Black Magic

Black Magic

(This was published  in the Melange, The Sunday magazine of The Sentinel  on 20^th September,2015)

The raven-black sky was slowly turning into a bluish hue; long streaks of lights from the blue yonder illuminated Kailashpuri, a little hamlet far away from the township of Tongla, in a haze of iridescent blue. The stillness reverberating across the rice-fields and thatched huts of Kailashpuri was broken by the chirping of the frisky, black- and -yellow sparrows ushering in a new day, a new dawn.

Nobody noticed at that unearthly hour the two girls, two solitary tiny figures, squatting on the highway passing through the lush green fields, separating Kailashpuri from the rest of the world……their faces betraying their turbulent emotions, of terror and of grim determination.

Moments passed by……

A bus, destination unknown, screeched to a stop a few meters away from the crouched shadowy figures. The bigger girl walked towards the bus silently. A brief exchange of words ensued…… The bigger girl got inside the bus beckoning the other figure, a slightly smaller one to follow her. The bus, a second later, drove away leaving trails of amorphous dust and smoke behind, vanishing in nothingness.

The monsoon sun was now blazing brightly from the azure sky, a miracle after days of playing hide and seek behind the dark-grey, ever-present clouds. The inhabitants of the sleepy hamlet were getting prepared to start their day-to-day chores.

The children were getting ready for the morning -school, dressed in their somewhat frayed and slightly tattered uniforms. The mothers laboured in the tiny kitchens, caught in the rush of getting the morning meal ready……a daily fare of pointa bhat (fermented rice) with drops of pungent mustard oil. The burly fathers were waiting for the morning grub to be served…..they sat on the mud floor of their huts with the loin cloth tied securely around the waist after the early morning cold water bath.

Yesterday night’s horrific episode was now an ancient history, a remembrance which will, with the passage of time ,turn into a dreaded taboo; a tragedy which the inhabitants of Kailashpuri will never bring up on their sealed lips ever again.

“Maa! Yesterday night where did you go? I could hear people shouting…… Daini! Witch! What does that mean?” little Pobon asked innocently, his mouth stuffed with rice.

Her mother looked at her stone-faced husband, who seemed not to hear the conversation or appeared not to. Stoical, the husband continued to play with his mound of rice heaped into his plate.

“Pobon! Aren’t you getting late for school?” retorted the mother. A bit startled at his mother’s angry reminder, Pobon chewed his rice again. Relieved at its abrupt end, the mother was happy that this unsettling discourse was finally over.

The horrifying images of yesterday night’s incident flickered in front of Pobon’s mother’s eyes, much later that day, as she sat by her loom. In the mayhem of the night before, something profound has been lost. Now all she felt was a stifling grief slowly tightening its tentacles slowly but securely around her heart.

“The day of reckoning will come soon. Sewali will have her justice….” she thought, shuddering at her own dreary thoughts.

Sewali……!

Sewali, a beautiful girl of fifteen, looked at her grey- and- silver haired grandfather fondly. Her small, Mongoloid looking eyes scintillated reflecting the brightness of the morning sun rays.

An exotic looking creature she was……. she had long, knee- length tresses falling in beautiful waves from her head. Taking immense pride and ‘sinful’ pleasure in dressing her long, raven-black locks, Sewali would sit on a stool, combing them gently for hours. She would sit by her hut combing her hair, lovingly removing any tangled mess she would find, till a sharp rebuke from her mother would send her scurrying to the fields to help her father. “Sewali! Pass me the sickle!” would shout her tall, heavy-set father.

Surrounded by the never-ending green fields around, Sewali  never felt more at home; a melodious tune on her lips, she  would bend and work on the freshly tilled ground ,tugging and pulling the stubborn weeds till her hands bled.

 “Oi! Let’s go to the lotus-pond to eat” a friend would say. Sewali along with her assemblage of friends would run happily, racing to get the best spot to sit by the lotus pond.

Radhanath, her stout grandfather, was a man of knowledge, the village bej armed with the knowledge passed down from ancestors who lived and walked on the Earth long ago.

