- Home
- Faraaz Kazi
The Other Side: Dare To Visit Alone?
The Other Side: Dare To Visit Alone? Read online
The other side The other side
FARAAZ
KAZI
VIVEK
BANERJEE
MP
M
AHAVEE
PUBLISHERSR
Published by
MAHAVEER PUBLISHERS 4764/2A, 23-Ansari Road, Daryaganj New Delhi – 110002
Ph. : 011 – 66629669–79–89 e-mail : [email protected] website : www.bookpremi.com
© Faraaz Kazi & Vivek Banerjee
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
First Edition : November 2013
The Other Side
ISBN (10) : 9350880768 ISBN (13) : 9789350880760
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Images are for illustration purposes only and may or may not be the dedication of the scenery surrounding the story.
Distributed in India by
VAIBHAV BOOK SERVICE e-mail : [email protected]
Distributed in Nepal by
BAJRANGBALI BOOK ENTERPRISES PVT. LTD. Jyatha, Mushyabahal, Ward No. 27, Kathmandu, Nepal e-mail : [email protected]
Printed in India
Dedicated To
The Power of Light that guides us in our Darkest Times!
Foreword
Why do we often attribute inexplicable events in our surroundings to fanciful thinking? Why do we term a person superstitious when they warn you about a bad event happening simply because you didn't perform a particular activity the way it was to be done? Why do we then term their forecast as sheer coincidence when calamity indeed does strike and the person comes to offer their sympathies?
Why does your kid not answering his phone when he or she has been late by a couple of hours make you chew your nails? Why does the long walk back home after work doesn't seem too lonely when there's a faint rustle of leaves behind? Why does a black cat cutting across your path make you look heavenwards? Why does a blank static call on your cell phone make you feel nostalgic almost as if a loved one who recently passed away was trying to inform you that they have 'reached?'Why does a bolt of thunder in a dark room make you cower in a corner while shutting your eyes, hoping the lightning does not illuminate a figure you are not supposed to see? Why does the very feeble creak of your timber door when you are alone at home make you whisper an equally faint 'Who's It'? Why does the sudden flapping of a curtain in the absence of any wind make you feel like you are being watched? Why does a hand feel like it's caressing your body in reality when in fact it is just doing so in your nightmare? Why does a noise that sounds like it is coming from beneath your bed not make you sit up and look under? Why do you cover up your toes with the blanket before you shut your eyes even if summer itself is boiling in your room? Why do you find the blanket five feet away from your dazed frame when you open your eyes in the morning? Why does a body wrapped up in a white sheet make us hold onto our breaths a tad second longer? Why does the sight of a severed limb make you cringe and shield your eyes?
All the “why's” here have their roots attached to a common term. An emotion, actually. An emotion that is universal to all human beings, no mater what they say or they don't, no matter what they do or they don't, no matter what proofs they give you or they don't. That emotion, my friend is…FEAR!
Fear is the most extreme emotion of all. Not love, not anger but fear. It is the fear of starvation that drives the lion to hunt for the gazelle and it is the fear of becoming the prey that drives the second-fast gazelle to outrun the last. It is the fear of our parents that makes us sign our own mark sheets in school. It is the fear of rejection that makes us hide the fact that we love someone in college. It is the fear of stability that makes us slog our arses when our bosses enjoy at work. It is the fear of the untested when we loathe an idea just because we don't have the will to give it wings. It is the fear of ridicule that makes us behave in a 'civilized way' in front of the society. It is the fear of death that makes us strain against the last withering roots of our soul before we surrender our mortal baggage. Our lives are defined by fear from the very time we are born to the time we bid adieu to this material world.
Fear is the most potent weapon of all. It 's not a disease yet there is no cure for fear. Fear operates alone, all by itself and other emotions are mere byproducts of it. Fear doesn't give an opportunity; it merely waits for one! Let me further emphasise my point through you, my reader!
Imagine yourself stranded alone in an uninhibited land whose darkness not even the farthest ray of the sun can pierce. Rooted deep to the ground, you want to move ahead but all energy has left your body. There is an unshakeable event that is going to happen any instant now and you can sense it. You want to shout but who will hear the soft whimper that escapes your lips? A shadow moves behind, softly announcing the arrival of a being far ancient than your human lineage. You want to explain the inexplicable, you want to avoid the unavoidable, you want to escape the inescapable or you want to fight the invincible. Doesn't matter what you want, doesn't matter what option you choose… for you are helpless. Parched throat, hands joined in a fervent prayer, all you need is some strength to run, hide or fight but all that comes to you is FEAR. Fear of your soul being sucked out of your body even before your brain has had the time to register the scene your horror-struck eyes have just laid themselves on. And that my friend is the fear of the unknown!
