by Gargi | Jul 17, 2024 | Stories
That dark stormy night twenty years ago was when she decided to make a deal with the devil knowing fully well that she would have to pay back with interest. The devil had bared his teeth and malaciously lent her his cold soul. ” Twenty years” he had whispered.
Minutes later she was staring down at Juan’s face as his pebbly black eyes peered at him with one last desperate appeal. The carotid at the side of his neck throbbed like mad trying to pump every last drop of his blood to his brain, but she couldn’t step back now! It was Juan who was a junkie, it was he who lived his life in a daze jumping in and out of one hallucination to another and surely such an addict can’t be the sole heir to the entire conglomerate. Admittedly she had always fed this addiction of his with endless supply of substance but then father should have known better than trust a deranged son over the sharp witted daughter. Thunder struck and in the flash of lightening she could see life drain from his eyes. As a coup de grace , she took the fishing knife and with one swoop cut off the throbbing artery. Blood spurt out like freshly slaughtered lamb, Juan even did bleat like one…..pathetic!!!!
Today she stood admiring herself in the mirror as she remembered that stromy night twenty years ago; but this storm was different. It seemed to mirror the storm inside her head. The thunder outside seemed to reverberate with the throbbing of the carotid in her neck, the sound of bleating echoed her skull and then came the sharp cutting pain in her throat….The devil was recovering what was owed.
by Gargi | Jul 16, 2021 | Stories
Dr Q (into her voice recorder): Time is 1300 hours. Date- 13 th July Friday, place subject- Jeremy Palmer age27.Narco analysis session 1…….. (Looks at the subject lying half conscious attached to the beeping monitor.) Jeremy, can you hear me?
Jeremy: Yes I can.
Dr Q: Can you tell me what happened on Elm Street on 4 th of January around midnight?
Jeremy: I could not sleep, felt wabbit. My head hurt from the accident I had while cleaning windows a week ago. I walked down Elm Street like they said… (Abruptly goes silent)
Dr Q: (lightly taps his cheek) Jeremy…. Jeremy…..Who are they?
Jeremy: the voices living in my skull….they told me they would help me sleep.
Dr Q: Who did you see on Elm Street on 4th January?
Jeremy: A girl with an enticing aura, blond, fair, very young. She had aqua eyes and neck like a swan. Just like Ava.
Dr Q: (scribbles the word Ava in her notes followed by a large question mark) did she talk to you Jeremy?
Jeremy: (shakes his head in negation) She did not speak, but I heard her alright. It begged me to help escape. It really pleaded.
Dr Q: Who pleaded Jeremy? Who asked you to help escape?
Jeremy (swallows a silent sob): The blood in the vein at the nape. It throbbed loud, loud enough to shake the firmament. It drove them crazy. They began to scream.
Dr Q: (adjusts the dosage of the intravenous, checks for Jeremy’s pulse): Who did the throbbing drive crazy, Jeremy?
Jeremy: (after a long pause) the voices inside my skull. They screamed so loud my head hurt.
Dr Q: what did the voices say Jeremy?
Jeremy: They said I had to help the blood in her vein escape or else…. (Falls silent again)
Dr Q: (taps his cheeks lightly again) else what Jeremy? What did the voices say Jeremy?
Jeremy: Or else they would not let me sleep and make my head explode.
Dr Q: (scribbles in her notebook) what did you do then Jeremy?
Jeremy: (quivers violently and howls in agony) I….I …..
Dr Q: (adjusts the dosage again till breathing stabilizes): What did you do Jeremy?
Jeremy: I raised the machete and struck her long swan like neck. The blood escaped like a fountain. It spurted out everywhere, on my clothes, my hands, my face. It was so warm. Warm like the hot water bath Ava drew for me every night.
Dr Q: (underlines the word ‘Ava’ written in her notes vigorously) what did you do then Jeremy?
