“Come on, Pooja. We live in the twenty-first century. It all happened in the past. We cannot let some sick folks' past determine our future… and just look at this place. I don't think we'll find a better place to stay even for double the price,” Mr. Bajaj had reasoned.
And slowly she was getting used to the new home. The fresh air seemed to be healthy for her family and the space seemed comfortable. So she locked her apprehensions and went about the household chores, enjoying the feel of their new home.
Her memory would irritate her at times. Mr. Bajaj knew about her forgetfulness before their wedding and still teased her about it at times. Here too, she would blank out remembering whether she had switched off the lights or shut the door and even if she was sure, she had, she would find the lights in various rooms at their glimmering best and the doors completely ajar as if someone had just walked inside. The other day she had come down running from the terrace after she had smelt gas emanating from the kitchen. She had wondered how she could have left the gas knob the other way when she had it ingrained in her subconscious to switch off the gas after using it every time. Her irritation would be further fuelled by her incomplete slumber. Proper sleep was difficult to find even on the soft pillow. Mrs. Bajaj would twist and turn in the bed, dreams escaping her mind as she counted sheep in a semi-conscious state.
The other night she was awoken by a couple of knocks on their bedroom door. She had opened the door as Mr. Bajaj snored, to find little Ajit standing there, rubbing his eyes with small clenched fists.
“Mamma, didi is not allowing me to sleep. She's playing with her friend, creating too much noise,” Ajit said in his meek, innocent voice.
“Friend? What friend?” Mrs. Bajaj asked.
Ajit just shrugged his little shoulders and twisted his lower lip. “Don't know what's with this girl these days. Come with me,”
Mrs. Bajaj said, taking Ajit's hand with her left while blocking a yawn with the right. The door of the children's room was wide open when she walked in with her son in tow to notice her daughter sitting up on the bed surrounded by the dolls in her toy collection.
“Ayushee, why are you up at this time of the night?” she admonished in the most stern voice she could come up with in her sleep deprived state.
“Ssshhh, mamma. Smita and I are playing 'house-house' with the dolls,” Ayushee said in a low-voice, placing a finger on her lips. “Smita? Now you have started naming your dolls?” Mrs. Bajaj asked in the same stern manner. “No mamma, Smita is my friend. She stays with us in our house. Actually, it's their house, she says but never mind, she is willing to share. You know she doesn't have any friends and I'm already her best friend, she says,” Ayushee said looking towards her left.
“Hey Smita, don't pull the hands of that doll, my papa gave that to me… I want you to meet my mamma. Mamma, say 'hi' to Smita,” Ayushee grinned looking at her mother.
Mrs. Bajaj felt a chilly sensation grip her stomach, the little follicles of hair on her unwaxed hands standing up.
“Ayushee, what…?” she tried to say, her legs shivering for some reason she could not fathom. “Mamma, Smita's gone. She said that she would come to play with me later. She is angry with you for disturbing us. I was not feeling sleepy and you shouldn't have scolded me in front of her,” Ayushee said, the annoyance back in her voice.
“Ayushee…” Mrs. Bajaj had just begun to frame something in the back of the mind when her daughter kicked the dolls off the bed and stretched her body.
“Goodnight mamma,” Ayushee wished, before switching off the bedside lamp. Before Mrs. Bajaj could gather her thoughts, she could hear the light snoring coming from her daughter's nostrils. She silently tucked a sleepy Ajit into bed and walked to her bedroom.
“What was it?” her husband mumbled in his sleep as she shut the bedroom door. “What a wild imagination your daughter has! She's naming her dolls, playing with them in the middle of the night,” Mrs. Bajaj said, shaking her head.
“She must be missing her friends. Once her school here starts, she'll get along well with the girls,” Mr. Bajaj said, turning in his sleep.
“Now switch off the lights and shut your eyes,” he added after a shortwhile.
The next morning while Mrs. Bajaj was bathing Ajit in the bathroom downstairs, the child was extremely silent for someone who chattered constantly.
“Ajit, are you feeling unwell?” Mrs. Bajaj asked to which the boy shook his head, eyes opened wide, staring behind her.
“Why are you so silent? And what are you staring behind me again and again…” she turned back to notice the door ajar. The soap dropped from her hands, sinking in the bucket of water at her feet. She was very sure she had locked the door from the inside.