Just like the fear that you have now, yet you don 't. For unknown to you… there is someone standing over your shoulder, floating in mid-air with a frozen expression from an era long gone, reading this with you. It's black marble eyes seem to float over every word that you are processing right now. It makes me wonder why it is holding on to your shoulder though… for a being such as this, needs no support. And why is it smiling now… now that you have read this… now that I have told you… now that you know that it wants you to continue!
Faraaz Kazi, Mumbai, India, st31 October, 2013'
Contents
Foreword ................................................................. 7
Prelude .................................................................... 15
1. That Fateful Night ........................................... 29
2. The Long Weekend ............................................... 49
3. The Man Who Did Not Fear ................................... 73
4. Strangers In The Night ........................................... 97
5. The Muse Comes Calling ...................................... 107
6. The Lady In The Pub .............................................. 121
7. A Mother's Love ..................................................... 145
8. Red Bangles ............................................................ 159
9. The Mark Of The Beast .......................................... 175
10. The Mystery Lake ................................................ 199
11. Possession ............................................................. 219
12. Unfulfilled Desires .................................................. 257
13. Dream Girl .......................................................... 291
Epilogue .................................................................. 313
PRELUDE
T
he two men trekked briskly up the hill. Lush walls of green greeted their eyes every time they looked down. They had been walking for over an hour now, climbing the hills with heavy backpacks on their shoulders. The incline was steep and challenging but so far Vivek had managed to keep pace with the much younger Faraaz.
“All the hours spent on the treadmill are finally paying off,” he muttered to himself, “But I won't be able to sustain this pace for long.” “Uh, sorry? Did you say something?” asked Faraaz, catching a stray word.
“I was just saying that that bench by the side of the track looks particularly inviting. How about taking a break?” Vivek asked, stretching his back.
Faraaz nodded and they made their way to the bench. They sat in silence, catching their breath and enjoying the cool mountain breeze on their tired skins. They watched the sun vanish beyond a thick bank of mist that blanketed most of the mountainside from view.
“Ah, Mussoorie is a lovely place. I wish I had come here before,” Faraaz said.
“I love this place,” Vivek agreed.
“The solitude is something I can't imagine living as I do in the chaotic suburbs of Mumbai. In fact, that was the primary reason I took you up on the offer of a writing sabbatical in the hills,” Faraaz smiled.
“I'm glad I have company. But we still are not sure what we are going to write about. There is so much brimming in my head but it's all hazy.”
“I'm sure the mountain air will do us good and clear up the haze, so that we can come up with some fascinating stories,” Faraaz said, taking a deep breath.
“You know something, Faraaz, these mountains are home to many myths and legends. If these rocks could talk, they would tell us so many stories. If only we could listen to them!”
“I believe there are tales written everywhere on this planet, be it Mumbai or Mussoorie. You just have to be sensitive to pick them up. After all, where do all stories come from?”
“I have often wondered about that. Is it imagination, or some half-forgotten memory or experience or some external force? Or maybe something we read a long time back that triggers off a particular train of thought?”
“Whenever I sit down to pen something, certain half forgotten facts come to the fore. Or at times a small incident triggers off an avalanche of memories like when we visited the book store at the airport this morning; I picked up a book of ghost stories which reminded me of my own experiences.”
Vivek gave Faraaz a quizzical look. “Paranormal experiences? Are you trying to tell me that you have seen ghosts?”
Faraaz merely looked at his trekking partner and shrugged. “Oh, so you believe in ghosts?”
“I believe in the power of light over darkness. The triumph of good over evil. Life is a cycle and in that circle lie opposite ends, ends that we choose to accept or ignore,” Faraaz replied with a mysterious note attached to his voice. “Do you?” he turned to Vivek.
“Light and darkness are just terms for me with no deep
significance. Actually, when you spend a significant part of your life dissecting cadavers in Anatomy classes, looking at diseased human organs in pathology and then working in a hospital where death is a frequent visitor, you become hardened, cynical and unafraid.”
“We live on one side, too busy with our chores, socializing, eating, drinking, walking, talking and what not… in the process our mind becomes too feeble to comprehend things beyond what we are so accustomed to, things from 'the other side.'”
“There is always an other side to the story, isn't it?”
“Always!”
“Hmmm, never seen a body in the morgue move on its own?”
Faraaz said in mock humour, seeing Vivek turn serious.
“Haha, no, but I have heard many supposedly true stories about ghosts from my grandparents.”
“I'm all ears!”
“You tell me one and then I will have a go. Deal?”
“Deal!”
“Go on.”
“Okay, let me tell you about this strange experience I had as a kid and then you judge what it was,” Faraaz rubbed his palms together.
“Hang on for a second. Let me find a pen.” Vivek dived into the numerous pockets of his bulky jacket and came out with a small prescription pad and a pen. He adjusted his spectacles, uncapped the pen and said, “All set. Now go ahead. Maybe I'll find a story here,” he smiled sheepishly.
