Vasu, Day 17

Standing on the road, Vasu feels the heat coming alive in the air. He turns back to the house, rubbing the sweat off his forehead. It's almost a hut, the edge of palm leaves hanging sharp. He knows this place despite the night. Something tells him it isn't his favourite place. And the heat, very familiar.

What am I doing here?

He walks into the veranda. Unlike in Dwaraka, this dark yellow veranda is made of mud and brick. A kerosene lamp hangs beside the door, its hook twice the size of the nail. Instead of knocking, he pushes the door. Although a locked door makes sense, a part of him nudges him to open it. After two trials, the door still doesn't budge, and he climbs onto the one-foot veranda and peers through the window. Nostalgia fills him. It is as if he is walking into a memory. It has one room inside, with kerosene lamps decorating the walls.

He sees a person, a girl, sleeping on the rope-weaved cot, her body lumped in the centre.

He knows her. He grew up with her.

Bhanu, he calls urgently. Bhanu. Bhanu. It's me.

The girl turns, passes him a glance and gets off the cot. She is wearing a plain saree, which seems blackish under the lamp's light.

What are you doing here? Where have you been?

She is thinner than he remembered, her feet dirty.

Are you hiding here? Open the door.

Bhanu stands facing the window and Vasu loses it. Tears tumble down his cheek. He doesn't remember how he got here, but he will figure it out. Now she is here. That is important. He wants to grab her and hug her and make sure she's safe.

You are late. The girl murmurs.

She walks further under the lamp and he notices the pimple on her left cheek and blackness under her eyes.

What do you mean I'm late? I'm here. Open the door.

She does no such thing. You remember this place, no? She says instead.

He looks around. He can't pinpoint this place. Yet he hunches as he has been here before. For a long part of his life.

Bhanu walks around aimlessly. Perhaps she doesn't want to be rescued. Nonsense, Vasu thinks. She loves me.

Come here, Bhanu. I'm sorry. His voice breaks for the first time in a while. He is about to look at the floor and freezes at the bump. His sister is pregnant now, and the father is a mystery. Vasu has to make peace with it. He cannot let the thought bother her.

Who did this to you? He yells. Who? Why are you here?

Bhanu stops and glances at him.

Open the door, Bhanu.

I can't. She cries. I will get hurt.

Her face, which used to be lively and full of love, now seems imploded. Cheeks have contracted, nose flattened. Teeth have become yellow. One of her eyes has dark mascara encircling it. Every part of her screams: It's a miracle she's still alive.

No one will hurt you, Vasu assures. I won't let it happen.

She bends, slides down the wooden pole that's standing like a pillar.

What are you doing, Bhanu?

She lifts a bottle and holds it in her hands. Her body is shaking and Vasu sees her loosening the cap.

What is it, Bhanu?

Do you remember this? Mother and father took this.

No. No. No. Vasu screams. That is not good.

She shakes her head and says, I have to take this. This is scheduled.

No, please, don't. Vasu grasps the windows tight. The rusted iron bars scratch uneasily inside his palms. He heaves his hand forward, attempting to grab her. But she is far away. So far away.

Why weren't you there, Vasu? Bhanu stares at him. Her feeble chest rises and falls.

He cries. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

This is the medicine, she says. If I take it, you don't have to be sorry anymore. I'll be at peace.

Vasu heaves his hand further until his shoulder socket pains to fit between the rods. Soon, he pulls himself back, ready to sprint to the door and haul it open.

If you move, Bhanu's voice is sharp now. If you move away, I'll drink it now.

Vasu settles like a prisoner inside the cell. He rests his forehead against the bar, tears flowing from his skin to the metal. Please, don't do this, he begs. We'll visit your dream places. I'll take you. I'll ask Vishwa. You know, Vishwa is worried for you too.

She laughs as if he is joking. No one misses me.

I do. I love you. Don't do this. I only have you.

You found me late. She says. You will always be late.

He shuts his eyes and takes her words in. Give me your hand, Bhanu. Come on, one step forward and we are together.

She moves the bottle to her mouth.

Don't drink that, goddamn it. Please. . . His words stop in his throat. He peers at the bottle and tries to comprehend what she is drinking. He closes one eye and puts the other in the gaps between the bars. It is a blur. The name is a blur.

This isn't real. He tells himself. You aren't real. He looks back and sees nothing but darkness. This isn't real. He exhales, ready to move away.

Look at me, Bhanu says. I'm drinking. I will die.

He pays a deaf ear to his sister. You are not real. He repeats until the words echo around, breaking the image in front. Like someone has thrown a chair at the screen in a movie theatre, the world around him breaks into pixels. Colours scatter, making a buzz, and Bhanu vanishes in a zigzag motion. Then the view becomes clear as everything folds inside as if it is a paper-lotus in making. The hut rises to the sky parallel to him; the earth and the lamps, all folds towards him. He is at the centre, the core, watching this fearful vision implode. Before he's amazed by the sight, everything jumps at him, squeezing and hitting him on every part of his body. . .

