While we were returning in an awkward mini-bus, bursting with people, that Chiranjeev had arranged for us, we made our acquaintance with an old man who sat nervously in the middle of the seat that Bhrigu and I shared. He had already taken his place beside my friend before I could claim it and hence I had to contend with occupying the aisle seat and risking a couple of village women dangling over me, threatening to fall into my lap with every small bump in the road.
‘Nataraj Bhakti had gone into a stupor when we told him of our decision to leave.’ I said, shouting over the din produced by the chattering of a million people stuffed inside the bus. ‘I thought he might go into a coma.’
‘The poor man had gotten into the way of thinking that our staying there had anything to do with the phantom keeping at bay.’ he replied, raising his voice just a note above his normal.
‘And do you feel so?’
‘My feelings do not matter, Sutte.’ he replied. ‘Even if I say ‘Yes’, its hardly going to solve the crisis. So why bother?’
‘Do you think his troubles are over?’
‘That we will see.’
‘And’ I said after a thought. ‘What did you and Savita talk about when we were leaving?’
‘Nothing much.’ he said. ‘I told her to take care of herself and she asked me to be the keeper of her secret. No one should know anything. Not even her elder brother.’
‘Oh.’ I said and added almost involuntarily. ‘Did she say anything to you about me?’
‘About you?’ he said, surprised at first and then his lips curled into a suggestion of mischief. ‘Why yes. She said that she is crazy about you.’
‘R…really?!’ I cried, almost faint with the pleasant shock but then as he burst into laughter, I realized that he had played one of his cruel jokes at me. Curse him.
At this point, the septuagenarian, who was sitting between us, coughed gently. He first looked at Bhrigu as a man groping in the dark and then repeated the procedure with me. Clearly, behind those thick glasses the condition of his eyes was less than satisfactory. ‘Son’ he finally said in a thick, tremulous voice. ‘Do you, by any chance, know Nataraj Bhakti?’
‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘Why?’
‘H…he is a good friend of mine.’ he replied, pleased.
‘Really?’ I said and refrained to ask anything else. These old people have a tendency to break into a story if you happen to encourage them in the slightest. And this man, judging by his slow, tiresome way of speaking looked the perfect example of that species. He had an aura of a thoroughbred talker and I knew better than to provoke him in any way.
He waited impatiently for me to ask further questions and I could see that in the way he tapped his walking stick but I kept my mouth resolutely shut. My friend was watching out the window, lost by now, in his own thoughts and hence I was safe from any query arising from his side.
‘I am the Pradhan of Krishna Dwar Gram.’ he helped himself, after observing that he was not going to get entertained in anyway. ‘Bulla Ram Prakash.’
‘Good to know that.’ I said, hoping to nip the chatter in its bud.
‘I know Raj beta, from when he was but a boy.’ he continued, and I understood with a sinking feeling that all my precautions had failed. ‘He is a good man. Humble and respectful.’
‘He sure is.’
‘But tell me, what is this matter of phantoms you talk about?’
‘Oh nothing.’ I replied, getting irritated by his unwanted interference. ‘We were just talking about an old movie we saw. That’s all. Your friend had become quite frightened after watching it.’
‘Oh’ he replied and grinned broadly. I could see that he had only two canines in his upper jaw and the rest of the teeth were conspicuously absent. ‘I too, am afraid of ghosts. It once happened that…’
‘Sir’ I said, panicked at the prospect of being the next in the long line of victims he must have claimed till now. ‘I…I am now going to sleep.’
‘Oh’ he replied as if crushed. As I closed my eyes and pretended to drift into slumber, a man must have approached us as I could hear his happy voice. ‘Pranam, Bulla Chacha. Where are you off to?’
‘Sakha, you?’ he replied, pleased again. ‘I am going to the Tuesday market. Dr. Prapanch has called for a check up.’
‘So at last he has come.’ said the other man. ‘He has been absconding for the last two months.’
‘Yes. But how can you blame him. Every other doctor does the same.’
‘Hmm’
‘And you?’
‘The usual.’
‘Right.’ Bulla Ram replied. ‘You are a very hard working man.’
I could not know what ‘the usual’ was, of course.
There was a silence of about five minutes when the man resumed. ‘You know, Chacha, I was hoping we could change our house.’
‘Why, son?’ replied an alarmed Bulla Ram. ‘Yours is a house where lived three generations.’
