The television blared suddenly,
startling the occupants of neighbouring apartments. A hitherto sleeping baby
bawled, causing its careworn parents to rise groaning from their beds; a man
sticking his tongue out while building a model aeroplane dropped the delicate structure to pieces on the floor; a woman
was jolted violently from her quiet prayers.
Not that any of it mattered to the
woman in the uncomfortable armchair, watching the cause of such chaos. She was
exceedingly thin - her hair flew distractedly in
all directions from a hastily done-up bun, and her face was covered in a light
sheen of sweat, now cooling after the day’s exertions. The woman had all the
appearance of someone who worked too hard and needed more than her share of
rest.
She could not be over thirty and
yet, any sign of youth had either disappeared or was hidden by frown lines set
deep into her face. As she reclined in her seat, these softened slightly –
perhaps she would now get the rest that she so desperately seemed to need.
Channels were surfed, a raucous Bollywood celebration of Holi was the pick. The
woman exhaled deeply and set her head more firmly against the armchair.
'MAMMA!' A door slammed shut, and the woman stiffened. The next moment, she was yelling
at her daughter almost as though she were a pack of hounds let loose, and the
child did not back down either.
'How many times have I told you not
to slam the door like that after coming home!'
'Mamma, I’m hungry! What time is
dinner?'
'It’s almost ready. Go wash your
face. You’re filthy from playing.'
'But I’m hungry! You haven’t made
dinner, I can’t smell anything!'
'IT’S ALMOST DONE! DO AS I SAY! Oh,
that you of all children were born to me...' (The
truth was, in her weariness, the woman had
forgotten that it was time to eat, and the stress added to the sharpness of her
tone.)
A hard slap to the flesh sounded,
and a couple more yells and sobbing later, the duo sat at the table with a
plain meal of dal roti. The little girl ate with gusto,
her hunger finally satiated while the mother picked her rotis apart till they were as unappetizing
as could be.
As said before, she was barely
thirty and she knew it. Ten years ago, graduating from college had been the
highlight of her life: a bright future lay gleaming ahead with a post graduate
degree, a move to the big city, glittering career and finally, a man of her own
choosing. The dreams mercifully clouded the reality of her situation, but only
just.
Her parents, well-meaning as they
were, married her off to a man – kind, handsome but not someone she had fallen
in love with. Lighting the resentment that burned deeply within her now, he had
told her she could work even after their wedding; but
his career took priority after that and she gave in to taking care of him, managing the household and many
in-need-of-relief afternoons later, she became pregnant. And then, he’d died of
a heart attack.
A common enough story, but she
seethed with the fact that it was hers out of a million others. And as she
watched her daughter eat and drink while her own food lay neglected, she could
not help comparing situations.
Time passed by fairly peacefully,
and continued in the same vein when they cleared up. Now with her stomach
filled, the girl snuggled up to her mother and nodded sleepily
against her shoulder as she flipped through the channels once more. The woman
curled an arm around her, a little shamefaced with her thoughts during dinner.
She examined her kid out of the
corner of her eye. The face was all her husband – soft, rounded, very innocent
and trusting. But the woman knew what would happen if the child opened her eyes
– she would be gazing into her own: small, dark and beady, at odds with the
cherubic facial features. It made her scowl harder than ever, even with this
small disparity in her life.
She focused on the TV instead. A
movie from around two years ago played, clearly well into the story. The little
boy on screen ran down the dark hallway, stumbling and sobbing. His dark hair
stuck wetly to his forehead, and foam dribbled from his lips. In the distance,
a figure could be seen with its head cocked. Light briefly passed over its
features, and it jerked like a puppet on strings, its wide black mouth laughing
manically.
'HA-HA-HA-HA!' the demonic cry twisted its face, and the boy yelled. He fell to
his side and frantically pushed at the door. It opened of its own accord, and
he tumbled into a bathroom.