There was a small fertile patch of land behind the hut where host of medicinal plants and shrubs of different shapes and length grew in profuse abundance. Their dense foliage would compete against each other for the bright drops of sun-rays blazing happily up in the sky.

“Grandfather! Please have a look at my son! I beseech you! His entire body is burning with temperature and he is coughing up fitfully. This has been going on for a couple of days” would say a worried father.

Her grandfather solemnly would go to his backyard, pick a leaf here and there, crush and grind the leaves in his stone mortar till they would turn into a gooey mess.

Placing some of the crushed potion on the chapped lips of the ailing child, “Here child! Eat this!” her grandfather would command quietly and go back to his chores without a word.

Some days later, the happy parents would visit Radhanath and leave a token of gratitude, sometimes a chicken or a duck tied to the Hibiscus plant near the granary.

“Grandfather! Can you make a brew which will make Hiranya’s cows bleed to death? He killed my poor chicken…. He said that it was raiding his granary for a long time” would wail Dhiren, the chicken-killer Hiranya’s neighbor.

“Grandfather! Can you concoct me a love potion? I am in love with Shanti, the potter’s daughter but she has refused to marry me” would wail another lovesick boy, not more than nineteen years of age.

Radhanath would smile and chuckling away would turn down such ignorant requests; “I am a man with cures for the body. I cannot cure a heart full of hatred or envy” would quip Radhanath drinking serep from the long bamboo cup.

“Koka! Bhoot ase ne? Grandfather! Are there real ghosts?”

Giggling like a small boy, toothless Radhanath would launch into recounting the glorious tales of his past when he as a young boy had fought many a duel with the creatures of the third kind. Listening to her husband’s tales from a distance, Sabitri, Sewali’s grandmother would smile softly, her wrinkled skin drawing numerous creases on her face.

“Grandma! How old are you? ” would ask Sewali.

“Count the lines on my face and tell me how old do you think I am?” would laugh back her beloved grandmother, her serene face illuminated by the red-hued bonfire.

Sewali and her younger siblings- a twelve year old sister named, Aloka and a kid brother, Gunen, all of two years of age, loved to play in the hay-loft by the tall,spindly Dhup tree, smelling of hay and of fodder. They would play hide-and-seek all day long till the seeker would catch the ones in hiding, camouflaged in the deep mounds of hay. Loud peals of laughter would break across the hay loft.

Pulin! A secretive smile would play on Sewali’s lips whenever that name would cross her mind. Blushing, her thoughts would sometimes drift to the image of a tall, lanky, pimple-faced boy of nineteen years of age. Her face would turn into a bright colour of tomato-red whenever she would imagine a romantic escapade revolving around Pulin. She would imagine herself to be a famous movie actress and Pulin, a hero, helping her escape from some evil-doers just like the movies.

“Sewali! Ki Kori aso? Why are you standing in the pond like a statue? Use your jakoi ,you fool!” would shout her mother dipping her jakoi deep in the dark waters trying to catch some fish for the mid-day meal.

Shaking her clandestine thoughts away, Sewali would imitate her mother, her watchful eyes scanning the still surface of the water. She would squint her eyes trying to catch the movement of the clever fishes, now hiding deep underwater.

Last year, during the village Bhaona, a religious play reciting tales from the Ramayan, Sewali sat on the mud-floor of the Nam-ghor, the communal prayer hall, with her group of tittering friends. She could see Pulin sitting a few yards away from her. As their eyes met, the evening passed quickly in a haze with Pulin throwing furtive glances at her throughout the entire show.

One day, many a days later after the communal Bhaona was performed in the Nam Ghor, in the openness of the picturesque rice fields with tall, cottony Kahua bon swaying under the gentle breeze, Sewali was dancing, practicing the dance-steps of the Bihu dance together with her team of husuri dancers. Her nubile body swayed rhythmically to the melodious, erotic Bihu song.

She suddenly realized that Pulin was sitting under the shade of gigantic Bakori trees with his cronies breaking into fits of laughter.

 “Oi! Oi! Does not it look like a bogoli…a crane is trying to dance?” quipped Pulin jocularly, pointing his finger towards Sewali , mockery lacing his voice.

