They were in love. The young man and woman. But they could not openly profess it.
Their families had not been talking to each other for years… no, for generations. Apparently, two generations away, something happened, so they were up in arms!
Feuds were no big deal. It happened in most families and villages, and people would forget why it even began.
When the sun set over the vast, golden desert, sometimes entangled in the thorny branches of the keekar trees, the two young, love-filled hearts would escape beyond the dunes. When they thought no one was looking. Being in each other’s presence brightened their souls, as they created music, danced and got lost in each other. First love is special. No, not the mother’s love for her child. That in most cases is eternal, unless the mother or the child has a change of heart. I mean the love between young hearts. When they are willing to climb the highest mountain or swim across the deepest ocean, for one glance of their beloved.
But the young people in our story always kept a lookout for the chowkidar of their village.
The chowkidar of the village took his job very seriously. He would not only be constantly on rounds around the perimeter, but would also shout, ‘Jaagte raho!’ periodically. For generations, his family had commanded respect. Many of the family had served in the Army of the Maharajas of yesteryears, and later on in the Indian Army. Apart from the physical safety, the chowkidar had also taken on the responsibility of moral policing.
The women of the village hated him for that. What their husbands would probably allow them, he would not. The tall, well-built man on the wrong side of fifty looked quite fearsome with his big moustaches twirled twice over. That was Bhawar Singh.
One new moon, when the sky was dark, Roshan Lal went to the back of Lajo’s house. Their
‘The pre-decided’ signal was the call of the Koel.
‘Koo- Koo’, ‘Koo-Koo’!
Lajo quietly slipped out, her heart beating loudly against her chest.
Her mother saw that. She followed her daughter to admonish her and call her back.
Roshan turned and started moving towards the dunes. Lajo quickened her pace and followed. In her haste, she had forgotten to remove her anklets. The tinkling sounded sweet and merry, but the wearer was in anguish. They were traitors, screaming her presence.
The still-warm sand slipped away where she placed her foot, letting it bury deep within. By now her breath had shortened, and she was trying to keep pace, desperately. Desperate to become one with him, whom she loved with every inch of her heart. “Stop!” she finally pleaded in a soft voice between breaths.
Under the stars that bloomed one by one, they finally turned to look at each other. While a cool breeze stirred somewhere on the horizon, they fell into each other’s arms. After what seemed like mere minutes, but late at night, Lajo abruptly got up. “Oh, my God! I was supposed to help with dinner! Ma will be looking for me. Tonight we are going to be caught and …” she broke down in tears.
“Nothing will happen,” assured Roshan Lal, keeping a brave facade, gathering her odhni, while gently tucking it for her.
They started walking back briskly, hand in hand.
From a distance, they could see and hear Bhawar Singh. His lantern bobbed as he walked. His lusty call of ‘Jaagte raho’ would wake up all in slumberland.
The trail at the edge of the village was packed with mud. A hard surface for brisk movement, not like the treacherous, shifty, sandy one in the desert. The muffled tinkling of the anklets became quite clear.
“Halt!” shouted the chowkidar.
“Who is it? Identify yourself!”
They froze!
Beads of perspiration appeared on their foreheads and above their lips.
Oh, how their hearts beat!
Slowly, Bhawar Singh came close. He lifted the lantern and let out a short “Oh!” The monosyllable sounded like a complete sentence. His eyebrows arched, his eyes rounded, and his moustache seemed to droop.
“What are both of you doing together? Are you out of your mind?”
They just stared back. Immobile! Like deer caught in the headlights.
Nothing escaped his experienced eyes.
The hands held intimately, the clothes all awry, the haunted look! He noticed it all. As he was wondering what to do. A big stick landed on him. No one had noticed the stealthy shadow, which had joined them and had begun the attack. Roshan nudged Lajo to run away, while he joined the shadow to land a few blows himself, apologising all the while.
Once she was inside her house, Lajo ran to the kitchen, slowing her pace. She noticed the meal had been cooked and served. Her father was in the courtyard, but there were no signs of her mother. She ran up to the terrace… no signs of her. Dragging her feet, she prepared to turn in for the night, knowing she would have to confess all to her mother, finally. For a long time she sat by the window, looking at the night sky as tears streamed down her face.
“Oh, God! Please save us!”
It was nearly dawn when she woke up rudely from her sleep.
She had the most horrifying dream.
“No! No! No!” Lajo screamed.
Her mother came running. She embraced her tightly and reassured her.
“You are safe, my child! You are safe!”
Awakening to her whereabouts, she stared at her mother. Her mother had a few bruises, her hands seemed to be tired, and there was dirt on the hem of her lehenga. “Next time, no one will be able to save you!” she whispered hoarsely.
It was the talk of the village. Bhawar Singh had been killed by strange ghosts the previous night. Somebody claimed to have seen him struggling with a ghost that spoke in a tinkling voice, its feet being fixed backwards.
By Anamika Kundu
Anamika Kundu is an author, poet, and editor of several short story collections. She has been an English Teacher with a passion for stories, travel and sports.
