To Sweeten Boredom



  To Sweeten Boredom

  Jeff Tikari

  An anthology of thirteen crisp and intriguing short stories that will enliven and charm your leisure hours.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please discard and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

  About the Author: Jeff Tikari has worked on tea plantations in northern India for twenty years, from 1959 to 1977 and on coffee and tea plantations in the Highlands of Papua New Guinea for fifteen years. He now resides on the outskirts of Delhi with his wife & where he runs a Homeopathic clinic and from where he does all his writing.

  His first book on spiritualism and philosophy: ‘The Future Intelligence” was published in the year 2000.He has had short articles and stories published in magazines around India: Elle, Delhi Press, Vanity, etc. In the USA: Diabolic Publications, Chiaroscuro, Sealy Publications, Secret Attic, etc. In Canada: Horizon. His stories have been included in a number of short story anthologies.

  Jeff Tikari, M-12/24, DLF City -2, Gurgaon 122002, India.

  E-mail: jtikari@gmail.com

  First edition: 2008, Lulu Enterprises/ Lulu.com

  Index:

  A Howl from the Past

  A Woman’s Aura

  Compelling Persuasions

  A Mindset

  Postprandial Peg

  Angry Innocence

  Fingers of Fear

  A Secret Seduction

  Bhalwa

  Spirits of the Lake

  The Morning After

  The Final Analysis

  A Howl from the Past

  Intrigue, murder, and romance in a wealthy landlord family of India

  Murli was awakened by the presence of a large number of bare bodied men armed with spears and knives, stealthily proceeding towards the opposite side of the room to a door made of iron rods through which he could see a man, with a full beard, asleep on a brass bedstead.

  Murli’s body tensed, blood rushed to his head. His bed was flush against a wall and he retreated to the farthest corner pressing his back to the wall and gaping with horror. Though Murli could see the proceedings, he knew it was completely dark in the room. The body of men ignored him, like as if he were not there and perhaps he was not, for he was certain he was witnessing an event from the past. The room looked like what it must have looked years ago: old furniture, white washed walls, a threadbare carpet on the floor, and a high domed ceiling; very different from the modern bedroom he now occupied.

  Vir Chander - a pleasant easygoing colleague: tall, black hair, sharp features, carrying a limp from a horse-fall, had invited him to spend the Puja Holidays at his ancestral estate in Kamalgunj. Vir descended from a family of landlords that owned all the lands around for miles. He should have been heir to the large estate, but with the mysterious death of his father, the inheritance had passed, very unfairly thought Vir, to his conniving uncle.

  Vir had informed his uncle, Sukhi Chander that he would bring a friend along on leave. Sukhi was gracious in allotting the newly refurbished bedroom to Vir’s friend, Murli. The room: low ceilinged, carpeted, modern light colored furniture; opened to spacious lawns and gardens landscaped and stocked with varied plants and shrubs. Murli was pleased with the room; he was doubly pleased with Frisa (Vir’s sister) who showed him to the room.

  Murli, strong, athletic, a good tennis player (he had won the Rana Pratap, club championship cup twice) was the Senior Legal Advisor in the highly revered Coswaji Attorneys where Vir was the Administration Officer. Both men got along well and spent a lot of time together at the Gymkhana Club. A mutual respect and a strong bond grew between them. Vir liked what he saw: a sober, decent, and upright person with a great sense of fun. He would be an ideal match for his sister, Frisa. Vir hoped they would hit it off – a legal brain in the family could resolve the inheritance rigmarole.

  Breakfast, next morning, was laid on a crisp damask tablecloth under a large flowering Gulmohar tree. Sun filtered through the leaves in narrow shafts of light on the white tablecloth; bird song enhanced the feeling of freshness and vigour.

  Frisa arrived, flushed from a morning ride and still in her riding boots and breaches, and joined Vir and Murli at the breakfast table.

  “Good morning everybody,” she greeted, taking off her riding hat. “Hope you slept well, Murli.”

  Frisa’s flowing long hair, the sheen of sweat on her upper lip, and the sway in her walk mesmerized Murli; he sat struck; forgotten was the toast he was buttering. Vir noticed Murli’s big grin and wide eyes – that’s it, he thought, his heart has been slain, and his mind boggled! He’ll come up for air but he is already floundering in the headiness of Frisa’s looks.

  “Yes, I slept…” Murli stammered; he didn’t know how to continue. “A strange thing happened last night; I don’t know how to explain it… I was asleep and yet I was awake. I mean it was dark but I could see clearly; I knew it was one thirty in the morning though I had not seen any watch. What woke me (or was it just awareness) was the presence of a large group of bare bodied men in the room.”

  Vir and Frisa leant forward, all attention now.

  “The men were shirtless and armed with spears. They seemed interested in a man with a flowing beard asleep in an adjoining bedroom into which I could see through the iron bars.

  Vir and Frisa prompted him, “What happened then?”

  “I don’t know I must have gone to sleep or whatever. I can’t remember any thing after that.” He didn't mention the fact that he was scared shitless.

