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.

Sometimes, truth is stranger than fiction.

Many years ago, while visiting my maternal uncle in Kolkata, I came across a news item in a Bengali newspaper, “A dreaded serial killer, Sikandar Baksh, after brutally killing a businessman of Bou Bazaar is absconding and police believe that he was hiding somewhere within the city only. They were hopeful of arresting him soon…” I read the news in passing and did not give much thought to it.

A few years later, after marrying off his daughter Mimi, my uncle suddenly passed away. It became a handful for my aunt to manage the large ancestral house, it was sold to a developer and she moved in the heart of Kolkata in a rented flat in Tollygunge, till her own flat in the vicinity gets ready.

My job as Marketing Manager took me across the country for short hauls including Kolkata but never for a long enough period to meet any relations, at best I could connect with them over a telephone call. I always spoke to my aunt over phone when I visited Kolkata but couldn’t visit her. Then, couple of years ago, an opportunity came when I had to extend my stay in the city over the weekend and I decided pay her a visit. So, on Sunday afternoon, I checked out of the hotel and went over to her house in Tollygunge.

My aunt was overwhelmed with joy seeing me. She hugged me and took me inside. It was a two-bedroom apartment, small but neat and clean. She asked me about my parents and siblings back home. And how’s my job and long I am in the city. The maid brought tea and snacks for us. She informed that the maid comes in the morning around 8am and leaves at 8pm after preparing the dinner, doesn’t stay overnight. While we were chatting, I could sense that my aunt was anxious about something, her body language suggested that she was under some kind of stress.

“What is it that you are feeling stressed?” I finally asked her.

“No, it’s nothing, I am not stressed but happy to see you after such a long time.” She tried to evade my question. I did not press further.

Later, after dinner, she asked me sleep in her room while she sleeps in the guest bedroom, “You, sleep in my room, I will take the other room.”

“No way, you sleep in your own bed, I will sleep in the guest room and it is a matter of one night only.” I refused her offer firmly.

“Okay, in case you need anything at night, wake me up.”

A sumptuous dinner and the comfortable king size bed soon put me to sleep. The Tollygunge area was infested with mosquitos because of many waterbodies and every household uses a mosquito net besides the repellents at night. Though the peak winter was gone, the nights still had some chill, so the mosquito net provided a bit of coziness that helped in sound sleep… only if one is not awakened by the sudden ringing of the mobile phone.

I was rudely woken up by the constant ringing of my mobile phone that I had kept on the bedside table along with my wristwatch and purse. It took me few moments to figure out where I am and where’s ringing sound coming from, and then few more to slide my hand out from the mosquito net. And then I got the shock that sent a chill through my spine… a black hairy hand holding my phone extended towards me… just the hand from the elbow to palm was visible. My throat became dry, I could hardly speak, mustering courage I shouted, “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” But I guess only a throaty groan came out. Meanwhile, the phone had stopped ringing and the black hairy hand placed it back on the table as my aunt knocked on the door, “Bubai, are you okay? I heard some noise…”

I got out of the bed and opened the door to let aunt come inside. She switched on the light and examined the room, everything was in its place, nothing missing. At last, she said, “Did you had a bad dream? Because the sound you were making usually happens if you are having a nightmare.”

“Yes, aunty, probably it was a nightmare.” There was nothing else to explain otherwise. Moreover, I did not want to scare her unnecessarily.

She put on a night lamp and went back to her room. Though, I was a bit scared and kept searching the room in the low blue light of the lamp for the black hairy hand and the person that it belonged, but eventually sleep overpowered my anxiety. The night passed without any further disturbances. In the morning after breakfast, I took leave from my aunt promising to meet her again not knowing that was the last I have seen her alive.

My cousin, Mimi, herself an engineer had married a techie and settled in Bangalore, we kept in touch through social media and occasional telephone calls as life became busy with our involvement in our own family and career advancement. Even that became irregular to the point of just wishing each other on special occasion and festivals.

Last Sunday, I got a call from my cousin Mimi that her mother, my aunt had passed away and the last rites will be performed at Kolkata and she will be grateful if I could join them as I am the only relative, she has now from either side of her parents. I told her that I will finish my work on Monday and take the late evening flight to Kolkata.

I reached Dumdum around midnight, coming out from the airport found Sujoy (Mimi’s husband) waiting for me. It took us 40 minutes to reach Tollygunge, though I wanted to stay in a hotel, Mimi insisted that I stay with them, she actually emotionally blackmailed me to stay with them. Besides the three of them, Mimi, Sujoy and their son Rupam, the full-time housekeeper of my aunt were present when I reached. After chatting for a while, we retired for the day, I was directed to a guestroom when I realized that this is a bigger and different apartment than where I had last visited. I asked Mimi, “This is a different apartment, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is a different and bigger apartment than where you last stayed.”

