“We ask only to be reassured
About the noises in the cellar
And the window that should not have been open.”
¯ T.S. Eliot
A Mother's Love
As the taxi came to a halt just outside the grandiose gate, Bhagyalakshmi looked at the bungalow with a mixture of dismay and delight. A quintessential urban girl, she had grown up in the organized chaos of Chennai and the magnificent isolation of her new abode generated awe, pride and apprehension in equal measures inside her heart. Her husband, Swaminathan, had recently taken up the position of General Manager of Windsor Tea Estate in Munnar and they were in the process of moving into the GM's bungalow situated in the heart of the estate.
“It is huge. How am I going to keep it clean?” She wondered but refrained from articulating her thoughts. But over and above that, she was happy they had moved out from the city of her in-laws who would keep pestering them and raising doubts on her ability to bear children even after five years of marriage. It was depressing that the Goddess had not blessed them even after numerous poojas, fasts and purification ceremonies. The doctors whom they had consulted also had found nothing unusual in their reproductive capabilities.
After spending the first five years of their married life in a cramped one-bedroom apartment in Kochi, Swaminathan now looked forward to a life of cosy domesticity in their new residence. He too was worried about the possibility that he would never get to hold their offspring in his arms but he had not given up hope and continued to pray fervently to the Goddess. As he proudly ushered his wife into the biggest bungalow in the tea garden, he had visions of practicing a lifestyle similar to that of the English Tea planters who lived there a century back, albeit with few modern amenities.
The bungalow was situated on the top of a hillock, a huge garden surrounding it. The front verandah looked over a lawn bordered by flowerbeds, the fragrance of a hundred blossoms running in the air touching it. A large swing which could comfortably seat two occupied pride of place in a corner overlooking the large window on the lower level of the house. Tall pine trees lined the edges of the garden that in turn was surrounded by a white picket fence. The backside was devoted to a large kitchen garden that separated the main bungalow from the outhouse that was being used as the servant's quarters. The high-ceilinged bungalow consisted of a huge hall, a drawing room, two bedrooms, a library, a kitchen and numerous storerooms that would take much time to explore. Bhagyalakshmi noted with a touch of amusement that the bathrooms were larger than the bedroom of their Kochi apartment. Most of the furniture qualified being labeled as antique, being as old as the bungalow itself.
Bhagyalakshmi gradually got used to the lonely existence in the huge place. There was not much to do as the couple of servants took care of all the cooking and cleaning. All she had to do was supervise over them, teach one of them to cook Tamil dishes and take some interest in the affairs of the garden. The taciturn gardener did not like to pay heed to the advice of the new mistress and preferred to work alone. The newly installed Dish antenna provided her with some moments of solace but she had never been an avid television watcher and got tired of it soon. A month passed and she started chaffing at the forced inactivity, developing insomnia that made her kohl-lined eyes swell up. While Swaminathan, worn out after his work in the estate, slept like a baby on the other corner of the ornate teak double bed; she would toss and turn on her end of the bed, listening to the myriad sounds that punctuated the silence of the night. While she could explain the squeak of the mice, the call of the nightjar and the sounds of the wind whistling in the trees; she could have sworn that she sometimes heard the light patter of running feet or an occasional suppressed giggle that echoed across the house.
She thought of asking Swaminathan but hesitated as she thought that probably she was imagining things. But the unexplained happenings did not cease. One day after finishing her bath, she realised that her towel was missing from the rack. She thought about it but could not quite recall if she had actually carried it in with her clothes. She fumbled on the ground outside the bathroom, one hand exploring the possibility that she had dropped it there. As her hands checked the door mat outside, her mouth straining against the door, she felt something damp brush against her fingers. She shrieked, immediately pulling her hand inside. She struck her neck out of the bathroom door to look for the person who had dared to be a peeping tom while she bathed. She looked left and right and straight but could see no one and hear no sound. She shouted for the girl to get the towel but she seemed to be nowhere around. Irritated, she wrapped her gown around her wet torso and went to change in her room, still thinking about whom or rather what she had touched. She could swear she had felt a little palm touch her hand.