The first thing to strike him about Pattitapabanapur was the way it drizzled, steady, constant, unending. The way water poured here, from the incredibly grey skies, was surreal, it appeared as though there was a giant showerhead right outside the window. The second, of course, was how he had ended up in this village, at the end of nowhere, and then some further, bewilderingly, with a mansion to his name! He wouldn't have dreamt, he thought, even in the fanciest of dreams, that the miserly, long-forgotten, much deviled 'uncle' of his mother would die, bequeathing to him acres of land and this crumbly teak wood mansion he was currently residing in. It probably hadn't been intended, he just happened to be the only living relative eligible for it and so the inheritance had been handed over to him by the smug, always smiling, shiny Mr. Pradhan, B.A, LLB. Sitting within this haveli, dry and relatively comfortable, he majestically surveyed the expansive rain-soaked view from the colonial windows of his living room and mused that he just might start calling himself the King of Nowhere.
Unable to find a reference of it on Google Maps, he had finally managed to reach the place two days ago, hitch-hiking on bullock carts, walking almost for a day before finally trudging up a steep hillock to catch the first glimpse of the house - that he had been utterly surprised at what lay in front of him would have been an under statement of the year - compared to the barren, dusty lands he had just crossed, stretching to the horizon, for as far as he could see were wild, ripe, verdant green pastures, their greenery striking against the dark clouds rolling in from the north. The breeze had turned cool and smelt of unknown flowers, also like it had been raining recently, slightly musty, slightly fresh, it lifted his sagging spirits, his inheritance was something, after all - he had known then, instinctively, that it was this house, that this valley would be his to keep till he died.
He continued to muse, had the house not existed, it would have been just as fine, the land was pure green gold. There was even a bulging river in the distance, glittering like a thick silver chain - maybe that's where his property ended! Hoping not, and then immediately chastising himself for his greed - for no one who has read the story of the greedy man who ran so much in a day to mark his land that he died at the end of the day, would ever admit, even to themselves, the joy of possessing land exceeding six feet. The house, not really an eyesore, he gruffly admitted, was right in the center of the valley, a small pond a few yards away, fringed by some coconut trees and a nice big banyan tree, further down to the west. It was a lovely sight, and not just because he had for all his life lived in the coal-infused, dry, dusty town of Khurda! The thought then that had crossed his mind was as to why the fields hadn't been cultivated or if there were any other habitations further north, for there hadn't been any towards the south either, he knew this as he had traveled that way. He would ask Hari Babu, he had made a mental note of it and he had then gently enquired about it, trying not to sound greedy as a city-dweller would, under such circumstances of becoming a zamindaar over night . Hari Babu, a grave, wizened old man, dark and lean, by years of toil under an unforgiving Indian sun, looked 70 but was probably still in his forties.
All he had got out of the reticent man was that this had been a cursed land, his uncle had bought the semi-valley at a throw-away sum from the previous owner and built his house on it. He had spent a few years trying to grow crops and lost a lot of money as each year the valley was cursed by ravaging floods during the monsoons, it was downstream of the Tabini dam, the river stayed mostly dry through the year - until the monsoon caused the dam spillway gates to open, submerging the valley for a week. Hari Babu had then showed him the marks on the wall left by the receding waters. The marks close to the roof of the ground floor had left him shocked. But Hari Babu had quickly tried to assuage his fears, telling him tales of how his persistent relative had overcome this 'indignity' at the hands of nature by building a second floor - a more equipped comfortable room that could be kept stocked for upto a week - he had never had to go to a shelter home, come cyclone or flood - his 'gruncle' had been a tough nut, and had always managed to evade the government's evacuation efforts. Hari Babu assured him he'd be back the following week to clean up and have the house repaired - it had been unlived in for almost a year now and the wood was rotting at several places, asking him to be gentle with the doors and windows.
While he had agreed with Hari Babu, he couldn't swallow his disappointment at landing such a douche for inheritance, granted he had not had to pay anything for it, not even the estate taxes, he wasn't sure any longer if he wanted to have any further money pumped into this sink hole, beautiful as a post card or not. He'd stay out here for a few days, then meet Hari Babu and have the place locked until he was back in the midst of civilization. He needed to get away from this raw, pristine beauty of the place he would then be able to conclude his decision practically and probably even make a decent profit off this windfall.
