Authors: Anish Sarkar
Then he pulls away and says angrily, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
I take his hand and press it to my crotch. I’m not wearing any panties. I know he can feel the heat through the worsted fabric of my skirt. ‘C’mon, don’t you want this?’ My voice sounds hoarse.
This time, he removes his hand more gently and says, ‘Look Sara, you’re a very attractive girl but I just can’t do this.’
I don’t give up. Pushing myself against him, I say, ‘Why not? Don’t you like me? I promise you that it’ll be an experience you’ll never forget.’ I feel him getting an erection despite himself, and reach down to feel his hardness.
‘You’re really crazy!’ He pushes me roughly and I fall back on the uneven ground. ‘I’m getting out of here. We can talk when you’re back in your senses, Sara.’
As he walks away, I shriek, ‘You asshole! I’m going to get back at you for this.’
Suddenly I feel dizzy. I try to get up but can’t. The dull ache in my head explodes in a crescendo of pain and I pass out.
When I awoke, I was wet, not with sweat but between my legs. I couldn’t believe it! Had my mind completely packed up? How could the most traumatic event of my life have become so utterly twisted even in my subconscious? What was real and what was imagined?
My head hurt so much that it was difficult to think.
All I know for a fact is that I had my revenge. It was sweet and conclusive.
And yet, the only thing I’ve felt all these years is guilt.
An inexplicable, relentless guilt which simply refuses to go away.
31
Omar
Three weeks after Jo’s death, the police announced that they had caught her killer. There was a press conference and television coverage and newspaper headlines—it was a sensational crime and justice had been equally spectacular.
The man arrested was a sweeper employed with the town administration, living in abject poverty with his wife and five children. He was said to be deranged, but the face we saw in the photos and clips looked frightened and bewildered.
The first clue had been a description by an eyewitness who saw him on the day of the murder near the lake where Jo’s body was found. The khaki uniform he was seen to be wearing narrowed down the search to taxi drivers, hospital attendants, municipality staff and so on; after that, it was dogged, old-fashioned police work which caught up with him.
The biggest clincher was a complete and voluntary confession by the man.
He said that he had spotted Jo in a lonely spot, abducted her and taken her to the woods adjoining the lake. A voice in his head commanded him to do what he did, and he felt no remorse because he had no control over himself at that time.
The police announced that the man was a first-time offender and congratulated themselves on having nipped a serial killer in the bud, but I don’t think Jo’s family found much solace in that.
Some questions remained unanswered. Why was Jo outside the campus just before exam-time? What was she doing alone in a desolate area? How did such a sudden breakthrough happen in the investigation when the police and even the CID were apparently making no headway? Who was the crucial eyewitness and why had he not come forward earlier?
Anyway, the case was solved and that was that. Even though it would never bring Jo back, there was some sort of closure for all concerned.
Roy was naturally grief-stricken by Jo’s death. Although they hadn’t been seeing each other for long, I knew he was falling in love with her. I could understand that because Jo was undoubtedly charming and attractive. I’m sure the police had given him the third degree while he was in the lockup but Roy was physically very tough and shrugged off the ordeal. He never spoke about it.
Despite all our attempts to lift his spirits, he remained withdrawn and pensive, and it was difficult to fathom what was going on in his mind. We began to get worried that with all the emotional baggage he carried around from his past, he might be heading towards some sort of breakdown.
Then Sara suggested the camping trip.
We had talked about it several times but never got around to actually going for one—it was always home during the vacations and the occasional picnic nearby. There was a four-day weekend coming up, perfect for our long-pending expedition. Sara spoke to a travel agent and had it all chalked out—the place next to the upper reaches of the Ganges, our schedule of activities, the train we would have to take and a list of things each of us needed to carry.
We hoped it would be a good change for Roy, and would help him come out of his depression. He certainly seemed more cheerful as we waited on the platform for our overnight train, new rucksacks on our backs and excitement in our hearts.