A sharp shriek startled the mother, and she looked
around to see her daughter trembling against her side. 'Mamma,
please switch the TV off!' The mother gazed at
her daughter, awed by the intensity of her fright. The little girl shook
violently, and she was snuggled close enough for her mother to feel her pulse
quickening. A fine sweat broke out on her brow.
'Mamma,' the girl whispered, and the woman looked at her wide, tear-filled eyes. Slowly,
she turned to the TV. Her hand moved robotically, and grasped the remote.
She turned the volume up.
The boy moved frantically on the
bathroom floor. Suddenly, a deluge of water hit him, sweeping him clear away
and against the door. His view was blurred for several seconds; he gasped in a
frenzy, trying to fight against the flood. Finally, the wave drew back, and he
sat up. He had been carried into the bathtub.
Waist-deep in the hateful mess, he
began to struggle once more. He looked down, and his eyes widened. Ripples of
blackness began forming around his body. He stared in growing horror, and
turned around.
The figure from the hallway sat
behind him. It smiled.
The daughter screamed so loudly
that the mother quickly switched the television off, afraid that the irate
neighbours might actually make an appearance. The child began to sob hard. She
put her arms around the girl’s middle and drew her close. “Ssh,” she whispered, all
the while unable to take her eyes off the girl’s red face.
*
'I won’t!'
'You have to!'
'Well, I shan’t!'
'Don’t waste my time - stop that -'
'Mamma, NO -'
A splash later, the woman quickly
exited the bathroom and shut the door behind her, ignoring the shouts of her
daughter in the tub, having tossed her there like a sack. She leaned against
the door and closed her eyes.
A rich feeling - of happiness? Satisfaction? – stole over her when she
recalled the previous night. Her daughter, one moment silent, serene and
sleepy, the next moment crying wildly, begging for mercy from whatever scared
her. How quickly she had switched; how it was and only by her power alone that
she could simultaneously command and comfort the child…
Her hand spread out like rippling
water, fingers inching outwards slowly. She pushed.
The door creaked open, the sound
deafening in the silent bathroom. The little girl soaping herself and trying
not to look down at the water stopped short, heart in her throat. She stared at
the revealed space, trembling. A shadow passed quickly and she whimpered. The
cake of soap dropped.
'HA-HA-HA!' The demon’s laugh echoed off the walls, and the girl screamed, falling
backwards into the tub. She set up a howl, causing her mother to scurry into
the room. 'Hey, hey, calm down. It was only me,
calm down!' she said, helping her daughter sit
up. The child sniffled, choking on her own cries. The mother grew annoyed. 'I said stop.' And her sharp tone served to quiet her child, who
looked up mutely.
The mother’s gaze softened. 'I was just playing with you, okay? Just a game. Don’t
cry.' The girl nodded pitifully, and as her
mother made to move away, she grabbed her hand. 'Please
don’t leave me!
'I’ll be right outside. Finish up,
all right?' the woman said, ignoring the girl’s
fearful head-shaking. 'Right outside. Stop being
a baby and finish bathing. I’ll make lunch.' She
walked towards the door, paused, turned around abruptly and snarled. The girl
jumped.
The woman laughed. 'Only me.'
*
She whistled, hefting a batch of
freshly laundered clothes to take upstairs. One of the benefits of living in
that block of apartments was that the owner had thoughtfully chosen to put a
batch of washing machines in the basement, much like those she saw in American
television shows. She was happy not to have
spent an extra rupee on one for the apartment itself; her dabba-making job helped with just enough to pay the rent and manage
the rest of their expenses, whittled down to their immediate needs while her
daughter’s education was covered by her late husband’s savings.
She was in a very good mood today.
The sun shone brightly outside, the sky glowed a deep, deep blue and she had
woken to the sound of birds twittering softly right outside her window. The sight
and sounds had gladdened her heart; she was quicker and more efficient in
finishing up household chores. The mother had got down to making breakfast for
her daughter, and when the little girl wandered gummy-eyed into the room, she
was ecstatic at the sight of her favourite egg bhurji and toast. That is, until the woman had asked her whether
she’d checked below her bed for the demon. The girl had paled and stared down
at her plate, lower lip trembling.