‘Yes’ he replied somberly. ‘But we have no peace nowadays. The family living next to us fight with each other so much that the noise becomes quiet unbearable sometimes. You know, they have a habit of dragging their fight outside, where there kitchen is, and the woman hurls whatever utensil she finds, sometimes directed at her husband and sometimes in the general direction of her anger. My son, Puttan, got hurt by a flying vessel. I had to ship him to the district hospital. So much blood was coming out of his head.’
‘Shiv! Shiv!’ cried Bulla Ram, stirred to the depths. In his agitated state he struck his walking stick against the floor of the bus. ‘That’s outrageous!’
‘Yes’ went on Sakha. His voice had become more animated with emotion as he found an eager listener in the elderly. ‘We are having such a hard rime. My wife and Lakshmi, who lives next door, are good friends and she tried to talk some sense into her but…but my wife says that she behaved like a woman possessed! She was out for her husband’s blood!’ He gulped visibly and began again. ‘It’s strange considering the fact that only a few months ago, the husband and wife were living happily with their five children. Not a bitter word we heard that they spoke against each other. None.’
‘Now when you s…say it.’ Bulla Ram said slowly but carefully. ‘I have also observed that domestic fights have increased in this village. Only a little while ago, everything was as peaceful as in the next village but…but then complaints started coming to the Panch about petty issues of domestic life. Previously, they used to solve their problems by tact and understanding but…but now it seems like the slightest of troubles is enough to throw them at each other’s neck! Only yesterday, a disgruntled Ram Manohar…’ And here he went on to narrate a squabble from the above mentioned person’s married life.
I don’t know when I drifted off to sleep but when I woke up, I found that Bulla Ram had gotten off and that sight gave me a lot of pleasure.
The bus dropped us at the Krishna Dwar Railway Station and a five hours journey in the train took us back home. We parted ways at Patna station, deciding to meet the next day at Bhrigu’s house for lunch. I reached the shack (My house was called ‘The Shack’) barely before sun set and received form my servant, Kamla Nath, the information that my parents where going to pay me a visit for a couple of days. They had fallen into the annoying habit of calling my servant cum caretaker instead of me owning to the one indisputable fact that he was way more excited to hear of their arrival than I ever was. The reason for my apparent callousness is simple. I love my old folks to distraction but I had recently observed that after the 55th birth anniversary of my father, he had become quiet stubborn in his ways, especially those that involved me. Previously, I could easily avoid the topic of my potential engagement in the ‘Sutte Rubber tyres and Spare parts’ but as the days wore on after his aforementioned birthday, I found that I was having a hard time extricating myself from the grotesque discussion. He would burn down my defenses with one searing look of the eye and then as I stood before him, weak and defenseless, he would embark on an unbearable lecture of how it was my duty to take care of the family business by accepting to succeed after him. Whatever I said these days had no effect on him and my mother, as usual, remained a silent spectator, watching her son get mauled by this grizzly entrepreneur. Reason, entreaties, blackmail, he withstood all with the will of a man out to do business, if you could pardon the pun, that is. To my evergreen answer of ‘I am not cut out for all of this’, he substituted his standard ‘Oh, alright. I said it because it was my duty to say so.’ with an ‘Oh, Stop it, will you? Everyone is cut out for anything only if they put their mind and heart to it. ‘Sutte Rubber tyres and Spare parts’ runs in your blood. I will have none of the usual nonsense.’
So you can clearly see why I was ignoring his calls lately. But like a shrewd business man he had found a way to out-maneuver my every stealthy move.
I had to cancel my lunch with Bhrigu because Kamla Nath came running to me with the phone still glued to his ear to inform me that my parents were due today afternoon. With that knowledge, came the going-to-the-station-receiving party-making-them-comfortable-in-the-house routine. After that, I got so busy dodging my father and trying to keep my head above water in general that I forgot all about the mystery that had come at the heels of my friend and I. One phone call from Bhrigu, though, was enough to seal the event in my memory for eternity. I can never forget the raw, pulsating pain; the sheer anguish in his voice when he said-
‘Sutte, where the hell have you disappeared?’
‘I…I was caught up in some domestic problems.’
‘Well, hold your problems right where they are.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we have a greater one on our hands.’ he replied with a catch in his voice. ‘Savita…’
‘Savita?!’ I cried, panicking at the thought of any harm done to her. ‘What about her?’
‘She is dead.’