to see.

  ‘What do they eat?’ she asked. ‘Dog food or meat?’

  ‘I told you these are not pets. If you feed a tiger dead meat on a platter, it will become tame; so, they hunt thrice a week.’

  Diya shivered, imagining the big dogs chasing their prey.

  ‘They are guard dogs; I want them to remain sharp for whatever comes.’ Raghav shrugged at the shocked expression on Diya’s face. ‘Dogs are supposed to be able to see ghosts and spirits that we cannot. They are not afraid of anything. If I’m scared of something, I would want my dogs around.’

  Diya wasn’t sure if Raghav was giving her a hint; in any case, she was tired of this indirect approach. She decided to take things head on.

  ‘Are you afraid of something?’ Diya asked.

  He seemed taken aback by her question.

  ‘These mountains are lonely and mysterious. The long dark nights and the mist that shrouds everything makes people’s imaginations run wild. There is a lot of talk about creatures and spirits.’

  ‘Do you believe in these creatures?’

  ‘I don’t, really, but why take chances?’

  ‘So what are you afraid of?’ she persisted.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I heard a story about something that roams these mountains but I am not sure if it is common in these parts or specific to our family.’

  ‘Looks like you have been talking to my father,’ Raghav said.

  ‘Are you afraid of the Chakwa?’

  ‘Don’t say that name, Diya, I beg you!’

  ‘Why? I thought you did not believe in it?’

  ‘Don’t tempt fate.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Beads of perspiration formed on Raghav’s upper lip. His eyes darted around.

  ‘Is that why you keep the dogs? Is it afraid of dogs?’

  How could it be? It had massacred her poor Zorro.

  ‘Not all dogs; but as I said, these are trained killers. Now, let’s not discuss this further.’

  Diya looked back at the dog’s room. They were once again at the window staring at her with burning eyes.

  Raghav might rely on these brutes to safeguard him against the Chakwa, but Diya was not sure if she would ever do that. They were more likely to turn on her than keep her safe.

  No. There had to be a better way than relying on killers.

  ‘I promise this is the last question on the subject. Does it just haunt our family or is it a common paranormal creature?’

  ‘If my father told you the story, he must have also told you about the boy who was tortured.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think the truth lies somewhere in between.’

  With that remark, Raghav walked away rapidly, whistling tunelessly.

  Diya had to run to catch up with him.

  Raghav’s face was red and his fists were clenched, but he still continued whistling the cheerful tune.

  They walked down another set of steps, across a small muddy patch of land and through a gate.

  Forty or fifty workers with sacks of beans were standing in a queue, waiting for their turn to get the beans weighed at a huge scale.

  ‘They get paid based on what they gather,’ Raghav said.

  His face was still pink and his voice had not yet regained its usual cheery tone.

  ‘Where do they come from, these workers? Do they work here round the year?’ Diya asked.

  ‘Only those who tend the plants; others come and pick during the season. Most of them have been picking for us for generations.’

  The air was fragrant with the bouquet of freshly picked beans. They had a sweet cloying smell, without any trace of the familiar aroma of coffee. The workers’ voices filled the air like the buzzing of a swarm of bees.

  After weighing, the beans were tipped into a massive tank for cleaning. From there, the beans flowed down a chute to a machine that skinned them.

  The skinned and de-pulped seeds dropped into baskets at the bottom of the chute. An assembly line of workers picked up the wicker work baskets and transferred them up the line. A burly young man stood on a ladder at the end of the line. He tipped the beans into a massive tank for fermentation. The whole place had an unbearable stench.

  Raghav climbed up the ladder and peered into a tank. ‘Why is the first tank still empty?’ he asked a man who seemed to be in charge.

  The man said something but Diya did not understand his response.

  ‘Then why have you not replaced the filter?’

  ‘We used up the last filter yesterday,’ the man said.

  ‘Then why did you not order new ones?’

  ‘I ordered but they are saying they will need time to supply. Everyone wants them.’

  ‘Of course, everyone wants them; but unlike you, others don’t wait till their last part is broken to order a new one. Not everyone is an idiot!’

  Raghav jumped off the ladder and stormed to the next tank.

  ‘The quality of servants is degrading day by day.’ Raghav was still fuming as they started walking back to the house.

  ‘Thomas, our old estate manager, was over seventy, but he had more energy than these effete slackers from so called management colleges. This young bozo thinks that just because he went to a fancy college, he knows more about running an estate than me. I have coffee running through my veins! I have already missed one tournament this season because of this idiot.’

  Diya was annoyed. Was she supposed to feel sorry for the rich young man’s plight? Or feel bad that he might not have enough time for golf and tennis because he has an estate to run?

  The sky was darkening now, yet the machinery kept up its staccato rattling, spitting the beans and skins in two streams. The men kept hauling the baskets and emptying them in the tanks.

  ‘How long will this continue?’

