Rains - A story

This is a story that I wrote 4-5 years back. I dusted it off and sent it to Spark for the "Rains" theme.

Read it here.

The Appraisal - Story in Reading Hour

My story "The Appraisal" was published in the Jan-Feb issue of Reading Hour. Since the requisite 6 months have passed, I'm reproducing it on my blog for you to read.

The Appraisal

Ningavva walked with unsteady steps down the road, scanning the houses on either side.  Her worn rubber chappals made a clip-clap sound as they slapped the cracked soles of her feet.

It wasn't dark yet, but the streetlights had already been turned on. The distant hum of peak-hour traffic formed a background to more domestic sounds – the clang of a steel vessel, the whistle of a pressure cooker. The road was lined on both sides with houses set close to each other. Sometimes it was difficult to tell where one house ended and the other began. 

Ningavva hesitated in front of a house with a jasmine plant spilling over the compound. She walked up to the iron gate and rattled the hasp. 

A man came out of the house. "Yes?" 

"Is this Shekhar-daaktar's house?" asked Ningavva.

"Yes.  You want to see him?"  

Ningavva nodded.   

"You're early. He sees patients only after eight." 

"Yes he told me, but if it won't trouble you, perhaps I could wait here..." 

"Come in," said the man, and opened the gate.  

"Are you Krishna?" she asked. 

"Yes."

 "Daaktar said you'd let me in."

 "Where did you meet the doctor?" asked Krishna. 

"At the hospital," said Ningavva, and came in through the gate. An unpaved pathway led from the gate to a garage converted into a clinic. Red plastic chairs were arranged on either side of the path. Ningavva sat down.   

She wiped the exhaustion off her face with the edge of her saree.  

"Water, son," she said, and touched her thumb to her lips.   

Krishna nodded. He looked over his shoulder at her as he went into the house. She's from the northern part of the state, he thought. The dialect of Kannada she spoke told him that, and the way she had covered her head with the end of her faded saree. Her features too, and the heavy nose-ring. What it was about her face, he couldn't say. Was it the dialect and her dress  that lent an identity to her face? Or did her features with the creased forehead, knitted brows and small eyes reflect generations of squinting in the harshness of the sun in those hot and arid areas? 

Overworked, he thought. Her feet are bent out of shape – the kind of misshapenness that comes from having constantly carried heavy loads. Both physical and emotional. Bewildered eyes. Bet she's never travelled this far alone in all her life. Poor woman. Wonder what brings her here. 

Krishna brought a jug of water and a paper cup. He filled the cup and handed it to Ningavva, who tilted the cup and drank it all in one go, without touching the cup to her lips.  

"Are you daaktar's son?" she said. 

"No, no, Ajji, I just work for him." 

"Doesn't daaktar take fees from patients?" 

Krishna shook his head. 

"I went to the hospital in the morning. There they said he takes fees," said Ningavva. 

"Yes, only at the hospital.  From people who can afford to pay." 

The old woman's face relaxed.  She nodded.   

"Son..." 

"Tch, Ajji, what is this? Can't a man have some peace? Ever since you came in, you're going vata-vata-vata..." 

"Forgive me, son, I've come from very far.... I asked in so many places, such a long time it took to find Shekhar-daaktar.... son, do you know him well?" 

"I was fifteen years old when I first came here, Ajji. I have been his helper, watchman, gardener, everything for ten years. So yes, I know him quite well. Why?" 

"Son..." 

"My name is Krishna, Ajji." 

 "Krishna, son, they say he is a good man, is it true?" 

"A pearl. A pearl among men. That's what he is." 

"Does he see a lot of poor patients?" 

"Just wait till you see the line. He sees them late into the night, sometimes skips dinner." 

"His wife? Doesn't she mind?" 

"What wife? He's unmarried." 

"Is he a good doctor, Krishna?" 

"Top-class. No one goes away uncured. Why ask me, ask his patients. He's no ordinary person."
Krishna paused. "He's blessed, I tell you." 

"Why do you say that?" 