Jeremy: I walked home and slept. It was quid pro quo. The voices…They sang a lullaby, the same one Ava sang for our son. They put me to sleep. The warm blood and lullaby did…… They knew I just wanted to sleep….. A long deep sleep (begins to spasm and grabs his head as the pulsated beep of the monitor goes crazy and flatlines to an eternal sleep.)
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by Gargi | Mar 12, 2021 | Stories
Mama, one more story please. " Miriam had pleaded that night. She had desperately wanted mama to read out the story with pictures of the beautiful princess in big blue dress and shiny glass shoes from the pink book.
" Later sweetie, when daddy gets home." mama had said kissing her forehead.
Daddy never got home. Miriam was pulled out of her bed late that night, half asleep, the pink book clasped tightly and carried into the dead of the night by a very distressed mama. The following morning, Miriam woke up in the back of a goods truck, cradled in her mother's arms. Miriam looked at her mother with questioning glance. All her mother told her was- " no matter what happens, Miriam, keep running." She kept repeating it over and over, till the truck slowed down. That was when mama pushed her out. Miriam wailed as the truck rumbled on it's way with Miriam crying on the dusty road. Miriam clutched the tiny book closer to her heart and ran wherever her feet guided. As days went by, Miriam grew thinner and so did the book. One cold December evening, she traded some pages with pictures of a castle for a slice of bread from a nasty looking girl. The following week she used some pages to light a fire when her palms went numb with cold and one particularly rainy night, she had eaten away the pages with pictures of candy, roasted turkey and a cake in hope of silencing her pangs of hunger. Under no circumstances however did she give up the story with pictures of the beautiful princess in blue dress and shiny glass shoes.
A couple of years after separating from Mama, Miriam was captured and forced to work as a slave girl for a cruel militant and his brutal wife. That was when she had to tear out the pages of the princess story, fold them into tiniest possible folds and hide it under her headscarf. It ached to leave the book behind but it was impossible to carry it as she escaped through the narrow sewers. By the time Miriam came to the camp, the pages were adorned with creases, smudges and blotches that obscured the now faded pictures but Miriam held on to them. She hoped to someday know the princess's story. For hours she would stare at it, moving her lips, believing that if she pretended to read long enough, she may succeed.
Working as a journalist in war torn Syria, I met Miriam. Sheepishly, she asked me if I could read out loud her pages. I nodded and we sat down in the dirt, surrounded by glum and desperation of the camp; Miriam's green eyes taking in every single word as I read-" Once upon a time there lived a beautiful young girl named Cinderella….. " Six years and a bloody war later, the princess in blue dress was finally ready to tell her story.
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by Gargi | Jan 14, 2021 | Stories
The lady in waiting
1645 C.E
I woke up by the sunlight swimming in a single conical beam through the hole in the wooden roof. My head really hurt and so did my torso. Curse these tight corsets! One would think I would have gotten used to them by now but I certainly had never slept in it. I always wondered why every woman needed to look like a tall vase and that too at the cost of squeezing all the inner organs together in a pulp. Unable to bear it anymore I loosened the strings and threw aside the corset at the furthest end of the battered wooden cabin and lay my bare back on the stone cold floor. The aching red marks sent waves right up my spine, as if a red hot iron had been quenched in a tub full of ice. I closed my eyes and let the sunbeam dance over my face. Things felt slightly more hopeful after the sunrise, especially after last night’s ordeal. But then everything is scary in the dark. A warm, luminous sun had risen, I now wished for a sunrise in my dark life, ‘our life’ to be precise. Anne and I needed a drop of sunshine. The last I saw of her was the night before in the tower window, her beautiful face and tear filled eyes staring at me as I galloped away. How I loved that beautiful face! The world may call it blasphemy but how can something as pure as love be blasphemous? Not that I cared. The love I had for Anne thrived beyond the horizons of right and wrong, virtue and vice. When we were together, the world around ceased to exist. In that moment she ceased to be a princess and I no longer identified as her lady in waiting.