  “Can you describe the person lying on the cot?” asked Vir

  “Only that he was a stout person wearing a white kurta, his most distinguishing feature was the flowing beard that covered most of his ample chest.”

  “Could you recognize any of the men?” inquired Frisa; her big brown eyes searched Murli's face.

  “No, I am afraid not! They were shirtless; some of them were quite well built – like wrestlers.Their expressions were grim and determined and they were stealthily proceeding towards the iron door (thank God not towards me) - off hand I would say they were up to no good.”

  Murli absorbed the expression of interest on Frisa’s face. He wished he could tell her more, if only to keep her interest focused on him.

  “That is very interesting.” said Vir. “Let me think about it. I think it could relate to an incident that happened here many years ago…"

  Vir was deep in thought he did not notice the way Murli cringed. "I’ll let you know. It’s a pity you could not recognize anyone. Tell you what though, I’ll take you around the estate and introduce you to the people who live here, maybe you will recognize someone from your vision last night.”

  Vir had become serious and contemplative; obviously the incident affected him in some important way. Frisa too had become somber.

  “Uncle Sukhi should be down for breakfast, he’ll soon join us,” said Frisa looking at Murli. “You don’t mind do you?”

  “No, no. Perhaps we should wait for him.”

  “By the way, Murli, don’t mention anything to him or to anyone else. Let us keep it to our selves.” Vir requested.

  Murli had stirred up something; he only hoped it was not something bad. The atmosphere between them had changed subtly: it was as if he had become a partner in some secret; a bond seemed to grow between them. He liked this changed status; he liked his acceptance into their ‘inner sanctum’, a kind of close association. What this was he had no idea, but he had a fe
eling he would soon be told.

  Uncle Sukhi arrived, affable and effusive with bonhomie. A tall gangly person with a large hooked nose that suggested defiance. He cornered the conversation and literally conducted the eating of breakfast with his long slim arms waving and gesticulating with every word. Murli noticed a furtive exchange between brother and sister; he could sense all was not well here: there was forced joviality and an undercurrent of some sort.

  Frisa listened pleasantly enough to her uncle’s prattle, but her bubbly verve was subdued. Vir merely nodded and answered in monosyllables. The table talk was mostly addressed to Murli who listened with polite regard. It didn’t take Murli long to assess that Frisa’s uncle was full of his own importance.

  After breakfast Vir took Murli around the vast homestead and grounds and introduced him to some family and staff members.

  “Did you recognize anyone?” he asked afterwards

  “I’m afraid not; though it could be any of them. I didn’t really get a good look at those men last night; I was too stunned with what was taking place.”

  Frisa too asked the same questions and let out a sigh of disappointment. “I suppose we were asking for miracles,” she said resignedly. “You see, the person you described lying on the bed fits the description of our murdered father!”

  Murli was shocked, “What does that mean?”

  Vir sat him down at the now cleared breakfast table. "It’s only fair that we tell you the whole story.” Frisa nodded assent.

  “Grandfather had two sons: my father, the elder son, and Uncle Sukhi, the younger one. Grandfather left a will in which the property was equally divided between my father and my uncle. When our father died – was murdered, actually – Uncle Sukhi took over the entire property as we were very young and in school. Over a period of time we signed many documents thinking these were required for the running of the estate as uncle was the overall caretaker. In actual fact, we slowly signed all our rights over in favor of uncle Sukhi. This leaves Frisa and me without any inheritance. I am sure this is wrong in law and we intend fighting it in court. We were under age then”

  Murli looked pensive, “It appears your uncle has taken advantage of the trust you both restored in him.” “We have been misled and cheated. My father died under mysterious circumstances. They say he was killed by dacoits, but we have our doubts. Father was alone here at the time and there were no witnesses. His body, with multiple spear wounds, was found on the back verandah the next day. We were in school and were brought back for the funeral.”

  That evening Murli partnered Frisa in a game of bridge. They sat in the card room – family photographs covered the walls. A fire was lit in the fireplace and the room was aglow with soft light and the sounds from the crackling fire. Dinner had been elaborate with Sukhi again holding forth. Wines had been served and now brandy liquor: a VSOP, sat in goblets by their side.

  They played a few rubbers and before the game ended Sukhi excused himself saying he was tired and had an early morning errand in town.

  The young people sat around the fireplace and made small talk. Frisa sat on the hearth, her chin resting on her hands across her knees and gazed at the burning logs. Murli stole surreptitious glances at Frisa and caught her doing the same. Their eyes met every now and then, and both held their gaze for longer and longer periods. A subtle excitement ran through Murli: God, how he would like to kiss her. She smiled at him from behind the hair falling across her face. Soon, too soon, it was time to turn in. One last lingering look, pecks on the cheek and then good nights were bidden.

  Murli couldn’t sleep for a long time: Frisa was fresh in his mind’s eye. She had removed her jacket sitting near the fire and Murli could see her lovely figure revealed in the tight fitting sweater and slacks. He noticed her slim fingers and fine skin, and the way her hair fell curtaining her eyes. He had breathed in her heady freshness – could this be the first stirrings of love?