"So many times in his life, Ajji, when it seemed that he had nowhere else to go, he received help from unexpected places." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. When Doctor was a small boy, he fell into a flooded river. They thought that his story was over, but a man jumped in and saved him. And after Doctor's  parents died, his grandmother couldn't afford to educate him. So the village school teacher, himself poor, with nine children, practically adopted him and educated him, because Doctor was a brilliant student." 

Krishna waited for Ningavva's reaction, but seeing as she didn't respond, he continued.   "And then he got a seat in the medical college, but had no money to join. So the headman of his village personally went from village to village, until he found a rich, generous man who funded Doctor's entire education. Whenever Doctor is in trouble, a solution comes looking for him. Like I said, he is blessed."   

Ningavva was silent.   

"What Ajji, lost your voice?"  Krishna grinned. "I'll be inside. Call me if you want anything." 

Krishna turned to go, but stopped.  "Ajji, sit on this chair. Less wind this side. It's getting cold. I'll ask my wife to bring you some coffee." 

Krishna left. Ningavva sat for a long time gazing at the ground, while her restless fingers twisted and untwisted the pleats of her saree. Then she looked at the small house, the overgrown garden with its jasmine plant, the lemon tree, tomato plants and a healthy Tulasi plant. Then she concentrated her attention at the road, and watched the few people and vehicles that passed by. 
    

In a while, Krishna's wife came out of the house with coffee in a steel tumbler. Ningavva cupped the tumbler with both hands, sipped the coffee and waited. 

The doctor's patients started arriving. Old and young, alone and with their families, they were thin, ragged, with hollow, sunken cheeks. Some talked quietly amongst one another. Some stared at Ningavva. Mothers spanked children who dared venture too near the tomato plants. Men clustered at the gate, talking in low, guttural tones. 

A skinny, voluble woman with a bindi the size of a two-rupee coin  sat down next to Ningavva. "You don't seem to be from around here," said the woman, opening a small cloth pouch which hung from her waist. From it, she extracted betel leaves, rubbed them with slaked lime, put some areca nuts on it, rolled the leaves up and offered it to Ningavva. When Ningavva shook her head, she popped it into her own mouth.   

With the roll swelling one side of the mouth, she kept up a barrage of words praising the doctor and how he had cured her and her entire extended family from various ailments over the years, and how he even gave them medicines himself.  

She showed Ningavva a small bag of gooseberries. "He doesn't take money. Not that I can afford to pay him," she said. "So I always bring something for him." 

She put away the gooseberries. "He is the poor man's saviour. How many good doctors do you think there are in the city? And how many care about the poor?" 

"If he really cared about the poor," said Ningavva. "Why doesn't he work in the villages? Why does he live in the city?" 

The woman drew herself up. Her nostrils flared. 

"How dare you say such things?" she said, chewing her betel leaves ferociously. "Do you know, every Sunday, he goes to a different village on the outskirts of the city, sits in a primary school, and sees patients there?" 

The woman wiped her mouth with her saree. "Sometimes he doesn't even sleep at night – that many people come to see him.  

"And do poor people live only in villages? Is there no poverty in the city? If all doctors go to the villages, who will look after the poor of the city? And tell me," she continued. "If he doesn't work in the city hospitals and take money from rich people, how will he eat? How will he give free medicines to people like us?" 

She frowned. "Think before you speak about the doctor," she said. "I am being polite to you because you are older than me, and you have come from afar. Otherwise..."  the woman turned away, making it clear that the conversation was over. 

But Ningavva's features arranged themselves into an expression which people who knew her would have recognized as a smile. 

The doctor arrived a little after eight in an old car that he drove himself. There was a scramble as everybody stood up and joined their palms in respect. The doctor, his dark face unlined, and his temples tinged with silver, smiled, nodded and exchanged pleasantries with his patients. He patted a man on his shoulder, ruffled a child's hair, and nodded at Ningavva. He then went straight into the clinic.   

