by Swarnasankha Acharjee
Ranojoy Sen is the first man who published my work in his magazine. Off late, I was getting popular through the columns of his magazine. Beside my books, I kept writing stories for his magazine.
I was struggling to come up with a new story for quite some time. And family problems added to my woes. So, I decided to take a break and left for Shimla.
I reached the hotel late at night. I ordered dinner in my room itself. After finishing the dinner I decided to call the night off early.
I woke up early in the morning to witness the beautiful sight of the sunrise. It was refreshing amidst all the problems. For a while, I forgot all my woes and enjoyed the serenity of nature.
As the time rolled by, I ordered my breakfast on the lawn and sat there with my writing diary. Some time passed by. I still didn’t have any plot. I was clueless. One person might have noticed some distress on my face and walked up to me.
“If I am not mistaken, you are the writer of the ‘My Ghosts’ book, Mr. Kamal”, he said and extended his hand for a handshake.
I shook his hand and nodded in agreement.
“Please have a seat”, I offered.
“You look a bit stressed. Any problem?” he asked.
“Nothing much”, I was hesitant in sharing with someone I just met.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to share.”
“No nothing of that sort. Actually, I have been trying to write a story for quite some time now, but I am not getting any plot. That’s it.”
“Let me tell you a story. Of course, if you have time. Maybe you can plot out something”, he offered.
“Sure. I have nothing to do now anyway”, I answered him.
So, he started his story.
“Vinay and Saloni were in love from their college time. Eventually, they got married after they got settled.
After marriage, they planned their honeymoon to a hill station. They booked a room in Hotel Hill View.
Their trip was going quite well. They enjoyed cable car rides, trekking, and snowboarding. They were having a jolly time together.
Their trip was about to end. And Vinay used to publish blogs. So, he went into the kitchen to take pictures for his blog. The chefs were cutting chicken there. He talked to them, clicked their pictures, and hugged them. While returning his foot got stuck at the corner of a refrigerator and he fell over the big turned on poultry cutting machine and his head was decapitated.”
Just as he finished his story, a loud sound from behind my back caught my attention. I got up and turned back.
The signboard which read ‘Hotel Himalaya’ fell down and a new signboard was revealed, which read, ‘Hotel Hill View’. I was shocked to see that.
I turned to look at the man. What I saw left me dumbstruck.
The man was not there. Instead, the torso of the man was sitting there.
A man without a head.
About the Author:
Swarnasankha Acharjee is a writer from Agartala, Tripura in India.