Haroon Bijli

It was a lazy mid-morning. We were sitting in the verandah, sipping cups of tea, the newspapers well into their second life as bits of entertainment sections. The brother-in-law tried to keep us interested in the local church gossip; my sister talked fashion and cuisines with her sisters-in-law. The kids were playing somewhere in the courtyard. Our father was away in the nearby town, and mother was busy supervising the household help in the kitchen.

Just then, the kids shrieked from the courtyard. “Da-ad! Mo-om!”

We dropped everything and ran. They were standing around what seemed like a motionless bird.

“Okay, what happened here?” I asked and they pointed to the obviously dead bird. I bent down and examined it. It was a pigeon with its neck grotesquely twisted.

“Alright, did this bird drop from the sky?” I asked.

“No,” they chorused. My son pointed to another kid. “He did it!”

I hadn’t seen this kid before. He clearly wasn’t one of ours. He seemed twelve or so – at least four years older than the eldest in the bunch. He was smiling.

“You did this?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” he smiled. It was almost as if he was proud of it.

“But why…?”

“Oh I just wanted to show the kids how it was done,” he said, casually. Too casually.

It was disconcerting. The women took the kids away with promises of snacks and juice. We interrogated the boy a little more.

“What’s your name? Where do you live? And how did you come inside the gate?”

“Two houses down,” he pointed southwards. There weren’t many houses in that direction but nevertheless, people did live there.

“And this is your way of entertaining children? Murdering innocent animals?”

“What murder?” he challenged. “Look at the bird!”

He picked up the dead bird, massaged the neck and let it go. The pigeon fluttered away as if nothing had happened. He was smiling. His eyes were serious. They looked straight into mine – through mine, to be precise. And his face seemed suddenly seemed strangely familiar.

I started to ask him but he turned and ran away, laughing all the way till he disappeared into the street. He hadn’t told us his name.

“Strange kid. What was all that…” I muttered to my brother as we made our way back to the house.

***
Dinner done, the kids in bed, we gathered around a few candles for drinks and banter. Power supply had been errant all day, but mattered little to us. There was a breeze, and the old, traditional house had lots of open spaces and ventilation. The women – my wife, sister and sister-in-law were sitting around my father, the patriarch, laughing politely at his usual tall tales of bravado. The men – my brother-in-law, brother and I were at the other end of the hall, nursing our drinks and gently poking fun at our mother on her choice of liquor. The household help was clearing the dinner table, and getting ready to close the kitchen for the night. It was idyllic, calm, happy, and I felt glad at having made the trip home with the family. Our father had summoned us; there were important financial matters to settle, he’d said. He said he wanted to sign off our inheritances when he was in good health.

We children, however, had mutually agreed, much before the request from our father, that our sister would take the house and the land around it, and we brothers would share the rubber estates. It was in order too – my brother and I had settled in Cincinnati for many years and had no intention of moving back to Kerala. Our sister was married into an influential family just a few kilometers away, and it was understood that she would take care of our parents as they got older and dependent. It was only fair that she got the house – worth much more than our combined estates. Rubber hadn’t been remunerative lately.

The night progressed. The conversation went on. Salted cashewnuts were being served and drinks were being refilled. I leaned back on my chair and took in the scene, dreamily.

Then I heard the voice.

“I WANT THE LAND,” it said. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and stared.

At me.

“I WANT THE HOUSE AND THE LAND,” I heard myself saying.

And once again: “I WANT THE HOUSE AND THE LAND.”

My brother dropped his whiskey. The maid stopped serving the cashews. No one was smiling. They were all staring at me. I was staring at my father.

I tried to say something else, but my mouth was dry. I could only manage a feeble whine.

“You have had too much to drink,” father said. “Daughter, take him to bed,” he said, still staring at me. He seemed to be smiling, but his eyes were serious.

My wife and brother grabbed me by my arms and pulled me to the bed. “Whatever has come over you,” they seemed to be saying, but I was staring at my father who was staring back at me.

Now I knew why the boy of the morning seemed familiar.

***
I got up late the next morning. The children had had their breakfast and were in the courtyard, playing. My sister had left with her husband though their children were still here. My father and brother were at the breakfast table, reading and playing with the food. The women were in and out of the kitchen and the common room, though I didn’t notice what they were doing.

I sat down at the place laid out for me. No one acknowledged my presence.

I served myself a cup of tea, and said, “I am sorry for yesterday. I didn’t know what happened. I don’t need the house and the land.”

“Too late,” my father said, without lowering the newspaper. “You have caused a great deal of embarrassment. Your sister and brother-in-law were very upset. You have no idea what you did.”

“I… I…” I stammered but couldn’t say much.

“You can have the house and the land. They said they didn’t want it anymore. There will be no further discussion on this matter,” said my father. He got up and left.

I finished my breakfast quietly, my head a complete mess. It felt as if my world had done a somersault twice over, and still a few left to go. My brother said nothing. He stared into his now empty plate.

I looked out of the window, trying to make sense of it all.

The kids, who were running around a minute ago, seemed to have stopped and were gathered in a circle. It was that boy again.

I ran out, signaling to my brother to come with me. He seemed to be showing them something, some kind of toy which he hid as soon as he saw us.

“What are you doing here?” I scolded. “Didn’t I ask you not to come here again?”

“Ah uncle! Good morning!” He smiled. “Would you like to see some tricks? I was just showing some magic to your children…”

“GET OUT!” I said. My wife came and took the children away.

“Oh no, you don’t get to do that,” the boy said. “YOU, certainly, don’t get to say that.”

“What insolence! Get out this minute,” I was getting angry. Really angry.

“Here, I will show you a trick!” he said as he pulled out a two black strings and silver cylinders attached to them. My talisman. I didn’t bother to check my waist where my grandmother had tied my talisman when I was a child. I knew it was with him now. My brother’s, too.

“How did you get those!” and I tried to snatch them.

“Oh no no. Oh no no. Don’t be rash with me. You’ll regret it,”

“Give me my talisman. Right now!” I said. The world had stopped for me. It was as if nothing else existed, just me, the boy and the talisman. I walked closer to the boy, and he kept backing off.

My aggression had no effect at all. He was still smiling.

“Oh I will give it to you. One condition only: this land and house, you’ll give it to me!”

“Otherwise?” I screamed.

“Otherwise you DIE. YOU DIE. Right here. Within one single day! Your heart will give way”

I couldn’t take it any more. I lunged at the boy. He pulled off. The shirt tore and he started running. He kept laughing and shouting. My brother tried to help but only managed to trip me. As I fell, I saw my father at the window.

I gave up. I lay flat on my back and closed my eyes. My brother slapped me a couple of times till I asked him to lay off.

“Go get some water. He’s having an attack” I heard my father instruct him.

I opened my eyes. My father was standing directly over my head.

“So what will it be, son? Your land or your life?” he asked, dangling my talisman near my face.