In minutes, Krishna came to the waiting crowd and picked out Ningavva. "Ajji, go in, you arrived first," he said. 

"I'll go last," she said. 

He shrugged. "Your wish.  Such strange people in the world..." 

Ningavva waited for two hours until the doctor had seen all the patients. She watched with eagerness everybody's face as they came out after their consultation. And then it was her turn. She stepped into the clinic. 

"Come in, Amma,"said the doctor. "You've been waiting a long time." 

"Yes, daaktar, I have come from far to see you and talk to you." 

"From where, Amma?" 

"From beyond Davanagere." 

"But why, there are good doctors in Davanagere." 

"I wanted to see you, daaktar." 

"What is the trouble, Amma?" 

"My knees ache, I can't walk sometimes, and my knuckles..."  She held out her hands, gnarled like the branches of the gulmohar.

The doctor examined her. "You've led a hard life, Amma." 

"My husband died very early, daaktar. Left me with two children.  You can't imagine how difficult it was... I was young, widowed...." She passed her palm across her eyes, as if erasing the unpleasant images that appeared before her. "My brothers were too poor to take me in, nobody else was there to help me. God knows how I managed, cleaning other people's houses, cooking for them... moving from village to village... But I sent both my children to school, daaktar. I got the girl married. The boy, he is slow, but he is a good boy, looks after me well – he keeps a shop in the village. I am not able to get him married. Girls of today, they are particular, not like in our days..." 

Krishna, who was hovering about, butted in. "Ajji, enough of your life-story. You think doctor has time for all that?" 

The doctor waved Krishna away. "Krishna, please go and tell Vimala to make some dinner for this lady too... where will you stay tonight, Amma?" 

Ningavva looked confused, as if the thought hadn't even occured to her.   

"I might get a night bus back to Davanagere..." 

"No. It's very late. Sleep here in the outhouse, you can leave in the morning tomorrow. 

"Amma, your knees are weak – due to abuse, and old age. Take rest, don't work too much. You said your son takes good care of you? Good. Take this oil and rub it on your knees at bed-time, you might find some relief.... what is it, Krishna?" 

"Vimala has already rustled up something for Ajji." 

"Good, good. Krishna, the lady will sleep in the outhouse. Go, Amma, take rest." 

Ningavva drew out a patched cloth purse from between the folds of her saree,  put the bottle of oil carefully into it and tucked it back at her waist, away from sight. She followed Krishna to the back of the house, squatted near the back door and waited. Vimala, Krishna's wife, gave her a plate heaped with uppittu, and two bananas. Ningavva ate, and finished with a tall glass of buttermilk. 

"What will daaktar be doing now?" she asked.  

"Reading," said Vimala. She led Ningavva to the outhouse. It was a small, unfurnished room with an unused kitchen and an attached toilet. Rolls of mattresses stood in the corner, and folded sheets and blankets were placed above them. 

"Make yourself comfortable, Ajji," said Vimala. "Here is a pot of water. Let me know if you need anything else. We sleep in the house, but if you knock at the back door, I'll hear." 

"I'll manage, child. " 

Ningavva made her bed, turned off the lights, and was asleep in seconds.

***

Ningavva awoke just before dawn, washed, and stepped out. She shut the door of the outhouse, shivered a little, and drew her thin saree tightly about herself. 

As she approached the gate, she heard the doctor call out from the verandah. He was sitting in a yogic posture. She waited until he got up, threw a woollen shawl around his shoulders, switched on the porch light, and came out.    

"Daaktar, I'm leaving. Thanks for all that you've done..." 

"Amma, something is bothering me. Why would you travel three hundred kilometres just to see me about your knees? Tell me the truth, Amma. Why are you here?" 

Ningavva looked up. The lamp on the porch threw its light on Ningavva's eyes. The doctor saw them fill up with tears.  

"My husband, daaktar... he died young.  He...he gave his life saving a small boy from drowning. My life was very difficult, daaktar. Many nights I have lain awake wondering how different life would have been would have been if my husband hadn't bothered saving someone he didn't even know. Very often I have cursed that boy... and wondered, always wondered.... if my husband's death was worth it..." 