Red-faced, Sewali ran homewards only to stumble and fall on a wayward rock, landing flat on her face. As she lay flat on the ground, she could her more hoots of laughter at a distance.

In anger she shouted, “Roh!Wait! pisot sai lom! I will see you afterwards!” She neither saw nor heard from Pulin again that entire spring; much later she learnt from her friend Makon that Pulin had gone away to Guwahati city to work in a tea-stall.

A year later, “Take it! This is for you!” said a now mature looking Pulin holding a tiny packet in his hand…Pulin has come home for a short visit.

Sewali was meeting him near the Devi temple; the clandestine meeting had been arranged by Pulin’s younger sister. “Is this really for me?” asked Sewali happily taking a pair of silver earrings from Pulin’s outstretched hand.

She thought to herself, “Wait till Makon sees this, she will die of envy”.

Pulin kept gazing at Sewali, “You are looking beautiful…” said he, his eyes never leaving Sewali’s glowing face.

By the corner of her eye Sewali could see her friend Makon hovering by the trees nearby, waiting patiently for the romantic meeting to get over. Laughing out aloud, Sewali ran away towards her friend leaving a bewildered Pulin far behind.

Time, like an unstoppable machine, ticked by…… Sewali was now turning into a beautiful woman. Heads would inadvertently turn towards her whenever Sewali would accompany her mother to the village-haat on Sundays.

“Maa! Mother! Why don’t you buy the papaya from me? I will give you another one free” would say a sweaty vegetable-seller leering at Sewali.

“Maa, I do not like to go to the crowded haat. I will not go with you the next time” would fume Sewali later at home.

“Oh! The princess thinks it is beneath her stature to help her poor mother to carry the vegetables from the market. After all, what would her friends say?” would retort back her equally angry mother.

“Hobo! Hobo! That’s enough. Stop fighting like cats and dogs,” would boom the rich voice of her Grandfather. Sewali would run to him, her black hair cascading on her back, tears and anger forgotten.

One cloudless night, Sewali lay on the mud floor of her tiny thatched hut trying to catch some sleep, her efforts thwarted by the persistent blood-sucking mosquitoes. All of a sudden she heard hushed whispers wafting in from the other room through the creaks of the bamboo partition.

“Sewali’s Mother! Today, this afternoon the Gaon-Bura, the village headman  had called me over to meet him in his house. I was surprised but I went thinking that maybe I was being called for giving him a lesser amount of rice stalks from my share. But when I reached the headman’s mansion , the Gaon- Bura made me stay back for lunch.”

“Why?” asked Sewali’s mother, surprised.

“That depraved man! Do you know why he had invited me?”

“Why?”

“He says he had seen Sewali working in the fields and that he has never ever seen a more beautiful girl… He wants to marry her!” hissed her father angrily.

“What did you say?” said her mother whispered, a minute later

“What else do you think I said? I refused. After all, Sewali is my daughter and I will not allow such a horrendous thing happening to her…… of marrying her away to a widowed, lecherous man thrice her age. The Gaon Bura is an old man, older even to me…..he is old enough to be Sewali’s grandfather” hissed back her livid father.

After that night, her mother forbade Sewali to venture out alone to the fields for a number of days.

“Oi! Why don’t you come with us to the pond? Are you missing Pulin? Don’t worry, he will come back soon from Guwahati” would tease Makon, squatting on a low stool inside Sewali’s household. Sewali would sit silently by her grandmother’s side peeling off the skins from the round potatoes, her mind in a chaos.

One afternoon, Sewali’s father came rushing home seething in anger.

“Sewali’s Mother!” he shouted.

Sewali’s mother rushed out of the kitchen…she was preparing the mid-day meal.

“What happened? Why are you barking like a dog?” barked Radhanath irritated. Without even glancing at his red-faced son, Radhanath continued to mix some herbs in the mortar.

“The Gaon-Bura’s goon kicked me out of the fields today. They said that till I do not repay my last year’s debt I cannot go back to work in the fields” replied back her father angrily.

“What is going to happen to us now? How we are going to eat?” Sewali’s mother wailed loudly. Sewali’s little brother, ran to his sobbing mother and started cry along with her; his tiny body jerking fitfully, wracked by sobs. His innocent mind had not really comprehended the melodrama unfurling in his home….but all he knew was that his beloved mother was distressed.

