Mayank Sharma liked the arrangement from the moment he saw the little red single storied brickhouse with its own garden encircling the house like an embankment. Besides, it was nestled amongst the pine trees adjacent to the forested land. The owner of the little house was an elderly couple, the old woman said, “We normally don’t let out our room but my husband is suffering from paralysis and we need the money for his treatment.” Mayank had no issues with the money she asked for because the client would pay for his visit including the boarding and lodging. He came for the audit of the accounts of a factory in this otherwise sleepy industrial town. He asked his associate from the client side to pay the lady for his three days stay. He decided to eat at the factory canteen not bothering the old lady.

Mayank followed the lady to his assigned room. As they entered the room, she said, “This used to be my husband’s work room before he became paralyzed. Now, I have shifted him to the inside room because he wouldn’t let me close that window ever. The rains would lash the window during monsoon and chilly breeze wafted inside during the winters…not good for the ailing old man.”

Mayank approached the window which opened to the forested landscape, a long winding narrow road going from the house to the horizon beyond the small hillock at the bend half a kilometer away through the lined pine trees. The scenic beauty was breathtaking. Then his eyes caught an old canvas hung next to the window depicting the beauty outside with an additional feature of a cyclist coming towards the house or standing just beyond the small hillock at the bend. The figure was too small to see any details. Sensing his interest in the painting, the old lady spoke, “That was painted by my husband long ago, when he and his friend came to this town to teach in the local missionary school. They would often go cycling through the woods in the evening.” Mayank noticed that the canvas is very old and at places the fabric is crumbling, may be because of termites.

The old lady, before taking leave from Mayank, checked if he liked the room. There was no reason for Mayank to not liking the room, it was well lighted and airy with a large double bed from where one could see through the window into the far horizon and a study table with the chair facing the window completed the furnishing. The bedside stand had a water jug with a glass and clock. In any case he will only be spending three nights here in the room as he will mostly be at the factory auditing the accounts of his client.

Mayank brought his suitcase from the car and quickly changed into fresh clothing and left with his associate to begin the auditing. His whole day passed engrossed in work; he returned to the little red brickhouse around 9 o’clock. The iron gate made a clanking noise as he opened it, except for the wind blowing through the pine leaves, the surroundings are dead drop silent. The old lady appeared at the door probably awakened by the sound of the car and the opening of the gate. When she saw Mayank, she went back inside. Mayank had his dinner at the factory canteen, so after changing into his nightwear, he switched off the lights and hit the bed…soon he was fast asleep.

Mayank woke up around midnight, maybe because he slept earlier than his usual time, the moonlight through the skylight above his bed was flooding the room especially the canvas. He was looking at it and suddenly realized it was looking different than what he saw in the morning… the cyclist in the painting was no longer at the bend but much closer, in fact, he was pedaling slowly and had reached the side of the hillock. Mayank concentrated on the image but the man stayed there only though he seemed to be pedaling slowly. After a while, Mayank slept again only to be woken up early in the morning by the crying of the old man in the adjacent room. The skies had lighted up and birds have started chirping in the woods. Mayank decided to pay a visit to the ailing old man before leaving for work in the morning.

As he was getting ready, Mayank glanced at the canvas, everything was in its place as he saw first, the cyclist was at the bend, static as before. He laughed at himself for imagining things, how is it even possible for a painted image to move on the canvas!!

The old lady was standing on the veranda as he emerged from his room, she asked politely, “Hope, you had a good nightly sleep without any disturbance…”

“Yes, I had a good sleep.” Mayank replied and then asked, “I heard agonizing cry in the morning, hope your husband is okay now… can I see him?”

“His pains aggravate around the full moon and new moon, last night he slept lightly often waking up in pain. He is sleeping now but you can come and see him.”

Mayank followed the lady into the back of the house to the adjacent room where a frail man slept on the large cot. The skeletal body often trembled in spasm, the face once belonged to a handsome man but now wrinkled with unshaven uneven beards and balding scalp. There were no windows in the room, the air flowed from the only door from the passage. After spending few minutes with the old couple in that room, Mayank left for the factory as his associate honked from the road.

Mayank remained busy in work throughout the day and was dropped back late in the evening to the little red brickhouse. As he entered through the gate, he could hear the same agonizing cry of the old man. The excruciating pain has become unbearable for him. Mayank felt a sense of helplessness. The crying continued as he prepared to hit the bed, he switched off the light and after a while the crying subsided, the painkillers probably started working.