The stairs had never been more daunting. Vasu woke up with a leg perched down, holding him from falling off them and failing to stand up, while asking himself why he was there. He found one of Ahalya's sketches in his hand, gripped so tight lest it would fall. He was sweating like there was summer on his body. Darkness ruled the house, but he could tell it was past midnight. And the dream. He shuffled his hair, wondering why he dreamt such a terrible thing. Since he began forgetting the pieces, he tried his best to cling to them. There were details in it that enchanted him. Yes, there was pain, but why exactly? He steadied himself, climbing down.

In the living room, he saw his blanket on the floor before the Sofa. The cold air sneaked through the open window and gave him a shiver. What happened? He sat down; his throat parched and asked himself: What's the last thing I remember?

A fight. After dinner, he had decided to sleep in the house to find out about the sleep-drawing. Ahalya and Vishwa had just begun fighting and he caught bits and pieces, where he heard the words father, remember and liar and Ahalya's snap: you are the one to talk.

What's the next memory? He shut his eyes and concentrated. Ahalya had woken up, and he had seen her walking into the Vishwa's childhood bedroom. He tried to follow her, and then everything went blank. He had woken up on the stairs from an awful dream in which his sister had threatened him with suicide. He didn't become an expert in psychology, but his sister's last words in the dream felt forced. Improvised. As if he wasn't supposed to realise she wasn't real. Look at me. I'm drinking. I will die.

A thought struck him. What if Ahalya was still drawing? It induced a charge that pushed him to the stairs and he climbed them two at a time. He almost reached the last step, and a knock stopped him. His ears levelled. Another knock. One more, and he twisted on his feet, recognising the echo from the front door. It wasn't a time for anyone to visit. The night was just turning blue and no thief in their right mind would knock. Then he pinched himself, checked his fingers and verified the objects in the house, which told him he wasn't dreaming.

The knocking continued, but Vasu stepped forward to the first floor. This reminded him of the times Bhanu, and he played hide and seek in Dwaraka. The situation seemed similar, but he didn't know what he was about to seek.

Walking on the first floor, Vasu put himself at the highest point of concentration. He moved forward, holding onto the railings, and prayed his legs wouldn't paralyse any minute. Is Ahalya telling the truth about the house? A sweet smell of corn reached him. Vasu sniffed his nose, and though he didn't want to believe it, it came from the kitchen. There was no one else to cook in this house. He decided to ignore the smell and move forward. On the opposite side of the corridor, Yamuna's room door was ajar, and he could see her ceiling fan. He knew he had been breathing in breaks, expecting someone to pop out from one of the rooms.

Meanwhile, he thought about the nightmare. A part of his brain brought a memory of his sister narrating how their parents had killed themselves. Bhanu never wanted to say it, but he had twisted her arm, warning her he wouldn't eat for the night. Then she had sat him down, held his hands and explained how they tried so hard to work. Their parents were farmers working in the village. After a never-ending drought, they had lost everything, ran out of people to ask for favours. No one had lent them money for the next crop, and one night they had picked up a fertiliser bottle, locked themselves inside and drank to death, leaving the two wailing children to the night.

He reached Vishwa and Ahalya's bedroom and saw the open door. Since day one, Vishwa had slept with the door closed. But now it was open, revealing Vishwa sleeping like a baby. Vasu wondered how he could sleep like that when there were several things happening around.

He advanced to the centre, his destination: the childhood bedroom. He made a fist and was determined to punch anyone who would step out of the room.

His first glimpse was her foot. He slowly peeked ahead, at the legs and the body. The hair on his skin saluted in fear, watching Ahalya flying a few centimetres above the ground, her eyes white, so white and glowing enough to scare a blind person. She sat in the air, legs folded like a priest and was sketching. He closed his mouth to stop the yelp, muffling like a hurt wolf and crouched in the corridor.

Her head faced a wall and her hands were drafting the pencil all over the paper.

Then, as if someone called, the head turned to him, and the movement made his skin crawl. He wished to run away—out of the Dwaraka and toward the muddy road, and never come back. He and the white eyes shared a long, uneven stare. It was like looking into endless oblivion and knowing every wretched thing. Papers flew around her, forming a circle. She wasn't the Ahalya Vasu knew. She wasn't the Ahalya anyone would know. He raised himself, wishing to leave, his back scraping against the wall. Then, she dropped to the ground with a soft thud, and he fell, too. He closed his mouth with his hands. How badly he wished to scream.

He hoped to call her name to check if she was still in there. His quivering lips almost parted, and the doors closed shut without a noise, stealing his breath and locking her inside.