THE
VOICE FROM THE DARK
(A Story)
BY G. A. KULKARNI. M. A.
(Rendered
by the Author from Marathi)
Sakhu bent down and
looked sadly for a moment at Govind, who was now sleeping very quietly. He had
been crying for one whole hour and even now his face looked so tired. The bread
that she had kept before him lay untouched. She took the plate and kept it in a
niche. She could not blame Govind for not even touching that bread. It looked
so hard and uninviting. Even she would not have thrown a scornful glance at it.
Yet that was what they were living on for months together! She took a blanket
from the string and spread it gently over him. She stood up, and for a moment
she did not know what to do.
Outside the rain was
pouring as if it had suddenly gone mad. The roof was leaking badly in one
place, and on the wall was a gleaming stream of water, almost an arm broad,
twisting and turning like a python. The front yard was drowned in dirty
knee-deep water that in its excitement wanted to escape somewhere. Sometimes a
powerful blast of wind dashed against the door. It creaked violently, and she
was always afraid that it would suddenly be unhinged any moment. The kerosene
lamp without any glass covering sent up dull wisps of smoke, and trembled
incessantly, moving as if with invisible ropes the shadows of Sakhu, the huge
earthen pot, the clothes hanging from the rope, and the wooden box. Whenever
she heard the wind bellowing like an insolent bull, and saw the lightning flash
suddenly tearing the darkness around it almost with a rip, her mind became
huddled up. She muttered that the hens under the basket kept on the verandah
would shrink with terror into mere handfuls of feathers, and was much worried
about it.
The floor was damp
inside and one felt one was entering an old den. The wall near the oven had
become shiny black with smoke. But she had been living there for the last five
years, and by now she accepted with resignation the creaky room, with its dirty
walls as an inseparable part of her dull, lifeless world which she hated, yet
could not leave before her death. There was not one spark of fire in the oven,
and it looked like a dead cat thrown on a dunghill.
At a little distance
from her house, was the Municipal Dispensary. In Its compound there were huge
mango and banyan trees, and the wind roared hoarsely as it rushed through their
branches. In the opaque darkness the trees were completely hidden, but their
branches and tops dashed against one another, the leaves flapped eternally, and
the noise could be heard even at the toll-gate a few furlongs away.
Near the gate was the
lamp post. Its yellowish weak light spread a little on the verandah and was
then swallowed up by the darkness that surrounded it. In the circle of light
that barely covered its huge dark body, sat the night watchman’s dog. When
there was a sudden blinding flash of lightning in the sky, or when the trees
bent almost to the ground in the raging wind, throwing down all the rain from
their bodies, the dog suddenly sat up and howled. For one desolate moment, the
whole compound was filled with its long-drawn melancholy sound. Sakhu frowned
whenever she heard the howl all looked at the dog with hatred in her eyes, She
almost burnt with anger as she remembered what the dog had done only yesterday.
At night it often
entered the yard, and attacked the poultry. Yesterday when it was still
daylight (there were still a few red feathers of light in the west behind those
mango trees), it had killed the ‘Chinese’ hen with black spots. Ibrahim who
used to come there on bazaar days to buy eggs and hens had actually offered to
pay two and a half rupees for it. She held on, for she thought he would pay
even three rupees, Indeed he would have paid three rupees, for the hen was
quite plump and Ibrahim’s mouth, red with pan,
had opened a little like a post-box when he held it in his hand. If only she
had those three dream-rupees, she could have bought some rice, and Govind who
hated the very sight of the tough jawar bread would not have cried himself to
sleep with hunger.
The trees again
trembled, drops of rain came down with loud patter perforating the surfaces of
the innumerable puddles below and the dog howled piteously as if it was
mourning for somebody.
Whenever the dog came
into the yard, she was tempted to a huge stone on its head and see the last of
it. But Govind always liked the dog; and always ran to meet it. When the dog
used stand up putting its forelegs on his shoulders, and wag its bush tail, his
excitement overflowed and he invited his mother to share it. “Mother, just look
at my pal!” he used to shout.
Often, she merely
glanced at the happy pair, swallowed her anger and went inside.
She came to the door,
and opening it slightly, she looked at the dog angrily. The wind, which seemed
to be waiting outside took advantage of this and drenched her with the rain
that it had maliciously brought with it. She hurriedly stepped back, and wiping
her arms and face tried to shut the door against the wind.
“Sakhu, Sakhu come;
and...”
She suddenly stopped.