  ‘This will go on well into the night till all the beans are cleaned. If you are tired, we can go back. It’s all routine work now anyway, and after a while, it gets truly monotonous. I plan to sleep early tonight. I am playing golf with a buddy early tomorrow morning.’

  Diya felt on edge, afraid of walking back through that tiny path between the trees.

  ‘Is there another way to the house?’

  ‘We can go through the woods,’ Raghav said.

  Diya gave him a look, and Raghav looked contrite.

  ‘Sorry, can’t help it. Let’s take the safer route.’

  They passed by a small red-and-white house with a gabled roof and a chimney, nestled on a hillock that overlooked the valley.

  ‘Who lives there?’

  ‘Thomas, our old estate manager, used to live there. And until we find someone who can come even a little close to him, the house will stay empty.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He developed a heart condition and died, poor sod. He was so loyal that even when he knew about his condition, he kept it to himself and worked until the end. We found out only after it was too late.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Diya said.

  ‘Well, in a way, Thomas was family, and I mean it in the literal sense. My grandfather was a man of voracious appetites an
d varied tastes. He had three wives, many mistresses, and countless affairs, both consensual and non-consensual, to put it politely. He fathered many children, mostly illegitimate. If you look closely at some of the older workers, you might be able to spot their resemblance to my father and see his blue eyes. Thomas was also one such offspring. He was your grandfather’s childhood playmate and so your grandfather gave him the job. And out of loyalty the poor sod dug his own grave.’

  Diya, once again, felt nauseated by the family’s ugly history.

  ‘I don’t really like to talk about all this, but you are family and I think you’d better know what you are getting into. All this wealth comes with a price, you know.’

  They walked back in silence. Raghav looked pensive and Diya wondered what other family secrets he was keeping to himself.

  INVISIBLE GUESTS

  G

  owrish was sitting on the porch with a drink in hand. He seemed unaware of them almost until they were on the steps leading to the porch.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Gowrish asked. He looked confused and his hand shook. He half got up from his chair, but still did not relinquish his drink.

  ‘Father,’ Raghav called. ‘I was showing Diya around the estate.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Diya,’ Gowrish mumbled. ‘Yes, I was wondering what had happened to you.’

  It was clear that Gowrish was not on his first drink. He was ponderous and spoke with a deliberation that bordered on theatrical at times, yet there was nothing comical about him. He just looked like a sad old man trying to hang on to the shreds of his dignity.

  Raghav sat next to his father and poured himself a drink.

  ‘Do you want one?’ he asked Diya. His face looked innocent but there was mischief in his eyes.

  ‘No,’ Diya said.

  In that dark isolated place in the middle of nowhere, Diya felt lonelier than ever. She wanted to flee to her room and huddle in a corner; maybe call Ronnie to come and take her home, but she was too afraid to go alone into the house.

  The trio sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Diya averted her eyes from her companions and instead focussed on the sky. Puffs of stray clouds that had been playing hide-and-seek with the sun had now joined forces and blotted out the stars.

  ‘Time to go and check on the menials.’

  Raghav downed his drink and vanished into the gathering darkness.

  Gowrish sat brooding over his glass. He seemed lost in thought and even when he looked at Diya, his gaze was distant; he saw right through her as if she were transparent or invisible.

  The sprightly breeze eddying around their feet matured into a stiff wind. It picked up the dry leaves and flung them around the yard at will.

  The dark masses of trees swayed to the primeval rhythm of the wind, blind devotees to a gospel only they could understand. The porch light and a few glowing orbs in the garden provided the only illumination.

  ‘Looks like it might rain,’ Gowrish mumbled as he topped up his drink.

  The army of clouds sounded their battle cry – an ominous thunder that bounced off the mountains.

  Lightning retaliated, cleaving the sky with a massive bolt that lit up the landscape. Its electric-blue glare imprinted crazy shapes on the eye.

  Thunder boomed, scattering loose pebbles with its sonic force and plunged them into darkness as power failed.

  A shadowy mass detached itself from a cluster of trees near the garden, and stood with its arms outstretched, like Christ on the cross.

  Cold fingers of fear raced up Diya’s spine; before she could react, something cold grabbed her arm.

  Diya jumped off the chair. It overturned and clattered in the silence.

  Power came back and the cold thing relinquished her hand.

  It was Sona, the maidservant who was looking after her.

  ‘I am sorry but I am afraid of the dark.’ Sona was on the verge of tears.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Diya tried to smile but her face was numb with fear.

  Diya tried to scan the grounds, but it was too dark. There was no way of telling where the shadows began or ended. Whatever it was, had receded into the shadows. Maybe it was waiting for her to leave the sanctuary of the lighted porch or for the power to fail again.

  The wind died down and everything was still. Nature, too, was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

  Lightning forked and once again, the crazy shadows advanced, but the lights held their ground.

  ‘Akka,’ Sona tugged at her hand. ‘See this.’

  ‘What? What did you see?’

  The girl held out her hand and showed Diya a small torch.

  ‘If the lights go out again, we can use it.’

