The Trickster

by Vinaya Bhagat

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘People say there are ghosts on the estate that come out at night and roam the grounds. My father says that once the servants are gone, bhaiyya locks the doors and doesn’t open them till it’s time for the servants to come back the next morning.’

  ‘Has anyone seen these ghosts?’

  ‘My father.’

  ‘Your father saw the ghosts?’

  ‘One night, my father had to stay back because one of the dogs was sick. He is the dog-keeper, and when he was returning, he almost bumped into someone on one of the paths. The monster looked terrible, and father says that if he had not had the presence of mind to stay quiet and hide, it would surely have killed him. He says the monster usually eats animals but what it really wants is human flesh and blood. He says there are bones in the woods and he is sure not all of them are from animals.’

  Maybe all parents lied and exaggerated danger to keep their children safe. But if there was any truth to Sona’s story, then all her fears were true.

  ‘Everyone thinks the ghosts have made babuji mad,’ Sona whispered.

  Did a streak of madness run in the family or was it just the trauma of his past that had affected Gowrish? Diya felt sad for Gowrish; maybe the family had tried to suppress his memories of his parents’ horrible deaths when he was a child. But now, in his old age, those memories had returned to haunt him. She could understand his plight, after all, nightmares about her parents’ horrific death still haunted her.

  ‘I don’t know Sona, it must be his health. I am sure the doctor will take care of him.’

  Diya tried to take her mind off the events of the day by reading a book, but she could not stop thinking about Gowrish and his monologue. Was she too destined to live alone like Gowrish and Dolly, confide her grief to mute walls and invisible guests?

  In the tide of events, Diya had forgotten her encounter with Dolly. Was the old woman more than an acquaintance? Hadn’t Dolly’s maid told them that her mother was burnt alive in a fire?

  Diya jumped out of bed searching for her phone. She had to talk to Ronnie.

  ‘Akka, what is wrong?’ Sona mumbled in her sleep.

  ‘Nothing, go back to sleep.’

  It was past midnight, but she was sure Ronnie would not mind. He picked up on the second ring.

  ‘Ronnie, I think Dolly is related to my mother. You remember what her maid told us?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About her mother’s death and the reason she is afraid of fire.’

  ‘Vividly.’

  ‘Today Gowrish told me that when he was young, his father, mother, and his father’s French mistress died when someone set fire to the house.’

  ‘Diya, I think it’s time to visit Dolly again. I can’t miss classes tomorrow but I will visit her in the evening. When are you planning to come home?’

  ‘I want to come now, but Gowrish wants me to stay till Sunday. He has called his lawyer and wants to talk about bequeathing some property to me.’

  ‘Why the hurry? The property is not running anywhere. Why is he so eager to give you property, anyway? Diya, be careful, don’t give in to pressure and sign anything.’

  ‘Can you not come here with Uncle Sunny on Sunday?’

  ‘I think you should just come home now and not bother about what Gowrish wants.’

  ‘He will feel bad, Ronnie. He is devastated because of my mother’s death and if I just walk away, it’ll hurt him further. And I think he knows more about the Chakwa than he is letting on. If it is really a curse, then he knows how to be safe from it.’

  ‘You know this whole Chakwa business is nonsense.’

  ‘Yes, it might be, but …’

  ‘Ok, stay one more day. I will talk to father and we will come there on Sunday morning. If you want, I can come and pick you up now.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Diya,’ Ronnie whispered. ‘I said some silly things the other day, I am sorry.’

  ‘I am glad you are back to your senses,’ Diya laughed. ‘I’ve forgotten about that day.’

  Diya was relieved that she and Ronnie were back on even keel. She may have joked about forgetting the incidents of the day of the party, but she could not get over the image of the Chakwa doll dancing above the flames and the sinister encounter with Professor Madhavi. She had hoped to find answers to the riddle, but they continued to elude her.

