Fiction

The Rajah’s Garden

by Divy Tripathi 

They wouldn’t know about it, would they?

Of course not. Who cares about weed-wedded gardens and wild forests after all?

I had been worrying myself sick over nothing. These are dead wastelands, which keep the dead with them. Maybe it was this ride that got me to think about it. The rain had never really gained much weight beyond the few drops when I set out today.

It reminded me of that other day when I had taken out Sugandha to teach her how to drive. This was a perfect lonely stretch just out of the town. God bless the lawyers, who had been tossing the disputed property between the government and the Rajah’s descendants over the last few decades. Thus, the visitors were barred from encroaching on this property.

For the adventurous sort, there was always the ghost of Mala Rani.

When I moved to this city, I had doubted her very existence till we started hearing of her late-night excursions: howling and chasing away unwary travelers and lovebirds who dared to venture into the garden.

Supposedly, she had been some village girl who had been lifted on her wedding night by a bunch of dacoits, violated, and murdered in these gardens.

I later heard that her legend really came about when the Rajah, under pressure from those insolent Satyagrahis, had given away some land to build a road through this way. And since then, she had been haunting any and everyone who set foot on this land during the night.

And that is what kept this road relatively free from disturbance. This was despite the fact that Mala Rani only haunted the territory within the garden walls, but few wanted to take the risk of incurring her wrath.

It was only the unawares i.e., the newcomers or travelers going towards the picnic spot near the fountain stream on the way, who dared to stop near her fortress.

These were usually the smaller court judges, engineers, or doctors, uninitiated to the legend, taking breaks from their long excursions to discuss the vast stone walls which stood between them and the majestic garden.

Another one of those grand Indian pastimes where people would discuss the higher matters in hand as if they were the ones who would resolve them. This would continue till some local would come imploring them to leave the place as it is, sounding them off about Mala Rani.

The educated would put up a brave face (farce if you ask me) and talk of how ghosts couldn’t exist in the modern age but would leave nevertheless.

They would take the local help with them, who would be duly rewarded for taking them to the stream via the right route, with a quarter of rum and some money or if the government official had served the people well enough, with some good whisky and food.

The fleeting cars which went past me the day I was teaching my miserable Sugandha how to drive were not looking to stop or go to the picnic spot. It had just begun to rain, but the speed hadn’t fully picked up.

It was me and my wife, struggling against this behemoth of Hindustan-14, as she was going through some self-help guide bestowed upon her by my father-in-law to get the difference between clutch and accelerator.

This was her idea of a romantic Sunday, two lovers doing something constructive, like taking a drive over some derelict road. My traditional father-in-law and her boarding matrons had inculcated these fanciful values in her.

And I couldn’t really blame her, she was all but a girl of seventeen, she did as she was told.

Her father told her to study boarding – she did, he told her to maintain good manners – she did. The sisters told her to maintain good grades and dignity – she did, they told her to serve the society – she did. Then I told her to fall in love with me and be free – she did. And later I would tell her to die for me, and she would do as told. Her utility was all but over for me.

I had hoped to enter big money and society with this marriage but none of it worked out.

Her father had never really accepted our union so there was no money in my hand, and her daily naggings were getting too painful for me to bear.

Hell, she was a pain even for my landlady. She’d often go on about her life with ‘Daddy dearest’, how many tracts of land her father owned, and the number of servants that were in the household. About how the radio at her home had been recently imported from West Germany, and how much she missed her favourite spaniel.

She would sit down and talk to my landlady – an abusive money-munching hag, and discuss the need for renovations. The only reason my landlady would listen to this was her interest in my wife’s jewelry and of course, the money that the naive teenager would lend to her for all and sundry reasons.

Sugandha would scoff at my second-hand (stolen) Hindustan-14 and talk about her relatives’ Landmasters, Mercedes, Impalas, and Standard Heralds. It was as if she expected us to improve our lot for her. When I decided to get her, my objective was quite the opposite.

But I was determined to make some use of her. If she didn’t help me while she was alive, I’d make good use of her in death.

She had been reading out the instructions aloud that day, even as I smiled at the irony of the situation.

Here she was working out ways for a perfectly romantic afternoon and next to her, I was planning the best way to get rid of her and get closer to the immense fortune at her disposal.

I took a break from her stupid lessons to relieve myself in the woods. Of course, I had the special locket from tabeez baba with me.  Couldn’t risk the menace of Mala Rani at this delicate moment.