For now, he would just about the persistent, ominous rains - it had started to drizzle soon after he had entered the house. Hari Babu had not seemed worried about it, so he had relaxed, suppressing the stories of annual floods that Hari Babu had so casually flung at him, this wasn't the time for monsoons after all. The house had been built on a raised platform to take care of regular rain water and he had expected that the parched soil itself would absorb it all soon enough, probably it would have been good even through a day of heavy downpour, but this was now day two of non-stop drizzling and he could see water shimmering and shining, like a giant mirror, all across the valley, making him him feel as though he were floating within an enormous emerald green lake. The valley was surreal, bewitching and deadly, he thought for a moment, shivering in fear.
Hari Babu had stocked the house stocked with some provisions, basic, but that would do for a few days, he wasn't a big eater, he just liked to have his hot cuppa keep him company through the day. After Hari Babu had made sure he had a clean bed to sleep in and food for the night, he had retreated off to his house on a rusty bicycle, holding up a faded umbrella, both of which were probably older than Hari Babu himself. Once alone, he had let out a gleeful whoop and had then set about exploring the house. Who knows, there might be a hidden tunnel or a treasure buried behind a picture, not that there were many hanging on the walls. The exploration had sadly got over rather quickly and he decided to make himself a cup of tea and sit in the big cane chair, to enjoy the rain.
Back home it had been the peak of summer, yet another heat record breaking year with the usual ineffective government advisories flying around to stay indoors between 10 to 4, life had never stopped, people had to work to eat. Poor government, they could mess up anything but really could do nothing about the weather. Something pulled him back from his writer's musings, he was mildly surprised at how quickly it had gotten dark outside, or maybe it was the effect of the dark clouds, clouds so grey they looked angry, he wondered if he had ever seen such clouds before, they hung so low, they almost touched the earth. Clouds scared him, dark or not, ever since he had felt one chasing him when he was seven, he would've preferred not to look at them then but with nothing much to see, he was forced to observe their every ebb and flow, and, after a while, realised it was less of ebb, the clouds just seemed to be fattening up. The rains would definitely go through the night if not longer.
Opening the windows slightly, he was hit in the face with the thick musty, moisture-laden air, the same unfamiliar scent that he had caught at the edge of the valley, refreshing but also carrying a hint of moldliness in it, a touch of decaying vegetation tinged his nostrils. Realising it was probably sunset, it was hard to tell through the clouds, he didn't want anything creeping about outside decide to get in for shelter, rather sheepishly he shut the windows back again, his claustrophobia would have him open it again shortly, he knew. Having been raised in the city he had had very little encounters with mother nature's other children - the ones where their paths had crossed, involved a rolled up newspaper or a can of repellent spray, both of which he had forgotten to carry on this trip he mused sadly.
He did enjoy the tea however, he had gotten the hang of the stove in the kitchen and this had been his savior from boredom for the past two days, sipping hot tea in pitch darkness with the frequent lightning flashes providing the only light had been an experience in itself. With nothing to see, his mind wandered to more immediate practical concerns. Hari Babu had advised him to switch on the water motor to fill the overhead tank if he planned on staying beyond three days, he had filled it up yesterday so he would be good for a few days the power was cut off even if it drizzled lightly. The unspoken implication being, he realised then, that Hari Babu knew he would be leaving in three days or less.
Goodbye iPad, he muttered, he didn't trust charging it in the house. Fortunately he had it on full charge and without any internet there, he'd be able to get a good 8 hours, at the least. He intended to be back home in three days and would use it sparingly until then. Looking at his phone he wasn't surprised to see the No signal message, he had lost it after the lovely bullock cart ride. He was grateful though for the lack of mosquitoes, he imagined this valley, or swamp, rather, would be a thriving haven for all sorts of insects, he'd definitely have to deal with the mosquito menace once the rain had stopped. Regretting he had let Hari Babu leave, he decided to turn in for an early night's sleep.
While the rain was a pleasant respite for body and soul, he had already started to 'almost' miss the scorching sun and arid air back home. Khurda had been a blazing, blistering hell pan - with the shimmering dusty, soulless roads, birds dropping dead from the skies - could anyone sane miss an Indian summer? Why were his thoughts now of how it had felt stepping out of the house after eleven, the blinding sunlight, the dizziness, throbbing headaches, cracked lips with a taste of blood and dust and sometimes petrol, the scratchy back, liberally sprinkled with those prickly heat bubbles...it felt like he missed that now, he surely must've lost his mind he thought, anyone would pay a bucket full of money for the kind of weather he was enjoying right then!