“Be quiet!” ordered Radhanath, “As long as I have my two hands nobody in this house will have to go hungry…..Stop bawling your insides out.”

Sewali looked at her family helplessly. “I am the reason of all their grief” a sad realization dawned on her. Angry at her meekness, she wished for the courage to run away somewhere, someplace……. a safe haven where the Gaon Bura will never find her. Wiping her angry tears with her gamusa, Sewali suddenly felt a soothing touch on the back of her head. She looked up…Sewali saw her grandmother’s face, serene and strong….her deep, silent eyes pleading Sewali not to lose her courage

One afternoon…… a crowd gathered in front of Sewali’s house.

“Rat! Radhanath! Come out of the house” shouted an insolent voice .

“Koka! Don’t go!” beseeched a frightened Sewali.

“ Child! Do not fear! God is watching everything.”

Radhanath opened the tiny bamboo door of the mud-walled boundary encompassing their house. He stepped out into the sunshine, his grey hair glistening.

“Dog! What did you give Bolen’s son? Bolen is saying that his son was under your treatment. The boy is now coughing up buckets of blood. Did you poison him?” screamed someone. A shaken Bolen, a mute spectator, stood in the crowd watching the drama unfolding before his eyes.

Radhanath looked at Bolen for a long time and spoke, “Bolen, I never rendered any cure to your boy. You know that……”

Bolen stood silently, his eyes never finding the courage to leave the ground. Radhanath now realized the game of treachery the village headman was playing.

“I dare any one of you to come forward and look into my eyes and tell me that I have done any harm to you, now or in the past. You all know that I have looked upon all of you as my own sons and daughters. God is my witness….God is my witness…,” Radhanath voiced boomed. He stood erect, his eyes riveted on the hostile faces, their dead eyes revealing an unknown deep hatred.

Radhanath stood on the threshold, erect and proud ….his old grey eyes, solemn and defiant. The crowd slowly trickled away, melting under the piercing gaze of the tall patriarch.

Some uneventful days went by… Sewali’s friends have, by now, stopped coming over to her house. The days of childish games and laughter; a hazy memory of the past

One day Sewali caught the glimpse of Makon, her bosom friend, walking past her house, “ Makon! Makon!” shouted Sewali, happy to see her ol’ friend. Makon sauntered on as if she had suddenly turned deaf, as if Sewali’s cries had never reached her unhearing ears.

Days later, Sewali, through a common friend, learned of Pulin’s whereabouts. She became aware of the fact that Pulin had returned from Guwahati for good …in fact, weeks before. Crestfallen, Sewali realized that Pulin had not made a single attempt to meet her.

A dark cloud …… a premonition of mystery and destruction, hung low over the households of Kailashpuri. People were avoiding Sewali and her family as if they were carriers of a deadly disease. It was now inauspicious and precarious to breathe the same air as Radhanath and his family, to set foot on the same ground as them.

Hushed whispers would follow Radhanath as he would go about walking through the village… a show of defiance. The babble of voices and the raucous laughter would quickly die down on whenever the village crowd would catch the sight of the approaching figure of Radhanath.

It was stormy…….that sombre, fateful night. Flashes of lightening broke across the sky as if the heavens were declaring to the world of something ominous to happen.

Dark, black clouds hanging from the sky thundered and clashed ….. That ill-omened night it seemed that the Gods’ were waging a battle against the Demons, the unending battle between good and evil.

Sewali and her mother, blissfully unaware of their perilous fate, were arranging the brass-plates on the mud-caked kitchen floor. The mother and daughter were waiting for the other members of the family to come and sit down for the last meal of the day.

Gunen, Sewali’s little brother, a tiny figure, was sleeping on the floor inside the hut. His tiny body was curved into a half-moon figure reflecting his vulnerability. His peaceful face mirrored the fact that he was in the land of dreams, having had his meal of gruel long time back.

Suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Oi! Ulai aah! Come out! Bolen’s son died a few hours back. Son of the Devil! You are going to pay for this murder with your dirty blood…” shouted a voice, breaking the stillness of the night.