I got near a tree, unzipped my trousers, and started relieving myself. This was where I saw it. A small cavity inside the otherwise impermeable wall of Rajah. I looked back and realized my wife was still struggling with the multiple definitions given in her ‘How to drive for Idiots’.

Taking this opportunity, I moved further toward the cavity. Only now it wasn’t just one hole. The wall had several openings towards the bottom, the biggest one was enough to slide a person through it.

This was my way out.

Strangulate her at home, and then bury her here at the dead of the night. Anyhow the court-appointed security guards hardly ever came to work.

Now, there was the little matter of Mala Rani. I had to take that risk (hopefully the locket from Tabeez baba would come of help); I knew it. For I would never find such a safe spot, which would perhaps go undisturbed for years, and by then nature would have done its job with her. And perhaps Mala could use a friend in such a place. She would be excited to have a Saheli, a close and dear one.

Oh, how their lives would share a parallel, being wronged by tempted men!

The unadulterated joy I had experienced that day returned to me today. The rain has continued unabated since morning, unlike that day when the sun had come out after I had made my plan, shadowing the sun of my hope.

The planning of it excited me and did so more than the actual act. The only satisfaction of the final act was that it was actually carried out and my scheme of milking the Magistrate was set in motion. Since then life has been a source of endless misery.

But now I must leave because the rain is getting rapid and if my car fails, I can’t risk spending the evening with Mala Rani and her new Saheli.

No one would see me standing here right beside the wall, right? No, they won’t. I was being ridiculous here. I stand here right before the hollowed entrance into the garden, with a shovel in my hand.

I wouldn’t be here. Not if the royal descendants had hired a better lawyer to fight their case. Not if the local land mafia had not bribed the government to open this land for new housing societies. Not if the environmental activist hadn’t gone missing from the bus which was supposed to take him to the State High Court to file a petition against this move.

Not if I hadn’t overheard Ram Ji, the court clerk at the tea stall, talking about this historic case and about the land being cleared tomorrow for processing of tenders to start.

“Not if I had actually cared to dig a grave, instead of running away leaving her body.”

The events of the noon had made my day only grimmer, for the landlady was incisively asking about my missing wife and how I planned on paying the due rent. I had spun up a tale of marital discord and how my wife had decided to return to her father. But this had only worsened my case, for my landlady was now scared of what my powerful father-in-law would do. With money in my hand, I could’ve shut her.

But there was none. My wife’s remaining money had all been spent on liquor and women. And my grand plan to extract money from my father-in-law had failed spectacularly.

He had declared his daughter dead once he learned that she ran away with this common vagabond.

He was a man well-known to keep to his words, but I gave it a shot anyway.

I wrote a letter, describing a terrible accident that had left my wife bedridden. I wrote about how she implored her humble father to forgive her and help her in these dire times. I ensured that she reminded him of the Spaniel and the imported radio.

Even if he was a stiff-lipped civil servant, imitating his Gora counterparts from the Raj days, he’d still think of her. Maybe just as one of those ever-present things which went missing from his house, which must’ve been presently populated with many defunct imported radios and moaning spaniels. But surely some part of him would miss her.

His reply eviscerated my misunderstood hope, for he stated that if another letter was written to him by this ‘common thug’, he’d hunt me down and then wipe me off the face of this earth. I’m not one for responding to hot-headed individuals, but I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as to who was hunted down and wiped off the face of this earth.

Speaking of hot-headed individuals here was one: my landlady, reminiscing all the wonderful things about my female relatives. As she inched her bellicose face near my mouth, I closely inspected her neck. If a piece of rope or even a cloth was found wrapped around it the next day, not many would care I suppose.

But enough of the rope talk, for one did dangle closer to my neck than hers. I evaded her questioning and took off from there, for there were things to be done.

I had to find a way to deal with Mala Rani, the ubiquitous ghost, before entering and clearing up the mess I had left.

I wished she would appear while the guards went about clearing the gardens and scared them to death. But then some things weren’t even under the control of the supernatural. The giant cranes and lorries of the government, the capital, and muscle of the land mafia would be enough to scare her off, and if not who knows maybe even Mala Rani could be bribed with some sweet spot in some park, provided with her private gardener and all.