There was no sleep for any of us that night, as we played cards, drank rum and Coke from mineral water bottles, laughed, sang and gossiped. A guide met us at our destination early the next morning and we travelled the second leg of our journey in an old Tata Sumo, bouncing around on the rough mountain roads. By the time we reached, I felt half-dead and wondered if this had been such a good idea after all. But the camp-site was so breathtaking that all the creases in our bodies disappeared in an instant.
It was a stretch of white sand along the fast-flowing, emerald-green river. Mountains rose on both banks, clothed in dense forest, with the snow caps of the more distant peaks visible beyond them. The sky was a brilliant blue in the spring sunshine. As I breathed in the sweet, cool air, I thought that this was the most beautiful place in the world.
Since it was already noon, we headed straight for whitewater rafting, even before setting up camp. It was my first time. In fact, only Neel had ever done it before. I was quite worried when I saw the flimsy red craft—it looked like a toy boat magnified hundred-fold. As we sat precariously on the rounded edge and pushed our feet into the straps on the floor for balance, the cocky guide told us with a smirk that in case the raft overturned on the river, we needed to take our feet out quickly or would get sucked under. This bit of information didn’t do my nerves any good, I can tell you, especially because unlike the others, I didn’t even know how to swim.
It was a terrific experience in the end. Each of us had been given a bright yellow oar and we dutifully followed the guide’s instructions to row this way or that but I don’t think it made any difference. We went along with the turbulent flow of the mighty river, holding on for dear life every time the raft rolled and yawed. At the rapids, we would scream in unison as the raft pitched headlong into the swirling water, drenching us again and again, and then righted itself miraculously.
The sun was low on the horizon by the time we reached back at camp, tired but exhilarated. In no time, the little white tents were pitched and a bonfire going merrily. We sat around with cups of steaming tea in our hands, watching twilight fade into darkness and listening to the crackle of the burning wood, the muted roar of the river and the chirping of the night birds. That night, we decided to sleep out in the open, watched over by the countless stars in the clear, cobalt sky.
It was heartening to see Roy back to normal. He was enjoying himself as much as we were, laughing and joking for the first time in a month. I hoped he would stay that way and not revert to his brooding self once we returned to school.
The next day’s plan was a trek into the mountains. We set off soon after sunrise, carrying packets of food, lots of water and a first-aid kit. Neel took along his big, expensive Nikon camera, hoping to get some good shots along the way. Our route would take us over two hills and through a valley to a small hamlet in the middle of the jungle, where we would stop for a simple lunch with the villagers and then make our way back. It was a longish hike with a couple of particularly arduous stretches but we were up for anything after a full night’s sleep.
The first couple of hours were smooth going. I was the designated navigator and had a hand-drawn map given to us by the guide, which was fairly easy to follow. I called for the first halt at a clearing in the forest, where stood the ruins of a temple. The place was spooky but it added to the thrill. We wolfed down the soggy cheese sandwiches and sipped lukewarm tea from our flasks.
Neel and Roy decided to explore the temple but they beat a hasty retreat when a large cobra sheltering in the sanctum flared its hood and hissed menacingly. Neel managed to take a photograph of the magnificent reptile, though.
We never reached the village because Rachel sprained her ankle soon after that. There was a sharp depression in the ground hidden by fallen leaves and she fell right into it. Within minutes, her ankle swelled up and while we could ease the pain by applying an analgesic spray, she couldn’t put any weight on that leg at all.
There was no option but to return immediately. Neel used a branch to create a makeshift crutch for Rachel and she hobbled along, supported by two of us at a time. Where the going was too steep, Roy lifted her on his back and carried her quite effortlessly. He really was very strong. I felt jealous seeing Rachel holding on to Roy so intimately, her face practically buried in his neck.
It was around the time that my feelings for Rachel had started to change.
We were very close to each other, even within our little group, but I was having thoughts about her which I never had before. Though everyone complimented Rachel on her lovely smile, I hadn’t noticed earlier just how beautiful her mouth was, and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. When she squeezed my arm or slapped me playfully, I was strangely electrified by her touch.
