What is fear? ______________________________________
The man calmly whipped his cane in the air, and Avish thought he could see a faint black smoke curling by its blunt edges. Like a dark little cloud.
'Bhoo -'
The man in black placed a willowy finger on his lifeless, demented lips. He took a step ahead, nearing Avish with chilling intent in his one good eye, the seaweed shine overwhelmingly overtaking. Becoming a chamber which coaxed you in but didn't let you out. But even as he groped for a rein to his brain, Avish could not help but think that no, the resemblance was not with a chamber at all, no; chambers could be unlocked.
Could pits . . . be unlocked?
'Shhh,' the man crooned. 'Close your eyes.'
Avish did not dare protest.
The month was May, summer at its peak - yet suddenly each breath he drew in was cold. Entered his throat, went down into his stomach, filled his groins. Like gaseous frost. He shivered in spite of himself.
Contrary to this was the man in black, whose presence commanded to be felt, eyes shut or not. And that presence, that presence radiated such terrible heat, such tantalizingly crafted heat - like to a fire which is neither dead nor dying, but not kindling all the same - that Avish was sure this heat had been manufactured by the man in black. Because this was no natural heat, no. This was witchcraft.
Between this and the chill, he'd chose the latter any day.
'Focus on my voice, boy,' the source of the unnatural heat whispered, reminding Avish his eyes were still shut. 'Only my voice. Let all other noises fade away. Let them leave. Let them go.'
Avish felt a strange silence caress his ears. As if the man had hexed sounds to be muffled. The void he saw intensified.
Boy. He called me boy.
(he hates you he does)
'Concentrate on my voice, and my voice alone.'
Darkness. Quiet.
'Now. Inhale.'
Avish gulped as he did. The void was now the purest shade of black he'd ever seen.
'Imagine a curly white smoke-'
He could see it, heaven's, he could see it!
(a wisp in the void . . .)
'-rising up, up to your chest as you inhale-'
(oh my god it's real REAL REAL the smoke is real)
'-turning into pure stark energy as you exhale-'
(I am trapped trapped in the void trapped in the void trapped trapped trapped)
'-and now rule the void. Mold it.'
(mold it yes make it better)
'The void is yours.'
It's mine.
'It is yours,' serenaded the voice. 'Yours to rule. Yours to destroy.'
'Mine,' Avish mumbled, realizing just how he much he was at peace with himself at the moment. How he could stay in the void forever.
Something touched his face. Could things be hot and clammy at the same time? Well, this was it. It felt so sickly, so wrong, it jerked Avish out of the void.
Now he found himself in an even deeper one. The man's good eye.
Avish could swear he saw the galaxy in that seaweed pit. He could legitimately smell the universe, a moldy old tang, like the parchments of a dust-laden book, mixed proportionally with the right amount of sweat and oil. As mythical as that was, Avish thought it smelled worse than yak's piss.
What was happening? What was he thinking about? Was he thinking at all? Was this the man controlling his contemplations? Could this be -
'Are you afraid, boy?'
A nervous silence.
'Yes.'
'Are you afraid of me?'
A negligent pause.
'No.' Avish mumbled a reply to a question he had barely heard, yet he knew he had answered correctly. The man had drugged him apparently, with his voice or his eye or his magic or whatever, but somehow Avish felt everything was clear. Everything was too saturated. Too bright, even. He felt like fainting. 'No,' he repeated.
The man in black smiled, his charcoal, leaf-like skin pulling back into a hideous grin. Teeth like the bark of an oak, only much more disgusting. Even so, he looked much more serene now. His voice returned back to being smooth as cream. 'Then you need to listen. Take another deep breath, please.'
Almost robotically, Avish did. He was at peace. He was prepared to listen.
'Nothing,' the man in black began, 'in this entire universe, and in universes beyond this, comes for free. Nothing, my friend. The seemingly simple fact that you are born makes you owe a lot to this universe. The fact that this world has supplies to sustain you, people to keep you company, comes with a price as well. Do you follow?'
Avish nodded. He didn't feel like speaking.
'I am not mad at you, Avish. I want to be. But that is not my job. My sole purpose to reveal myself to you was to help you find a balance. Push you in the right direction. Provide much needed counsel. And what did I ask for in return?'
'Nothing,' Avish managed to say. Not quite sure where this was headed.
'That's right, Avish. I asked for nothing in return. I stand by that. But what do you do in return to my favor? How do you repay me?'
It suddenly struck Avish. 'So you were angry because I told Radha about us?'
'Astute. I was indeed angry. The void gave me as much calm as to you.'
