By Haripriya Rao
Back when tigers used to smoke, a long time before the Machiavellian way of thinking had become so normal that it no longer took the world by surprise, the night sky was prettier than it is today.
The night sky was prettier back then, because people slept peacefully. There were no robberies, there were no mishaps, there were no crimes, there was nothing that was embarrassing — everybody lived the way they wanted to live, in good terms with nature, with everybody else and with the Beyond and the Unknown.
The night sky was not feared either. Darkness was welcomed because how else will you appreciate the light? How else would something seem clearer to you? In fact, most transactions were held in the night because everybody expected results in the morning, in broad sunlight. The night sky was in fact, loved.
And then everything changed. It was that night of a new moon.
Amavasya in the local tongue.
He was walking home at night after a long, busy, tiring day at work. The streets were dark and empty. He could hear his own footsteps. “I must hurry home before…” he couldn’t complete his sentence because his mother had taught him the motto that he always lived by, “If you anticipate it, it will happen.” He didn’t want to utter his own (grave) fate.
He turned on a corner, took the left and walked past the streetlamp. The lamp’s wick was in the last stages of its life – frail and flickering against the wind. He shuddered at his own thoughts. If only someone could hear them right now…he thought to himself.
He heard a faint rustle of leaves, against the cold hard footpath. “Must be a dog or cat” he assured himself, without wanting to look back. He could almost see his house on the edge of the road now. The light in the room was still on – his wife must have fallen asleep with her book, by the fire he thought.
He heard the rustle again – this time closer to him. It was no longer faint. He could sense something moving beside him – but he didn’t want to look. He didn’t dare to look. The Moon was not his witness, that night.
He almost ran to his doorstep. “If I can just get inside before…” he was thinking, almost reaching for the gate. Something gnawed at his leg. He turned down to look. And there it was. His heart skipped a beat; his legs almost gave up on him. He couldn’t breathe. He held onto the grey compound wall for support.
It was something he had never seen before. It came to him in his dreams – he used to wake up sweating and panting, as if his life were about to end. The next morning, as usual, he and his wife used to laugh about it and brush it off; deep inside he didn’t think any of his dreams were funny. But it didn’t exist in his dreams or imagination or subconscious anymore.
It was right there, in front of him.
It didn’t seem that scary, now that his eyes got used to looking at it. It had its own sense of belonging at his leg. It wasn’t that surprising either. It could have that effect on everybody. Anybody who looked at it, for a couple of times, didn’t seem to be affected by it. There were some people who had gotten so used to it, that it didn’t even bother them. It didn’t feel like a strange thing anymore. It felt like it was part of their being.
His heartbeat came back to being normal. He stood up straight from leaning against the grey compound wall. It was still there. He was no longer scared. His mother had scared him into fearing it, but now that his episode of being scared was over, he wanted to try something, just to see what happens.
He reached out to touch it.
Suddenly everything around him became dark. The streetlamp gave out its last breath of fire. He could see the wisp of smoke in the cold air. Everything felt cold and eerie. He saw through the window, the fireplace that his wife had lighted was now ashes. He had a cold sweat on his eyebrow. He looked up; hoping to see the Moon – she was absent.
This is my chance, he thought.
He reached out to touch it – nothing happened. He realised he was trying to touch air. Was it a figment of his imagination? Was he being paranoid about it? Was it not there? Where did it go? How did he feel its presence gnawing at his leg? Was he anticipating it too much? He was confused.
He looked up at the night sky with the stars again – they seemed to look dim.
The night sky wasn’t as beautiful anymore.
He opened the gate of his house – it made its customary creak – metal against metal. His wife woke up from her slumber to this sound, straightened her dress, came to the front door. “How was your day?” she asked, taking his coat and suitcase. “Same old…same old...” he said under his breath, with a stiff smile. She sensed that he was hungry and tired – she nodded and began to set the table for their dinner.
After dinner, they went to lay down on the bed. Within a few minutes she began to snore slightly. She could always sleep peacefully, as soon as her head hit the fluffy white pillows. She looks so peaceful, he thought as he looked at her calm face. She smiled; was she dreaming?
The gnawing was back. At his leg.
He looked down at his feet. There it was, again.
He tried to look past it. He tried hard to not think too much about it. He tried to distract his mind, away from it. But he couldn’t stop himself. The more he tried to distract himself from it, the more it held a power over him. The more he tried to fight it, the more it became powerful. He wasn’t able to lie down on his side of the bed anymore. He sat up.
Now was his chance, he thought.
He went into the kitchen in the dark. He opened the fridge door to get some milk. Mother gave him milk help him sleep peacefully. He opened the freezer and took the milk packet out, poured it onto a vessel, turned on the stove, and kept the vessel on medium flame – lukewarm milk was the best solution for sleeplessness on New Moon nights.
He peered outside the kitchen window as the milk was heating on the stove. The street was empty. There was no sound – it was oddly quiet. The crickets were quiet too. This uncomfortable loud silence made him uneasy. He turned away from the window to the counter.
The knife he has used to cut open the milk packet was still lying on the counter. It was a surgical steel knife, gifted by a friend. Smiling, he picked it up. “To the most handsome groom, use this carefully! – Best wishes, lots of love!” the best wishes card had said. It reminded him of the happy times.
In one deft move, he slashed his wrists in utter submission to it. The milk had boiled over into a milky, bloody mess.
It had finally got to him. On the night of the New Moon.
Epilogue:
Nobody liked the night anymore. Everybody feared an Amavasya night.
This tale became a horror story for young children.
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Note to the reader:
The it mentioned here is anything and everything you have imagined in the course of reading this story.
You have the absolute power to identify it.
Remember:
It is always hiding in plain sight –
Anticipate and it will happen to you too.
By Haripriya Rao