The dogs surrounded the cars, eyeing them with hungry, drooling mouths. Their open jaws filled up the windows and their hot fetid breath fogged the glass.
‘They look powerful enough to rip through metal,’ George said.
He flashed the headlights. The dogs got down but still circled the car, sniffing for openings.
‘Let’s get out of this place,’ Ronnie said.
‘Yes, let’s go home. Everyone is safe,’ Sunny agreed.
George pressed the accelerator and the car moved forward. The dogs jumped on the hood once again but the car’s momentum threw them off. The dogs retreated and circled hungrily around the cars.
‘Wait, someone is walking on the grounds.’
‘It’s Gowrish.’
‘He looks like he is asleep.’
‘Or crazy.’
Gowrish looked up at the cars and the dogs in confusion. The dogs abandoned the cars and ran towards Gowrish with slavering open jaws. They circled him restlessly, their stiff tails held high.
Sunny honked and the dogs turned back towards the car. The other car moved closer to Gowrish and Arun opened the door.
‘Get in the car!’ Arun shouted.
Gowrish walked to the car, but suddenly shrank back.
‘Don’t be silly, man! Get in the car,’
Gowrish turned and ran away from the car with the dogs in pursuit of the new prey. Arun shot one of the beasts and Gowrish escaped.
Rest of the dogs ignored Gowrish and hovered around their dead comrade. Once again, the dogs moaned. The thin eerie wail of their combined grief sent chills up Diya’s spine.
‘What is Gowrish doing?’
Gowrish ran up to one of the coffee tanks and jumped in.
‘Get up and attack, you useless beasts!’ Raghav kicked the dead dog’s carcass.
The dogs stopped moaning and stared at him.
‘Good boy!’ Raghav extended his hand to pat the dog, but the dog snarled. He snatched his hand back.
The dogs now abandoned the cars and their fallen comrades, and circled Raghav. He shrank away from their bared fangs.
‘Raghav!’ Shyam called. ‘Jump in the car. Those dogs are mad.’
‘They are my slaves; I control them. Don’t think this is over yet,’ he scoffed.
Raghav ran to his parked car. The dogs were quicker, and pounced on him.
Arun got out of the car and fired the gun in the air. Shyam and George blew their car horns and blinked the lights but the dogs did not stop.
With superhuman effort, Raghav freed himself from the ring of snarling dogs and zig-zagged through the yard to escape them. But the dogs ambushed him once again.
This was not happening. This could not be happening. He was invincible.
The dogs pounced on Raghav. His anguished cries mingled with the wailing of the dogs echoed through the night as the once silent dogs he had trained to kill tore him limb from limb.
THE GRAVEYARD OF INNOCENCE
I
t has been two years since that terrible night. Seven hundred and eighty-five days to be exact, but the events in the months following my parents’ death are vivid.
One night after waking from another nightmare, I picked up the pen and started writing. It was cathartic to confront my fears. As you know, my story does not have a conventional happy ending, but I count my blessings and I’m grateful for my patchwork family.
I am now in my second term at Brown University. As you might have guessed, I have opted to study literature.
My grandfather is back in jail; he says he is happy that way. Saving me was his way of making amends with my father. He doesn’t think he has paid his penance for killing his beloved Nayan.
Ronnie has finally obtained his licence and works in a pharmacy close by. We meet on weekends. I won’t deny it; we are happy, at least for now. Is there a future for us? I don’t know.
I go to India for every long vacation. Last month when I went to India, I gave Baba a copy of the manuscript.
He said he liked my writing style – emotional without being maudlin or glazing over the darkness of the human heart.
He gave back the copy with handwritten notes in the margins, correcting a few things, adding a few details.
Gowrish told me only part of the family’s tragic history.
It is true that Nana did not approve of Gowrish’s marriage, but the real reason he cut ties with Gowrish was because he had fallen with wrong company and had become an alcoholic and a gambler. Gowrish forced Nana to give him his share of the estate but his gambling debts piled up, and soon he was in danger of losing the estate. But Nana refused to rescue him.
Raghav, who was sixteen at the time, was studying in an elite boarding school in England. When he came to India for a vacation and heard of Nana’s refusal to help his father, a violent hot-headed Raghav set my grandparents’ home on fire.