It didn’t feel just physical but something far deeper. I began to miss her whenever we weren’t together. I found myself staring at her when she wasn’t looking. If she said something nice about me, it felt incredibly good; and I hated it when she said something nice about anyone else. I actually tried to imagine what it would be like to spend the rest of my life with her. As surprising as it sounded to me in my own mind, I was slowly but surely falling for Rachel.
I hadn’t told her anything, for it would have ruined our friendship. I don’t know if she guessed something, with a woman’s instinct and all that, because she asked me more than once if there was something I wasn’t telling her. I brushed off her questions, lying that there was nothing about me she didn’t already know.
We managed to get back to camp by late afternoon, with aching feet and empty stomachs. Sara rustled up Maggi noodles on our kerosene stove and we piled it away like it was gourmet food. Rachel’s ankle was better but it was obvious that she could take no part in our remaining activities.
I don’t remember whose idea it was but we decided to get Roy drunk that evening.
He had never had alcohol in his life. It was very cold and we suggested that he have some brandy to stay warm. He smiled, saying he didn’t need it, which was true because he was wearing only a pullover while the rest of us were wrapped in at least two layers of woollens, not to mention the thick caps on our heads. I figured it was his German genes.
After much cajoling, we managed to get him to take a sip of the brandy. His eyes went wide as the unfamiliar liquid burned its way through his insides. I guess he didn’t dislike the taste for he finished the rest of it in a gulp. He wiped his mouth with his hand and said, ‘Happy?’ We knew that given his size, it would need more than that to get him tight, even if it was his first time. He refused to have any more brandy but we kept mixing small amounts of rum in the endless glasses of Coke he drank through the evening, without him realising it.
By ten o’clock, I could see that our job was done, too well unfortunately. Roy’s eyes had become bloodshot and he had lapsed into a zombie-like silence. The idea had been to make him talk more and do silly things which we could make fun of the next morning but our plan had backfired. He was clearly beyond speech and would probably pass out soon.
As if on cue, he looked up at us and slurred, ‘You assholes…you made me…drunk. I’ll never forgive…this…’ His eyes rolled up and he toppled over on his side. This obviously hadn’t gone well. We half lifted, half-dragged him to his tent and tucked him into his sleeping bag. He was completely unconscious, but I hoped he would be fine in the morning.
Except that when we woke up the next morning, Roy had disappeared.
32
Neel
There was a knock on the door.
I was awake. Reading a book for the first time in months. It was called
Shibumi
. A Japanese word which meant a high state of refinement or perfection. I had found it in Sara’s library. The novel was a unique mélange of suspense, philosophy and cultural discourse.
Sara poked her head in. ‘Can I come in?’
I closed the book. ‘Yeah, sure.’
She sat down next to me on the bed. ‘You’re reading
Shibumi
?’
‘After many years…It’s one of my favourite books.’
‘Mine too.’ She sighed. ‘I was in love with Nicolai Hel for the longest time.’
‘And I wanted to be him,’ I said and immediately realised that my words were open to misinterpretation. ‘I mean, he was such a fascinating character.’ Nicolai Hel was the main protagonist of
Shibumi
. Genius, mystic, highly skilled lover. A master of language and culture. And the most highly-paid assassin in a post-World War II world.
Sara smiled but didn’t say anything to that.
I asked, ‘What about you? Sleeping pills not working again?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t take them tonight.’
I was surprised. I knew she had a daily prescription.
‘Neel, do you still have…feelings for me?’
I stared at her. Unable to speak. I was transported back to a time when just seeing Sara would make my heart beat faster. When her smile would make me go weak in the knees. When the smallest compliment from her would make me ecstatic. When her casual touch would send a mad rush of desire coursing through my body.
I was suddenly aware that we were very close. Her thighs were warm against mine. She was wearing a sleeveless cotton top and a pair of shorts. I was just wearing track pants. I looked at my bare torso and felt vaguely embarrassed.