Only, it had now already been two full days and the drizzle had not stopped, not even for a few minutes-it had been steady, constant, maddening, neither increasing or decreasing in ferocity. That there was no breeze made it worse. The skies were as gray as had been on the day he had arrived and had he not had a watch, he'd not be able to tell the time of the day. Back home, he pondered bitterly, you would expect to see the sun, the moon and the stars. Days that started with bright cool mornings, endless cacophony of birds chirping, welcoming the streams of sunlight pouring in through the leaves, mornings that would then merge into blistering, sweltering days, forcing life to stop and take a breather, or just a delightful nap, followed by the heady, windless, fragrant, sultry evenings with stars playing peek-a-boo with the moon, ending it all with the sticky, oppressive stillness of the night - how these affected the circadian rhythms of one's body, keeping them attuned, keeping mind, body and psyche alive. He was essentially in a sensory deprivation chamber for a minute too many, and, he wanted to escape.
He woke up dizzy the following morning, with a familiar yearning for his cuppa but decided to delay getting up from the hard cot. He could hear the drizzle outside, falling just as steadily as the evening before, the nightmare he had made him want to stay within the dry warmth of his bed sheet. He wanted to avoid peeking outside, the nightmare had made him nervous, he just might see that doomed raft float past.
Ignoring the bitter, foul taste recalling snippets of his dream left in his mouth, he started to type belligerently on his iPad at first, putting an outline of the ghoulish story that seemed to be taking shape on its own, and then increasing his strokes finding his dream quickly evaporating from his consciousness as quickly as the water once the sun came out. The flood had finally arrived, and, as anticipated, the usual plethora of floating debris followed in its swirling waters. As a beauty pageant, they strutted across his window, stopping a bit for him to get a good glimpse of the goods. He saw a dead dog, its distended body looking like a plastic doll, only horrific due to its wide gaping mouth with flies buzzing above, several dead birds tangled in weeds then floated past. The punctured tin roof of a house with a squirrel shivering in a corner on it, caught unawares, he wanted to console it that probably its family was safe back in the tree. As thought to prove him wrong, the trunk of an uprooted tree with its massive roots sticking in the air appeared next, it was being swirled around as a twig caught in an eddy. But this hadn't caught his attention for long, for what came by his window then was the strangest sight - he almost choked and woke up - on a wobbly raft balanced precariously in the gray frothing waters three mangy, skeletal creatures sat huddled together - eventually, through the gray mist of the drizzle, he figured out a contorted old man, his body bent at many places, face between his knees. Sitting next to him were two children, cheeks sunken with starvation, their bellies distended, even at this distance he could make out the fear in their wide eyes as they clutched on to the raft. They seemed to be looking directly at him or maybe at the house, hoping to get out of the rain and find high ground again. How had they got into this raft, were they related? What if he had opened the windows and had asked them to swim in - would they have been able to do so? Thanking the universe that it was merely a dream he decided to save power on his iPad and fill out a story around these characters later in the day.
Hoping it would stop raining so he could go around seeing the valley, his valley, he thought, trying to get used to the fact, he went down the wooden stairs to the kitchen on the ground floor. The morning had been invigorating, it already made him feel gutsy, outdoorsy, an adventurer in search of his fortune. It took him a while to realize he had stepped into a puddle getting off the stairs. Surprised, he looked around, there was water from the front door spreading out towards the kitchen. As he cautiously opened the door, he instinctively knew what he'd find on the other side, the water had crossed the veranda overnight.
Even as he watched, frozen at the sight, a basket drifted away silently into the rain and made for the gate across the compound. For as far as he could see, there was water, the banyan tree looked like a shrub now. It had not rained so much overnight surely, he thought panicking. So this what it looked like - being caught in a flash flood, the practical side of him kicked in, ensuring he wasn't paralyzed by his fear at the sight of what looked like a raft, caught between the gates - was it the one he had seen in his dream - what had happened to the old man and the two children?
