A Mary Jane story

The 200CC engine revved like an alien monster in the silent forest trail. Its headlights provided a fuzzy visibility of the path ahead. The whole place seemed to be in a beautiful trance induced by some mystical lullaby. But what brought us here was not curiosity; this was where all our secret-dealings of ganja took place with ‘Shiva Baje’.

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.

High school diary

• "My hands shook nervously as I tried the key in some adjoining doors with the same result"

The key surfaces
It was a privilege to stay in a cubicle after having spent a year in dormitory as a junior. There was never much privacy in a dormitory. The only moment of respite was late night hours when I was tucked in my bed. Those were the moments when I could truly be myself and forget everything. Nibbling biscuits secretly underneath my quilt or just lying on the bed, I used to drift into the craziest of dreams and ideas, savouring every second that ticked by. Crazy as my dreams were, I never expected them to come true. But the craziest of things do happen in real life; and they happen most mysteriously and at the oddest of instances.

That day things set off most ordinarily. It was at the start of the year. I had come to school a day earlier so that I could arrange my things in my brand new cubicle. But the circumstances were such, the door was locked. Luckily the house didi was around and I asked her for the key. She handed me one and I opened the door. I had thought of returning the key to her, but amidst all the excitement of shifting to a new cubicle and meeting friends after the summer holidays, I forgot to return it. Didi did not ask me for it either.

The discovery
The key remained forgotten till a month passed by. One of the cubicles in our house had been locked out. We tried almost everything to open it but in vain. Everyone was getting frustrated when a thought suddenly struck me. I rushed to my cubicle. I opened my locker and fished out the forgotten key from the rubble of things inside the bottom compartment. “Who knows”, I thought, as I stared at the key and then rushed back.

I rarely breathed as the metal fitted perfectly in the keyhole. A twist and the whole mechanism inside the lock turned flawlessly.  My friends cheered and I stared in disbelief. I stole away from the cacophony of hip hips and hurrahs. My hands shook nervously as I tried the key in some adjoining doors with the same result. The long forgotten thing was a master key! I stood wide-eyed, awed by the mere fact that the old rusty key should be in my grasp. All the doors in our school had the British locks that had been installed when the school was first built. This key could possibly open all the doors in the school.  I quickly threw furtive glances towards both ends of the corridor. Then I dropped the key into my pocket punching my fist in the air. The impossible had happened! 

The monk and the Yeti

Soon, it began to grow dark and the cold mountains reared their heads from the darkness like frozen monsters. Pemba pulled his clothes around him and kept on peeping through the cracks

It was already dusk when the villagers went to the monk for help. They told him about the abominable snowman that descended down the mountains to plunder their sheep and yaks. A few moments back, it had carried off a baby sleeping in a cot. Tshering, the frantic father, grabbed the hem of the monk’s robe and begged him for help. His wife Dolma looked with eyes that resembled an open window in a deserted house, lost and lifeless. The villagers looked at the miserable couple with compassion that edged on fear—fear that they would be the next victim of such a tragedy.

The monk said to the distressed parents, “Wait for my arrival tomorrow morning. For now I need to make some preparations.”

Then he retreated into the depths of the monastery. Everyone returned to their homes and bolted doors and windows as darkness and mist shrouded the village.

But Tshering’s elder son Pemba had stayed back. He was the one who had seen the huge monster with matted hair as it strode away with the baby. Pemba had screamed for help. But by the time his father ran into the room with Dolma close at his heels, the monster had vanished in the dusk. Recalling the dark shape of the monster brought a shudder to Pemba’s body. He felt sorry for his little brother and wanted to help. He knew the monk was a wise man. Villagers had told him he possessed magical powers. But he could not believe how the old man would overcome the powerful monster even as he knew that the villagers’ stories were not false.