Ghost Bungalow

Being the watch man of the cemetery, I have cremated many blood-less bodies. They were either of the priests who went to the Bungalow to capture the spirit or the atheists who tried to solve the mystery. I live in a hut built next to the cemetery gate. From my window I can see the path that stretches at least till the Bungalow. Not sure where it proceeds beyond that, as nobody went beyond the Bungalow. One night, somebody knocked at my door. I opened the door, and right in front of me, stood a stout guy in flowing black robe. I could barely see his face, as it was covered by his robe cap. As soon as I opened the door, he said, “Can you accompany me to the Bungalow.” “Are you atheist? Are you not afraid? You know what time is it now?” I threw a volley of questions at him. “Why so many questions. One day you are bound to die, why fear. Hold this lantern and take me to the Bungalow”. He replied. I further warned him “It would take another 2 hours to reach there. This means, if at all we are not killed on the way, we would reach there at midnight.” And the wall clock bell behind me rang 10 times. He said, “And it’s a no moon day and Friday. I am aware.” he held my arm strong. “Food?” I asked him. He turned back, pulling me along.

Thus began our journey. He did not talk all along the way. The long route was pitch dark, the lantern being the only source of light. He asked me to walk in front. Every now and then I turned back. He was walking with his head down. I made all attempts to see his hidden face. Suddenly a bat flew right above this head and he clasped it quickly, squeezed the neck and threw it down. I could hear the squeaky sound of the bat. I quietly walked in front. We walked for about an hour an half “Show the lantern here”, he said pointing to a big stone erected on the side-way. I held the lantern close and it had a list of names and dates He went close by and said “Which means, these many were not killed till this point. He laughed aloud”. He did not enter his name on to it. The wind blew stronger. He held his robe firmly and said “Now let’s move. We have to be in the Bungalow in an hour’s time”. By then, it would be 12. I knew. We continued the journey.

From a distance we could see the Bungalow. The gates were closed. He pushed opened the gate and it did with a creaky sound. The wind blew stronger taking away his robe. I held the lantern high to see his half burned face. Before I could ask something, he asked me to proceed. He opened the big door of the Bungalow and as he did the big banyan tree fell with a heavy thud. He laughed insanely. As he walked, a broken glass piece pierced his leg. Tiny drops of blood oozed out. He laughed aloud with a joy of triumph. “Nobody has made it till here but I did.” He said as he entered the spacious front room of the Bungalow. The lighting flashed once and we realized that we were standing in front of a big mirror. It flashed again and he looked into the mirror only to find only his reflection. And I kissed him on his neck from back. Clock struck 12.

Rain

She took a sip of coffee as the cool breeze passed by her. Sitting in her favorite cozy lean back chair, she looked at the evening sky. The drizzle turned to a moderate rain. The aroma of wet sand caught her attention off her favorite novel. Drops of water sprinkled on the glass window looked better than any spray painting.She looked at the naughty water drops that trickled down the glass window. The drops coalesced into one, and they were big they fought and split. And it repeated. On the mist formed on the nearby glass, she wrote her name. The rain seemed to give her a company in her hours of solitude.

In the peak morning traffic hour, rain water filled gutters and slippery roads, deprived the commuters of a safe ride. Being a working lady, she had already had a fare share of stress. The not-so-well-working brake of the 100 cc lady scooter worsened her fear of an accident. By now she was half drenched. The thought of performing the presentation before the delegates from the client in damp clothes frustrated her. Snarls in the traffic block shifted her temper from bad to worse. The rain seemed to be making fun of her misery.

On her first day to school, the tinkling sound of the anklets which embraced her cute little legs and the swing of the ponytailed hair were in sync to the rhythm of the rain drops. Her mom was desperately pulling her under the umbrella and she tried her best to expose herself to get wet. She ensured that she had dipped her legs into each tiny pool of water she found on her path, seeking apology from her mom, every time she was caught doing it. Stealthy she also found joy collecting the rain drops that fell from the umbrella tips on her cute nose tip. She befriended the frogs that leapt beside her as she walked. The rain seemed to play with her.

The prolonged rain had already flooded the only field he had, toiling on which he fed his family of four. The torrential down pour had washed away his hut. His last ray of hope rested on his cattle, the cattle shed was much stronger than his hut by his choice. The rain proved mightier for the mud bonding and the cattle shed got washed away. Cattle followed the suit. He gripped the banyan tree branch never so stronger. As he saw the last cattle member being washed away, the plight of his family post flood ran before his eyes. He loosened his grip and freed himself to the flow of water. The rain seemed to be god’s punishment for an unknown sin of his in the previous birth.

In the village school, the teacher said “Take a paper and write down the answer to – What is rain? One of the answers read “Phenomenon with a million facets”