The doctor stood very still. 

"Now I'm satisfied, daaktar. Finally... last night I slept in peace for the first time in many years...." 

The doctor tried to say something, but made a choking noise.   

"You're doing good work. I've seen it now with my own eyes – I can go back to my village with my heart full. God bless you, daaktar."  

The doctor took the shawl from his shoulders, and put it around Ningavva. She hesitated, and then wrapped it closely around herself. She opened the gate, hobbled out and disappeared into the mist.

The doctor stood at the gate for a long, long time.

 ***

Day 27 - First prize in the DNA-Out of Print Short Fiction contest

Very pleased to share with you that my story The Awakening won the first prize in the DNA-Out of Print Short Fiction contest.

Here's what the editors have to say about my story: "The choice of winning story was ultimately influenced by the clean direct simplicity with which the protagonist approaches the complex choice he makes, and the deceptive lightness with which the story is told."

You can read it in the Just Before Monday section of DNA.  It is available online here - The Awakening  - or here.

The Little Mermaid

Deep in the big blue ocean, there lived Meena, a Little Mermaid.  Meena loved listening to her Grandma's  stories of the world beyond the ocean, where humans live.  She spent hours in the public library, reading about humans, and looked forward to turning eighteen, when she'd be allowed to swim up to the surface of the ocean and see a little of that world herself.

On her eighteenth birthday, even as she was dashing around in excitement, raring to set off on the adventure she'd been waiting for all her life, Grandma called Meena to her, and started affixing oyster shells to her tail, in honour of her becoming an adult.

"Ouch!  It hurts!" said Meena.

"One has to suffer to be beautiful," said Grandma.

"Beautiful?  And who said oysters on tails are beautiful?  And I want to be happy, not beautiful!"  said Meena with a laugh, and wriggled away from her surprised Grandma's grasp.  She swam to the surface, sat on the rocks and spent all day looking at the vast, blue sky, the fluffy white clouds and the ships sailing by.  She was particularly fascinated by the seagulls, and wished she had wings like them, so that she could fly in the sky and see what her beloved ocean looked like from above.

Towards evening, the clouds darkened, and a storm gathered.  A passing ship lurched in the gale, and a man fell off it.  Nobody on the ship seemed to notice.  Meena swam up to him.  He was unconscious.  She held his head above water, knowing that humans cannot breathe underwater, and steered him to the nearest island.  She waited to make sure he was fine, and tried hard not to stare at his legs.  She noticed that there was something in his jacket pocket - it was a book. 

"Hmmm," she thought, picking it up.  "He's a reader.  Must be an interesting man.  I'd like to be friends with him!"  

But there was a merpeople rule – humans and merpeople weren't allowed to be friends!  Meena sighed.  Just as the man regained consciousness, Meena plopped into the ocean. 

After she got back, she realized that she'd brought the book with her.   She opened it, and  found the man's name - Manav, and his address in it.  Her eyes gleamed.  She'd go to return the book - what an excellent pretext to explore the human world! To hell with rules!

But how would she walk on land?  She went to The Witch who lived in the dark depths of the ocean.  She knew several spells.

"I'll make you legs to walk with," said The Witch, "only if you lend me your beautiful voice for as long as you're away."

It didn't seem like Meena had much of a choice.  She parted with her voice, lost her tail, and got two legs in return.  

She surfaced at the beach nearest to the address in Manav's book.

It wasn't easy.  Walking hurt.  She felt heavy.  Besides, she couldn't talk, and she noted with disappointment that humans weren't so kind to fellow-humans who were a little different.  But Meena was a determined, resilient young merlady.  With the help of pencil and paper, and with a little sign language, she asked for directions.  It took her a few days, but she finally found Manav.  She gave him his book, and explained how she had come by it.  He was quite sceptical at first, naturally, and then intrigued.  And thankful to her, of course for having saved his life.  They hung out for a bit, and really enjoyed each others' company.