The cold wetness at his feet sent a surge of adrenaline through him. He remembered clearly each and every word Hari Babu had mentioned about his ancestor surviving the annual floods. These were just unseasonal rains, would be over in a day or two. He had to get the food upstairs to his bedroom should the water reach them. Finding a wicker basket in the corner of the kitchen, he plied on the bunch of bananas and the pot of fresh, tender, ripe jackfruit that Hari Babu had left for him. These would probably go to waste, he had never been a fruit person and he remembered what he had been taught about eating cut-fruit during the rains. He was glad for the packets of chips and the left-over dinner from the previous night. Carrying the basket now heavy with the food items, which he was surprised he had, he walked upstairs gingerly, barefoot, to the first floor, leaving his slippers behind. As he surveyed the muddy water from the landing of the first floor, he felt silly for panicking, the water had only reached under the door and besides leaving behind a retchy smell and stains, it would be fine tomorrow, he consoled himself disbelievingly.
Surveying his room for what else to rescue from the ground floor, he decided he had enough food for a day or two. He'd make one last trip downstairs to get the match boxes he had noticed earlier and maybe carry the water-pot back. He had a few unopened bottles of water which would do but something about the unfamiliar situation he had landed in had made him risk-averse. He felt his heart skip a beat when he noticed his slippers floating around in water that had now reached upto the second step of the stairs. It was then that he noticed a steady stream pouring in from the door to the roof, the water was flowing down the stairs in a thin stream, but it was constant. The water would anyhow never reach the top floor, it'd have to take a burst dam for that, he tried consoling himself, sobering when he realised the valley was downstream of Tabini. He didn't know it then but he had said a heartfelt, silent prayer to Kalia for the dam to stay strong and shut.
Deciding he would get the matchboxes before it became impossible to reach the kitchen, he started down the stairs, which suddenly seemed slippery, swollen and creaked heavily with each step. The bungalow, as he now looked at it with new eyes, had not been made to sustain, his great uncle probably knew he wouldn't be around for long and so, had got it built as 'something that needed to be done'. Looking at the peeling paint and exposed bricks on the walls he saw the flimsy construction, going down the stairs now seemed more unnerving.
It wasn't easy moving through the silent water, now almost at knee level. He tried to ignore seeing the steady stream of water flowing down from a corner of the window sill besides the main door; it would be a while before Hari Babu would be able to make it across to check in on him, hopefully he wasn't as badly stuck as he was! Glad he had shut the doors before his last trip upwards so he was hopeful that the water had no snakes, but he could feel slime and loose vegetation float around his ankles, the mud being squished beneath his feet, between his toes - no amount of washing would erase these sensations from his memory. Placing the matchboxes inside his t-shirt he looked around for anything else to salvage. The mud water-pot didn't look heavy but now he had more respect for Hari Babu as he had effortlessly carried the pot on his shoulder "This water is from our well, you don't have to boil it" he had said placing it on the kitchen top. Mimicking how he had seen Hari Babu lift the pot, he tried to follow the same heave and lift operation and managed to pull it up onto his shoulders on the third try.
Looking at the thigh-deep water with an empty can bobbing around in it and the unending, slippery steps of the wooden staircase, he knew getting upstairs to dryness carrying the heavy load would be arduous. But he had by then realised he'd stay cut-off for a few days, so every bit of clean water would be precious, he started back on his return trip to the relatively dryer first floor, deciding the first thing he'd do was to fix the leak from the roof.
He had always been level-headed or so he fancied himself as, admitted, he got the jitters as everyone else, he panicked just like his cousins but what had always set him apart was how he could cut through the haze, the emotions, to get to what needed to be done at the moment a crisis set in - his ability to cut trough the muddle to find a viable, practical solution had been his shining strength through his growing years, making his members of his family and friends gravitate towards him in times of confusion, caused often by an abundance of options. So, he was now surprised at his own inability to get over his shivering, he had been uneasy since the dream and it had now been a couple hours since but the sinking feeling hadn't gone away, he still hadn't been able to think as well as he would have liked to.
Downstairs, with the door and the windows shut, it was dark and suffocating, with the rancid smell hanging heavily in the air, having no outlet. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights - in some corner of his mind, he knew he had to do something differently, but seemed unable to get off the automation of getting food and drinks for the next few days, he would regret this mental passivity he knew that much, but something within him seemed to have resigned to the situation fate had placed him in, he had become a pawn instead of the master player he had always fancied himself to be.