Radhanath looked at his family. He spoke, urgency lacing with his words, “Buwari! Daughter-in-law! Go and hid somewhere with the children. Run away now.”

Looking now at Sewali’s grandmother Radhanath commanded,“ Sabitri, go with them… I will be alright.” “I have not applied vermillion on my forehead for fifty years of my life to desert you now….. I will not leave you,” said Sabitri resolutely, looking back at her husband with wordless emotion and pride. Radhanth’s family stood together, waiting for the fury of the mob to lash out.

“Radhanath! Devil’s Son! Come out…”, screamed the mob, now swelling in numbers.

“Sewali! Go! Hid! I have to get your brother from inside. Now run!!” cried her mother, her eyes big with terror.

“But Mother…”stammered Sewali.

Sewali’s mother clutched her arms, her nails digging deep into Sewali’s flesh. “Run now!!” hissed her mother urgently.

Not waiting for a reply, Sewali’s mother rushed towards the hut, towards her sleeping son.

Sewali took hold of her sister’s hand and ran towards the hay-loft.

Climbing the wooden ladder quickly, they quickly hid themselves in the hay. They had played the game of hide-and-seek in the same hay-loft many a times in the past…… playing the very game had now became a matter of survival.

Radhanath opened the ‘gate’ of the courtyard and stepped out to face the angry crowd. Sewali’s father stood next to him like a sentinel, upright and vigilant. He was keeping a watchful eye on the menacing crowd. He prayed fervently to his Gods to give him the strength to protect his father and his family.

Looking at the wild and diluted eyes of the excited mob facing them, Radhanath caught the sight of freshly sharpened machetes and burning logs in their hands. Pulin, the soft-spoken cowherd’s son was also standing in the crowd….. a lost figure.

Time stood still…..

Suddenly, screams and wild cries echoing across the skies broke out “Kill the murderers! Kill the witch-doctor! Wipe them out!”

Sewali and her little sister, lay flat on their stomachs on the hay-loft waiting for their mother and little brother. Sewali had her cold, trembling hands over her sister’s ear. She could hear the wild screams of the mob growing louder and louder as seconds passed by.

Sewali kept praying…. a futile attempt to reassure herself …that it was a nightmare, a terrifying dream.

Suddenly, a heart rending cry…..loud petrified screams of her mother pierced Sewali’s ears. “Not my son! Not my son!” her mother was screaming. Thud! There was a loud, heart-shattering scream….it was her little brother. Then there was silence……

“ Kot ase suwali joni? Where is the girl?” screamed a savage voice.

Sewali now sat still amidst the dry hay…she waited for her executioners, her mind now separated from the time and space. Her sister was huddled her arms in a death-like embrace.

She could hear footfalls and ascending footsteps on the ladder. She kept her eyes fixed on the end of the ladder. A moment later Pulin’s head emerged from nowhere. Their eyes met, one pair begging for forgiveness and the other pair, glazed and dead.

“Are they hiding on the loft?” shouted a voice from below. Sewali kept her eyes locked with Pulin’s.

Time stopped….

Seconds later, she heard Pulin’s voice replying, “No! They are not here. They must have run away through the back-yard.”

“Come down quickly! We have to find the harlots!” shot back the voice. Pulin, without another word, climbed down the ladder and disappeared into the darkness.

A torrential storm broke out suddenly…..the tears of the angels pouring down from the heavens. The mob, not being able to face the assault of the merciless hail-storm, quickly dispersed homewards…. to hide their shame behind the closed doors of their safe havens.

The next morning, as little Pobon walked towards his school with his mother, he could see Radhanath Koka’s hut burnt down to ashes.

Shocked,“Ma!… Ma! What has happened here? What has happened to Radhanath koka’s home? Where are they?” little Pobon asked ,frightened to his core.

Pobon’s mother answered, her voice breaking down, “ Pobon! They have gone away for good.”

She looked at the burnt-down hut. “They will never come back…. They will never return to this land of the Devil again.”

The mother and son duo continued to walk through the meandering little path across the rice-field, leaving the burnt-down hut, a keepsake of the heinous sin, far behind them.