SUSPENSE STORY

                                         "NARAYAN'S REMEDY"

“I beg you Narayan, quit this horrid profession” Lakshmi pleaded with her husband over dinner one humid April night. But as she had expected, Narayan Baidya grabbed her by the neck and said, “Shut up woman, all you do is nag from sunrise to sun down. You have a household to run, a child to feed, you just take care of that and let me worry about my business.”

“Aren’t you afraid of God? You’re deceiving poor innocent people. People have died because of you.” Lakshmi argued feebly, fearing Narayan may beat her again if she pushed him too hard. Her delicate, petite frame was no match for his tall and heavily muscled one.

Narayan shoved her to the side and said “I don’t cheat poor people. My clients are rich farmers and liquor traders. And I am not a murderer, you understand. Have you forgotten the number of people I have healed, you ungrateful bi*ch? It’s not my fault if the government doesn’t think of building a hospital in these parts. I am the people’s only hope.”

He stopped to finish another ball of rice mixed with small chunks of spiced mutton and curry and then continued, “My forefathers were in this business too. Did you hear of them suffering from the wrath of the gods? Most of the families in Raidighi village couldn’t even afford two square meals a day. The abundance we enjoy is because of our profitable trade and you talk of giving it up?“

‘True to her name, Lakshmi had brought prosperity to his life. She had given him a son. If only she could stop her moral lectures’, thought Narayan.

“Besides” said Narayan gulping down a cool drink of water, “I think it’s time to start teaching our son the nuances of the trade and I won’t let him visit your worthless family once I start”.

Lakshmi shuddered at the thought.

***

The next morning as Narayan Baidya sat on the floor of his workshop, two women, one young , pale and sickly and the other middle aged and stout, both dressed in cotton saris covered in the dust and grime of the road, appeared at the door. Narayan gestured them with his hand to sit on the ground opposite him. He laid the scroll he was reading on a big rectangular wooden box in front of him that served as a writing desk and asked “What brings you here?”

“We are coming from Kumirmari” began the middle aged woman “My name is Parul Nashkar and this is my daughter-in-law, Basanti. We’ve heard a lot about your powers Baidya babu and we’ve come with high hopes” said the middle aged women, anxiety apparent in her voice.

Basanti looked around the room in awe at the tall wooden racks lining the wall, stacked with bundles of dried herbs and roots and vials containing different colored liquids. But the moment she laid eyes on a row of dried human skulls on one of the long wooden racks lining the wall, a shrill cry escaped her lips “Oooooh Maaaa! A dead man’s head.”

“Calm down silly girl, those are an essential part of the rituals I perform” scolded Narayan.

“Baidya Baba” said Parul, drawing his attention away from Basanti “My daughter- in-law has been suffering from numerous problems since she conceived her first child. Sleeplessness, acute pain followed by occasional bleeding, nightmares, lack of appetite…..I don’t know where to stop. My neighbors advised me to bring her to you for remedy. Please help us Baba, this is my first grandchild.”

His experience told him that the fetus Basanti had been carrying had already died. But he kept it to himself.

“Hmm………complicated. I must consult the higher powers for guidance” said Narayan. He left the room. After a while he came back dressed in his ritualistic garb – a blood red dhoti and a red shawl, wearing a string of Rudraksha beads on both his wrists and upper arms and another long string of beads around his neck. The bright red of his attire stood in stark contrast with his chocolate brown complexion. He firmly shut the door to the workshop leaving only a small window at the back of the room open for light and switched on the old screeching fan.

He retrieved a human skull and a bunch of Indian sage leaves from the rack lining the wall and returned to his seat. He pulled out a small wooden platform from inside his writing desk and placed it on the ground in front of him. He mounted the skull on it and loudly chanted, “Aum Hreem Kleem Chamundaya Vichheh”. He lit a small castor oil lamp and then folding his legs sat in deep meditation, as the two women continued to watch in trepidation. After a while he suddenly shot his right hand in the air and closed his fist, pretending to catch something invisible from the empty space.

With his left hand he lit the bunch of sage from the lamp burning at his side and moved it twice around his head in clockwise motion. He then opened his enclosed right fist, carefully guarding the view of his open palm from the eyes of the two women with his fingers and touched the burning sage to his palm. In a matter of seconds the center of his palm caught fire, frightening the two women.

“There’s no need to fear”, assured Narayan. He moved his burning right palm over the skull several times and said, “Oh great lord of the spirit world, guide your humble servant”. He touched the burning sage to the skull and the base of the platform on which it was mounted repeatedly, until the platform started moving.

“Oh Lord, help this woman!” cried Narayan, cleverly drawing the attention of the women from the skull to his face. “This woman’s womb is possessed by the devil’s spawn. She must have committed blasphemy. It must be destroyed immediately.”

