Tales from Beyond ( cont'd)

The greed in those cunning little eyes made Sushma uncomfortable. She picked up her luggage and walked away quickly into the foyer noticing the paan stains on the walls and wondered how she could have been so foolish as to consider spending a night in this dingy little hole. She quickly called her secretary and waited while the phone rang. "Sushma!" came the gruff voice she loved so well. "Where are you? Are you OK?" in that familiar singsong convent school accent she loved. "We have been frantically looking for you. One more day and I 'd have called the police." That was Anju always melodramatic, but a good friend and a wonderful secretary. "listen Anju, I am fine. Do as I say please and no questions. Book me into my usual five star. I'll be there within the hour" and she hung up a little guilty. She was in no mood for lengthy explanations. Besides everything seemed like the twilight zone right now and they'd think she was batty. Looking for her frantically were they, she thought a trifle cynically. She had no doubt she was giving her agent nightmares right now and all that beautiful moolah slipping away out of his fat greedy hands. She read in the newspapers that both concerts had been cancelled and the fans wanted the organizer's head. Serve them right she thought recklessly and illogically. She had always been dedicated and known for her commitment to work but she didn't care any more. Let them find another money spinner she hissed to herself as she luxuriated in the warm scented bath of her luxury suite. The candle light danced on the aqua coloured bathroom walls and reflected off the water and she felt her cares slipping away. She slipped on her bathrobe feeling lightheaded with the excellent wine she'd ordered in and glided into the bedroom. Hmm money had it's advantages! she thought dreamily. She was suddenly hungry and decided she'd better go down to one of the hotel restaurants for a meal. (continued in next post)

Tales from Beyond (continued)

Her heart pounding, she threw the clothes into her suitcase in a haphazard untidy pile. She had to go, and never return. The thought curiously enough, saddened her. She took one last look around her bedroom, picked up her suitcase and headed towards the door. The eyes in the photograph on the mantel followed her reproachfully. The loud click of the door as it shut, startled her, almost accusatory, she thought. It was at that instant that she saw her again. The lone figure of an elderly woman. There was a sadness about the gait. She looked at Sushma and the look was long and piercing or so Sushma thought for the distance between her and the woman was considerable. The woman stood on the hillock, a lost soul and then hobbled painfully away and disappeared through the tall trees.

The noise of traffic, the chatter of the passengers in the bus was strangely comforting. She guessed she wasn't such a recluse after all. She wore extra large sunglasses to hide her face. No one paid the slightest attention to her. They were engrossed in their own mundane lives, and Sushma wished she was just one among many. The hotel was a nonedescript one, not a five star hotel where she was normally booked. The clerk at the desk was seedy and looked bored. He was a short thin man in his forties, with oily hair parted in the middle and the inevitable black moustache. He eyed her sullenly. As she approached the desk, his eyes took in her expensive luggage and elegant clothes, and the expression changed to one of excessive servility. She really hated that about Indians! The mere whiff of money brought out this attitude. She had experienced it dozens of times. She had also experienced arrogance and humiliation from the same kind of people when she'd been poor. (continued in next post).

Tales from Beyond (cont'd)

The day dawned dreary and wet. Rivulets of water trickled down the window pane as Sushma sat unseeing, an open unread book on her lap. The steady drumming of the rain on the rooftop, a sound she normally associated with comfort and harmony, added to the melancholy of the afternoon. Her mind was far away as she tried desperately to piece together the puzzle of this house and it's former occupants. Where did she fit in? Was she psychic, or was she in some way connected with this house and it's people. She felt certain the raggedy old man held the key to it's past. How could she get him to talk, given that he almost certainly suffered from dementia. She got up and walked into the room with the books. Would there be any clues left by their owners in between the pages? She picked up one book, then another and another. Nothing. Some phrases underlined, a few doodles here and there with a pencil. Rather artistic doodles she thought. The quiet of the afternoon was shattered by the harsh, insistent ringing of the telephone. How she hated telephones! who could be calling? she was certain she had not given this number to anyone. She leaned over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she said. There was a lot of crackle and then an anguished scream "No ! please, No!" heart pounding, feeling just a bit faint she whispered "who's there?" no answer and then a click and the person hung up. Sushma stood for a moment, almost too petrified to move and then sank into the nearest chair. She sat for a while numb and motionless, then shook herself. She had to get out. She couldn't live here any more. They were right about the house. What she left behind seemed particularly attractive right now. Her fans, the lack of privacy, the endless concerts where she was just a money making machine, and music had no appeal any more, and the paparazzi. This was something sinister and alien and beyond belief. She longed to get back to civilization, distasteful though it was. She would pack right away and call the agent. she had paid the rent in advance anyway. She rose. (continued in next blog)

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Tales from Beyond (continued)

"I hope the old man isn't bothering you?" she asked with fake concern. 'Old man'? Sushma felt a sudden surge of dislike for this beady eyed woman. She ignored the question and asked her "Who is he?" to which the woman replied "my husband's father" in a dismissive hostile tone. "can't remember anything and is more trouble than he's worth" she retorted. Sushma felt a deep anger welling up inside her. She would have gladly struck the woman across the
face if she could. "no he isn't" she answered shortly. She had a sudden urge to speak with the old man, to comfort him. "I would like to talk to him please" she said. "Talk to him? What could he possibly say that might interest you? Can't remember anything and just mumbles all day" said the beady eyed daughter in law. "I'll decide that. I would like to talk to him." Sushma repeated stubbornly. "I don't think he wants to talk to you" said the maid with a tight little smile. Sushma strode up to the entrance of the hut and called out softly "baba, are you there? I would like to speak with you. This is baby." There was no response. After a few more calls Sushma gave up and decided she'd be back. She felt certain the old man held some answers to the past and was determined to be back. (continued in next post)

