Her prayers were broken by a scream that sliced through the night air, blowing a strong gust of wind in their faces. She stared in abject horror at the dark opening, as something seemed to crawl out of it. Her daughter walking on her hands and knees, appearing hideous enough to set the chattering of her teeth emerged out of the hole. Her hair flew freely even when the wind stopped abruptly, revealing an abhorrent face twisted in pain, the black eyes widened to the extent of bulging out. Mrs. Bajaj could distinctly make out the red puncture marks that seemed to glow in the darkness as blood oozed out of those wounds. The figure suddenly turned its vision towards Mrs. Bajaj, locking her breath.
“Argh… ahhh… mamma, save me,” the figure screamed in her daughter's voice.
For a moment, her heart quivered as she imagined the plight of her daughter.
“Mamma, she killed Ajit and now she'll kill me too. Get me out of here, please. Ask that man to stop this,” Ayushee begged. The mother in her stirred but she did not step forward.
“Mamma, Ajit is here too, right with us. We can get him back. I just met him,” Ayushee promised, her expressions flitting to various degrees of pain.
A glimmer of hope passed over Mrs. Bajaj's frightened face as she gingerly took a step ahead.
“Ma…Mamma, I miss you. It's so dark in here. I'm trapped. I want to come to you. Save me, mamma. Ask that man to stop,” Ajit spoke through her sister's mouth.
The Other Side
253 Unable to hold her tears, she was about to rush to her son ignoring the fire when the fakir's disciple thrust himself between her and the flames, pushing her back and pinning her to the ground.
“She's not your daughter. She's playing with your emotions to release herself from the sacred fire so that she can overpower us,” the fakir described as the disciple moved away, allowing her to slowly rise up. Through the corner of her tearful eyes, she saw the face sneer in disgust and contort once again in an expression of pain.
“Stop babaji, you're hurting Ayushee,” Mrs. Bajaj said. “The sacred fire won't hurt your daughter, Pooja. It will only tug at the trapped soul inside,” babaji replied and then took out a small bottle from the pocket of his robes, containing a paste of ash, white vinegar, sandalwood and water.
“The water comes from the well your mother drowned in, Smita. She calls to you. Go to her. Let this water purify you and nurture your soul. Let it absolve you of sins,” the fakir said, hurling the bottle with all his force at the figure's feet.
The glass shattered upon impact with the fiery ground. The sound was followed by a long painful scream as the flames changed colour from a fiery yellow to a peaceful blue.
“No…o!” the figure shouted one last time, before falling down. The flames shot up to their peak before snuffing themselves out as the figure touched the ground. The baba's disciple walked towards his spiritual guru, who placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Her mortal remains are in that black hole. Burn down the tree. That will set the soul free from all bounds.” He turned to bless Mrs. Bajaj before walking away.
Mrs. Bajaj tried to stand on her unsure legs, watching the slumped figure on the ground. Her heart skipped a beat as the figure stirred. She leaned forward and suddenly broke into a run, covering the small distance in seconds. This time no one stopped her, no one tackled her and no one pinned her down. She kneeled down and cradled the figure on her lap. She saw the face with the cuts and bruises smiling at her through the tears, the small neck devoid of any puncture marks and then she let out her first cry of joy since a long, long time as her daughter hugged her tight.
“Ma, where's Ayushee? I need to play with her,” the little girl said in a hoarse voice.
“We shall see that at which dogs howl in the dark, and that at which cats prick up their ears after midnight.” ¯ H.P Lovecraft
Unfulfilled Desires
“ Jhinjhana, Jhinjhana!” the conductor shouted in his rough voice as the bus stopped at a non-descript roadside village. Dr. Rajiv
hoisted his bag and disembarked. He asked a half naked urchin
loitering around for the directions to the Primary Health Centre
and on finding out that it was two kilometers away from the busstand, he decided to take a rickshaw. He generally avoided taking a
rickshaw as a matter of principle but walking two kilometers in the
sun after a bone jarring bus ride was a distinctly unpleasant
alternative. The rickshaw trundled along on the brick lined street,
past a primary school and finally on a dusty path through the fields
to reach the distant PHC.
He arrived at the PHC an hour post noon. The building
looked like any other government structure in this part of the