  That night the bare-chested men appeared again and entered the room opposite. The bearded man awoke and raised himself to a sitting position. He looked steadily into the faces of the men, showing no fright even though the men were armed. Suddenly a man lifted his spear and plunged it deep into the bearded man’s chest. The force of the blow threw him off the bed.

  Murli was shocked and petrified – he couldn't move or he would have run out. He watched immobilized with terror. Before the scene faded he noticed a man who looked like a young Sukhi… but the scene faded away thereafter.

  Murli awoke six hours later with a pulsating headache. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and shuffled to where his bag was stashed on the luggage bench. He pulled out some painkillers and swallowed them with water from the bedside flask. He would have to ask Vir to change his room. These visions were too real. Was the place haunted? He certainly did not want to be subjected to any more of what he saw last night.

  He showered and soaped himself and tingled with the anticipation of seeing Frisa. He shaved carefully, applied a generous dose of Dunhill aftershave, and looked at himself in the mirror: he was still trim and good-looking. He patted down his hair, dressed quickly and strolled out to the passageway that led to the garden.

  Frisa stood at the far end leafing through a magazine; his breath caught in his throat and he lengthened his stride.

  “Good morning, Frisa.”

  Frisa turned: “Good morning, Murli, hope you slept well.” She leaned forward offering him her cheek to be kissed and he willingly obliged. He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her closer; they looked into each other’s eyes and their pulses picked up as their lips met in a long kiss. Frisa gently pushed away: “Let us not get carried away on empty stomachs,” she held his hand and led him out to the garden.

  He breathed her aroma, “God, you are lovely, Frisa, you really are!”

  She lowered her gaze, “Let’s have breakfast first. You may change your mind after that.”

  “What, what?” he said in a stage whisper. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t joke with my emotions.”

  “Are we having our first 'lovers tiff', even before we are lovers?” she smiled.

  “No!” he swallowed. “I shall never have a ‘tiff’ with you; never ever!”

  Vir looked up from the newspaper: “Hey, come and have breakfast, Murli; any more visions last night?”

  Murli lowered himself into a chair, still a bit flushed, and excited from his encounter with Frisa. She took the seat next to him and he was pleased.

  “Yes!” Murli blurted. “I think I saw your uncle Sukhi in the background. He was much younger, but I think it was him.”

  “Good God! I feared something like this. What more?”

  Murli described the whole scene to him. “Your father showed no fear at all,” he concluded.

  Both Vir and Frisa looked shocked and stricken.

  “You see, we have been suspecting this all along; but what can we do?” Vir’s shoulder sagged with the enormity of this revelation.

  “Legally no judge will accept the vision story. You’ll have to give this a lot of thought. You will have to confront your uncle with this - I can’t imagine how.” Murli’s recent amorous intimacy with Frisa suddenly seemed a long time ago.

  The day passed in a pleasant fashion. Vir found ways to leave his sister and Murli alone so they could get better acquainted, Murli was grateful for this consideration.

  Sukhi arrived from his trip to town and Vir followed him into the house to discuss matters. Murli and Frisa found each other’s company easy and enjoyable; their mutual attraction made every moment joyful and they found many areas of common interest.

  “I shall have to leave early tomorrow morning,” Murli said with a heavy heart. “Back to work, boring, boring work; any place where you are not is going to be very boring,” he looked up brightening. “Let’s shack up and make a private heaven on this boring Earth?”

  “O’ yeah, and destroy my reputation so no decent fellow will ever marry me?”

  “
I’ll marry you!”

  “I said ‘decent fellow’… not any opportunist Romeo.”

  He threw his newspaper at her. She ran shrieking, hands delicately covering her head, to the far end of the garden where Murli caught up with her.

  “Why are you running?”

  “Because you threw that thing at me and it really hurt”, she pouted.

  “Oh, it did, did it, seeing that I missed you cleanly!”

  “No, but your black intensions really hurt me here …” the rest of her sentence was smothered by Murli’s lips.

  Six months had elapsed since Murli returned to rejoin work. Six months also since he last saw Frisa. He was only able to speak to her in snatches. He phoned a number of times, but Frisa was always out somewhere on the large estate. There were messages for him saying she was also trying to call him and would contact him soon. Telephone contact with remote Kamalgunj was tenuous. Murli decided he would make another visit to meet Frisa. The ache of her memory was now unbearable; he may even propose to her… he would propose to her, he determined.

  Vir had resigned his job six months ago and was now staying on the estate and managing some angle of it. Murli heard, through the grapevine that Vir had conducted a series of confrontations with his uncle who conceded some ground and allowed greater autonomy to his nephew and niece. Perhaps, that was the reason Frisa was so busy and unreachable.

  And then one morning Murli was shocked to read in the local papers:

  Sukhi Chander was murdered last night on his large estate at Kamalgunj. The body, with deep spear wounds, was discovered lying on the back veranda early in the morning by his servants. It appears there was no one in the house that night when it is suspected dacoits entered the house…