On the way to my village by road is a place of mythological significance, Valmikinagar. Valmikinagar is said to be the place where Sita, after being ousted from Ayodhya, lived with Maharshi Valmiki, the sage who wrote the Ramayana. It is now a place with dense forests and a few hutments can be observed in fringes in the middle of these jungles. The story told hereby, takes place in one of these houses.
I had been vacationing at my native place once during the summers which was quite a routine for me. As a city dweller, the serene country side can do wonders to your tired soul. Being a part of a Zamindar family, I was one day asked to go to the nearby town and look into some matter pertaining to the land. I agreed without hesitation as it wasn’t going to be a hard ordeal. It was certainly a matter of an hour or so but as destiny would have had it, it took more than the time it should have taken. It was getting dark and hence it was decided that we should be heading back to the village, only to come back the next day again. I was reluctant but not being fully aware of the repercussions, I decided to obey the advice of the person who had accompanied me. So we set out in the jeep.
Within an hour of our journey, we were on the road through the jungles of Valmikinagar. As I tried to focus on the beauty of these old yet strong trunks of the trees that were silhouetted by the full moon’s glare behind them, the jeep started showing signs of a breakdown. And among the hooting of the owls and the sullen silence of the night, there we were standing next to the jeep, a grey smoke emerging out of the engine. The driver went in search of water while my wise accomplice who knew we could not fix it that night, asked me to accompany him to find a shelter in one of the huts. We happened to find one decent two storeyed house among a group of about six or seven hutments. My accomplice first introduced himself to the owner of the house and then pointing towards me, he told the owner that I’m the son of the Zamindar in my village, after which the owner was quite pleased to have us as his guests for the night. A decent meal was served to us and after a light chat about the work that I had gone for, we all retired to our beds. I was given a bed in one of the rooms on the second floor which used to remain empty most of the time. I fell deep asleep as soon as I lay on the bed.
At 3 in the morning, my eyes opened to a sound. I checked my cell phone for the time, and to illuminate the room a little to find out if everything was fine. As I turned to the right flashing my phone, a woman had appeared dressed half as a saint and half as a woman belonging to the royalty. After having been back to my senses from the sudden horror, I tried to sit up in my bed and greet the woman and ask for the purpose of her visit at this hour. I couldn’t. I was fixed at my spot and this woman came and sat at one corner of the bed. Then she started pressing my feet. I could not feel the touch but I sure could behold the sight. And then came a song from her unmoving lips, a sound so shrill it could literally crack window panes, but it didn’t. It was a melody. So I lay there in juxtaposition of the bed and the woman, trying helplessly to move, to save my life if it were meant to end now. I could not do anything, I knew it somehow. Around 5:30 in the morning, the sun’s first rays came into the room. And there was another sound; I took a look at my cell phone again, got a confirmation of the time. The woman stood up, smiled and walked out. I got out of my bed, tried to pretend as if nothing had happened. When I went down, the owner of the house looked at me as if he knew what had happened that night; he asked me if I had any strange dreams. It was not a dream. I don’t remember them so clearly…
