The evening before the day Ayushee was scheduled to attend her first day in school, Mrs. Bajaj called out for her as dinner time neared. While rushing through the corridor upstairs to reprimand her daughter for not responding to her calls, she heard a distant tinkle of laughter. She immediately retraced her steps and peered out of the window in the corridor, overlooking the garden. There she could see her daughter, hands crossed, body arched back yet not falling down almost as if someone was holding her as she whirled around enjoying the merry-go-round exercise.
Mrs. Bajaj rushed downstairs, holding the fold of her sari between her nervous fingers. “Ayushee, Ayushee,” she called, as she stepped on the lawn. But there was no trace of her daughter where she had seen her playing just moments back.
She ventured towards the climbing darkness. A few meters ahead, she heard a faint giggle. Ayushee! She could recognize her daughter's laughter even in her sleep. And then she cringed, hearing another giggle, slightly hoarse and raucous as if someone had choked the windpipe of the person that voice belonged to. She crept warily towards the banyan tree.
“Ayushee!” Mrs. Bajaj shouted, noticing her daughter whispering words to the wind.
Immediately, her daughter stood up and stared at her.
“Sorry mamma, Smita said you're coming and it would be fun to hide,” Ayushee said, shifting her gaze to the left near the banyan tree.
“Ayushee, I've had enough of this whole Smita thing. To the house, right now!” Mrs. Bajaj scolded, feeling the anger rise in her brain.
“But mamma, Smita doesn't like it when you shout on me and don't allow us to play together,” Ayushee protested feebly. “Now!” Mrs. Bajaj said, her finger pointing towards the direction of their house. Ayushee rushed towards the bungalow, a hand covering her sobs. Her mother monitored her steps, watching her slam the main door behind her and then she turned to look at the banyan tree. It stood, tall and mighty stamping its authority all around its presence. Its round leaves rustled in the evening wind and its sturdy branches seemed like multiple hands, outstretched as if it was flexing its muscles. Long brown vines fell from its bark and branches surrounding it with a diabolical aura. Mrs. Bajaj shivered in the cold, feeling the fierce eye of the tree overtake her.
She brushed away the matter as a passing negative thought and started walking towards the house. Twice she turned, hearing faint sounds of little footsteps following her, crunching the dead leaves of the banyan lying on the ground. She could only feel the wind behind and the gaze of the banyan penetrating into her back. Inside the house, she checked whether Ayushee had finished her meals and drank the glass of milk and made sure both the kids had retired to their beds. Lying on her own that night, she considered sharing her doubts with the person sharing her bed.
The next morning Mrs. Bajaj packed off an anxious Ayushee to her new school and then started cleaning the house with the new domestic help, who seemed to eye the corners of the house in such a manner that it seemed to Mrs. Bajaj as if she was almost expecting someone to jump on her any moment. It had been difficult to obtain a maid but Mr. Shirke had somehow arranged for this middle-aged Marathi speaking woman who did not seem too excited at the prospect. Mrs. Bajaj was dusting the walls when a voice made her jump out of her skin.
“ Memsahab, don't allow baby and baba to venture in the garden, especially after dark,” the maid whispered.
“Huh? Wh… Why do you say that?” she stammered.
“It's not a good place,” the maid replied looking around and soon left for her home.
Mrs. Bajaj pondered over the strange statement and the somewhat weird behavior of her daughter since the last few days.
Ajit was watching television in the living room when she stepped into the kitchen to prepare a meal. She could easily keep an eye on her son through the kitchen as it was almost opposite to where he was resting.
Mrs. Bajaj's wandering thoughts were broken by voices coming from the living room. She left the mixer grinder on and walked towards the kitchen entrance. She could hear her son talking in soft murmurs even as the television kept playing scenes from a 'Tom and Jerry' episode. She tiptoed silently from behind, trying to catch a glimpse of the couch on which her son was seated.
“… don't know when she'll be coming back, I swear,” Ajit was saying softly, his eyes turned away from the television screen, focused towards his left.
Mrs. Bajaj couldn't see anyone sitting there but through the corner of the eye, she saw the depression on the pillow parked on the couch. It seemed like someone invisible was occupying that place.
“Ajit!” Mrs. Bajaj shouted in a sudden response to that scene. The next instant, she saw the depression rise up and disappear completely. The pillow was whole and fluffy again.