  THE FACE

  D

  iya tossed and turned. Even after talking to Ronnie, she felt only marginally better. It’s just the atmosphere, she tried to convince herself, but the unease did not relinquish her heart.

  Diya focussed on the insects’ cacophonous night orchestra, hoping it would soothe her fevered brain. The room was hot and muggy, but she was afraid to open the window. The ancient table fan in the corner creaked, but at least it kept the air moving.

  She must have fallen asleep at some point. When she woke up, she was numb with cold, almost frozen. She wanted to get up and pull the blanket over her, but she could not move her body, couldn’t even open her eyes. Her sleep-befuddled brain struggled to distinguish between reality and dreams.

  She felt imprisoned in her unresponsive body, in the dark dungeon behind her eyelids.

  Diya was sure she was awake. She stopped trying to move and instead focussed on her other senses. She knew her feet were cold and she could still hear the night creatures just outside the window.

  With all her will, Diya tried to open her eyes, sure that once they were open, she would be able to move her body. After what seemed like hours, she managed to open her eyes, but her body was still under the spell of sleep.

  The ghostly gossamer-thin curtains billowed in the cool breeze. Sona must have opened the window near her feet and pulled the curtain aside. Her field of vision was limited to a slice of the star-studded night sky, the ceiling, and the window. Outside the window were dim outlines of trees that swayed gently, soothed by the lullaby of the breeze.

  Diya could move her eyes, but the rest of her body was still unresponsive. Maybe she was trying too hard; she must relax and she would be able to move again.

  Diya focussed on the small patch of starry sky and the gently-swaying trees beyond the glass panel of the window. A bug was crawling up the windowpane.

  Diya was not sure when she became aware of the eyes. At first, they were just disembodied blurs, maybe the bug’s eyes. Then she noticed the pale outline of a face and the mass of unruly Medusa-like curls blowing in the breeze. She thought her eyes were playing a trick on her, that the unruly curls were the dim shadows of swaying tree branches.

  Then the eyes blinked.

  The face was puffed and distorted, androgynous in its asymmetry. Had it not been for the eyes, it would have looked like a wax statue made by a crazy artist.

  Diya wondered if she was dreaming and if the distorted face was a figment of her imagination.

  Could it be an illusion of the deep shadows with a sprinkling of distant light?

  Diya turned away to clear her vision and looked back at the window, but the face was still there. The eyes were still staring at her.

  She looked back into the eyes, trying to fathom the emotions of the phantom face.

  Was it angry, bloodthirsty, and lusting after her soul, or just curious? She could not tell, but the eyes were searching for something, maybe a way to get inside.

  The window…

  …it was open.

  Fear sent blood rushing through Diya’s body and freed it from the vice that had held her captive.

  Diya wondered how much time she had before the Chakwa — for she was sure the distorted phantom face in the window belonged to the monster —came through the window.

  She ran to the window and slammed it shut.

  The eyes looked startled.

  Diya took a deep breath and moved back from the window. Her mind was still befuddled with sleep and it took her a moment to remember Sona’s small torch under her pillow. She grabbed it and se
nt a beam of light towards the window, but the face had vanished. Insects attracted by the light rushed to the window. Diya switched off the torch and pulled the curtain.

  Sona continued to snore peacefully, unaware of the monster waiting to pounce on them.

  Had she really seen the face, Diya wondered, or was the distorted face just an offspring of shadows and her fear?

  The face and the curly hair were familiar, maybe her own distorted reflection in the window.

  Was her face mutilated?

  Diya hurried to the mirror. Her reflection stared back. She was relieved that her face was unblemished.

  TEMPORARY ESCAPE

  D

  iya sat in a chair with her back to the wall. Had she really seen that distorted face or was it an extension of her nightmares? The more she thought about it, the less sure she was. A sense of lethargy once again gripped her body; her eyelids grew heavy and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  When she woke up, bright sunshine was flooding the room with bone-warming heat. Could the face have been a figment of her fears compounded by Sona’s story?