“What?” cried a surprised Parul. Within seconds all her wrath was directed towards Basanti, as she grabbed the hapless girl by the hair and began beating her. “Who did you sleep with, you wretched girl? Was it the boy next door? Speak up bitch, who did you betray my son for? I will destroy this evil seed growing in your womb, do you hear?”

In the meantime Narayan dipped his right hand into a pot of water kept behind him and extinguished the flame burning on his right palm.

“I have a vial of extremely potent medicine, that will solve your problem in just a few days but will cost a lot” interrupted Narayan, “Besides, it could be life threatening for Basanti too.” he warned.

“I don’t care, Baba. I will do anything to get rid of this evil. Please advise.” said Parul.

“It is an ancient herbal formula devised by my great grandfather. You shall feed her the medicine on a full moon night. It will make her bleed profusely and cause much pain but it will help rid your family of the devil once and for all. Collect the blood in a new brass pot and bring it to me. I shall do the rest. If you fail to follow my advice to the word, remember, the devil will turn on you with all his fury and if that happens, even I won’t be able to help you” said Narayan in a grave voice, invoking fear in the hearts of his listeners. He handed Parul a vial of reddish green juice that he had prepared from the seeds, leaves and flowers of the raktakarabi shrubs in his backyard.

A sobbing Basanti fell on his feet and begged “Please believe me Baba. I haven’t committed any blasphemy. I didn’t cheat on my husband. Please let my child live. Please don’t ask me to destroy it.”

“Do not weep for the devil, my child. Spirits don’t lie. This has to be done or your child will grow up to be the devil incarnate. Will you be able to bear that? Now speaking of the cost, you have to pay me one thousand rupees today for the ritual and the vial of medicine. When you come back with the devil’s blood, bring one thousand more, a box of sweets, fresh fruits, two kilos of rice and potatoes, one large rohu fish and one baby goat as offering to the lord of the spirit world. Today’s session is concluded.” said Narayan extending his right hand for his fee.

Parul paid in cash and dragged a crying Basanti out with her.

After the women left, Narayan shut the door. He took the platform, on which he had mounted the skull, in his hands to peep into its hollow base through a tiny breathing hole at the bottom. He saw that the pet mice he kept inside had retreated to the corner due to the heat and smell of the burning sage. He put a few pieces of cheese inside for them to feed on.

“You did well old fellows”, he said to his pets as he put the platform back inside his writing desk and closed the lid. He returned the skulls and the herbs to the rack.

Narayan gently rubbed the center of his right palm with his left thumb. Although the small mound of pure camphor he had held inside his closed fist, unbeknownst to his spectators, protected his skin from the flame, the heat left a slight burning sensation.

But that was nothing. Narayan gloated over success of his performance.

‘Within a few days Parul would be back with the offerings’ he thought with satisfaction. For a split second, he felt sorry for Basanti but the sight of the crisp one hundred rupee notes that Parul had paid, made him forget his remorse.

He was aware of the downsides of his trade. He knew that the people would not remain ignorant or uneducated forever. He had to milk them hard, as long as it was practicable.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, thanked his forefathers for discovering such a lucrative trade and prayed for continued success in his future endeavors.

**************

The day Parul Nashkar came back with the devil’s blood and the other offerings demanded by Narayan, Lakshmi spent the whole afternoon crying. Another woman and an unborn child had died because of Narayan’s vial of death. This wasn’t his first killing and she knew if she didn’t do anything about it soon, this certainly wouldn’t be his last.

‘But it isn’t all his fault’ Lakshmi reflected, ‘watching his grandfather and then his father abuse the power they held over the people for years, had perhaps led him to believe that putting innocent lives in danger was acceptable.’

She remembered the dire poverty that had driven her parents to arrange for her to marry him. They had hoped for a prosperous life for Lakshmi and her physical beauty had helped in securing the approval of the Baidya family. Lakshmi had obediently convinced herself with the logic that Narayan was in the service of mankind. ‘He did heal a lot of people’ thought Lakshmi, ‘but with time his ambition and greed turned him into a monster.’ She never had the courage to hand him over to the law and she dreaded the thought of poisoning him for the fear of going to prison. It would be so shameful. People make such a juicy tale of her family’s plight. So she had continued her entreaties. “But enough is enough” muttered Lakshmi as she began conceiving the remedy that would be Narayan’s undoing.

*********************

Lakshmi’s parents had invited them to Konkondighi on the 15th of April to celebrate “Poila Boishakh”, the beginning of the Bengali New Year. But Lakshmi knew her husband wouldn’t want to go. So on the evening of the 14th of April, she sent her son to Konkondighi with her neighbor’s family, who were travelling to her village that evening.

“Let him visit one last time, please Narayan”, Lakshmi had entreated, to which Narayan had reluctantly agreed. But Lakshmi and her husband stayed back.

