Before and After ‘One’ Night

A pale, beige hand pushed a wooden door. The door responded with an old, cranky sound but didn’t move. Now the hand pushed that again with a "huh" sound, and it unexpectedly fell at its back with a thud, like any giant. The dust particles got a sense of a crazy rush, as if a hunter hit a bullet in some flock and deads flipped on top of each other. Some wooden pieces were scattered around with crushed expressions. She saw a broken old table at the corner of the lying door. They looked unfashionably heavy and slumped. The dawn light hushed softly on the other side of the door, but the room had snooty, dark patches all around. She lit up a torch with one hand. It hit directly on the frame of a golden "K" alphabet. At the corner of it, a similar kind of art piece was leaning over it with the letter "M." She wasn’t very attentive to that. She moved her other lean hand to drag a big trolley bag. It tumbled over the broken door and opened wide. She was trying to shut it off, but dropped it again. She heard an unknown voice.

"Wait, wait, Madam… I’m picking everything up. I’m your watchman, Madam... It’s my duty!" He said everything in one breath.

She didn’t look at him. She was trying to tuck the slipped-out brassiere into the bag, but it could not cope with the mess of clothes. She hurriedly made a lump of it and put it in her purse. The watchman yelled at some more men and at an old lady. They all came into the "doorless" house and offered her unrehearsed bows.

She had been sent to the northern hill area as a junior photojournalist. Her senior Miss Blakeley excitedly told her, "Oh..You’re so lucky dear... It’s surreal… You’ll be living in a wooden cottage and that too in the middle of the jungle!"

She was humming in the wooden staircase, "It’s wayyyy toooo…surreal!"

Some locals were hammering an aluminium sheet as a replacement for the front door. The sound was hunching back and forth. The watchman said that she could hang a lock from its small chain. She stepped up stairs. There was a room and a spacious balcony. An old lady was sweeping the bedroom. It’s a very small room with some bulky, old-fashioned British furniture. She always had a soft spot for these detailed wooden designs. She made ’ka-chick’ ’ka-chick’ sounds with her new bridge camera. She saw the old lady was smiling at her with a pose. The lady said, "Kyun bejan chizon ki tasveer leti ho Gudiya? Humari lo! (Why do you take pictures of lifeless things, Doll? Click me!)

She laughed and clicked her photographs. She took almost ten pictures at one ‘go’. She asked the lady while attentively looking at the camera lens, "What do I call you? Mausi (Aunt)?"

The lady smiled and said, "Bilkul. (Absolutely)Anyway, my name is Shaila."

After a brief pause, Mausi said, "I’m sure….You’re a film heroine. You’re here for shooting, right?"

She giggled, "No…no. I’m a photographer. I’m here for the animals."

"She also said that."

"Who’s she?"

Shaila Mausi covered her face with her pallu (saree’s end) and said, "Old story, Gudiya. Almost 20 years ago, Kashish Madam came here…"

Suddenly the watchman shouted in hesitation, "Shaila ji...! Come here in the kitchen and prepare dinner for Madam."

Mausi left in silence.

She had signed a one-month contract with a magazine company. She had drafts for the exact kind of pictures. She marked the topics as ’requirements’ in her MacBook and then looked up from the balcony. She suddenly saw two birds poking each other in the mid-sky. She clicked them, but without any zoom. She again focused, but one was gone. She hurried out to the jungle. It was a breezy day. In the green labyrinth, she spotted a deer and her kid, some coiled snakes, and some playful squirrels.

She moved forward at her regular leisure pace. Suddenly, she sensed some shoe sounds at her back, as if somebody was hitting shoe on any hard stuff. She looked back. But it was only the long pillar trees, standing in confused silence. She turned to come back. But she felt that her each step had intentional follow-ups.

She saw Mausi coming towards the jungle. Mausi shouted from a distance, "Gudiya, it’s becoming dark. Come, have your dinner."

During dinner, Mausi didn’t say a word. Before leaving, she just said, "Gudiya, I live behind this cottage. If you want something, shout from your bedroom’s window. And don’t go out at night."

She nodded like a well-behaved child.

It was around one in the morning. After some email responses and write-ups, she leaned carefully on the railing of a small balcony. She had a thin candle in her hand. She thought, "I wish someone could take my picture from that jungle!"

The balcony’s yellow bulb was flickering. She jammed the big black switch upwards. The light went off.

She saw two rabbits hopping on each other. She clicked them, but one wasn’t there anymore. She hurriedly chained up her long boots.

