A week later, she was sitting in the verandah going through The Hindu when she felt someone tug at her tresses from the back. She whirled around but there was nothing there. She saw the gardener working in the flowerbeds and called him over.
“Did you see someone in the verandah just a minute back?” she asked, feeling very silly immediately. “I could have sworn that I felt that there was someone here,” she added by the way of an explanation. The gardener merely shook his head and went back to his work. She wondered if a gust of wind had made her imagine the tug. In the mornings, she would also notice that however hard she tried; the milk would not curdle to make some curd. As it was inconceivable that a Tamil Brahmin couple live without their daily fix of curd-rice, she got a servant to fetch some readymade curd from the nearby shop almost daily. Sometimes, the utensils in the kitchen would not be found at the place she kept them and wondered if that could be attributed it to the carelessness of the girl or was there a deeper cause to it?
Another fortnight later, Bhagyalakshmi's insomnia worsened. She would toss and turn through most of the night, falling into an exhausted sleep just before dawn. She was perturbed about the incidents but curiously, she was not afraid. She felt that the house wanted to communicate something to her. Something important was about to happen, something that involved her. She felt an inexplicable feeling inside her whenever she walked in the hallway. When she was in the house she felt warmth, a sense of belonging and of being protected. Even the small incidents that she could not explain did not generate any fear but simply piqued her curiosity. A couple of evenings later, Bhagyalakshmi decided she wanted fresh flowers for the vase on the dining table and decided to get them herself as the gardener had left for the day. As she stepped out of the verandah towards the flowerbeds she heard a flapping of wings and a large jungle crow swooped down on her. It flapped around her as if it wanted to drive her back into the house. She shooed it away and moved determinedly towards the flowerbeds. She felt a tug on her sari and turned around to see a small child standing there. He was fair skinned almost Caucasian, blue eyed, dressed in matching grey striped shirt and shorts that hung loosely over his thin body.
“Don't go there. There is a King Cobra in the flowerbed,” he whispered softly.
Her blood froze at the mention of the snake. As she turned back, she asked the boy. “Thank you. Who are you?” The boy giggled and replied. “I live nearby.”
The little boy had a cherubic face and his eyes shone with mischief. She felt a sudden surge of affection for him. “And how do you know that there is a snake out there?”
“I know everything!” He replied seriously. “And didn't you notice how the crow was behaving?” the boy pointed skywards, making her look up.
“Why don't you come in and I'll treat you to a milk shake,” offered Bhagyalakshmi and turned towards him again.The boy was gone.
She mentioned the incident to Swaminathan when he came back home looking weary.
“Yes! There are many snakes in the vicinity and you should not venture out after twilight. But who was the boy? There are no Europeans in the garden or nearby. The only people living here are the workers and the tea pickers and they are mostly of local origin. Are you sure you are not imagining things?”
Bhagyalakshmi decided to make a few enquires the next day. She made her way to the lawn where gardener was weeding the flowerbeds. He looked up when she arrived but as usual he went back to his work without saying anything.
“Listen, I need to talk to you,” she said.
The old man continued working in silence.
“Look, I know that there is something wrong with this
bungalow. You have been living here for long. Have you heard or seen anything unusual?” she said. “No, I have never seen or heard of anything of that sort, madam,” the gardener replied, continuing to work on weeding the flowerbed, apparently intent on the task.
“But I saw a small boy who appeared to be European. I even talked to him and he talked back in a British accent. And then just as suddenly he had appeared, he was gone,” she argued.
The old man finally raised his eyes and looked at her. There was an unfathomable expression in his eyes. “Did you see James baba?”
“I saw a little boy who warned me about going into the flower beds. He said that there was a King Cobra there. I invited him in for a milk shake but... who is James baba?” Bhagyalakshmi raised an eyebrow.
“It is an old story I have heard from my grandfather. Little James was the only son of Holden Sahib, the British manager of this Tea Garden who lived in this bungalow some hundred years back. His mother passed away while giving birth to him. An affectionate child, he grew up in the hands of a succession of ayahs. The garden was his favourite spot to play hide and seek with his friends. One day he fell into a well that used to be here and drowned. No one even realised his whereabouts for a long time until a search party found his little floating body. The sahib was distraught with grief and went back to England. The well was filled and its traces removed by the subsequent resident of this house,” the old gardener stopped abruptly, quite overcome by his own loquaciousness.