Mayank was woken up, past midnight by the crying of the old man. The room was flooded by the moonlight, the view through the window was clear too, the moonlight had created a surreal effect on the surroundings…he could see the winding road through the pine forest clearly including the hillock in the far distance. Automatically, his eyes drifted from the window to the canvas, everything was as before, except the cyclist, he seemed to have cycled closer now, well past the hillock. The image was much clearer today, the cyclist was wearing britches with a pump shoe, a hat covering the upper half of his face. He was pedaling slowly coming to the red brickhouse.

Mayank, got up from the bed switching on the lights, closely examined the painting, nothing was amiss, all the elements were in their original places. He sighed at his foolish thoughts and slept again.

He was woken up in the morning, again by the loud crying of the old man from the next room. Mayank came out of his room and found the old lady resting on the veranda chair, her face revealed that she didn’t get any sleep or rest throughout the night, taking care of her husband. She smiled feebly seeing Mayank.

“His condition has deteriorated, is it?”

“Yes, he is in lot of pain since last evening.”

“Did you call for the doctor?”

“There’s no point calling the doctor, they have given the best and strongest medicine… nothing more can they do. It is only matter of tonight, if he survives…” her voice trailed off.

The agonizing constant crying of the old man filled the otherwise serene atmosphere throughout the morning. Mayank got ready for work, all the time feeling sorry for the old couple. He prayed for the pain relief of the old man and left for the factory, today is his last day and he must finish the auditing.

Mayank remained busy completing the audit and by the time he reached his rented accommodation, it was quite late, close to 11 o’clock. Being the full moon night, the surroundings are flooded with moonlight. The pine leaves fluttering in breeze and crickets chirping in the distance broke the eerie silence of the night. No one in the house stirred even when Mayank opened the gate. He thought of checking on the old man but decided against it, the old couple must be sleeping after a exhausting day. He decided to speak to the lady before leaving for home in the morning.

Mayank was not just tired but exhausted, he quickly changed into his nightwear and packed up his bag as much as possible leaving the essential stuff he would need in the morning. He stood in front of the window to soak in the beauty of the nature one last time. The full moon had flooded the mother earth with full glory, the breeze crisscrossing through the pine leaves was creating the background music while the trees danced in celebration. He closed the window cutting off the illumination from the moonlight hoping to sleep without getting up in the middle of the night because of the light. Within minutes of hitting the pillow, he had drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Mayank, for no apparent reason woke up, adjusting to the near dark room, he looked at the clock on the bedside table, the radium coated needles announced the time to be 3 am. Just then he thought he heard the clanking of the bicycle bell. He got up from the bed and without switching on the light, slowly opened the window. He stood still by the window, unable to move, outside on the winding road, very close to the red brickhouse, the cyclist from the canvas was standing and ringing the bell… once, twice, thrice, pause and then repeat. Suddenly, a man appeared from the house and walked towards the cyclist. They spoke softly, probably greeting each other and then the man climbed on the cycle. The cyclist turned the bike and started pedaling back to the hillock and beyond…soon they disappeared round the bend. Mayank waited for some more time but none of them returned.

The chatter outside his room, woke him up in the morning. The memory of last night’s events became vivid. He came out to find a group of people in serious discussion and in the distance, the old lady sitting amongst few females. He could figure out from their demeanor that the man of the house is no more. He reached out to the old lady and placed a sympathetic hand on her. She looked up to him and said, “My husband is no more.” A few tears drop rolled down her cheek. “In a way, it is good for he was suffering a lot for the last few days” she continued, “Actually, he became unwell a year back, when his best friend with whom he had come here and settled down in their youth, suddenly passed away after a brief illness. Every evening, they used ride in a bicycle on that road through the pine forest. He couldn’t get over the sudden death of his friend, he had a paralytic stroke. Once he said that he saw his friend waiting at the corner of that road and calling him to join. It was a full moon night. I got scared and moved him to the inner room but he would become restless on a full moon night.”

“When did it happen?”

“The doctor said that he breathed his last around 3 am.” The old lady broke down completely.

Mayank came back to his room and stood in front of the canvas. Everything seemed to be in order except the cyclist had vanished from the frame. The termites have eaten up that space. Finally, the cyclist has taken his friend for a long journey on the winding road through the pine forest, never to return again.