But Meena missed home.  Her feet hurt.  And she'd had enough of stealing food (tasteless at that – hardly anybody used sea salt) to fill her stomach.  And she was tired of spending the nights in chlorinated swimming pools. Besides, the course in reef biology she'd enrolled in was due to start in a week.

She left, with an understanding with Manav that they'd meet frequently.   She retrieved her lovely tail and her voice from The Witch.

So, every weekend, when she can get away from her coursework, she and Manav meet  at the beach and talk, she in the water, and he on a rock.  Though she's not exactly head over fishtail in love with him, she likes him.  Manav is learning scuba-diving.

And we leave them here.  Whether Meena marries Manav or not, she's the kind who'll ensure that she'll live happily ever after.

****

This story is written as part of the Twist-A-Tale contest on Tell-A-Tale – reading and writing stories for this age.

A story...

Pratham Books had a contest for which I had sent in an entry.  I did not win but I thought you might like to read my entry.

Children's story in Open Sesame

I'm mighty kicked right now. Deccan Herald's children's supplement, Open Sesame, has published my story today.

Just a simple story - tried writing for children for the first time.

The moment of truth.

Well, I couldn't think of a better title. Finally, here is my prizewinning story. It was published in yesterday's Sunday Herald.

Feedback and criticism welcome - either in the comments section or to shruthi DOT hallucinations AT gmail DOT com. Thank you!

Update: DH has revamped its site and the above link doesn't work any more. Until I find the time to find the new link, here is the story.

Update 2: The link is working now, but the story is here anyway.

************

THE GUIDE

Vivek threw his backpack down on the rock, flexed his shoulders, and put his hands on his hips. "We are lost", he announced with an air of finality. Aditi didn't answer. She had known that for the last one hour.
They were on a trek to Mailari hills with an adventure group. Raghav, a veteran trekker, was leading. Right at the beginning, Raghav had warned them of the confusing foliage of Mailari hills and had asked everybody to stick together at all times. It had been going well, until Vivek and Aditi, who were trailing, stopped to photograph some pretty yellow flowers peeping shyly from behind a rock.

When they looked up, the others were nowhere in sight. It had happened so suddenly that they were taken by surprise. They could still hear the others, and they called out loudly. But the wind was blowing towards them, and their voices just died in the wind. They ran up the track they had been following, but they reached nowhere.

They pulled out their mobile phones. No signal. This place was miles from any town. Nevertheless they fiddled with their phones for sometime, hoping that miraculously, they would catch the signal from some nearby tower, but to no avail.

The plan had been to stay at the rooms at the Mailareshwara temple at the summit of Mailari hills. So, Vivek reasoned, if they just followed the incline upwards, they would reach the top at some point, from where they would surely catch sight of the temple.

Accordingly, they had trudged up the incline, but the track had suddenly dipped, then curved and forked, and they seemed to be going in circles. Aditi was sure that they had passed the same creeper-covered tree at least thrice.

They then reached a small clearing in the foliage, where there was a broad, flat rock. It was here that they now sat, contemplating their next move.

It was almost six in the evening, and was getting dark. They ought to have been at the temple premises by now. The others had probably already reached.

"I still don't believe it", Aditi said. "Haven't they realized we have been left behind?”

"We were trailing, remember?" Vivek said. "It would have taken some time before they discovered that we weren't with them. I am sure Raghav will come looking for us once they find us missing."

"He had better. I am not very comfortable with the thought of spending the night in the jungle."

"There aren't any wild animals in these hills."

"So? Wild animals or not, do you really want to spend the night on this rock? There might be snakes – or poisonous insects."

"We might not have a choice."

"Raghav will come for us." Aditi's tone was final.

They sat on the rock, looking out at the stunning landscape that was fading rapidly in the receding sunlight. A sudden gust of wind ruffled their hair and rustled the leaves in the trees. Aditi shivered.

"Maybe we should try to find a way to the temple, one last time", ventured Vivek.