While bidding her eleven year old son farewell she said with a tearful smile, “Gopal, my sweetheart, have fun at your grandparent’s and tell them I love them and will see them later on. And remember, Ma loves you, Ok? Have a great new year, my dear.”

Then she handed him a cloth bag, firmly tied, containing a box that held most of the gold jewelry that Narayan had given her and a small note addressed to her parents that read:

“Use these for sending Gopal to a good school in the city. Please see that he grows up to be a wise and educated man. Consider it your daughter’s last wish.

Yours Lovingly

Lakshmi”

“What’s this Ma?” asked Gopal.

“Oh! Just a gift for your grandparent’s, be sure to hand it over to them, ok?”

“Ok! Bye Ma. Happy New Year and see you soon”, said Gopal as he gave her a tight hug and a sweet smile.

Lakshmi feared that public humiliation could ruin her son’s life. So she had carefully chosen a path of minimum shame and maximum deliverance. She couldn’t afford to raise any suspicion. ‘If only the weather cooperates’, she silently prayed as she sat in her kitchen that night pretending to prepare dinner. She knew mid April was normally the time for tropical thunderstorms but some days were an exception. She feared if it poured that night all her plans would be for naught. All she needed was a powerful dust storm.

She hoped with all her heart that Narayan wouldn’t recognise the odor in the kitchen.

Lakshmi did a last minute appraisal of her one storied brick house. The kitchen opened up into a small sitting space with their bedroom and Narayan’s workshop on either side of the space. The doors, windows and every little piece of furniture were either made of wood or other inflammable material. ‘If Bhagya Devata favors me tonight, my life shall no longer be a total waste, at least not in the eyes of the Almighty’, thought a nervous Lakshmi. Now all she had to do was wait for Narayan to arrive for dinner.

Suddenly she heard the intense wail of the wind outside and witnessed, through the open kitchen window, a big flash of lightning split the night sky in two followed by earsplitting thunder. “Oh please god, let it be a dust storm only, don’t rain tonight, please”, she prayed in great earnest. She hurriedly began closing all the windows and cried “Narayan, shut the bedroom windows and the main door, please, a storm is coming.”

When Narayan didn’t answer, she ran to the bedroom to find Narayan under the spell of Cholai, his regular poison. ‘Even better’ she thought as she rushed to secure the house from the fury of the storm.

On her way back to the kitchen she stopped for a moment in front of the only black and white photograph of their small family, hanging on the newly whitewashed wall, by the grandfather clock. Tears began flowing relentlessly, washing away the kaajal from her brown eyes and staining her beautiful face, as she uttered in a hushed tone “Forgive me my son but this is for your own good.”

As a drunken Narayan stumbled into the kitchen around midnight, he found Lakshmi weeping. “Oh! You confounded woman! Shut your waterhole and serve dinner. I am starving. Did you cook the fish and the goat Parul Nashkar brought? My mouth is already watering”, slurred Narayan, placing the empty bottle of country liquor beside him on the kitchen floor where he sat.

“Yes Narayan. I have prepared a lavish meal for you. Sit down and I will serve you what you deserve” Lakshmi replied. She wiped her tears as she took the match box in her hand to light the gas burner Narayan had installed in her kitchen a few months ago.

Lakshmi had worn her favorite red benarasi sari that night. A bright red bindi adorned her small forehead. She had coupled her customary red and white conch bangles with shining gold bangles and had her long black hair up in a traditional bun. A sleek gold necklace and a pair of gold ear rings completed the look. She had wanted to dress like a bride one last time. She knew about the custom of cremating married young woman in their bridal attire. But Narayan was too inebriated to notice the way she was dressed.

Then just as Lakshmi was about to light the match, she looked straight into Narayan’s eyes and with a newfound boldness she said, “Happy New Year, Narayan, see you on the other side”. She struck the match and hungry flames wiped out every trace of their mortal existence.

A raging Chaitali continued her Tandav outside.

*********************

As the first day of the New Year dawned, the charred structure of the Baidya home silently stood as the only inanimate witness to the last moments of Lakshmi and Narayan’s life. The villagers stood staring in shock. They had heard explosions last night but had thought it was the thunder. A furious dust storm had ransacked the village during the night preventing them from stepping out of their houses. Besides, their houses were situated far apart.

The district Thanedar ruled the fire as a domestic accident caused by leakage of cooking gas.

“The gushing winds spread the flames to the thick shrubbery and the granary surrounding the Baidya House but luckily, the storm died down before the fire spread any farther. It hadn’t rained a drop or the Baidya’s may have lived. The closed indoors maximized the impact of the explosion when the gas cylinder burst”, the Thanedar personally explained the dumbstruck villagers.

“Oh! The poor Baidya’s!” everyone mourned as they pondered over ways to deliver the blow to the living relatives of the deceased.

The End

                                                                                                             SOURCE BY-VIDYAKUMAR

PUBLISHED BY-OURHELLO.COM