'I n all Rs 5,' the vegetable seller told Atal, and then, turning to the man standing next to him, said, 'and yours Rs 4.50.'
'Add some dhania and hari mirch. That's the main reason I buy vegetable from you,' the man said.
Atal looked at the shopkeeper expectantly, hoping he would put some in his bag too.
'Good! Put some in his bag too, after all he has also bought from you,' his unknown companion said, pointing towards Atal.
'Thank you,' Atal murmured both to his companion and the vegetable seller.
'Are you from here? I mean Shimla?'
'No. I am from Ahmedabad. My sister has been living here since she got married,' Atal replied. 'You must be from Shimla.'
'Yes, I work in the Accountant General's office. Are you here on holiday?' his companion asked as they climbed up towards the Lower Bazaar.
'Well, not exactly. It's been a month since I came here on doctor's advice. In fact, today is the first day I have come out.'
His companion stopped abruptly, causing the woman and small child behind them to nearly collide with him in the buzzing bazaar. Startled, Atal looked at him enquiringly.
'You look healthy to me… What has the doctor diagnosed?' his companion asked, beginning to walk again.
Atal was embarrassed. These paharis! They ask such personal questions! He didn't even know the man's name. Besides, he was in no mood to discuss his illness.
His companion, unaware of the discomfiture he had caused Atal, went on, 'Do you know Shimla was used as a sanatorium by the British?'
'Was it? I had no idea,' Atal said, relieved that the man was not insisting on being told what ailed him.
'Yes. The place was first selected for rejuvenating invalids or those Britishers who could not cope with the hot sultry weather of Calcutta. Gradually houses were built and later the Viceroy decided to shift the summer capital of the Raj here.'
'That's interesting,' said Atal.
'The Viceroys and Commander-in-Chiefs must have thought that it would be better to shift the capital to Shimla in summers as most of their officers were already here on "sick leave" or for holidays,' his companion chuckled, and then asked suddenly, 'Where does your sister reside?'
'At Sanjauli.'
For the second time his companion stopped abruptly. This time, a man did bump into him in the overcrowded Lower Bazaar.
'Why are you still here? Hurry up or you will miss the last bus to Sanjauli,' he said urgently.
'Oh I know, but I am not going by bus. I will walk back. I have to buy some groceries from a shop up ahead. Don't worry, my sister explained the directions to me,' said Atal, trying to calm his companion down.
'Okay, but you must hurry!' the man said looking worried. By this time they had reached a crossing from where Atal had to head in a different direction. He bid his companion goodbye and had hardly walked a few feet when he heard the man's unmistakable booming voice: 'Don't get late! The Snowdon-Sanjauli road is deserted at this time.' Surprised, Atal turned to ask what he meant by that, but the man had disappeared amongst the moving crowd.
Atal first stopped at a shop to buy his groceries and then decided to go to Minerva Bookstore to buy a book about Shimla's history. His companion had aroused his interest in Shimla's past.
'When does the Minerva Bookstore close, the one on the Mall?' he asked the shopkeeper.
'It might be closed by now, it is nearly 8.30 PM. Maybe if you hurry you will be lucky,' the shopkeeper replied.
He reached the bookstall just in time; the salesmen were about to leave and half the shutters were already down.
'Excuse me, I want to buy a book,' he said to the first person he saw at the counter.
'Which one?' the man asked politely.
Some minutes later Atal walked to Baljees Restaurant for a cup of coffee. He liked the cosy atmosphere in the restaurant; he felt comfortable enough to spend time there, browsing through his new book. Absorbed in the history of the town, he barely noticed the hours go by. When he called the waiter to order his fourth cup of coffee he was told the restaurant was closing for the night.
'Sorry, sir. But it's nearly 11 o' clock. Can I bring you your bill?' the waiter asked.
Atal stared at the waiter. Eleven already! Where had the time gone? He paid the bill, tucked the voluminous book under his armpit and stood up to leave.
'Which hotel are you staying in, sir?' the beaming waiter asked, as he picked up the bill along with the tip.
'Oh, I am not staying in a hotel. I am staying in Sanjauli with…' Atal stopped when he saw the look on the waiter's face.
'What is it? Did I say something wrong?' he asked anxiously.
