8

Keerthi and I stood in front of the door of a hut. The priest’s neighbor had left us before we reached the place saying that he had a lot of chores to be done at home. I knocked gently on the door. There was no response. I knocked again, this time a bit more loudly, and gave the door a gentle push. It opened and we peeped into the house, instinctively raising our hands to block out the sunlight. We took a while to get accustomed to the darkness in the room.

A figure draped in a black cloth was sitting cross-legged on the floor with its back facing us. It seemed to have been taken aback. It got up, dropped the cloth and turned around.

On taking a closer look, we were dazed.

“Vrinda?” Keerthi reacted. “Don’t tell me…..is it you?”

We walked into the hut and got closer to her.

“Is it…..really you?” I stammered. “What’s…..going on? What…..are you doing here?”

She shook her head furiously and looked away from our direction. The shock at finding her in this state gave way to emotion. My eyes moistened as I vividly recalled old memories of her.

Vrinda---the youngest student of our degree class, younger to most others by at least a year. When she was fifteen her debt-ridden parents committed suicide leaving her to be taken care of by her cousin who was abroad and who financed her education from then on. Despite the tragedy, she had come to grips with it and had turned out to be the most jovial, pleasant and cheerful person amongst us, always occupying a special place in our hearts during our college days---our kid sister. Now, a witch in a village.

“Why did you come here?” she growled at us and then muttered, “Shyam and Keerthana.”

Keerthi still looked shocked.

“We were even supposed to come to this village,” I answered in a somewhat feeble voice. “We had a chance meeting an astrologer’s place and we were advised to come here.”

“I can see that you’ve been to the shrine,” she said. The disappointment in her tone was unmistakable. She had noticed the tilaks on our foreheads.

“Yes,” I replied. “The priest told us to speak to you. But we didn’t know that it would be you.”

“Yes. I am the witch.”

The ambiguity surrounding this enigma was fading away. Three years ago, our class of students had come to Sahasrapuram on a tour. We had visited the Narasimha shrine at that time. But the trip ended tragically when Pranav, one of our classmates, slipped and fell from a hillside and died. We had all gone into deep mourning. A year later, Vrinda came back to this village and has been staying here for the past two years.

“This has obviously got to do with Pranav,” I said to which she glared. “Now it’s my turn to ask you. Why have you come here?” I noticed that she too had wiped tears off her cheeks. “Through the passage of time, God will heal all bruises.” At the mention of God, she exploded.

“God?” she reacted with a smirk. “I was so captivated by the deity that evening. I felt that He was so real…..the effulgence from idol…..the atmosphere at the shrine…..everything seemed to be the work of some supreme being…..and I believed in Him. At that very temple, God told me that inspite of all my personal tragedies……our financial problems…..my Appa and Amma leaving me alive while they left happily……my unloving cousin..…He would grant me my greatest wish……Pranav. And He showed in great detail how our marriage would take place in His presence, with all our friends, the village people, musicians playing their hearts out…..finally only smiles and happiness all around…..There was no need to declare our love for each other. Pranav and I knew it all the time that we…..were in love.

“Then came the act of betrayal from your so-called God. That too the very next day. Pranav was found missing and a search resulted in the discovery of his mortal remains. Crocodile tears flowed from the eyes of everyone and his body was handed over to his relatives. A few rituals later, everything was over.

“The only person who showed concern and sympathy was Taksha. He expelled Madan, a villager who was guilty of committing larceny. Later he discovered that the same man could have been behind Pranav’s death. If he comes back again, we’ll find out the truth and do him to death.”

We had never seen Vrinda in such rage before. But she was able to recall who we were and wept. The first step to a solution was to accept one’s own emotions. Living in denial would make one schizophrenic. But she wasn’t so. That gave me hope.

“Look Vrinda,” I said. “Pranav is no more. He won’t come back. You have to accept this fact. You still have a future. You could write the papers you had flunked in Final year. You shouldn’t live in this state. What are you trying to prove by staying here? Anything you do will only look like you’re trying to take revenge on the Lord.”

“Yes,” came her answer. “That’s exactly what I want. The majority of the people are already convinced that the deity is a mere sham. And soon, I’ll introduce my own satanic rituals to them. And I’ll have my revenge.”