  Diya took a deep breath, pulled back the curtains and peeked outside; the ground underneath the window was free of footprints.

  She got ready and padded back through the empty house with her backpack. She had no idea what she would do with the backpack, but its mute assurance was comforting. If she wanted, she could get away from the house.

  Gowrish was on the porch, huddled in a shawl, his huge frame bowed and sunk into a chair. His face was haggard and there were bulging bags of fatigue under his eyes. The alien web of veins on his face was more prominent than ever, pulsating with a life of its own. Despite his sorry look, Gowrish had no trouble recognizing her.

  He beckoned her to sit beside him.

  She thought he wanted to talk, but Gowrish remained silent; he just stared at the garden and the woods beyond.

  A servant was sweeping the yard, clearing it of the copious leaves scattered on the grass by the previous night’s storm.

  They sat in brooding silence, each in their own world.

  ‘Rise and shine!’ Raghav said.

  His irrepressible cheerfulness was jarring in the pensive silence.

  ‘I am playing a golf tournament today; I will be back in the evening.’

  ‘All the best!’ Diya said.

  ‘Thanks, Diya. Father, make sure you take care of the business we discussed last night.’

  Raghav waved to them and vanished around the corner. The usual blast of music and squealing tyres signalled his departure.

  Other than the kharr-kharr of the twig broom, the day was silent.

  Even the trees stood still in the day’s mounting heat.

  ‘Diya, I want to tell you something …’

  ‘What?’ she prodded, but Gowrish shook his head and hid behind a newspaper.

  She wondered what was holding him back.

  Diya too picked up a newspaper. There was not much she could do on her own. Even in the light of the day, she was reluctant to return to her room, afraid that the phantom face would make another appearance.

  Had she really seen that face last night or was it just a trick of the light?

  She turned to the newspaper in her hand. There had been no further development on the missing girl case. She tried to focus on the words but they swam together in a meaningless blur.

  She was sure the eyes had looked surprised when she jumped up and rushed to the window. If they were a trick of the light, they could not have reacted to her actions.

  ‘This must stop!’ Gowrish flung down the newspaper.

  ‘What must stop?’ Diya asked, startled.

  ‘Nothing, my dear, I was referring to all these niggles and pains of old age. Today is Saturday and my doctor will be available. I must go and see him immediately. There is no time to lose!’

  Diya was sure that despite his declaration, Gowrish was not referring to his health.

  She had almost forgotten that it was Saturday and her grandfather would be waiting. She was determined to go to town and meet him. Afterwards she could go to Sunny’s house.

  Gowrish got up and walked down the stairs. Diya wondered if she should follow. He did not go beyond the perimeter of the lawn, but just paced up and down its length.

  Diya did not want to be alone in the house. She would accompany Gowrish to his doctor if required, or at least get a lift to town with him.

  Diya sat on the sun-warmed steps; it was a better vantage point to keep an eye on Gowrish and make sure he did not disappear from sight.

  Gowrish paced up and down the grass like an agitated caged animal. Thankfully, his monologue was absent.

  The only other human in sight was Venkatamma, the babysitter of beans. Today she was busy filling the dried beans in white plastic sacks.

  A small truck arrived and three men got down.

  Gowrish stopped in his tracks when he saw the truck and walked over to them. Diya tagged along.

  One of the men was the morose estate manager Diya had met the previous evening. A thin film of sweat glinted on his forehead and the bald patch that paved its way from his forehead to the top of his head. He was wearing the same rumpled clothes Diya had seen him in the previous evening. Judging by his puffy red eyes, it looked like he had not gone to bed the whole night.

  The manager weighed the sacks and made entries in a ledger while the men hauled the sacks into the truck.

  Arun arrived in the middle of the commotion. Diya felt relieved at the sight of her friend. She had been thinking of hitching a ride on the coffee truck to the main road. From there, she could board a bus to town. Now she had a safer option.