The mist cleared as suddenly as it had appeared. The verdant green valley opened out in front of their eyes. Faraaz's eyes focused on the distant road meandering towards the city of Dehradun as he started talking.
“Well, this happened when I was in school, a seventh grade student. I was close to a cousin of mine named Faiz and it was pretty common for both of us to spend long periods of vacations at each other's homes. It so happened that I received an invite from him during the winter vacations. The colony where he lived was a crowded locality and we kids had hardly any place to play or even run around. Most of our games were conducted in the alleys and by lanes that were surrounded by cars and we could not play freely for the fear of breaking a window or a headlight.
“One evening, we set out to play, armed with a bat and a tennis ball. The usual place was particularly crowded with all kinds of vehicles and there was no chance of a decent game as some girls were playing badminton, not heeding to our requests to give us some space. Now there was this huge ground behind the locality but we were discouraged from going there to play or hanging around that area once the sun had gone down. I suggested going there but Faiz was not too keen, but eventually I managed to convince him. We made our way towards the dusty spot.
“Now, you need to have a clear picture about the ground for what is to follow. It was a big circular piece of land with hardly any grass patches in the middle, surrounded by a six feet wall on all sides that were spiked with pointed glass shells. There were two worn gates at exactly opposite ends with no other way of entering or exiting. There were a few shrubs growing on the sides but overall, it was a good place to have a game of tennis-ball cricket. Once we started playing, a few slum kids joined in. We got more and more involved in the game and failed to see the shadows lengthen. Twilight fell and the kids went away and we were the only two left on the ground. There were no streetlights around and it had gone quite dark by then as it does so during winters. Both of us were tired and Faiz wanted to go home but it was my turn to bat and I was unwilling to leave without completing my turn,” Faraaz said smiling, as he remembered the childhood days.
“Finally, the game was over and once I had stamped my victory on Faiz's bowling, we started walking back in the darkness. As we neared the gate that went through the locality, I threw up the ball playfully expecting to catch it when it came back… I waited and waited. There was no sign of the ball. If you throw a ball up, gravity is going to pull it back and once it hits the ground it will make a soft sound.But I could swear that I did not even hear that thump either. Faiz was livid. It was the only tennis ball he had and he insisted on us searching for it before leaving. We combed the corner, the shrubs and wherever our eyes could see.
“And it was then through the corner of my eyes that I saw a lady dressed in a white sari enter the ground from the other gate which must have been at a distance of at least five hundred meters from us. I watched her for a couple of seconds and I could make out she was limping from the slow and unsure steps she was taking. It was a perfect moment to chicken out Faiz and make him forget about the ball. I turned towards my cousin and whispered, 'Faiz, there is a lady in white coming at us!'
“How much time would it have taken me to tell him that and then turn around? Three seconds? Five? We both turned our heads back and what do we see? The Sari is fluttering right behind us as the lady stood smiling at our gaping faces. I wondered how she could have covered the distance in such a short time. At close range, the only t
hing I could soak in about her was the white aura emanating from her. From her sari to her long hair and even her face, everything was a deathly white. As I stood staring at her wide eyes, my brain going numb, I thought she smiled at me revealing stained teeth. Faiz, in the meantime, had taken off faster than a rocket and was already out of the gate. I snapped out of my stupor by his scream asking me to run. I turned around and fled. We arrived home a few minutes later, panting, scared and out of breath. The elders of the family had been looking for us as it was well past sunset. Many scoldings and explanations later, Faiz's mom, my chachi, told us that that particular ground was supposed to be under the shadow of a Churail and that was why people gave it a wide berth after sunset. The same evening, another aunt spooked me out even further when I told her that I felt that the witch had smiled at me. She maintained that it was her way of signaling that she would meet me once again in the future. Thankfully, she hasn't till now,” Faraaz finished in a trembling laugh.
“Interesting! Does leave a lot of questions unanswered but don't you think it can be some insignificant event like an ordinary woman entering the ground and the incident got coloured by your imagination with the passage of time?” Vivek questioned.
“No, I am sure about it. It happened exactly like I told you.” “This reminds me of a story my grandpa used to tell me. He was a teacher at the local Government school and usually walked home after sunset. During one winter evening when the sun had gone down early and the lights of the town twinkled at a distance, he started walking fast, looking forward to the warm cup of tea that awaited him at home. Suddenly, he heard somebody call out his name asking him to stop. He hesitated just for a second before striding forward purposefully without looking back. The voice called again, much more urgently this time. But he did not look back. The voice called again. By now he was sure that this was a supernatural phenomena and he increased his pace, repeatedly chanting the 'Gayatri mantra' in his mind. He reached home safe and sound and latched the door behind his back.