Avish frowned. 'But that doesn't make any sense. Why can't I tell people about you? Who cares if they trust me or not? You're not to be seen, anyway. Besides, Radha believes me. She's awesome, Bhoo, she won't snitch.'
'Avish, Avish, Avish,' dawdled the man. 'It is not healthy to tell people about certain things. It starts as a minute splinter, then cuts like a fully-fledged sword.'
The man paused, his non-existent brows - only brown, haggard patches where they should be - creasing in thought. It was ugly to look at, quite simply. An unearthly sort of purr escaped his throat, like a lump of dirt were stuck in there, as the man finalized a decision. 'Allow me to entertain you with a tale, my friend. Perhaps then you will understand.'
My friend.
That was better. Better than boy or Avish or whatnot. Friend sounded good. Maybe the man wouldn't mind being called Bhoo anymore.
And a crackling sizzle of a story was always most welcome.
'Shall I?' said the man, back to being his polite self.
'Yeah, shoot.'
'Before I begin, you should know that this is an entirely authentic account of a person who is as real as you are.'
Avish groaned. 'Agh. True stories are boring.'
The man in black gave a rueful laugh, as otherworldly and surreal as everything about him. 'Not all of them, my dear friend. And no matter how you find this narrative, you need to listen. You need to ponder. You need to understand.'
Avish stared.
''Tis for your own good.'
'Fine,' he grumbled. 'Go on, then.'
As soon as the story kicked off, Avish knew it wasn't going to be a typical one; 'tale' would be an overstatement.
'So,' began the man in black, 'I once had a friend. He was very much like you, in fact. But cruel circumstances call for cruel measures, and he was sent to the army as a young lad. A kid, a cadet. Years later, he came out an adult, a general. Made pals there. Lost some, gained some. Suffered a lot, witnessed plenty violence. The border had essentially become the sun for him, around which the planet of his life revolved. What he did not realize, however, was that it had actually been a black-hole. You see, Avish, the man - he left the army, but the army didn't leave him.'
This was so not the kind of kick he'd expected, but Avish found one thing quite queer about this. He had to word it, or he'd have a stomachache. 'That's weird, Bhoo.'
'What is?' the man asked, not disturbed at all at having just been interrupted in the middle of a recitation.
'Just now, before you woke me up, I was dreaming - I think - about my grandma's house. And the thing is, my grandpa, he used to be in the army too. He was a doctor there, I think. He's no more, but . . . I dunno . . . guess I just wanted to tell you. Sorry, this is pretty silly.'
The man in black purred. 'It is quite fine, my friend. I am always there for you, should you require my assistance. May I continue?'
'Oh, yeah, sure.'
'So the man retired and settled in the countryside. He never married. He never really made new friends. Just old ones, from the army, were the ones he remotely kept any contact with. He craved killing. He craved the thrill of holding a rifle in his arms, the privilege of wearing a uniform, of showcasing exemplary discipline, code and conduct. Rumors spread. The man was fantasized as a nut. He would be found many a time marching down the fields in proper uniform. He would talk to strangers like they were his higher officials. He would carry a gun with him always, saying it was licensed and that was all that mattered. Saying he needed it for protection. Against what, people would ask. He would never answer.
'Until one day, that is. He did answer. He answered to every question anyone asked. He said there was too much gloom in the world and not nearly enough light. He said monsters exist, and they live right with us. They try to talk to us, he said. He said he talked to one himself, daily. At precisely two in the morning, not skipping a day. People called him mad, of course. He didn't give a kidney bean about it, same as you don't. He kept spreading word, entered the server, publicized. Once or twice he made it into the local newspaper. Now, a countryside is a small place, Avish, where strange events rarely unfold and people have little patience thereof.
'Hence the matter was getting out of hands. The man would march the streets, beating drums, yelling to beware of the monsters. Screaming how he could not be the only one that saw. Folk ignored it for as long as they could; everyone respects a former army general. But soon it was too much for them to bear. The man fired his gun in a public place one day, saying he was trying to shoot the monster, trying to kill it like he had killed his enemies on the border. No one would trust him. They said he was simply obsessed with his past life, and they weren't entirely wrong.
'The mental asylum took him up. No excuse saved the man; he was diagnosed with acute schizophrenia.'
'Schizo-what?'
'He was deemed a menace for all,' the man explained. 'They promised he could be healed, but alas, that was not to be.'
A deep breath.
'The man killed himself.'
Here Bhoo stared avidly at Avish; it looked almost like even his left eye was making an attempt to open. Avish was transfixed. By death, eleven-year-olds usually are.
'The murder weapon was a knife he had somehow smuggled to his ward. On the wall of his isolation room were these words written in his own blood: "follow me to my afterlife." '
Avish breathed wheezily. Loads of questions sprouted up like destructive weeds of waste in his presently infertile brain.