He was half-way across the hall from the kitchen when he felt something particularly slimy brush against his calf. The involuntary jump he gave made him lose his balance and he found himself stumbling forward landing in a kneeling position in the water, while the lid of the water-pot slid off and disappeared into the water, he had managed to save the water in the pot on his shoulder. Once he had got back to fairly steady breathing, he stood up slowly, balancing himself on both feet lightly. Now that he was soaking wet and covered in grime, he found his revulsion for the flood waters abating, he felt more familiar with it, he had a splash on his face and could feel it slowly trickling down his bony cheek, some water had even gotten into his mouth, so now I know what sewers taste like, he thought swallowing an urge to vomit.
Focusing intensely on placing one foot in front of the other, he eventually made it to the foot of the stairs. It must've taken him some time for now the waters had crossed the third stair, a bottle cap was rhythmically tapping against the top of the fourth, it would have been a welcome sound in the stillness but he could now hear the water running in swiftly from the top of the stairs, making an annoyingly loud trickling sound, it seemed like the rains had increased in intensity.
Pulling himself back from the distracting thoughts to his immediate concerns, he assessed the journey upwards. He had moved across the hall carefully but slowly, slipping slightly with every step, but managing to retain footing on the silt settling on the floor. His shoulder and right arm were now painfully throbbing with the weight and stress of balancing the heavy water pot. He dared not to move the pot, with the lid gone and his hands now covered in filth, he couldn't have moved it without possibly contaminating the water within, and, he knew now he'd need every last drop of water soon. Looking up at his destination, his heart sunk, the steps seemed lot higher now, and with the water steadily flowing in from the roof, each step was swollen and looked slippery, he didn't know how he would balance the waterpot and gain footing. He decided that all he needed to do was to get to the fifth stair and he'd then at least get out of the water, be able to set the pot down and rest.
He lifted his left feet off the ground to get a feel of the steps, although it was dark, he had gotten adjusted to seeing in it, the stairs looked amber and forbidding in the weak light reflecting from the room upstairs. He shook the silt off his foot by swirling it gently in the water, with the wooden stairs now smooth as marble and greasy with the water flowing in from the roof, he knew, trying to ascend with mud on his feet without being able to balance himself on the banister would have been dangerous, he did not want to land in the water head first again. Breathing in sharply, he stood on the first step and pulled up his right foot which came up with a squelching sound and placed it squarely in the center, carefully maintaining distance between his feet to balance himself. He was thrown off-guard momentarily by a sudden bout of sneezing, all this movement must've released some allergens in the water he thought as he desperately tried to control his sneezes, haplessly watching clean water from the pot spill with each violent sneeze, splashing into the swirling dirty waters rising around his thighs.
Swearing, he hastily climbed onto the second step, he had to get out of these black waters. As he instinctively tried to clamber up a stair, forgetting the careful assessment he had been giving to each movement until then, the waterpot shifted ever so slightly, moving the center of balance off to his back. As he felt his body arch backwards, he knew he needed to let go of the pot and catch a hold of the banister to steady himself. However in the split second that he had to make the decision he was stunned by the sudden silence all around. The constant sizzle of the rain that his brain had resisted at first but had then adapted to after three days had stopped. The acute stillness had been like a loud boom in itself, sending a shiver of absolute delight through him. He noticed the light stream from the room above growing stronger, the sun was back! He was still smiling at the change, though a bit dejectedly, as he crashed backwards into the water, the little sunshine seemed too little and had been a tad late. As though aware of what was about to happen next, he held onto the waterpot out of terror, no longer caring for its sanctity. Had the whiplash on his neck not killed him instantly, the sliver of rotten wood from the stairs, where his leg had broken through on the second step, now piercing his ankle bone would've done it later, and, much more painfully.
The boy was discovered a few days later, when a worried Hari Babu was finally able to cycle his way through the slushy wetland of the valley. His body, with a leg sticking up and another twisted on the stairs was covered in the remnants of the receding waters, filthy and maggot-infested. To Hari Babu, a practical man, it made no sense as to why someone would be about in the dangerous flood waters, especially when they had everything in the secure top floor, food and a bathroom with water - these were amenities only the rich could afford. Why hadn't he stayed on the first floor, what had be been up to roaming about in the flooded ground floor? It was unfathomable to him that someone from the city could not survive a 3 day flood in a grand house such as this.
The villagers of Pattitapabanapur would talk fearfully about the haunted house for years to come, it had appeared that someone had pushed the grandson, with great force from the top of the stairs, hadn't the bottom of the stairs also been where his grand-uncle's body had been found?
