Company

My friend Vishnu has this irritating habit of listing out his reasons for every action. To make it even worse, he loves to classify those reasons under the heading: primary, secondary and tertiary.

‘You sound like a discarded and unused textbook,’ I have complained. Being my friend, he rarely listens to me.

In school and college, he gave his reasons to get educated: to understand a few questions; to irritate others; and, to get a job.

When he fell in love: to experience love; to have reliable company; and, to know the pain of loss. I would like to think that he added the tertiary reason later.

When he got married: to have reliable company; to have kids and sex; and, to have a second income. ‘Have you told your wife those reasons?’ I challenged. He smiled, ‘I don’t have to tell her. I think she is in it for the same reasons.’

Two weeks back, he bought a house on a small plot of land. I felt betrayed when he said, ‘Simply no reason.’

I retorted, ‘I don’t buy that…let me see…to be lord of the manor; to have your own six feet for burial or cremation; and, to have a permanent warehouse to park your stuff and people.’ He shook his head.

A week back, I got a clue about his reasons for buying that property. A mutual acquaintance told me, ‘He got it cheap. Even though it is secluded and very well connected. But, that house is spooky – four unnatural deaths happened there.’

‘Ah!’ I exclaimed. I accosted my friend at his new place. He tried to evade the issue and my questions. I did not give up. Over a mug of beer and a plate of fried karimeen, I told him about a story I had read recently.

In the story ‘Neela Velicham’ (Blue Light) by Basheer, the protagonist rents a haunted house. The locals tell him that a girl committed suicide (unrequited love, I think) and no one dares to stay there or even enter that property at night. In the first few days, either due to fear or false bravado, he talked to himself incessantly in that house, ‘Good morning, Bhargavikutty…people say a lot of rubbish about you…let them say so…Bhargavikutty, some of my friends are coming to stay here, don’t do anything to them, ok…Bhargavikutty, I am going out, take care of the house; if anyone tries to enter the house, strangle them…’ As days pass, the protagonist starts to forget Bhargavi. The protagonist explains, ‘How many men and women have died…all those spirits hanging around…like that, Bhargavi will remain...just a memory.’

I narrated all that to Vishnu. Since I could not remember the climax or how the story unfolded thereafter, I stopped there. I looked at him expectantly. Well, it worked, partially. He did not touch on his reasons. But he told me about his new house.

‘This room where we are sitting…the drawing room…this is where the man of the house was found. He had slashed his wrists. He was found dead, lying in a spreading pool of blood. Everyday, I clean and wipe the floor myself…but…can’t you see…look…it is a shade different, right? He didn’t leave any notes…there was nothing that explained…’

‘That room there…my study…his wife was found hanging from the ceiling fan. It wasn’t a pretty sight…bulging eyes, released bladder…it never goes…that stink…’

‘In the bedroom, their two young kids…poisoned…the toys still lying on the ground…as if they had interrupted their game for a short break…’

‘At times, when I sit at my desk and work, I feel eyes staring over my shoulder…at what I write…I feel breath on my neck…’

‘Even during daytime, I can feel them next to me while I rustle up a quick meal…I trip while walking as if there are toys lying on the ground…I can hear the faint buzz of a family sharing meals with us at the dining table…’

‘Do you know that, at the back of this house, there are steps leading to the river? The first time I went there, I was sitting on the bottom steps, studying the ravaged landscape…thirty years back, it was like paradise, it seems…a sandy perfect bathing spot…now, after all the illegal sand-mining, there are just rocks, deep hollows and dangerous rapids…I was sitting there, with my head on my knees…a young lady touched my shoulder…I nearly jumped with fright…she is the one who told me how it was before…’

‘I have not seen that young lady again…I asked about her at the corner tea-shop, the one next to the grocery…I described her…they told me that it must be Branthi Shanthi (Mad Woman Shanthi)…a neighbour’s daughter…usually kept in chains…I don’t know…the young woman I met…she didn’t look mad…anyway, do I look mad or sane? I think…it is the woman of this house…’ Vishnu laughed. I laughed, too.

Well, for once, he did not tell me his reasons. I think I know.