  As if on cue, power failed again.

  Diya’s hand shook as she switched on the tiny torch. It was barely strong enough to help them see till the periphery of the lawn.

  Another, more powerful beam flared up in response.

  Diya flicked the torch. On, off … On, off …

  The other beam responded.

  As if offended by the solidarity of the puny beams, lightning once again cleaved the night sky and lit up the landscape.

  Thunder hounded its feet and pounded the ground with big fat raindrops. The raindrops danced in the tunnel of powerful light, chasing each other to an inevitable explosive death.

  The girls retreated from the steps to the shelter of the porch.

  The flickering beam of light came closer and vanished. Once again, shadows rushed in to obliterate the last traces of light.

  Raghav ran up the steps. ‘What a crazy night!’ he said.

  The lights flickered back again.

  ‘What happened?’ Gowrish spoke up for the first time.

  ‘The generator was not working; it took some time to get it started. I am famished. Let’s eat.’

  Diya threw a last glance at the dark grounds, but there was no sign of life.

  Or death.

  All through dinner, Raghav and Gowrish talked about the mishaps that had beset the coffee production that year.

  ‘I don’t think we can ever find a replacement for Thomas,’ Gowrish concluded. ‘This is the second man we have tried in the last four months and not one of them is capable.’

  ‘I have warned him that if the filter in C tank is not fixed by Monday, I will have to start looking for a replacement.’

  ‘You should not be so hasty with your words, Raghav. It will be difficult without a manager. If only we had some warning that poor Thomas was not well, he could have trained someone. Ever since his death, we have had nothing but bad luck.’

  ‘Sometimes I think the old bugger wished bad luck on us.’

  ‘No, no! You must not say such things, Raghav. Thomas would never wish us harm. Think of everything he has done for the family. He worked himself to the bone for us right up until his dying day.’

  Raghav rolled his eyes in disgust, but Gowrish took no notice and continued in the same vein, lauding the poor departed Thomas. The more Gowrish praised Thomas, the more sullen Raghav grew.

  Diya tried to eat as quickly as possible, afraid of a father-son confrontation. She was ravenous after her walks around the estate but the food was piping hot. She debated between staying hungry and witnessing Gowrish and Raghav argue.

  ‘Thomas never complained about his health. If he had not worked so hard in the heat that day, I am sure he would still be alive.’

  ‘Why don’t you recommend him for sainthood? If he was …’ Raghav got up midsentence, threw his cutlery on the floor and walked away.

  ‘The stress is too much for my little boy. I wish I could do something to help,’ Gowrish said, looking after Raghav.

  ‘If I have learnt one thing in life, it is that if you don’t value people and don’t do the right thing by them, you will regret it till your dying day. No, Raghav must listen to reason. What will happen to us, you tell me? Where will we land if this goes on? Do you think I should talk to his mother?’

  �
��Whose mother?’ Diya was confused.

  ‘You know what I think?’ Gowrish lowered his voice. ‘I think he is scared! But I am not foolish like my father.’

  ‘Gowrish,’ Diya called, but he took no notice of her and continued with his muttered monologue.

  For the first time, Diya noticed the extra plate next to Gowrish. Her hands trembled. What if there was someone in the chair next to Gowrish? Someone only he was able to see, someone who had spared his life in exchange for his sanity. Gowrish leaned to his left, lowered his voice and had a whispered conversation with an invisible companion.

  Diya hurriedly bid him goodnight, but Gowrish paid no attention to her. When she turned back, he was talking animatedly to the empty chair. She was glad when she caught sight of Sona, who was waiting for her by the kitchen.

  ‘Is babuji not well again?’ Sona asked.

  ‘Is he sick? What is wrong with him?’

  ‘I don’t know, but a few months ago, one of the cooks fell sick and my father told me to come and help in the kitchen. It was around the time the manager died.’

  ‘What happened after he died?’

  ‘That time too, babuji behaved like this: always talking to himself. One day, he was sitting on the sofa and crying, saying, “please don’t kill me, please don’t, I beg you”. Then once he shouted “fire, fire, help,” so loudly that everyone thought the house had caught fire. We ran out but there was no fire. He was just sitting on the sofa shouting “run away, run away, Thomas save me”. We didn’t know what to do, so we just stood there. Then bhaiyya came, he shouted at all of us, and told us to get lost.’ Sona paused. ‘Please don’t tell bhaiyya that I told you this.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise.’

  ‘I think the ghosts are responsible.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Sona glanced back at Gowrish who was still chattering.

  ‘Let’s go to your room before power fails,’ she said.

  They hurried through the house, running down the brightly lit corridor that led to Diya’s room.

  ‘I locked the room.’ Sona took out a large key from her pocket and opened the old-fashioned lock. Once inside, she fastened the lock to the inside of the door.

  ‘None of the servants stay in the grounds overnight. After dinner, the cook, his wife and the maid go back to their home and then come back only the next morning,’ she whispered.