"No", said Aditi, "It's getting very dark. Besides, if they come looking for us, they have a better chance of finding us if we are in one place."

Vivek didn't argue with that logic. For all his bravado, he was getting jittery.

The sun had gone down. They could barely see anything even a few feet away. Unfamiliar noises punctuated the silence, and unseen insects called out intermittently.

The whispering sounds of the shadowy forests set Aditi quivering with terror. She drew her legs close to her body, and hugged them tight. Vivek drew closer to Aditi, and put a comforting arm around her.

"I can't hear anything, and I can't see anything", Aditi said, miserably. "Perhaps we should light a fire.”

"Raghav has explicitly warned us against it, Aditi. A lot of dry leaves in this area. And winds too. There are high chances of a forest fire."

"But I can't bear it, Vivek - "

"Look!"

Aditi looked in the direction Vivek was pointing. Through the trees, they could see a faint light bobbing up and down.

A spasm of fear shot up through her spine before she realized what it could be.

"They have come! They found us!" Aditi exclaimed. She stood up and waved her arms, jumping. "Here! We are here!"

The light came closer. Out of the trees emerged a man, holding a lantern. It was not anybody they knew.

He was a middle-aged man, cleanshaven, greying slightly around his temples. He had a large mole on his nose. He was dressed in a brown jubba of a coarse fabric, and was wearing a faded white dhoti.

"Lost?" He asked.

"Yes", said Vivek, "We got separated from the rest of our group. We are supposed to stay at the Mailareshwara temple premises tonight. Can you tell us how to reach the place?"

The man nodded. "I'll take you there. Follow me."

It was as if someone had infused new life into Aditi and Vivek. They stood up quickly and picked up their things. The man had already started off through the trees, and they walked swiftly to catch up with him.

"This is not an easy forest to navigate if you are new to it", said the man. "But it is gorgeous, don't you think?" He looked over his shoulder. "The Western Ghats are home to some of the most beautiful and rare species of plants in the world."

Vivek and Aditi struggled to keep pace with him.

"Do you live in these forests?" Vivek asked.

"Yes".

"Where?"

"Oh, close by", said the man with a vague wave of his free hand. "Watch your step. That stretch is slippery."

The man turned, and held the lantern high in the air to light up their way. The light from the lantern fell on his sharp features, casting deep shadows on his face. It gave his features an unearthly look.

He resumed walking, soundlessly and effortlessly. He strode through the bushes and rocks and trees as comfortably as if he were walking in his home, amidst familiar furniture.

“Have you lived here a long time?" Aditi asked.

"Yes."

They continued the night-time trek. Leaves and branches brushed against them from time to time, startling them. The walk seemed endless. Aditi started getting apprehensive.

"How are you sure he is taking us to the temple? " She whispered to Vivek. "What if he takes us somewhere else and robs us?"

"You watch too many movies. Don't worry." Vivek was hurrying to keep the man in sight.

The man continued to glide along, pointing out shrubs and trees in the darkness.

"This is a silk-cotton tree", he said, indicating a massive, dark figure. "It has sharp thorns on its trunk. According to mythology, a Rakshasa, running away from his pursuers, climbed the tree, and as he did so, plucked off his teeth and stuck them on the trunk of the tree so that they couldn't climb up after him."

"Interesting!" Vivek exclaimed.

"That is a very old tamarind tree. You know what they say about tamarind trees, don't you?"

"That ghosts live in it?" Aditi said.

"Yes!" The man said. "Have you met any ghosts in your life?"

"No."

"Hmmm. Well, there is always a first time."

Aditi looked at Vivek questioningly. But it was too dark to make out his expression.

The man glanced over his shoulder. "Don't you believe in ghosts?"

"No."

"That's good. It wouldn't have been easy sitting all alone in the darkness if you did."

They didn't answer. Aditi had taken Vivek's arm. She was feeling uneasy. Her heart was thudding, whether with the effort of walking or with panic, she couldn't say.