I would have done the deed straight away but for the fact that I had mislocated my locket from tabeez baba since my last adventure. I remembered showing it off at Rani Bai’s kotha sometime back which in itself was quite something, for usually, I didn’t recollect anything after going to that kotha.

So, I had to go after the ‘Miracle Baba’, whose lockets to cure all ills had been talked of highly in my neighborhood. He had made evil disappear from the face of the earth, infertile men fertile, dead humans alive, and alive humans dead.

His humble abode was the ever-shifting charpoy which was in the main market road. As my car bustled through the heavy Sunday market trying to locate the Baba, looking through different shades of colors, smells, and sights, a line of people slithering like a snake stood out to my eyes.

He was located behind one of the juice sellers.

Baba was seated with his eyes closed, smoking a hookah near the charpoy as his assistants handed out lockets to his devotees after taking their money.

I parked my car nearby, to take a closer look. The car attracted a horde of beggars and common thieves to me, but I explained that I was simply a driver for my Sahab.

And then they let me be, perhaps after taking a look at my unwashed clothes, roughened up face, and dirty hands. They understood I was their lot in a different shade.

In this confusion, Baba’s line and meditation were both broken.

I sped ahead and fell at his feet. “Oh Holy Baba! My wife is due and I have to travel late at night, but there is this ghastly specter named Mala…”

“Hey Veeru, it’s me Chandu,” Baba whispered gently in my left ear.

Conman always finds a conman.

In front of me was Chandan Mehra: an old-time collaborator, friend, and enemy all pushed into one. I had wished him death only a couple of years back but today I grasped him dearer than anything. The assistants screamed in delight “Baba is giving Moksha… liberating this poor soul from his worldly desires”

So did bow down the devotees and behind them prowled a skillful munchkin, liberated these souls of their worldly possessions.

Yaar, this is a tough one” said Chandu, two hours later, as he carefully removed his beard.

In the time that he had not rumbled about the terrible quality of the glue, he tried to sieve out any information about my whereabouts over the last couple of years.

I took the utmost care to not inform or misinform him too much. I gathered that he had only been in town for the last two months or so, thereby no need to inform him about the exact nature of my job but at the same time I did need a locket to counter the threat of Mala Rani.

I had heard enough about Chandu’s forays into black magic and conversations with Babas. He was curious as to why I needed it, perhaps not wanting to miss out on a possible expedition. I assured him of my intentions stating that a family ghost was haunting me and I wanted to scare it away.

Chandu knew when not to mess in a person’s business or at least when to quit while at it. He did not ask me any further questions but made sure I took some of his special treatment before I left.

I found a spare shovel by a construction site and went ahead with my mission.

Now having waited over two hours for late-night to set in, I am entering the garden. Hopefully success tonight will help me sleep well in the future.

They wouldn’t hear me while I move, right? I can’t tell right now.

My leg seems to have been wrapped around by some roots. I tried to wiggle out of it after regaining consciousness, but that seems to have only made it firmer.

And by the bad fall I have taken while running away from Mala Rani and her saheli, I am barely able to move my upper part.

From the angle where I am placed, I can make nothing more than a few outlines. Just some trees and bushes around me. And them.

I can’t tell if they are looking at me, but for sure they are conversing in hushed voices, possibly contemplating my fate.

I must get away now. But how?

Every time I make an attempt to free myself of this mess, all I do is slither against this floor and evoke some giggles from my spectators. I feel like a tortoise who has been turned up-side-down.

My only hope: Chandu’s locket is still attached to my neck, albeit the Tabeez stone was lying on the floor. Perhaps, that is why Mala Rani and her Saheli have stayed away from me. I looked in its direction and realized that it is attached merely through a weak thread.

The thin thread of my hope.

A few hours back I knew if I didn’t do it tonight, then I was dead tomorrow. Chandan’s alcoholic beverages had served me well in the night, the quarter of rum had awakened me to the grave task.

So, I had bravely ventured inside, scaring off any beastly eyes that followed me, shouting and cursing at any figure I saw, till I reached her remains. There she lay half-eaten by wild animals in her favourite red Chunri. She looked really funny in that position.

Imagine the plight of a new officer leading the charge of clearing forest chancing upon this one-eyed, half-nosed, and quarter-breasted specimen! But there was not much time to think.

So, I set off. And the entire deal took me about an hour. I located my best spot near some bushes that were so inconspicuous that no one would chance upon it even on a bright morning.