Nightfall came stealthily and I stared at the lone star swimming in the dark ocean of sky through the pigeon hole. Second night alone in this hellhole! My throat was parched and my stomch spasmed with hunger but I was too scared to venture out of the cabin I search of food or water. I lay on my back reliving the horrific moments of my escape from the castle- the high pitched yells of the queen’s chambermaid shouting blasphemies and accusing me of witchcraft when she found me in Anne’s arms, the silent sobs of Anne as she pleaded me to leave the castle and wait at this log cabin for her to join me in two days, the howls of the coyotes as I galloped through pitch black forest as if my life depended on it. Late into the night after my tears had all dried up exhausting my entire being I plunged into deep sleep.
The next day I could not take it anymore. I decided to bury my fears and venture outdoor to the stream for some water and fish. As I bent over the water to scoop up some water, a sharp pain exploded in the back of my head and I went blank. I am not sure for how long I lay unconscious but I remembered being forced into consciousness by a splash of freezing cold water across my face. Gasping for breath I tried to make sense of my surroundings.. My head ached wanting to burst open. The first rays of the dawn’s light were setting in. I could not move and I was bound, hands to knees, gagged and nude. A tall lanky man, dressed in black with hooked shaped nose stared at me with cruel demeaning eyes. I recognised him. He was the bane of existence of every man and woman who chose to defy the so called norms of the society. I was sure money had changed hands, whispers of betrayal had been set in motion. His majesty had made his intentions clear- a lady in waiting was dispensible , the honour of the crown not so . Third day in hiding and I had been discovered. The tall lanky man spoke in cold voice-“ I am the confessor. When did you sign a pact with the devil?” I knew him. I knew what was happening and I was pretty sure of my fate. It was sealed. I refused to speak and consequently was flogged incessantly. I battled in and out of state of consciousness for next few hours. Finally, Brutalised, starved and writhing in agony, I broke. I lied and confessed to things I had not done. Truth did not matter to me anymore. I just wanted to rest even if it meant forever.
EPILOGUE
The young chambermaid read aloud – ‘The woman who lay in hiding for three days in the log cabin yonder the woods was finally captured by the witchfinder general Matthew Hopkins on Friday the 13 th 1632 CE. Her confession coupled with the devil’s mark on the lower of her back was enough to prove at trial that she indeed was a witch in guise of Her Royal Highness Princess Anne’s lady in waiting and so was burned at stake in the outskirts of the county ofPendle.’
“ Good riddance I must say, your Highness! And to think she lived in the castle some days before!” the chamber maid exclaimed as she folded the parchment and began brushing the Princess’ hair. Princess Anne sobbed a silent tear. The chambermaid thought she was relieved, the new lady in waiting interpreted the sob as that of worry. Silently, Princess Anne mourned the loss of her one true love.
GLOSSARY
Matthew Hopkins- self proclaimed ‘ witchfinder general’ in 17th century. Though not officially appointed, he was responsible for capture and execution of more than a hundred women alleged as ‘witches’ in England. These women included, free thinkers, midwives, naturalists, homosexuals and also anyone the society disliked.
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by Gargi | Oct 17, 2020 | Stories
Niranjan Shastri for the umpteenth time pranced to the door and returned. The bell had rung twice and he waited not very patiently for it to go for the last time. Tonight the stage at ‘Shivaji rang mandir’ was to bear a witness to his art. ‘Shivaji Rang Mandir’…. a theatre where stalwarts were born and had since decades been worshipped, revered and coveted by all rising stars. With butterflies in his stomach, Niranjan dabbed concealer again attempting to fade the purple of the bruises on his cheek. Through the corner of his eye he saw his co artists happily chattering away from the stage wing, giggling as they tried to catch a glimpse of their loved ones in the spectator gallery. Niranjan knew no such ‘loved one’ waited for him. He wished he could cry his heart out just once but he did not want to ruin his made up face. He made a mental note to cry out in the loo just before going home for at home the mere sight of tears greeted him with blows and bruises- no father wants a ‘soft’ boy.