It was pitch dark by now. A cicada called out persistently from somewhere. The man slowed down, holding the lantern aloft. It cast terrifying shadows in the murky jungle, and Vivek and Aditi walked close together, slowly, and guardedly.

The moon was a tiny sliver in the night sky. The thick forest seemed to press in upon them in the darkness.

“I can't bear it any more.” Aditi was in tears.

"Is it a long way off?" Vivek asked. He was also restless now.

"Nearly there."

They stepped out into a large clearing. They could see the indistinct form of a temple gopura, silhouetted against the night sky. A path led from where they stood to a low parapet, which seemed to form the boundary of the temple premises.

The man stopped. "There it is."

Aditi felt a flood of relief wash over her. She couldn't wait to get to the predictability of a man-made structure.

Vivek turned to the man. "I don't know how to thank you. If not for you....."

The man smiled. "Not a big deal. Your companions would have rescued you anyway. Now hurry. They will be waiting for you."

"And you?"

"Back home!" The man's eyes twinkled, and he waved them away.

Aditi and Vivek stepped out on to the path that led to the temple, and nearly ran towards the reassuring structure.

They jumped over the waist-high parapet. About fifty feet away was the back of the temple. From behind that came the sound of voices, and a vague, hazy, glow of light.

Vivek turned back to see if the man was still there. He wasn't, and neither could he see the light of the lantern. Vivek shuddered.

They went round the temple, the walls of which were carved with large, grotesque figures that seemed to look down upon them in disapproval. Aditi felt an uncomfortable tingling at the back of her neck, and fear was still stuck in her throat. They hurried past the crude figures. It was clear that this temple wasn't famed for its architectural beauty, but for the setting it was in. It was obvious that, come morning, the sights from there would be a wonder to behold.

They arrived at a courtyard, flanked on one side by the temple, and open to the hills on the opposite side. The other two sides had large buildings built in the style of old homes, with a raised platform supported by pillars, covered with a tiled, sloping roof. From the platform, small doors opened out into shadowy little rooms. These were probably the rooms they would stay in that night, Vivek thought.

There was activity, and the sound of vessels from one of the rooms nearby. A heavenly aroma of freshly cooked food wafted towards them, and they realized how hungry they were.

A couple of string cots and mats were spread out in the middle of the courtyard, and some lanterns lent a pale glow to the atmosphere. Their friends were sitting there, talking animatedly. Aditi felt a sudden pang. Hadn't they thought of going in search of their lost companions?

On the raised platform, leaning against a pillar, sat a very old man. He was dressed in a white dhoti, and a beige shawl covered his upper torso. His yellowing hair was tied up in a small knot at the back of his head. A moustache nearly covered his mouth, and his beard reached his chest. He was deeply engrossed in a book.

Vivek and Aditi walked up to their group, relief written all over their faces. Someone in the group looked up and exclaimed loudly. The next moment, a few had clambered to their feet, and a couple of them trotted up to the them, welcoming them warmly.

There was a flurry of voices.

"Where were you? We turned and you were gone!"

"How did you find your way back?"

Raghav spoke. "I went back along the track as soon as I realized that you were missing. You seemed to have disappeared without a trace."

Vivek said, "We were trying to find our way. We must have been somewhere in the trees when you came looking for us."

"Oh", said Raghav. "Anyway, I dropped the others here, and then went back immediately with Vasant. I couldn't find my way. It was getting dark, and so I came back for stronger torches or lanterns. Shastrigalu --" He pointed to the old man sitting against the pillar. "The priest, Shastrigalu, said that there was no need for us to go looking for you – that you would come back on your own."

"I didn't really believe him.” Raghav continued softly. “At this very moment, I was making plans of going back into the forest in search of you."

He resumed in his normal voice. "We were worried. Great to see you back safe. Not a very pleasant place, this. Unnerving, don't you think? Anyway, how did you find your way back?"

Aditi answered. "We met a man who led us here."

"Who-"

"A man, quite creepy, I should say. He had a mole on his nose, he said he lived in the forest."

"I knew he wouldn't fail you.” Shastrigalu spoke suddenly.

