A HORROR STORY

I woke up one morning and couldn’t feel him.

“Oww Where is it?” was first thing I asked myself.

Everything was in the same place but only my Boomba was missing. I ran towards the kitchen hastily to ask my mom. She was the only one who entered my room every morning to clean the entire stuff. She wasn’t there. I randomly searched the entire house but there was no sign of her. The whole house was unkempt; ‘Ramuda’ was even no more, perhaps he was on an everlasting holiday. He had suddenly disappeared one morning and we never found him again. My father was too out on a sudden business meeting. He never ignored his meetings.

Something couldn’t be more irritating. My Boomba was missing, the house needed a cleanup, mum wasn’t there and the worst Boishree aunty had come. She greeted me; this lady had the wickedest of smile-resembling a witch. The locality people didn’t talk to her much due to her frequent abrupt behaviour, some even said she had killed her own husband! Strange, though she looked like a murderer, but I couldn’t ignore for she was my neighbour. We had recently shifted to this house. We had left our old house in Kolkata due to some land dispute and had come to live in Darjeeling. The mountains were silent, but the winds made a shrill every now and then. The chilling air did freeze our bones but this place was wonderful. I had only one friend here, my Boomba. We roamed endlessly in the woods and sat near the silent end of the park which earlier was an old graveyard. Our house seemed like the ‘old Haweli types-which they show in Bengali art films’. The corridors were dark and endless. Yet my friend Boomba was the best. We ran around the corridors all day. I had found Boomba lying on an old dusty suitcase when I had shifted here. His clothes were tattered but my mother stitched it back, he had curly hairs and he even wore socks. The best part was his everlasting smile.

Boishree aunty entered the house and enquired about mamma. I said her she might have left for the bazaar.

“Where is Boomba, I don’t see him in your arms?” she asked me and made a frowning look.

“I can’t find him; I think mamma has kept him somewhere”

“Beware of that Boomba, stay away from that toy. When mum comes tell her there is a small puja at my house, she should come.”

“Ok”

Boishree aunty always seemed to be in a problem with my Boomba, she had previously warned me about it. She even disliked the house. Whenever I brought Boomba close to her, she behaved as if she wanted to run away. That’s strange. How can Boomba be so? He is my best friend. Boishree aunty had been living here since fifteen years. After her husband’s death he sons too deserted her. Yet, she had a lot of money left by her husband which she used to spend lavishly.

Anyways this wasn’t my concern. I had to find Boomba and even mamma. Meanwhile when I went to fetch a glass of water when I heard running tap water from upstairs; our bathroom was on the second floor. I went there, the door was wide open and water was flowing continuously.

“Mamma, are you there?” I shouted

There was no response, the water was still flowing.  After a minute I slowly entered the bathroom. As soon as I went near the bathtub my legs began to shiver and for a moment I stood still. The entire water in the bathtub had turned red. Mamma’s head was floating on the top. It was separated from her body. Before I could run away, at the corner of the sink, I saw Boomba. He was smiling at me.

“Little soul must have been frightened on seeing this”, I said Boomba and closed his eyes.

I noticed a large knife lying closer to Boomba. I ignored it, took Boomba in my arms and ran to call the neighbours. Boomba was still smiling. His smile looked fresh than ever!

                                                                                                                                                            

A SHORT STORY (the dialogues were in Bengali but for easy reading I have used English)

I was at the hair cutting salon last Sunday. It wasn’t raining but dense black clouds indicated a heavy downpour soon. The cool breeze outside and ‘waada karo nahi choroge tum mera sath’ being played at the FM radio of the shop were soothing my senses. Minutes ago I was in a frustrated mood. My repeated attempts of having long hairs and beard resulted in vain. My mom prevented it telling it would look like lunatic and moreover Brahmins (yes that’s more of my identity with my title) keep a simple look. This was an old salon, there were a few customers but it was the cheapest one as always. Just ten rupees for a decent cut is NOT a bad deal; in fact it’s the cheapest rate. The occupant of the wooden chair opposite to me was a man in his early seventies. He wore a decent shirt and a black colour pant. He seemed to resemble my chemistry professor!! His specs were quite old as one side of the frame was tied with a string. Occasionally he gave a glance at his old Timex watch. ‘He must have been sitting here for long’ I thought. We both were waiting for our turn while the barber was busy in giving a finishing touch to the French beard of a stout man who occupied the cushioned chair. The master skills of beard shaving were being performed with utmost care. The barber never forgot to greet me with a smile every time I entered his shop. ‘panditji aasun, kemon achhen’, was his regular dialogue and it simple got me pissed off. Never mind!

The stout man was over with his hair cut and shaving, he still lingered on the cushioned seat looking in the mirror at his hair in every possible direction to point out minute mistakes. He soon left. The man opposite to me went towards the seat as it was his turn. Surprisingly the barber indicated me to come and sit. I looked puzzled—yes only I looked so perhaps. The old man again sat on the wooden chair back smiling at me while the barber was quite normal.

“I think it is his turn”, I said

“You better sit down, I have to go for lunch”, the barber replied

I quietly took a seat while sprayed water on my hair. The old man was still smiling. STRANGE!!

I was quite. The barber turned towards the man and said

“You please come later”

(Aah!!! That’s not fair. Not AT all!!)

He simply smiled and indicated some hand movements. He was DUMB. He kept on indicating his hands in a particular pattern which made me confuse. I asked the barber,

“pachu da what is he saying?”

“O nothing, leave it. He comes everyday”, he replied and took the scissors.

“So why don’t you serve him?”

“He doesn’t pay…..actually he doesn’t have anything to give me. Sometimes I cut his hair for free but not always. I do not run a charity”

“But see his clothes; he is no way a beggar”

“Who said he is a beggar. He is a local resident. Some family problems are there and many other reasons keep him disturbed. Moreover, no one from his family pays me on his behalf. Instead they threaten when I ask for money”, pachu da indicated him to leave.

I stopped him and left my seat. Silently I indicated pachu da to serve him and took out a ten rupee note and paid on his behalf. It didn’t matter to him as long as I paid nor was I affected as it was just a question of ten rupees. He smiled at me and left after the haircut.

Three days later…

I was getting late for college. I took my cycle at full speed and rode towards the station. HE (the man at the salon) SUDDENLY JUMPED in front of my cycle.

“ae are you mad”, I shouted

He seemed to be unaffected. He came towards me and gave me a book in my hand. I hesitated but his smile seemed to hypnotise me for a second and I accepted it. He didn’t take money from me for the book. He waved me and left.

On returning home I took out the book; ‘FOLK TALES FROM INDIA’ was the title. I turned over the first page.

‘FROM DADU (grandpa) ---TO BUBAI’ was written on the page with a smiley made at one corner. I smiled and gave the book to my sister.