  She took Arun aside. ‘Can you give me a lift to town?’

  ‘Sure. When do you want to go?’

  ‘When you are ready.’

  ‘I came to see you; I don’t have any business with Gowrish. Let me just tell him and then we can go.’

  Gowrish was distracted with the loading of beans.

  ‘I am going to my uncle’s house,’ Diya told him.

  ‘But you must stay with us. I want to take care of the matter I discussed with you,’ he said.

  She did not want to come back to the isolated house. She was sure the face she had seen last night belonged to the Chakwa.

  On the first evening, bold and brazen in plain sight of dozens of people, it had tried to lure her into the dark depths of the woods. Then last night, it had watched her through the fragile barrier of the window. She was not sure why it had not smashed through the glass and butchered her as she slept. Maybe there was a deterrent around the house because of which it was unable to enter.

  ‘It is very important,’ Gowrish reiterated.

  ‘I must go, but I will come back,’ Diya said. ‘If it’s late in the evening, I will come tomorrow morning. Is that Ok?’

  ‘Yes, yes of course.’

  Arun’s car glided effortlessly through the mountains.

  ‘I am sorry for imposing on your kindness but I must go to town.’

  ‘No worries, I came to meet you. I am sure it is not interesting to stay in the middle of nowhere with a family that is related to you only by blood.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Diya laughed in relief.

  ‘Like me, Gowrish and Raghav are set in their ways. We enjoy our bachelorhood, unencumbered by emotions or other demands. People like us make for very poor company,’ Arun smiled.

  Traffic was bumper-to-bumper with vehicles of all variety on the road. ‘Is it a market day today?’ Diya asked. She did not want to talk about the house in the mountains.

  ‘Today is the biggest festival in these parts. It is a day of celebration for the goddess of these mountains. People are travelling to her temple to pay their respects and ask her to protect them from evil. All the villages will be empty tonight, and from now until Monday, no work will happen. That is one more reason I am at a loose end.’

  ‘Are you also planning to go?’

  �
��I used to go when I was young, but it was more for enjoying the carnival and not out of piety,’ Arun laughed. ‘Now those things have lost their charm, and frankly, I cannot tolerate crowds in my old age. But I think you should go; it will be an enjoyable new experience.’

  ‘I am like you. I don’t like crowds,’ Diya said.

  ‘It’s a friendly crowd. I have seen many foreigners at the fairs, not that you are a foreigner. The rituals, festivities and the uninhibited spirit of humanity seem to be of interest to people who have grown up in Western cultures. Think about it.’

  ‘I will think about it,’ Diya promised.

  ‘Young people should have fun. Youth fades quickly while old age lingers.’

  ‘You are not old.’

  ‘There are days when I feel no older than fifteen, a mere slip of a boy ready to take on the world. Then there are days when my limbs refuse to cooperate in the morning and my heart is heavy with the thought of a whole day ahead with nothing to do and no one to share my emptiness.’

  ‘Why did you never marry?’

  ‘Why did I never marry?’

  With that question hanging in the air, Arun coasted down the mountains and pulled over to the side of the road near an old temple.

  ‘Once I was young and as young people do, I fell in love with a girl.’

  They got out of the car.

  ‘Did she reciprocate?’

  ‘She was my best friend. She was brilliant. She went away to college while I stayed here and then after that …’

  Her mother had gone off to college and met her father. Had her mother forgotten her childhood friend?

  Arun looked at her, like a young heartbroken boy.

  Diya’s heart welled with sympathy for the kind man who had extended his friendship to her. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘I know how loneliness can sap the life out of you.’

  ‘You remind me so much of her and what could have been …’ His voice trailed off. ‘The first time I saw you, I was struck by the resemblance. It was like seeing her walk back, alive and beautiful as ever, her curly hair blowing in the breeze. The last time I saw her, she had looked the same, and then never again …’