My mother survived because she had slipped away earlier in the evening to meet my father. She and father ran back to the house when they noticed the smoke and flames.
Thomas, who had witnessed Raghav’s crime, apprehended my parents and begged my mother to run away.
After the fire, it was impossible to ascertain how many people had died. Everyone assumed that along with the servants Nana, his wife, and his two daughters were killed in the fire.
At first, my mother took shelter with Dolly and then at Uncle Sunny’s home. They got married the same week and soon left for America.
Mother stayed in touch with Thomas by sending him letters at Dolly’s home. There was one fact he kept from her until a few weeks before his death: she was not the only member of her family to survive the fire.
Thomas had managed to rescue my mother’s elder sister Meera, whom he hid in his home and cared for with the help of his wife.
Dolly knew the truth all along; not just the fact that my mother had escaped but also that Meera had survived. I am surprised at Dolly’s resilience and ability to keep secrets.
Dolly still lives in her own home with only the young maid servant for company. I am grateful when she recognizes me. In her moments of lucidity, she is like a bubbly teenager full of exciting stories of mischief.
Thomas told Gowrish that Raghav had set the house on fire but Gowrish refused to believe him.
No one ever suspected that Raghav had started the fire that killed his uncle and his family. Raghav’s mother claimed that it was the Chakwa’s doing; that it had set fire to Nana’s house and killed his family, just like it had done to Rao Bahadur’s.
For two decades, Meera lived in her own house in secrecy. She was free to roam the grounds at night when no one other than Thomas was on the estate. I think she was as much a prisoner of her disfigurement as of her uncle and his family.
Meera and Arun were in love. At the time of the fire, their wedding preparations were in full swing.
Meera says she was afraid her disfigured face would horrify Arun, but Arun couldn’t be more in love with his beautiful brave girl. I am happy that Arun and Meera are married now.
I still see the shadow of her ordeal and grief cross Meera’s face, but she is quick to recover. I cannot imagine the courage it took for her to survive and maintain her sanity.
Thomas was Meera’s only contact with the outside world and her sister, and my mother’s letters were her oasis. All through the years, she witnessed our lives through my mother’s letters. She knows more about my childhood than I remember.
When Thomas realized that he was sick, he went against Meera’s wishes and told my mother the truth. My mother promptly wrote back to Thomas and Meera that she would visit in the following weeks. The police found that letter in Raghav’s room. Thomas had received that letter only a day before he died. Raghav must have found the letter, and that’s how he knew my mother had survived.
I still remember the stench of death in that clearing in the woods. The smell did not come from just the bones of small animals littered on the ground. The police found an underground tank w
ith forty-five human remains –thirty-four girls and eleven boys. The remains were mostly of young people in their teens.
Some of the skeletons were more than a decade old. Most of his victims were girls who had vanished from nearby villages while some were tourists who were believed to have been lost in the woods. Many have not been identified.
But there was life amidst the death. The girl who had vanished from the boarding school was found in a room built into the face of the mountain.
When the cops informed her that Raghav was dead, the girl burst into tears and wanted to go to him. She was inconsolable. They were baffled by her intense grief for her captor until they uncovered the full horrors of Raghav’s deeds.
Raghav had told the girl that he had kidnapped her to save her from the Chakwa. He claimed that he was born with special powers that he used to keep the Chakwa’s potential victims safe. The only way he would lose his powers was if he fell in love with anyone under his protection. She said she loved Raghav. When she confessed her feelings to him, Raghav had admitted that against his will, he too had fallen in love with her.
They found a laptop with gruesome photos and videos of Raghav’s victims. He also kept detailed notes about how he gained their confidence.
Some of them fell in love with him while others believed he was like their older brother or a benevolent uncle.
He would trick his victims into leaving the room in the cave and into the woods. He had rigged speakers all over the woods. He would terrorize his victims and lure them to that clearing in the woods – his killing field.
Despite the ferocious attack Raghav survived, but not for long.
Before his death, he asked to meet Meera and me in the hospital.
Raghav maintained that he was the real Chakwa and while his body was destroyed, he would come back and seek revenge.
‘If I were you, I would never trust anyone because you will never know whose body I inhabit next.’
His chilling laugh still echoes in my head. My palms still sweat and a shiver runs up my neck with a primeval fear.