Lightly dabbing the corner of his eyes, Niranjan with a steady hand began to apply kohl. The swollen eyelids ached as he separated them lightly. The girls around him marvelled at the confident sweep of his hand. Niranjan smiled a little. Keen observation as his mother applied kohl for years had not gone waste. His mother- how he missed her today! People always told him how much he looked like her. Was it why his father could not stand him? They say kohl made you see clearer. But today even as he applied third layer of kohl, things were still a blur.
He remembered her as a petite form with a celestial voice. The voice, which had enslaved connoisseurs and infuriated his father. Take the breath away and a mortal dies. He forbade his wife from stepping on the stage and Madhavi left for heavenly aboard. The legacy of melody she left in Niranjan soon became his bane.
The clock struck twelve. Niranjan walked onto the stage and stood in a peacock blue nine yard paithani sari, gold ornaments accentuating the luminous aura of an all encompassing persona. He struck the first note and the entire auditorium was pulled into a celebration called ‘Bhamini’. The wide range, powerful throw of voice maintaining the grace that came in as effortless and natural as a flowing stream. It brightened up the expression, tantalizing and alluring but nowhere immoral or promiscuous. Today the Bhamini on stage held power over the emotions of every person off stage. She could make them cry, she could make them fall in love. The last aalap ended and the theatre burst into a rapturous applause followed by a unanimous appeal for a ‘once more’. Concealer had won over the purple bruises, kohl triumphed over swollen eyelids. At midnight ‘ Gandharva’ heralded his rebirth as a mortal.
Glossary
Bhamni- female lead character in the sangeet natak ( musical) called Manapman ( honour and dishonour) immortalised by the legendary ‘ Balgandharva’
Gandharva- a celestial being with melodious voice.
Aalap- a combination of musical notes in Indian classical music.
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Photo From: Unsplash
This is an entry for the event #twelve #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room.
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by Gargi | Jan 8, 2019 | Stories
When he entered the house it was almost midnight. He knew Nina hated when he rang the doorbell at late hours but then he always forgot to take his keys. He always entered the house through the kitchen window for he knew Nina would be sitting at the dining table waiting for him but pretending to read. It was typical of Nina; she always pretended she did not care but her gestures; like keeping an eye on the kitchen clock or leaving food in the oven for him always gave her away. Rob could never understand why she did that but he sure knew this incomprehensible nature of Nina was the reason he was crazy about her even after a decade of marriage.
Tonight the kitchen window was open but Nina was nowhere to be seen. Even the oven was empty. Rob went to the living room expecting her to be watching the television or putting little Rose to sleep. The living room was a mess. Old photographs that reminded him of happy times were strewn all across the floor amongst innumerable audio CDs of his albums. He sat on the floor amidst all the polaroids of Nina holding little Rose the day she was born, an year old Rose on Santa’s lap, Rose puffing her cheeks to blow out candles on her fifth birthday. He remembered her fifth birthday so vividly.
“Daddy will you sing me a lullaby?” Rose had asked with sleepy eyes as he kissed her goodbye to catch a late night flight. He had a concert to perform, a new album to sign and a press meet. After that he could sing to Rose all night.
“Daddy needs to go sweetums. But I promise that I will sing to you after your birthday party tomorrow.”
“Pinkie promise daddy?”
Rob had nodded, wrapping his burly finger round her teeny tiny pinkie. Rob’s tour had extended by a week. Rose never asked for the lullaby after he returned.
But tonight he crept to her room stealthily, his guitar in hand. Her angelic form glistened in the moonlight as she cuddled Nina in her sleep. He struck the first note and hummed a tune.
“You do know that she cannot hear you, do you?” a figure shimmering in white glow whispered in his ears.
“Yes. But I know she will feel it.”
“You have ten minutes.” The form in white smiled and patted his shoulder. Rob closed his eyes, cleared his throat and began- ‘Hush a bye a baby on the tree top….’ he knew he had to make the most of the ten minutes he had. Ten minutes before grief strikes her little heart, ten minutes before she is brutally brought back from the dreamland, ten minutes before Nina’s wails fill up the house and ten minutes before the phone rings to inform Nina about his fatal car crash an hour back.