The mother was fascinated with this
new development. She chuckled as she remembered another instance – the previous
evening, she had called her daughter into the living room, and as the little
girl appeared at the doorway of her room, the woman began walking down the
hall, jerking her shoulders like the figure in the movie. She recalled how
immensely rewarding it was to watch as the girl cried, frozen to the ground and
tears rolling like rivulets down her cheeks while the mother went into
convulsions of laughter, before calming her down and telling her she was simply
playacting.
Not only was she enjoying frightening her
little girl and then assuring her that it was all a joke – the game gave her a
heady sense of power unlike any other – but she also discovered it was a great
way to make her shut up when she went into one of her tantrums. It made the
woman’s life easier, more pleasant and she even seemed find some sense of
purpose during the day in her tasks. In fact, she was actually looking forward
to spending the evening with her daughter.
Setting her laundry load down in
the living room, the woman made to move out of the apartment, when she heard a
door slam so loudly that it resounded around her home. She started violently.
Was it the wind? no, she had not left any window
open, she remembered that, and the day was much too hot and still besides, an
indicator that the city was readying itself for another year’s worth of sticky
summer days.
The woman walked cautiously around
the apartment, rechecking each room. As a rule, she left all the doors open; it
was with some degree of astonishment that she saw none of the rooms were
barred, save the storeroom which was always shut. She stood before it silently.
There was no window in the storeroom, it could not even have been the slightest
of breezes. Her daughter? But she was at a
friend’s place; she had been so eager to leave the house.
A sudden creak, the pattering of
footsteps. The woman paused to swipe her hand over her face nervously. This was
getting ridiculous, she was an adult for heaven’s sake! There ought to be some
rationality, some bravery exercised here. She went over every room once more
and really discovering nothing out of sorts, shrugged and exited the apartment
to get the next pile of clean clothes. A shadow passed by the banisters as she
quickly walked downstairs.
Goosebumps prickled the woman’s
arms and she scratched at them furiously, trying to will them off herself. She determinedly stepped over to the washing
machine and pulled the door open strongly. She would show whatever it was she
was no one to be messed with, be it some stupid kid or a miscreant with a more
alarming agenda. Readying herself for a fight if it came down to that, she let
her trademark scowl slip onto her face, holding her pile of clothes to herself
for courage. The load was heavy however, and she needed to stop several times
to check her footing. The woman faced the stairs leading upwards from the
basement and sighed. Okay, I can do this.
She began to slowly mount the
stairs, stopping every now and then to adjust her burden. It was near the third
to first step that her slipper snagged. She tried shaking it loose, but it
would not budge. 'Damn this,' she cursed, trying to get a look over her back to
see what the problem was. She did not realize that not all the creaks that
sounded were hers.
'HA-HA-HA-HA!' an unearthly cry was raised, and the woman startled beyond her
wits flinched violently. The momentum shifted; her footing was lost. She
screamed as she fell, her body thudding over consecutive steps before her back
bounced hard off one and landed the same way. There was a loud, sickening
crunch. The woman finally lay still on the ground, clothes all around her like
a collage, arms spread in what looked like a strange gesture of supplication.
Her neck was crooked the wrong way.
All was still for a while.
Then quick footsteps pattered over
the granite floor. Fingers curled over the edge of the doorway to the basement.
A giggle resounded.
The little girl peered over the
descending staircase. She giggled again behind her palm, as though hiding a
secret but unable to contain her glee. Her dark, beady eyes eagerly scrutinized
the semi-darkness. 'Mamma!' she finally called to the corpse below. 'Mamma, did you get scared?'
She pushed off the frame and came
to stand on the topmost step. 'I was playing
with you, okay? Just a game.' A full smile
spread itself over her face.
She laughed like her mother. 'Only me.'
