Love and the Dark Night

FIVE

I turned my head, but found the place next to me empty. The breath getting hotter by the second, I made an attempt to open the door, but found myself unable to move an inch. I couldn’t see who was there, but this invisible presence sat beside me.  

Two roads bifurcated ahead, and the driver took the left one.

“Where does the right one go? You are going to ask me, sir. I will say it goes to the neighbourhood.”

“Will you take me there later? is your next question. And I will say, “Yes sir, but first finish off with the Ancient City. It will take quite a while to complete the entire city ground. Are you a tourist, sir?”

“No, no, no.” I didn’t this say but he knew this was my next question.

I tasted the scene around. The quaintness of the huts caught my eyes. To the left of an open cemented yard five hillocks of husked rice stood with a winnowing machine. Behind this yard three children were busy playing hop-scotch, the place marked with red lines. Behind them a field stretched, and beyond that an endless line of palm trees. And further ahead, the cloudy sky. It was quite familiar, this place, as if someone was telling me all that fell in front of my eyes.

The cab driver was an expert with his vehicle, gliding it through narrow lanes and roads as easily as a jungle boy dashing among trees and jumping over scattered boulders. The vehicle then went down a narrow road lined with a few houses, before taking a left turn; then suddenly the river appeared to your right, its muddy surface glistening like the dull skin of a lazing python. A few shops and some factory offices and warehouses lined the left. From here if you looked ahead, your eye caught a high wall.  

This was The Ancient City.

As I stepped inside through the ten-foot high teak wood gate, I stumbled over the thick wooden planks. But my fall was cushioned by a pair of soft hands and the picture of a woman flashed past. Thank you, whoever you are. But it was kind of creepy, and cold sweat running down my spine.

Someone in my head pointed out, telling me in his soft growly voice and I entered the Bhimbetka Caves through the open door. Besides, there were two large gunmetal demon heads as decorative knockers. Zero power bulbs glowing from glass torches fixed to the cave wall showed the way through the twists and turns. I bent my head at the uneven roof, sometimes quite low, and at other times not quite high. As I proceeded ahead, suddenly a rough swish and a sensation of an invisible force about to strike at my neck came down’ and in that split second I brought my head down in a flash. A crashing noise followed on the rocks behind me. A fist-size portion of the hard blackish brown rocky wall of the cave was dented. Phew, that was close, that punch would have damaged my skull.

The voice said: The wrongs of the ancestors are to be borne by the next generation. And no sooner did the voice utter the last word than warm breath fell on my shoulder with more intensity.   

After about five hundred metres through the cave-path, the other mouth of the cave opened out to the outside world. And there, in the middle, was some kind of a gathering. Young adults, around twenty-five years of age, holding candles were looking at the darkening sky. Others were sipping hard drinks from brass glasses, and attendants stood with little brass goblets of wine next to the drinkers. The drinkers’ features were strangely familiar with the Singh family. Pondering over his, I touched my nose. Anything familiar? The voice questioned. Ignoring the voice, I ran my hand over my forehead – the same three horizontal lines furrowed deeply cut by a vertical scar, the cheekbones high to a sight degree, the forehead broad. All these people had the same features.

Words like Solar storm reached my ears. And when I moved towards the clay water goblet on the left, two youths were standing at the Qutub Minar entrance. They were not there when I had swept my eyes all over the place awhile before. Their forehead was plastered with dried blood, their eyes droopy. They had the smell and cold feel of the little girl on the road. People around them continued laughing and screaming and did not feel the presence of the cold-feel dead look of the youths. 

“Hi sweetie.” A female voice reached my ears.

I turned. A young lady was looking at me. Her nose familiar to someone’s, her lips had the semi-thickness as someone I knew. Yes, Anais. But this lady was not she, yet she was Anais.

“I’m not Anais,” she said, whispering in a husky voice. “But I’m she. Don’t be surprised at my words, but what I tell you is true, as true as one bone of the body attached to the other to form a whole structure. One incident joined to another, in different situations, yet they form an entire story. An entire episode.” She looked, her eyes narrowing into deep concentrated pools of blue-grey glistening stones. “Your paternal grandfather had a band of thugs and murderers working under him. And though he himself did not kill, he was a commander of killing and colonizing over lands and the people who rightfully owned them. My father resisted his land from being taken away. But Jashwant Singh – I hate to utter the name – the wicked man, yes, your granddad sent his men one dark night when the wind was howling in the trees. My grandfather was sleeping, and so was the entire household. The thugs swooped upon the sleepers. But my grandpa woke up with the slightest noise coming from the back yard. He tiptoed out, with the unsheathed sword in his hand. But he had barely stepped out when three thugs caught him from behind and brought him bound to the detestable Jashwant Singh. Singh ordered his head to be chopped and brought to him in a platter. The youngsters of our family were brought bound. They were turned to slaves. The ladies were put into prostitution.” The woman paused. Bringing her face forward, she peered into my eyes. “I was one of them. Day in day out, we were to sleep with men. At times, thirty-nine of them used me one by one, till my body turned to a ruined fortress. By this time, your grandpa filled his coffers with money by owning forty-seven brothels and twenty-seven thousand slaves working under him in lands which he had forcibly taken. He had thousand and one cows. He took all the profits.”