She had an intoxicatingly intimate, starry night in the turns of the jungle. She forgot about her ’requirements’ and started clicking for her creative lust. After some rich decades of minutes, she sat on a broken, old tree trunk. Some mice ran out of it like underprepared travelers on the local train.

She again heard shoe sounds. She looked back again and again, but nobody came up. She felt a touch on her hand. Something was tucked into her bracelet. It was a black camera strap with hanging "K" and "M" charms. It looked exactly like the frames’ letters. She sensed her drum-like heartbeats. She yelled, "Who’s here? Who’s doing all this?"

But she could only hear back a cry—a deep, burning, horrifying cry of a lady. She sensed someone was running behind. That sound echoed desperately. Some wolves were howling, and some birds were flying from the charcoal-dark tree branches. Suddenly, she felt black smoke thicken all over.

She again heard the screams, but she couldn’t gauge the source. She suddenly saw a silvery shadow of a child lying beside her. She stood back in fear. But then she tried to pick the child up, but she felt as if her boots were glued into the grass. Then she saw some other shadows. There was one lady and four-five men. That woman shouted looking at the child, "Maaz!"

The men made a circle around that woman. They pulled her georgette saree, and a man hit her leg and head forcefully with a long spade.

She shouted hard and hard with a cracking and fading voice, "Leave her! Please…"

An arrow of cold, filthy fear darted through her whole body. She fell down beside the child’s silvery shadow. But she continued murmuring, "Leave her... Leave."

The pointed grass dribbled on her lips.

The next morning, she saw Mausi weeping on the floor. She had a shooting headache and a high fever. She tried to sit back on the pillows. Mausi helped her. She held her head tightly and screamed, "Go to the jungle. The child..."

Mausi whispered, "Gudiya, it happened twenty years ago!"

She again said, "No…listen. We have to save them."

The watchman entered the room. She looked at him and tried to say something. But Mausi stopped her with a shoulder tap.

Mausi said, "Twenty years ago, Kashiah madam came here with her son Maaz. She was also like you. Beautiful. And Maaz Baba was like a fairy kid. He had very nice eyes. Madam was very sweet and gentle. I used to work for her, just like I am doing for you. Maaz Baba loved me so much. We three used to go to the forest. Madam used to click pictures, as you do. Maaz Baba also had a small camera."

She cried, and this time loudly.

The watchman started, "I was the watchman of the cottage. That night my wife had an accident in town. When my boy came to give me the news, Kashish Madam told me to leave. I left my boy here. She insisted that I take him with me, but I told him to take care of Madam and Baba."

Shaila Mausi again said, "A few villagers used to think Kashish Madam was unmarried and the child was illegitimate. They never cared about any facts. They spiced up stories. They used to call her a Muslim whore."

The watchman continued, "That night they injured my son brutally. Then they marched into the house. They robbed; they broke things. They were like the most unfortunate cyclone that ever came in this beautiful place. But the mother and son ran away in the jungle. And they followed them. They…those heartless creatures caught the child. They threw Maaz Baba on the wood trunk. We found you there at dawn. Unconscious."

Mausi said, "That night I saw watchman Dada’s son from my hut. I came immediately. He pointed towards the jungle. First, I got Maaz Baba. Senseless. I picked him up in my lap. Then called Madam’s name. After a few steps, I saw four-five men laughing and saying, "Na-paak (sinful) is gone. We saved religion." And I saw…I saw one of them was my newlywed husband."

The watchman continued, "Next morning, police arrested them. But one fled. The police could never find him. Shaila Ji became the eyewitness. She never feared to stand by her values even against her husband’s heinous crimes."

Mausi continued, "And see the destiny, my Maaz baba survived. Oh…my fairy child…I can’t forget his cry. Kashish madam’s husband came from Mumbai. He said that he and Kashish Madam were separated. He took Maaz Baba with him.

She had no words for practicality, for logic, or for any emotion.

She left the cottage that afternoon. Before getting in the car, she gave two papers, one to Mausi and the other to the watchman. She said in a weepy tone, "My address and phone number."

They stayed silent in front of the closed aluminium sheet door. But they nodded with tears.

She sat silently at the window seat. The flight was still on the runway. Suddenly, the camera strap with "K" and "M" dropped from her laptop bag. She again heard her drum-like heartbeats. A man picked it up and gave it to her. She stared into his eyes. She felt those eyes were painfully deep and soft. He smiled. He initiated a handshake and said, "Hi, I’m Maaz, Kashish Nissa’s son."