'Ask away, my friend,' said the man in black, reading his thoughts. It was creepy, really, how that could be done so easily.
'You're the monster that drove him nuts, aren't you?'
'Absolutely not. He was already gone when he retired from the army.'
'But you are the monster, right?'
'I am no monster.' Daresay the man sounded a bit offended?
'The man thought you one, though, didn't he?'
'Not initially, no. As I said, we were friends. He was distressed. Unable to adjust. Unable to clement, to move on. In his desperation, he turned to me. I helped him from my behalf, best as I could. But then he started telling others. I warned him, as I just warned you. He didn't listen. Then the time came when the worst was past, he was doing quite well. So I had to leave. My purpose had been served.'
'But he had trouble letting you go,' Avish said.
'But he had trouble letting me go,' the man in black concurred. 'He became desperate. Company of no other would soothe him. He began pulling off impractical stunts knowing I would come to his aid. And I did, every single time. That is what friends do. But that morphed into his reality. His only reality. I warned him, I say again.'
Avish gulped. 'Are you going to leave me too, Bhoo?'
The answer came, straightforward as a sage. 'I am.'
'When?'
'Whenever you are prepared.'
'When'll I be prepared?'
'If I tell you, you will never be.' A prolonged quiet. 'You are too young to understand the complex descent of a person into madness, my friend. But you will have to face the same fate, should you keep on telling others.'
The man purred again, very loudly, this time. 'As I said, nothing comes without a cost.'
______________________________________
What is fear?
______________________________________
'How far is the despication, Dad?' Avish asked, eyes on the road they were leaving behind.
'I swear,' Dhruv said, 'if you ask me one more time, weasel, I'mma be really mad. You'll know when we reach the damn place.'
Avish was a sensitive kid, in many ways. Resilient, check. Strong, check. Brave, check. But sensitive more so than most. His father's rude reply hurt, for some reason.
'Our damn despication,' Dhruv muttered under his breath, hand firm on the steering wheel.
Shweta was sitting in the front passenger seat and she hissed something at her husband, who simply pulled out a cigarette, opened the window and did what he did best: not give a shit.
Looking at father, burning the cancer-stick away, Avish made a decision. He'd never smoke in his life. Ever.
All three feared if the car would break down before they reached their "despication". It showed how tired they were, seeing as Shweta didn't correct her son for the umpteenth time by saying "it's not despication, dear; it's destination." Sitting in a car for long hours can turn legs to a cross between rubber and jelly.
Not a top-notch feeling.
______________________________________
Grandma greeted them with open arms. Literally and figuratively.
She was as your mother's mother is supposed to be. She had all typical characteristics of senior citizens, and many more of juvenile adults. She was amiable, affluent, smart, active and cunning. A storehouse of knowledge, wrinkles and hugs.
Her house was huge. It was practically a mini-manor. She lived there alone. Had been living there alone for the past three years, since grandpa passed away. Well, with her housemaid, a timid young creature called Antra.
Dhruv wasn't coming with them. He was to go another ten miles north, for what he called a "business meeting." If his business meetings require a tank of booze that he packed in the trunk, Shweta thought. But she didn't mouth any of what she thought. She was glad, if anything; she could have these few days to herself. Spend time with her own mother. And more importantly, her son. Whom she noticed was quite distant these days. Relieved, yes, but also worried. Afraid, even.
It was a different kind of fear, the kind of fear you anticipate. You know you're going to be terrorized. You know it in your bones and you can't help but think about it.
Then again . . . what is fear?
But Shweta had noticed Avish was very content with school these days. That was good, she presumed. He'd been blushing a lot the last few days. Well, she thought, kids get it young these days.
SSDD (Same Shit, Different Day) was slowly transitioning into DSDD (Different Shit, Different Day).
As for Avish, he absolutely adored his grandma. The idea of skipping school didn't thrill him, since things were surprisingly improving (not once had he run into the Boogies since the little chat with Ms. Pratibha; maybe they were intentionally dodging him), but he won't drop a chance to go to grandma's for a penny. There was the matter of Bhoo, too. Whether he would follow him here, all the way to the outskirts of the town.
Whether he would divulge what was to come for Avish in the future.
But he didn't want to think about that. He just wanted to enjoy. Be a kid.
He entered the mammothic house with hope in his heart, that this was going to be a fun few days.
A fun few days indeed.
Everything will have a pay-off by the end, so don'tcha worry.
Do vote, comment and share!!!
(or I send Bhoo to haunt your nights . . .)
So long, amigos.