Shiva Baje was a friendly old man with salt and pepper hair peeking out of his ‘bhadgaule’ cap. He cultivated the weed himself and was always eager to introduce his harvesting methods to us, which we no doubt, appreciated. Whenever we went on these forest excursions, we never missed climbing the top of the hill that cradled Shiva Baje’s solitary abode. We had to make the ascent on foot because there was no bike-trail leading to the top. It took about half an hour to reach the crest. From this vantage point one could see the city merge into the beautiful paddy fields and forests. Here, the clouds were level and the wind blew strongly. The weed blended perfectly with soft music providing the divine experience of flying. We talked about our aspirations and desires. We made paper planes that took different trajectories each time circling, spiraling, swooping and diving.
On the top there was an abandoned house. The upper storey had fallen in exposing the sky. It was a magnificent place for us to take shelter whenever the day turned too hot or it rained. Shiva Baje told us that the place was haunted. The strange gaze on his eyes made the whole story creepier.
When our black Pulsar reached Shiva Baje’s lonely abode, he was already up and smoking his pipe at the entrance of the hut. He called out to us, “Oho bhai haru saberai aunu bhayo ni.” (You are early today). He stooped through the low entrance of his hut and came out with a plastic-full of withered weed. We made our purchase.
Leaving the Pulsar parked near the hut both of us hiked uphill. The visibility was poor and we could barely see anything from the top, but it would be nice to sit by a fire at the ruins of the house. The fog was stronger here. Gathering some wood and hay, we lighted a fire and soon our minds were induced into a trip. After spending a few minutes listening to songs on the iPod, talking and smoking, Samman stood up. “I need to take a pee.”
”’Go ahead,” I replied as he disappeared into the mist.
I took off my jacket and placed it on the floor as a pillow. Then I leaned down and twiddled with the buttons on the iPod listening to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
When Samman did not return back even after a noticeably long time, I felt uneasy and shouted out his name. There was no reply. I was anxious and decided to go out and look for him. Standing up, I gathered the jacket around my body. That was when I saw a slight movement at the far corner of the room. I fell back frightened and nearly singed myself on the fire.
“Who is it?” I called out, my voice scared and urgent. Suddenly Shiva Baje’s strange stories about the house entred my mind.
Gathering my wits I managed to whisper, “Who are you?”
The figure pointed at me and then outside the door and then without delay walked towards the entrance. I remained back, sweating and scared. It stopped and looked back and but it beckoned me to follow. I had no choice. Where was Samman when I needed him the most? He was definitely taking a long time to pee.
The figure led me to the slate stones where we used to lie down staring at the blue sky. Then it disappeared. Once again I was left alone shivering. This time it was because of both cold and fear. Suddenly I felt an ice-cold palm on my neck. I recoiled in terror. I just saw the surprised look on Samman’s face as he fell over the rock and plunged down into the white expanse. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as if his body was moving through viscous honey. Samman glided like one of the paper planes soaring down the precipice and disappearing into oblivion. Pure horror slammed hard against me like a speeding car. I stood blanketed in the mist, numb as a ghost. I had murdered Samman. Fear scrunched my stomach.
Suddenly I heard someone call my name. Who could it be? Was it again that mysterious figure? On closely listening it sounded familiar.
It-it was Samman’s voice, deep and throaty. How could that be possible?
To my relief and astonishment he appeared out of mist looking at me with a confused and surprised look on his face.
He explained to me, “You weren’t at the house when I returned.”
Seeing me covered in sweat and shivering he said, ‘What happened? And why are you sweating so bad?”
I related to him everything that had happened.
But Samman was suspicious and thought I might have hallucinated everything under the influence of the intoxicant.
Was the strange figure really just my imagination as Samman suggested? But more important question pressing my mind was what if the things earlier had happened for real? Was I to blame myself or the intoxicant? Maybe all that happened was a divine intervention prompting me to quit the habit! I stood silent and thinking.
- Roshan Thapaliya
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