Tales from Beyond (continued)

The minutes ticked by, it must have been quite late because the late afternoon sun cast dark shadows over the bare room. It was only when the clock in the hall struck the hour of five that Sushma realized with a start that she had been sitting here for close on five hours! Five splendid hours of uninterrupted browsing. She felt stiff and tired, but elated and extremely hungry! she eased up from the cramped position and stood swaying for a while. She was only thirty five but felt strangely old. And then it happened again. The room was no longer bare. There were curtains in the window. This time they were of a strange checked design. blue and gold and heavy and yes, made of silk. It was thundering outside and the room was dark except for the warm glow of a lamp with a red shade. The furniture was different too. Heavy, upholstered sofa in the same design as the curtains, with matching chairs and a white cotton rug on the floor. The picture of the hunt was gone. Instead there was a landscape of hills, and snow and a cottage nestled among some tall coniferous trees. There was an old fashioned telephone, a black one. A woman sat next to it gaunt faced, and anxious, and spoke urgently into the mouthpiece. Then as suddenly the room was bare once more, and the evening sun lingered on the warm rosewood of the cupboard of books. Sushma shook herself. What was wrong with her? was she losing her mind? She was too tired and hungry to reflect and headed towards the kitchen. As she passed the living room on her way to the kitchen, she happened to glance at the portrait over the mantelpiece. She could have sworn that the eyes in the portrait were following her. Strangely, she was not afraid. Stranger things had happened and she wasn't going to panic. Her lunch was laid out on the kitchen table, now cold and unappetizing. She'd been too busy browsing and hadn't heard the maid call out to her perhaps. She put everything away in the refrigerator, and fixed herself a sandwich. She heated some milk on the gas stove as she chewed on the tasteless sandwich thinking about the events of the afternoon. Is this what people had warned her about? Flashbacks? Is that what they were? a glimpse into the past, into the lives of people who had lived in this house and were long gone? She shivered and decided she needed to get out of the house for a while. Perhaps a long walk would do her some good. Not a gregarious person by nature, she yearned for human company right now. She desperately needed some answers, needed to be reassured that her mental faculties were in order. She gulped down the warm glass of milk and let herself out by the back door in the kitchen. She found herself in a garden of tangled weeds and tall grass. It had once been beautiful like everything else about this house, now forgotton and neglected. There were roses on some of the vines. Blood red and fragrant they stood proudly defying the decay around them. Someone must tend to them she thought. There was a statue of a little cherub and what must once have been a little fountain now dry. An old bench sat under the old mango tree where green fruit hung in clusters by their long stalks. She sat on the bench and decided it made for a cosy scene. She realized the sun was low on the horizon and the shadows were getting longer. So much for the walk! Then she heard it. someone was sobbing! It was the same sound she had heard on the night of her arrival in this house. She followed the sound her heart thumping painfully. It wasn't easy to walk among the weeds and tangled undergrowth and she almost tripped. She cursed. As she rounded the corner she almost collided into something. Holding back a cry of alarm, she saw it was an old man shriveled and small. He wore a dirty dhoti and a worn shirt over it. He was painfully thin, with bowed rickety legs. His hair was snow white, unkempt and long to his shoulders. A long white beard raggedy and unwashed flowed over his chest. He was visibly startled and looked extremely scared. His rheumy eyes surveyed her briefly, and then recognition seemed to dawn in them. His cracked lips parted in a wide toothless grin. "Baby, aap aa gayi!" he cackled in hindi which translated into English would be "Baby, you're back!" Sushma stopped in her tracks. Baby? she knew 'Baby' was the general term used by servants for the little girl of the house. Sometimes even after she had grown up she remained 'baby' to the servants as she well knew from her childhood. Huh? baby? He was obviously mistaking her for someone else. Before she could explain, his eyes had taken on a blank expression. He muttered something in hindi and retreated into the woods like a mysterious gnome. She decided to follow him without intrusion at a distance. He walked through the woods muttering, and as she followed she saw a little hut on the outskirts of the property. There was smoke billowing out of the chimney and the housemaid who worked at the house was sitting on a charpoy outside sifting grain. Oh, so this must be the servant's quarters. but who was the old man? The old man entered the hut muttering to himself and the maid said something to him in a sharp, angry tone. As she saw Sushma approach, her expression changed from anger to one of fawning servility and her shrewd black eyes took on a guarded expression. (continued in next post)

Tales from Beyond (continued)

She had been inexplicably attracted to this house, inspite of its bedraggled, forlorn appearance. The agent had tried to dissuade her from renting it, offering other bungalows nearby- modern, shiny and tasteless. She yanked open the huge cupboard built into the wall. It was made of quality rosewood, the reddish tinge of the wood radiating a soft glow in the morning sunlight. There stood before her a huge library of books. Row upon row of them. Sushma gasped in delight and surprise. Her eyes took in the works of Shakespeare and Dickens. Of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. Of Kant and Hume, and Bertrand Russell. Science, mathematics, philosophy and the social sciences and just about every subject seemed to gaze back at her. Drama,and poetry sat at the far end of the cuboard. There was a dank, musty smell emanating from the books, but Sushma parked herself on the floor and pulled out the volumes until there was a big heap in front of her. The books sadly were in various stages of disrepair and neglect but she eagerly went through the heap hoping to find a clue to its ownership. Was it the man in the portrait? She felt a strange bond and comfort in the musty volumes. She felt she had known these books. Grown up with them. How fanciful could one get? She must have read some of them sometime in the past since reading was what she enjoyed the most. Continued in next post