Read Online Our Favourite Indian Stories by Khushwant Singh - Free Book Online
Authors: Khushwant Singh
Ads: Link
was flooded with light. I saw two marble-like arms spread against the curtain and a shadowy figure with two hungry, distraught eyes. Thin, long fingers clutched the curtain, trembling violently, and a nosepiece shone like a star above quivering lips. I glimpsed the phantasmagoric sight in the fleeting instant before the curtain was pulled across the door. Then there were only muffled groans.
After this, I could not believe my ears. I could only hear slow continuous laughter behind the curtain. No, it could not be Mother. I had never before heard her laughing like that. I could neither hear nor see anything more. My mind went blank and I felt that the darkness had gathered itself into something tangible, something foul and ragged that coiled and twisted before my eyes.
I was lying on the terrace one afternoon during my convalescence. No one was taking any notice of me and I had my way with everything. Father did not drop into my room in the evenings and I had not seen uncle Biren for a long time. If any one was sorry about my recovery it was Bano. Had I remained ill the chances of our going to Delhi would have receded.
Behind the terrace there were two low hills, pointing towards the sky like a pair of scissors. Between them a forest range stretched far into the distance. When the train bound for Kalka passed through it, a column of smoke drifted above the trees toward the sky.
'Bano, we'll be leaving for Delhi soon,' I told Bano who was busy picking apricots from the terrace. The apron of her skirt was filled with apricots. She knelt and her booty spilt on the ground.
'Here, eat this,' she said picking up a ripe yellow apricot. 'It's nice.'
I shook my head. Father had forbidden me to eat apricots.
'Its ripe, it will do you no harm,' she said and, without waiting for my answer popped it into her mouth. She turned the apricot in her cheek and said that if it was turned often enough the saliva made the fruit juicier.
'So it is settled that you are going to Delhi,' she said sucking noisily at the apricot.
'Yes, as soon as mother returns.'
'Where has your mother gone?'
'To her aunt's place.'
'Are you sure?' Bano looked at me mysteriously.
'What's the matter, Bano?' I asked, puzzled.
'Nothing. Just asking.' She pressed the apricot between her lips and added, 'I won't tell you. Mother has warned me not to.'
I felt angry but smiled, feigning indifference. When I was angry I tried to hide my feelings behind a smile so that no one would think me an ill-tempered fool.
The hills behind the terrace were grey under the low clouds and their thin elongated shadows flitted across them from the east.
'Is Delhi beyond those mountains?' Bano asked me.
'Delhi is in the plains,' I replied. 'One has to climb over those hills to reach Delhi.'
Bano looked at me skeptically. 'But below us is Annandale Race Course, and beyond that the ravine. Is Delhi in the ravine?'
Without trying to satisfy her curiosity I turned my back on her.
Near the terrace was the pavillion and behind it the guestroom of the haunted house. Bano threw the apricot stones into the guestroom and stood leaning against the wall.
All of Simla was hushed in the afternoon; only the sound of falling apricots punctuated the silence. Bano beckoned me to her. The glass of one of the guesthouse doors was broken. She peeped through the hole and invited me to join her.
The room was empty, its wallpaper faded. It was full of stale air and cobwebs. In the middle of the floor there was a small circle of light, which seemed to change from white to faded yellow and back again. In the darkness the spot of light looked eerie.
'That English woman must have lived in this room,' Bano whispered.
'And she must have died in this room,' I added, and a shiver ran down my spine. I saw a face gradually emerging on the peeled off plaster of the wall â its mouth gaped, its lustreless eyes seeming to mock me, and I heard laughter. It must have been the face of the woman who had taken
After this, I could not believe my ears. I could only hear slow continuous laughter behind the curtain. No, it could not be Mother. I had never before heard her laughing like that. I could neither hear nor see anything more. My mind went blank and I felt that the darkness had gathered itself into something tangible, something foul and ragged that coiled and twisted before my eyes.
I was lying on the terrace one afternoon during my convalescence. No one was taking any notice of me and I had my way with everything. Father did not drop into my room in the evenings and I had not seen uncle Biren for a long time. If any one was sorry about my recovery it was Bano. Had I remained ill the chances of our going to Delhi would have receded.
Behind the terrace there were two low hills, pointing towards the sky like a pair of scissors. Between them a forest range stretched far into the distance. When the train bound for Kalka passed through it, a column of smoke drifted above the trees toward the sky.
'Bano, we'll be leaving for Delhi soon,' I told Bano who was busy picking apricots from the terrace. The apron of her skirt was filled with apricots. She knelt and her booty spilt on the ground.
'Here, eat this,' she said picking up a ripe yellow apricot. 'It's nice.'
I shook my head. Father had forbidden me to eat apricots.
'Its ripe, it will do you no harm,' she said and, without waiting for my answer popped it into her mouth. She turned the apricot in her cheek and said that if it was turned often enough the saliva made the fruit juicier.
'So it is settled that you are going to Delhi,' she said sucking noisily at the apricot.
'Yes, as soon as mother returns.'
'Where has your mother gone?'
'To her aunt's place.'
'Are you sure?' Bano looked at me mysteriously.
'What's the matter, Bano?' I asked, puzzled.
'Nothing. Just asking.' She pressed the apricot between her lips and added, 'I won't tell you. Mother has warned me not to.'
I felt angry but smiled, feigning indifference. When I was angry I tried to hide my feelings behind a smile so that no one would think me an ill-tempered fool.
The hills behind the terrace were grey under the low clouds and their thin elongated shadows flitted across them from the east.
'Is Delhi beyond those mountains?' Bano asked me.
'Delhi is in the plains,' I replied. 'One has to climb over those hills to reach Delhi.'
Bano looked at me skeptically. 'But below us is Annandale Race Course, and beyond that the ravine. Is Delhi in the ravine?'
Without trying to satisfy her curiosity I turned my back on her.
Near the terrace was the pavillion and behind it the guestroom of the haunted house. Bano threw the apricot stones into the guestroom and stood leaning against the wall.
All of Simla was hushed in the afternoon; only the sound of falling apricots punctuated the silence. Bano beckoned me to her. The glass of one of the guesthouse doors was broken. She peeped through the hole and invited me to join her.
The room was empty, its wallpaper faded. It was full of stale air and cobwebs. In the middle of the floor there was a small circle of light, which seemed to change from white to faded yellow and back again. In the darkness the spot of light looked eerie.
'That English woman must have lived in this room,' Bano whispered.
'And she must have died in this room,' I added, and a shiver ran down my spine. I saw a face gradually emerging on the peeled off plaster of the wall â its mouth gaped, its lustreless eyes seeming to mock me, and I heard laughter. It must have been the face of the woman who had taken
Similar Books