Looking at her and thinking all she said was her imagination running riot, I said, “Just because you are saying doesn’t mean it’s true.”

She scoffed. “Look,” she said, lifting her sari and exposing her shin. A mark like the root of a tree in miniature form stood out dark brown against her fair skin.

I lost my breath for a while. The five fibrous roots, with fine hair from their sides, all were alike. Anais had the same kind of birthmark on her scalp above the left ear.

*

The sky darkened further without warning and everyone’s eyes went up. Like the calm before a storm, a blaze of light took over the darkness. Reddish-purple-blue it was. A mini Milky Way of sorts. Voices went yelling and screaming at the wondrous scene. The massive monument of the Qutub Minar structure piercing the sky for a good seventy-five metres loomed over everyone around. I gave furtive glances. Yes, some force was pulling me from within. A wave-like great disturbance rolled inside my mind. The constructed towers; the rock-cut Ajanta Caves; the Great Wall of China; the Sun Temple dominating the central part; and the avenue of twenty red-stone pillars, with the impressive standing Buddha statue 15.8 metres high – they closed in from all sides. A rush of balmy wind, smelling of marsh and bog soil, attacked my nostrils. I struggled to breathe. My lungs were hungry for air. When I was about to collapse, when my lungs were without any air, a figure appeared beyond the group of human beings, from the darkness behind, from the top of the Ajanta Caves. The figure’s hands were outstretched like Christ’s figure in crucifixion fashion. Next, it tilted from the edge of the rocks. Soon a massive frightful thud reached everyone’s ears. The ladies squealed and everyone jerked their heads back.  

I made an endeavour and rushed forward with painful lungs, but I staggered and fell. I pointed out. The youngster next to me lifted me by the arm and we braved through the crowd. Seeing us others followed. People had forgotten their tryst with the solar storm. Festival was over.

Next to the big rock a figure was lying, hands and legs spread eagled, head to one side. Torches picked up the head, and below it blood. I pushed the two onlookers in front of me and when I got a further inspective look, a familiar face loomed up. Rudi’s face. Yes. Mine. 

Intuition held my neck and turned it, and the three youths with blood-plastered foreheads had their eyes piercing into mine, their mouths turned into a smile.            

A mad rush. People were yelling. Murder! Suicide! Guards!   

They were running away from the scene of the suicide. I was alone on the ground. The three shadowy youths fixed their eyes at me. They approached forward.

Another youth appeared, his face hazy. Though slim, he rushed towards the youths. His hands outstretched, he put his hand on his chest and thrust it forward. An orange-yellow light projected out from his hand and in a trice he had reached closer to the youths. He struck them with his hand. One of them suddenly turned and struck at this lone youth with a dagger of light on his shoulder. The blade plunged deep into his bone. Now, with only his left hand he swung his weapon left and right with flashing speed. The light hit one of the villains on his head, and he lay on the ground, groaning. The second one jumped from one rock to another. When the lone youngster was busy avoiding the other's attack, the third opponent jumped and landed his weapon on my chest. An excruciating pain overpowered me. The lone youth struck the second shadowy youngster and he lay injured, nursing his stomach. The youth leapt from his position and was beside me. He rested his hand on my chest and simultaneously attacked the third opponent. And as soon as the flash of the orange-yellow glow of the weapon landed on his stomach, he lay on the ground, rubbing his hurt body. The youth flashed out something from his pouch and rested it on my chest. He smiled with a smirk. He patted the injured spot on my chest and I stood up. But as my energy began to rush into my veins, I held my chest and collapsed immediately.

I tried recalling his face behind his misty appearance, but I was far from successful. I got up and drank from the water dispenser, turning my face all around. No one was in sight. My body could not be seen anywhere. Everyone gathered around to watch the display of the solar storm was not there. Not a single clue of any of the incident was present. I didn’t know how long I kept on sitting there, but realizing I had rested for a while, I got up.

“That’s not your body, you dumbo. That’s your grandfather dying for his sins. And this,” the voice moved his hand over the expanse of the Ancient City, “is the graveyard where your fuc...g ancestors buried their victims.”

I pressed my head with both my hands. A mad rush of an army of colours swirled and mixed in my head. A boulder came rushing down.  

“Ahhhh… No….”