An odious journey : Chapter 1

Chapter 1

There are corners in this large house, that whisper evil chants, where I often feel a presence, an odious one. Dark and evil corners, where lies slithering and groaning vile creatures, spewing venom. They all have one color, pitch black, but many gaping mouths and gnarled tongues. They all have just one master. The master of this house, with an evil grin and monstrous guffaw. These whispers seek me out, no matter where I am, they always float their way to my ears, my soul. The serpents dance to his tunes. He can conjure them with his horrendous whispers. Whispers that send chills down your spine, eerie sibilance echoes from these corners.

But do you want to know the strangest thing of all, the master and his evilness can be seen only by the chosen ones? And he had chosen me. To torment, night after night, as I lie in bed praying, chanting the prayers I was taught as a child, counting my prayer beads, keeping these hungry clamoring souls at bay.

How long will I hold them back, one day the master’s commands will be heeded and they will come to carry me off, to smothering darkness, to lick the flesh off my skin with their grating tongues, to blanket me in eddies of the pitch-black pit, to live as one of them, to live as one among them.

Chapter 2

Sreenilayam

Like any married woman, my world is my husband, my house, and its inmates. Six years ago when I walked into its dimly lit chambers, I was awed by its sheer vastness. I strolled its expanses, red cool floor, and creaky stairs, with the wonder of a little girl, lost in a timeless wilderness.

In Sreenilayam, day and night don’t seem like opposites; they are one and the same. Other than the first room--where windows open out to wavy green hills and yonder, an endless forest lies sleeping in its stillness—all other rooms are built in such a way that one cascades the other forming a train of chambers that open and close on both ends, with two rooms that open to the right and left, in the center of the entire house.

Because of its structure, once the entrance door is locked, an eerie silence settles in every corner, not a ray of light can inveigle its way to the house's interiors. Every whisper is echoed many times.

Once Sree leaves for work, all day long, I wander its near-empty rooms, giggling to myself, relishing the echoing giggles, as if many of my childhood friends have been cajoled into the mysterious house. I walk in slow steps and then I run, with my anklet laughing in a thousand jingles.

An old woman comes every day at dawn and does the cleaning and mopping. If it was not for Bhavaniamma, cleaning this enormous house would have been a terrifying prospect. She comes with her magic wand, a few swishes here, a few there as if on command all dried leaves that fall during the night is gathered in one heap. I don’t see her lighting the fire, all I see is her staring at it sternly as if chiding them and they burn themselves to ashes in the blink of an eye.

At first, I gaped at her ability to work magic with her veiny arms, then I took it as habitual expertise she gathered after a whole life of cleaning, mopping, and sweeping the house like a mother bathes a child clean.

Bhavaniamma, a shriveled-up old woman with a hunch back, walks in silent steps, getting her chores done, and retires to the darkest room for her evening meal. I never saw her leaving the house though that is what Sree and his deceased mother had made me believe. But at dawn, at half past 5, I often see her walking up the paddy fields, chewing beetle leaves, her hair all tied up in one knot. She doesn’t walk, she glides her way in and around the house.

Sree has an affection for Bhavaniamma, he says she raised him as a child. When his mother failed to placate the wailing boy, it was Bhavaniamma who would sing her folk songs in a mesmerizing tone and the baby would doze off as if in a trance.

Bhavaniamma had never tried to bond with me. It’s been 6 years but she has barely spoken to me. She walks around as if I don’t exist. Sometimes, I feel she is looking through me from behind, I turn and find not a soul.

Little did I know then, what these dark chambers hold, how naive I was. I should have known when even the wind doesn’t dare creep in, the air one breathes can be poisonous.

Chapter 3

The odious brother

Balanarayanan was his name. What a beautiful name for such an odious person. Bala was my husband's distant relative, but Sree loved him like his own brother. Bala was an orphan, a prodigious child, now a conniving genius. When evil people have unmatched intelligence, they become indomitable monsters. A monster, an odious monster, that is Bala, if you ask me.