“What happened? When did you buy this and why the change?”

“It’s a long story; I will tell you tomorrow but promise that you won’t make fun of it.”

I promised her not to make fun of her but became impatient to hear all about it.

During the day, we remained busy with arrangements for the last rites besides attending to visitors and relations who came to express their heartfelt condolences. At last, after dinner, I could get hold of Mimi and demanded to know the reason for shifting the house. We were sitting in the living room. Mimi went inside and came with a slim file, composing herself, she started narrating…

A few months after you visited mother, few unnatural things happened in that house, the part-time maid often complained to mother that whenever she went to the guest room to clean in the evening, she felt the presence of someone else in the room. Maa dismissed her saying it was all psychological and eventually told her to clean the room when daylight is still there. This helped to an extent but then even Maa could hear footsteps in the adjoining room whenever she woke up at night. She did not tell us or anyone else lest we feel distressed living far away from her. Then, Sujoy came to Kolkata on work and decided stay with her instead of the company guesthouse. She told him to take her room, while she sleeps in the guestroom but Sujoy flatly refused.

The first two nights passed peacefully, nothing untoward happened or Sujoy was too tired and slept soundly through the night. On the last night of his stay, he and Maa chatted quite late into the night. He tried reasoning with her to come and live with us in Bengaluru. She was adamant that she cannot go and live with her daughter, typical traditional mentality.

Mimi looked at Sujoy and said, “Why don’t you narrate the incidence yourself?”

Sujoy:

I was a little disturbed because, with age, Maa’s health was an issue but I could not dent her traditional thoughts. I kept tossing and turning, it took some time for me fall asleep. I don’t know how long I had slept but woke up as I felt someone is nudging my pillow and breathing heavily like when you experience nose block. I was sleepy, thought Maa is trying to wake me up needing some help. I opened my eyes and froze. A very dark muscular man with thick black moustache is looking at me angrily, his eyes were burning red. I tried get up but he forced me down, his black hairy hands started strangling me… he was saying something in a language I couldn’t understand. I gathered all my strength and pushed his hand away from my neck. In the sudden act of mine, the man lost his balance and fell backwards hitting the table, toppling it. I ran out of the room on to the veranda chanting Gayatri Mantra and taking deep breath. Once I had calmed down, gathering my wits, I came back to the room and switched on the light, the clock showed 4:45 am, only an hour away for sunrise. The table had indeed toppled, my phone, purse and the watch lay all over the floor. But there was no signs of any other person except a foul smell of rotting animal filling the room. I was surprised that with all such commotion and noise, Maa did not wake up. I took the chair outside, sitting on the veranda waited for the sunrise.

In the morning, I called up Mimi asking her to take the next flight to Kolkata without explaining the reason, called up my office to inform of my extended stay in the city for family emergency. I realized that Maa had been taking sleeping pills probably to avoid the nightly encounter with her roommate.

While having breakfast together, Maa suddenly pointed to my neck and said, “What are those blue marks on your neck? Tell me what happened in the night.” There was shock and terror writ on her face. I dismissed her fear saying I do get such marks not just in the neck but other parts of the body sometimes and it goes away on its own, the doctors have assured nothing to worry. By the look in her eyes, I knew she did not believe me.

I went to office to finish few urgent assignments and picked up Mimi from the airport. Maa was surprised and happy to see Mimi. Together, we put pressure on her to shift with us to Bengaluru immediately. Reluctantly, she agreed to go on a temporary basis till this apartment gets ready. She was with us in Bengaluru for six months and moved in this apartment. Mimi arranged for a full-time housekeeper to move-in with her. She stopped taking the sleeping pills and lived peacefully.  

Sujoy stopped and Mimi extended the slim file towards me. I opened it to find few newspaper cuttings inside. I started reading the news article from The Telegraph:

In a recent raid to a warehouse in Khidirpur, police have not only recovered huge quantities of drugs but have arrested two dreaded criminals having link to the still absconding serial killer Sikander Baksh. On sustained interrogation, the duo admitted being close associates of Sikander Baksh. Together, they had murdered the businessman from Bou Bazar and had taken shelter in an under-construction house in Tollygunge hiding from the police. There, they had an argument about sharing the loot and in the heat of the moment they had killed him and buried the body in that building.

The report further said that, police having secured the permission from the court had dug up the said house and retrieved the physical remains of a body. The DNA test confirmed it to be of Sikander Baksh.

At the end of the article, there were two photographs, a file photo of Sikander Baksh and that of the house from where the body was retrieved, the address plate next to the gate made me choke, it was the house where my aunt used live and I had spent one tormenting night.

I closed the file and returned it to Mimi. She looked at me questioningly for my comments. I decided to keep my experience with me. I still don’t know if it was real or just a bad dream, moreover, a closer has happened, so why rake up the past.