She listened carefully and once again she heard the clear voice, quite distinct
in the frenzy of the wind, though the last words trailed away faintly. Her face
cleared and she even smiled a little. The voice belonged to the Compounder Bai
(Mrs. Compounder). She often called Sakhu to give some rice or curry that
remained over their evening meal. She hurried, and shook Govind. “Govind, get
up, now I will get some rice for you. Get up, you lazy man...” she whispered.
Govind sat up and
blinked. He looked at her with big sleepy eyes, and once again lay to sleep.
She looked at him for a moment and patting his cheek softly, she adjusted the
blanket. She took the empty gunny bag from the nail and put it on her head. She
closed the door softly behind her, and stepped into the rain.
The rain seemed to be
intoxicated with its power, and beat like fine strips of raw leather. The wind
closed on her from all sides like an insulted fury. The branches of the trees
creaked miserably and the creaking noise, mixed with the terrible patter of the
rain, produced amighty uproar like the sound of huge waves dashing against a
lonely rock. Far away in the village, one or two lights flickered for a moment
and then mysteriously sank in the night. Every few minutes, the sky creaked, a
dazzling streak of lightning rushed out, and filled the compound with a soft,
violet light that was exceedingly beautiful. Trees and bushes appeared suddenly
where formerly there was only darkness so thick that one could almost gather it
in handfuls. The ground looked scattered with many gurgling streams and puddles
that reflected this light like so many pieces of a broken mirror. But the next
moment the strange mystery disappeared. The violet light suddenly vanished as
if a silk cloth fluttering in the wind was snatched back by unknown hands. The
darkness looked even more opaque, and the trees, bushes, and the innumerable
puddles were once again swallowed up by the night.
She had become
thoroughly wet when she came near the Compounder Bai’s house. She stopped for a
moment to shake off the water from her hands. She came to the verandah and held
her shivering hands round the lamp for a little warmth. The dog looked at her,
and shook its tail. But she merely spat at it, and after a minute or two, she
timidly called “Bai– ”.
Immediately the door
opened and the Bai came out with a lantern.
“Sakhu!” she exclaimed,
“well, what is wrong? Scorpion?” she asked with great anxiety. In that
district, if people were seen coming towards the dispensary at odd hours, it
meant only one thing–scorpion sting.
For a moment, Sakhu was
bewildered. Her words suddenly froze, and she stood there, quite dumb, as if
she had never uttered a word in all her life; She opened her mouth a little,
and exclaiming “My God, what is this?”, put her fingers on it. Then she
gathered her courage and even made a pathetic attempt to smile to hide her
utter confusion.
I…I did not know. Bai,”
she said, “I thought you were calling me; I heard your voice quite clearly...”
“My voice calling” said
the Bai, surprised. She knit her eye brows, and the next moment she remembered.
“O poor Sakhu,” she said with a smile. “I did not really call you, Today our
Usha could not sleep at all. So I was just trying to amuse her by calling you
and asking you to bring milk for her. Today is Saturday, our fasting day, you
know, we do not cook anything at all to be left over.” While turning, to go she
added, “Be careful when you go back. It is so dark, and the rain–well, I have
not seen such rain during the last ten years–”
When Sakhu came down,
the door, was closed behind her. She cast a glance at the house and sighed. Her
mind seemed to be all crushed under the cruel disappointment. So she was not
even aware of the change around her.
The wind was becoming
quiet as if it was exhausted after its wild orgy. The trees too stood almost
straight, though a few branches were still restless. The dull dark colour of
the sky was washed away and a few patches began to show a deep blue colour. In
one of these patches even a bright star could be seen.
She came back to her
house, but could not enter it. She was ashamed to remember that Govind was
still hungry, and her head ached that she could not give him what he wanted.
“Foolish boy, why did you choose this miserable beggar to be your mother”, she
whispered in a choked voice, and her eyes were suddenly filled with tears. Then
came once again the mournful weary howl of the dog, mocking and torturing her.
She hurriedly stepped inside, and shutting the door, bolted it.
The world outside became
settled and quiet. A stray wisp of breeze moved and the leaves shed the last
drops of rain, and the noise of every falling drop could be separately heard in
the quiet night. The dog got on its haunches and uttered a cry even more long
and mournful than before, as if it was afraid that it would not get another
chance to do so. The rain stopped completely, and the rustle of the smallest
leaves too died in the air. The dog looked here and there, shook his long
hanging ears rapidly twice or thrice, and stretched its forelegs in great
contentment. Then it put its head between them, and went to sleep.