'It's very late sir. How will you go to Sanjauli?'
'It's just a half hour walk from here, isn't it?' Atal said, taken aback by the waiter's reaction.
'You are not a local, that's why you haven't heard about the road.'
'Heard what?'
'Nothing, nothing…' the waiter said quickly, feeling that the outsider would think him a fool. 'But, you better hurry. If you find some other person going that way, accompany him. It is better to be two than one,' the waiter said cryptically before disappearing into the pantry.
Baffled, Atal left the restaurant. He wondered what was wrong with the Sanjauli Road that the two people he had spoken to had reacted thus. He had been for short walks on it a couple of times in the morning, and had enjoyed the shady, quiet road.
The cool crisp night air ruffled his hair as he climbed the steps adjoining the Municipal Corporation building near the Police Reporting Room on to the Ridge. Enjoying the weather, and feeling happy that he was out and healthy once again, he walked briskly, whistling softly. Just as he passed Snowdon Hospital he heard the screams of a woman. Someone must have died, he thought. Immediately, as if someone had thrown cold water on him, his mood changed. Death is so frightening, he thought. Imagine losing someone dear to you. How final it all was. God give them strength, he prayed as he walked on.
It struck Atal odd that he had not met anyone after he had left the restaurant. His eyes scanned the darkness to see if there was anyone ahead. Apart from the silhouettes of the tall conifer and oak trees that lined both sides of the road, he could see nothing. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, a cold fear gripped him.
'This is ridiculous, in twenty minutes I am going to reach Sanjauli,' he said aloud. An uneasy feeling was overpowering him. There is nothing to be scared of, he reassured himself. But the fear did not pass. He remembered the waiter's face at Baljees. Atal still didn't understand what he had meant, but there was something about the waiter's behaviour that troubled him now. He could feel the sweat in both his palms as he tightly clutched his bags.
Suddenly, something overcame him when he reached the water bauri. His legs became heavy as lead. He had to muster all his strength to make them move. The atmosphere seemed to take on an eerie feel. Petrified, he did not notice the man in white until he was just a few steps away. At the same moment, he felt as if someone had passed by him and was now behind him. He looked around quickly but could not see anyone. He panicked. He turned in front. No one there either. Where had the man in white gone? Or were there two men? Wanting to scream he forced himself to walk on. Finally he passed the bauri. Almost immediately, the heaviness in his legs vanished just as suddenly as it had come.
I was just getting paranoid, he told himself and tried to smile, but failed. A few minutes later he heard voices ahead of him. He started praying and muttering 'om, om, om'. The fear that had subsided gripped his whole being again.
The voices were becoming louder and clearer. As he turned the next curve in the road, he could see two figures. 'Oh God! Please help me,' he moaned.
'Excuse me, how far is the Mall from here?' enquired a young voice.
Atal almost laughed out loud with relief. They were just youngsters! 'It'll take you about twenty minutes,' he replied.
'Twenty minutes?' the boy said, turning to his companion, 'You said we should reach in another five minutes!'
'Oh, shut up! It's nothing, can't you walk this little…' their voices faded as Atal moved on ahead, mocking himself for his fears.
'Oranges. Sweet oranges.' Atal turned. The voice had come from the rain shelter. Peering into the darkness, he approached the sitting figure. 'What? Are you selling oranges? Now?' he asked as he stopped near the fruit seller.
'Anyway, it's a relief to see you. I will take a dozen. How much?' Atal asked as he squatted to choose the best fruits. It was then that he saw the man's hands. They were lying lifeless on both sides of the tokra: they were blackish and hairy…and were turned inwards!
Atal shuddered. He stumbled backwards, picked himself up and ran away from the shelter. The tinkling of a bicycle bell ahead slowed him down and he cried, 'Stop, stop! Don't go ahead. There is a man…a man selling oranges. He has different kinds of hands…Please don't go there,' he wailed, not quite knowing what he was saying. He could feel the sweat pouring down his back as he clutched the handle of the bicycle.
'Were his hands like this?' the calm voice penetrated his disoriented mind. Atal stared down at the bicycle handle that he was holding. Right next to his, was a pair of the same grotesque hands.
He slumped down unconscious on the spot.