But I can’t tell this to Sree. I have tried, in the beginning, but to no avail. He thinks it’s all my hallucination.

‘But I saw him, he looks at me like …. like … I don’t know..like he wants to eat me up.'

‘hahaha…what is gotten into my Ammu's little head’

Anuradha, 26, wife of Sreekanth, who loved his wife and treated her like a little child. I was barely 20 years old when my uncle married me off to Sree. Being an orphan myself, I lived all my life in the lap of my grandma, basking in her love, the only person to love me. My uncle and his wife saw me as a burden. He wanted to get rid of me with the first man he came across. But because of my good fortune, Sree was a humane and gentle husband, who loved me with all his heart.

‘I’m telling you, one day he’ll eat me up.'

I lie on his lap, my hair hanging down to his feet, playing with a few locks and speaking my heart.

‘Why do you despise him Ammu? He is also an orphan just like you, I thought you would forge a connection just because of that, but you have always disliked him from day one.'

‘I know it, for a fact, that’s why I don’t like him, I don’t like his look, his chilling gaze'

'Ammu, I have told you umpteen times, he was born like that, he is not mentally challenged, but he has a condition, he is not like you and me, you know what a genius he is, but he gave it all away because he wanted peace of mind, and he let us stay in his house, we should be thankful for that.'

'Yes I know..he is an intelligent monster.'

'Ok now enough of this garble, let’s go have dinner.'

Sree was an amateur singer, struggling to get a foothold in the music industry. The problem with such amateurs is that they never have a structured life, he would be there at home for days together and then gone for days on end.

On one such evening, as I sat under the shade of the humongous tamarind tree, sucking its succulent sour pods, I felt Bhavaniamma standing beside me, whispering, an evil chant. I turn back immediately, but pin drop silence seeps in. It must have been the wind, and I go back to the pods in my hand, to find her standing right in front of me, I heard her say ‘r…….u……n....'

I strained my ears to listen to her whispers, to make sense, then her voice gained momentum and it now became a growl and then a continuous chanting of an evil prayer..till it became a palaver. Then it was clear…run…she said…run…run…run…as far as you can…run…and then the chanting …

I could feel my heart racing, I ran with all my might, turning back to see if she is following me..but no… she stands there statue-like..her beetle-stained lips in constant motion.

I run from one monster's clutch to the arms of another one.

In one swing, he whisks me with his mighty arms and takes me to his room, I scream and yell for help. With not another house in a 3-mile radius, my screams fell flat, it reverberated within the chambers and swirled its way came back to me. I scratch his arms and his chest, and tear his shirt with the little nails I have, but he doesn’t budge. He let me go once we entered his room. I pulled myself away from him and looked around. Though I always wanted to know what his room is like, I was terrified of his gaze, his mere presence made me want to hide. I saw an empty cupboard, with its doors flung open, a small chest with a few books opened, Sree has often said, he read three or four books at a time, an abomination of a wardrobe- just a few outfits lying unattended, probably unwashed, I thought to myself.

‘Open the door, I want to go.’

'Ammu….my ammu…..’--his creepy voice grated my ears.

‘How dare you…open the door.'

‘Why are you so scared of me…I never did you any harm, did I?'

'I am not scared of you. I despise you, to the core, it’s the wretchedness of a monster that your looks hold, that I abhor so much…I’m not scared of you.'

I screamed, half panting, half crying.

I saw his face cringe. I saw he was hurt. His face displayed so many expressions in that minuscule of second. I felt the joy of a victor. He opened the door and shouted

'Get out….NOW….’

I walked out in a hurry before he changed his mind.

When I looked back, I was shocked. He was smiling, disgust and malevolence glinting in his eyes.

I ran to my room, closed it shut, took out my little Shiva Lingam, and began praying. I chanted ‘mrithyunjaya manthram' ----the prayer believed to be powerful to overcome all evil and even conquer death----9 times and then sat there praying, regaining my breath.

To be Continued..