The Past

In the sky, a ray of sunlight came through the wall of clouds. For the past few days, Darjeeling was under a mist of clouds. After sunlight came, the mist disappeared.

Jima saw that, he was in a very-frankly speaking-old room. He suddenly felt that he cannot remember anything. He can remember that he was coming in a blue Fiat, to the Gomyan College, but then......

Jima got up from the floor. Oh! What a back pain! He saw a window from which a cool sunlight entered, along with breeze, making the atmosphere lively. It was very strange. Jima saw some broken desk-chairs kept in a pile. Where was he?

Jima saw a door. Turning the handle, he saw a big hall room, where some lights were glowing dimly. He approached to the room. While walking, he felt that this place was very elated to him. So much....

Jima chuckled to himself. From ’77 to ’92, first- class topper student Jima Chan studied here only. That was Gomyan School then, now....

Jima felt that he was being watched. Turning around he saw a young boy, in his teens, staring at him. He knew the boy very well. Rakesh Bakshi.

A voice deeper than thunder shocked Jima out of his thoughts.

“ Rakesh ? Come here!”

Jima saw the boy looking into a grumpy old man. He said, “Bunking Maths, I see! Let us see what the Principal has to say about this.” Having said, the man, slapping Rakesh, went away.

Jima remembered that the man was Jayanta Basak, simply, Basak sir. A maths teacher, he always made a half an hour class into one hour. Very comical man, he remembered. And, just three days back......

Jima shuddered.

Basak sir last Friday, slipped and fell into a 30- foot deep abyss.......

And Rakesh? He was riding his motorbike, only to slip.....

Jima began to shudder with fear. The lights were getting dimmer than when he first saw them. Suddenly, he heard “cre-e-eak” sound behind him.

A door had opened in the west side of the room. It was dark within that room. Jima went towards that room.

On entering, he saw that the room was their ‘photo room’. There were trophies, prizes and portraits all around him. Jima saw, on the right side, a portrait of a young white boy, hanging from the wall. The boy in the portrait was

Rakesh, Jima noticed quite easily. But he couldn’t help to notice the red substance emerging in the portrait. It was growing, and Jima understood that the substance was- blood.

At the very next moment, a sudden breeze began to howl in the room, and the laughter of a tortured beast seemed to echo from the walls of the room.

Jima only remembered that, the room was flooded with the red stain of the portrait, and everything was dissolving into the breeze.....

* * *

Jima jolted up from his sleep. What a terrible nightmare! While coming from NJP, he went off to a sleep, and that was the result? The memories of the past are remembered, to some extent, by others. There, however, are exceptions....

The driver pulled up before Gomyan College, and said, ‘Sir, welcome to your school.’

Since it was only for 20 minutes, Prof. Chan spoke about his past in this college(school), and how to instil the pride of this memorial- to him-only this, and nothing more.

In the evening, Jima was just going to sit down with his pipe, when suddenly, the telephone rang.

“Cring ! Cring ! ”

Jima said ‘hello’ into the receiver. From the other end, a voice said, “Mr. Chan? Are you a professor of the Jigme Kasi Institute?”

“Yes. Why may I know?”

“My name is Rajat Bakshi. Rakesh Bakshi...”

He didn’t hear the words, the name ‘Rakesh’ made Jima remember this afternoon’s nightmare.

“Oh yes, he was my friend. He died last Friday, wasn’t it?”

“What? Rakesh died? What are you saying Mr. Chan? Rakesh is going to visit....”

The sentence did not finish. A loud commotion was heard ouside. Jima dropped the receiver and ran downstairs.

Jima saw some locals gathered on the road. He asked one of them, ‘What happened?’

“Another skidded off into the abyss. Today’s generation. In this darkness, a young lad was riding in his bike. Over speeding made his doom......”

There was a cold atmosphere around the land. But still, Jima found himself sweating, because he had seen Rakesh’s death-a premonition- last Friday. His past has vanished....the past now lies in the schoolroom...

Jima gasped with terror. He had already seen Rakesh’s death, but why? The answer, however, is now lost in the haunting past....just like that deep and dark abyss.....no one will know.....

Except him.

* * *

(This is the English translation of my short story, written in Bengali, ‘অতীত’)

Monsieur Macabre,

13.04.2019

Image courtesy: Google Images