I don’t know what the future holds for me, but for now I am content and secure in the love of my new family. My grandfather’s unconditional love and support allows me to be a child once again. I see a shadow of my father in Uncle Sunny and I have found my mother in Meera. I think I have found the man who will love me for the rest of my life in Ronnie, but I am in no hurry.
I just want to take a deep breath, a long pause, to expel the stench of death and madness out of my life before dreaming of a future.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
T
his book has been my literary metamorphosis from a short story writer to a novelist. I am blessed that at each stage of my journey I had the people in my life who helped me grow and get to the next phase. While many people have supported and guided me in this journey, I would like to express my sincere appreciation and gratitude to:
The inimitable Mita Kapur of Siyahi for her guidance and support. Thank you, Mita, for making my dream come true.
The HarperCollins India team:
My editor Swati Daftuar for her feedback and convincing me to change the title.
Udayan Mitra for believing in the book and Diya Kar Hazra for championing it.
To my dear friend Deepa Jacob for her encouragement and frank feedback at all stages of the journey.
My husband Swapnil for being my sounding board and for his endless stream of ideas throughout the creative process.
My son Atharva for his unfailing faith and unwavering support, for growing up at times when the book required.
My late mother Rajani for nurturing the writer within me and my father Chandrakant for his words of wisdom when I needed them the most.
My dear friends Anitha and Ramesh and their daughters Gouri and Meenakshi for supporting my literary journey over the years. Special thanks to Gouri for bringing Diya to life and Ramesh for his sportive acting.
To Ashish and Avinash Arora and their team at Tasveerien for their creativity in translating my vision to a visual medium.
My Zumba partner Tripti Chaturvedi of Arkido Web for creating my website and her cheerful company.
I want to thank each and every reader who has picked up a copy of Trickster. I thank you for reading and hope to take you along on a captivating journey.
About the Book
IT LURKS IN THE SHADOWS. IT LIVES IN YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES. IT FEEDS ON YOUR DEEPEST FEARS. IT’S THE MASTER TRICKSTER, AND IT’S COMING TO GET YOU.
When she loses her parents in an accident, Diya Mathur’s world collapses around her. As far as she knows, she’s alone in the world – till a mysterious letter arrives from India. Suddenly, Diya has a chance at being part of a family again.
But moving from Boston to India also brings Diya closer to the place where the horror of the Chakwa – the Master Trickster – first started. As bodies and tragedies pile up around her, Diya’s belief in the urban legend of the Chakwa increases. Will the monster that ruined her parents’ life now destroy Diya’s happiness? Or will she manage to defeat it at its own game? With the help of her newly discovered friends and family, Diya must fight not just the monster from her nightmares, but also make sense of a fast-unravelling web of lies that makes up her life.
About the Author
VINAYA BHAGAT is an IT professional and author. Her short stories have been published in anthologies and have been short-listed in national and international writing competitions. Trickster is her debut novel.
Vinaya grew up with her face partly obscured by the books she was reading. She knew more about her favourite characters than her next-door neighbours. When not reading she was writing and immersing herself in imaginary worlds.
Writing took a backseat as she pursued a career in IT, until a fateful day in December 2006. On that cold winter morning in Dallas, Texas, she met with a near fatal car crash. During her lengthy recovery, from wounds of body and mind, she once again found solace in writing and picked up the pen with renewed focus.
Vinaya lives in Bangalore, India, with her husband, who is a radiologist, and her eight-year-old son. Weekends find her inventing stories and games with her son.
Find out more about Vinaya Bhagat and Trickster at:
Website : www.vinayabhagat.com
YouTube : Vinaya Bhagat’s Trickster
Facebook : Vinaya Bhagat
Instagram: @vinayabhagat
Twitter: @VinayaBhagat1
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First published in India in 2018 by Harper Black
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers
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Copyright © Vinaya Bhagat 2018
P-ISBN: 978-93-5277-377-0
Epub Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 978-93-5277-378-7
This is a work of fiction and all characters and incidents described in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Vinaya Bhagat asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved under The Copyright Act, 1957. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented,
without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers India.
Cover design: © HarperCollins Publishers India
Cover illustration: Mohit Kumar Fagna
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