The voice was very strong for such an old man. Everybody turned and looked at the priest.

He spoke again. "I knew he would find you and bring you here, safe. That is why I asked this young man not to take the trouble of going back to look for you."

"Oh, do you know that man?" Vivek asked.

"Everybody knows him", said the priest, paused, and then added mysteriously, "And yet, nobody really knows him."

"What do you mean? Have you met him?" Vivek pressed.

"Oh yes, I meet him all the time. The first time I met him was many years ago, when I was a boy of eight or so. My father was the priest of this temple then. I had gone to the jungle looking for Kaulikayi, and had got lost. This man showed me the way back."

Vivek laughed. "Oh, then it cannot be the same person, Shastrigale! This was a middle-aged man, much younger than you are!"

Shastrigalu smiled. His mouth appeared from behind the yellow beard. There were spaces where his teeth used to be.

His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. He enunciated each word slowly and deliberately. "It is the same man", he said. "He was middle-aged then, he is middle-aged now. He will be middle-aged long after you and I are gone."

The night suddenly seemed to grow cold. His words hung uncomfortably in the air, thick with silence. A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. Cicadas chirped from somewhere, and the hissing kerosene stoves from the kitchen were not heard any longer.

Aditi's heart throbbed.

"Is he... is he a ghost?"

Shastrigalu smiled. "Call him what you want. A ghost, a guiding spirit – how does it matter?"

There was a hush. Vivek and Aditi looked at each other. Nobody spoke.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Shastrigalu asked. He smiled and shut the book.

Vivek had trouble finding his voice. “Are you.... quite sure that he is the same man that you met when you were a boy? Perhaps you had met this man's father?"

"You youngsters ask too many questions."

Shastrigalu got up with some effort. He picked up the walking stick which was leaning against the pillar.

"There need not be an explanation for everything, you know."

He shuffled through the corridor. "Now, go and have dinner." He paused and looked sidelong at them. "You have a long night ahead of you. A very..... long...... night."

Everybody looked on uncertainly as Shastrigalu continued on his way.

At the far end of the dark corridor, there was a movement. A figure seemed to appear out of the darkness. It approached Shastrigalu noiselessly. As it came nearer, they discerned it to be the figure of a man. As the man drew closer, they caught a glimpse of his face by the light of the lanterns.

The man had a large mole on his nose.

Aditi gasped and clutched Vivek's arm. There was a sharp intake of breath from someone in the gathering.

The activity from the kitchen had ceased.

The man came closer. Everybody seemed to be rooted to the ground.

Shastrigalu, who had been walking away unsteadily, stopped and turned around. "Hmmm. I didn't mention that he lives here, did I? I hope this will not change your plans for the night. Not that you have anywhere else to go."

There was a deafening silence, for what seemed like an eternity.

A sudden and dramatic laughter rang out, breaking the silence. It was the man with the mole.

“Appa, just look at their faces!” He said.

There was confusion. Everybody turned to look at Shastrigalu. He was shaking with noiseless laughter.

“Appa, now they probably think you are a ghost too! A father-son ghost duo!” The man with the mole laughed even louder.

The priest's laughter turned into a spasm of coughing. When it subsided, he spoke in a hoarse voice. "This is Bhaskara. My son. Knows the forest like the back of his hand. I sent him to bring the two of you back."

He continued. "You youngsters claim to have modern views, analytical thinking. You claim not to believe in the supernatural." He paused. "Got frightened anyway, didn't you?"

Shastrigalu shook his head slowly, turned again, leaned on his cane and started hobbling away. He looked over his shoulder. The group was still standing there, looking after him, open-mouthed.

His toothless mouth appeared again from behind his beard.

"What are you looking at me like that for? Aren't old people allowed to have a sense of humour?"

Bhaskara was now laughing so much that he had to hold on to a pillar to support himself.

"It never fails to work!" He said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Just trying to add a little spice to a lonely life, you see. You must excuse our little joke. Now come, the dinner is getting cold!"