After digging and putting her remains in the grave, I set about for any other marks of evidence before sealing her in.

Any piece of clothing, any article belonging to us.

That is when I saw them. And it had a strange effect on me. I stopped moving.

Ideally, I would have made a run for it, but that didn’t happen. I could see them from the side of my eye, standing near a tree.

At first, I wished this to be some case of nerves. Maybe my imagination was getting to me. After all, I hadn’t seen Mala Rani yet. What if ‘they’ were merely extensions of a tree or some branch stirred out of its abode by the wind?

And then they moved.

The rest was pretty much a blur. I was suddenly free from their unholy grasp and made a run for my life.  I ran as fast as I could, and then suddenly something forced me to slip. It was as if they were done playing.

It was a spectacular fall, for I can still feel its effects on my back.

And here I am now.

So, this is how it ends. Never would I have imagined that I would be coward enough to let tears through in such a moment. The point was not to be emotional. When I had killed people, I had shown no emotion. Not even a hint of guilt when I added the sleeping pills in Sugandha’s favorite Sharbat, or smothered her with the pillow.

And I expected the same fate for myself.

I killed someone with treachery, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the same happened to me. The difference between me and others was that I knew life for what it was, a meaningless race that we were meant to run anyway.

My only regret is this fear. From all the movies that I had seen, I had hoped to go out in style. Like the villains did. Fight to the end. Zero regrets.

This fear of death that gripped my person, crippled me from inside.

Or was it remorse?

Was there a portion of guilt inside this wicked body of mine?

“I am sorry Sugandha, but this is not how I meant for us to end.”

I didn’t mean to say it, but somehow, I did utter those words. Had I been in control of myself and not tearing apart like a little baby here in the womb of the garden, maybe I would have chosen better words.

But maybe they were appropriate after all?

If I had ever learned anything other than lying, thieving, and treachery from this life, maybe Sugandha and I could have led a better life.

I won’t lie now but on some occasions: I had imagined a future for ourselves. She was well-read, educated, and mannered, she could have found a good job that could’ve served the two of us.

But then my evil side took over. And look where it got me!

At least, it has lifted this pain off my chest. And seemingly the pain off my back as well. It feels like I can move now. Wait, what is it? The branch has loosened itself. Still, all I can see are outlines.

But I think she can hear me; she knows how I feel. Right, Sugandha?

Is she giving me another chance? Surely, that is what it is. I will apologize now and let myself out of this life of crime. Sugandha, I hope you are listening. I am doing this for you.

I readily jump to my feet and prostrate before them. Thank you, for letting me off.

But what is this I hear?

Their wicked, screeching laughter.

I look up. Their feet. They are backward.

These devils are going to get me.

There is no time to think. I speed off!

What are they anyways? Has Mala Rani made her best friend a Chudail like herself?

Run.

My love for her is dead once again. This is treachery. I would make her alive, just to kill this witch again!

Run.

I keep running in blind fury; my only weapon is the fuel in my legs. I must get out of this park before it runs out.

And I slip.

My leg is bleeding, maybe I hit something metallic.

Metallic? The locket. What happened to it? Why did I even let it go in the first place? It must have been that treacherous chudail, she was the one who planted these guilt-ridden thoughts in my mind and used her powers to force me away from my lifeline.

They couldn’t have touched me till I had the locket on me. She tormented me emotionally so much that I even forgot about the locket.

I was way better lying there half dead than I am in this dark hollow.

But what is this place? What was that metallic thing that I ran into anyways?

The Shovel!

This is the grave I had dug for her, and now I lie in it with her. She’s right next to me, but I dare not look at her.

She’s taking heavy heaves, almost reminiscent of her reluctant sighs on our first night. Unlike the last time, she seems to be taking the initiative today.

The fear grips my body, paralyzing my movements. She’s looking at my face even as I can’t bear to turn the other way.

Suddenly her Chunri covers both of us. I shiver as I feel her near my face.

“This is a pretty romantic night. Isn’t it Veerendra?”

About the Author:

Divy Tripathi has done law but took to writing. He is an independent journalist who has written about movies and cricket. He has worked for Wisden in the past, and his works have been published in The Quint, MUBI’s Notebook, FuriousCinema, and the Spaghetti Western Database among other publications.

 

One Comment

  1. Hilariously scintillating!
    The flow is flawless
    Look forward to more such works