Part 2: Upon a whim

[This is part 2 of an on-going short story. Read part 1 here.]

The moment I called mom I realized I’d made a fuck-all mistake. She would surely have changed her number in 30 years. Before I could cut the call, though, the phone had begun to ring. On the second ring, someone picked up.

“Hello,” spoke a curt, masculine voice.

“Hey, mom…?” I spoke, awkwardly.

“Um, excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, is this Mrs. Maya Kotkar…” I paused, realizing she might have reverted to her maiden name after what had happened. “I mean...Menon; Maya Menon?”

Pause. No response. I could swear I heard a sigh before the line got cut. I called again. The line was engaged. I tried at least thrice but it gave me the same response.

I hadn’t met or spoken to mom for 30 years. I couldn’t be sure whether it was her on the other end or not. It had seemed like a ‘he’, but I could have been mistaken. I had not followed mother on any of the social media. I had not kept track of her either online or offline. Because of whatever happened between her and dad, they decided to give up on me and I on them. Nothing had broken my stubborn stand not to contact her or dad ever…until today.

And now that I wanted to, I could not.

Upon a whim, I checked my rapist’s obituary details. The soggy remnants of the obituaries section revealed the hellish face of my perpetrator, the asshole pedophile. A shiver ran down my spine when I looked into those monstrous eyes once again. Horrors I had long since locked away at the back of my mind came flooding back.

His name was given under the photo (in fucking comic sans): M. Bharam Swami.

‘Bharam Swami’. The man responsible for everything bad in my life. The manufacturer of all my pain and agony . The man had died after living a full life, never suffering any retribution or karma for his crimes against me. His smile in the photograph, though creepy, did not seem full; he seemed like a broken man, a man possessed by a terrible curse which even spilled on to his happiest moments.

The brief obituary read,”Mr. Swami, our Beloved Father and Grandfather left for his Heavenly Abode on the 26^th of June,2016. All Loved Ones are invited to be part of a Prayer Meeting on the 27^th of June, at 5:30 PM. Address – A/242, Zilleh Building, Veera Desai Road, Mumbai”.

‘Veera Desai Road’: Not very far from where I was staying.

‘27^th of June’: Today.

‘5:30 PM’: Still 8 hours to go.

Like every decision this morning, I decided - upon a whim - to attend the funeral of my rapist. He had been inside me once, and going by one line of reasoning, I had a connection with him that was greater than most. The last time I had seen his face was under my bed, in my nightmares…

*

It takes a kid to make adults do stupid things.

Ms. Taraporevala, Maya and Kamal bend down to have a peek under Namah’s bed. They lift the untucked bedsheet partially concealing the space between the base of the bed and the floor. Namah topples back as the drapery is pulled back, as if knocked over by an invisible force. Her head hits the floor with a thud. The psychologist continues to look, as if to search for a real entity huddled underneath. Maya and Kamal rush to Namah’s aid, who is now convulsing violently. Maya is suddenly unnerved, quivering with every word and action. Kamal tries to assuage her, but she is as frantic as her daughter.

“It’s all my fault!” she keeps repeating under her breath, her head hidden in her palms. “I failed!” 

Kamal makes a move towards her but she shirks away from his touch and storms out of the room. He picks up Namah and gently eases her on the bed. Ms. Taraporevala still seems to be dazed by the girl’s extreme reaction, looking under the bed.

“There’s nothing really there!” he says with a hint of annoyance.

Ms. Taraporevala knows better. She gets up and checks the girl for signs of mental trauma.

“Mr. Kotkar, it is best if you leave this house forever.”

She stares blankly at him. She’s the best psychologist he could afford. He can’t fucking believe it.

“What-“ he starts.

“I’ll take your leave,” she cuts in.

“But…what about…”

She walks out and stops near the entrance of the master bedroom, where the mother is crouched over with her back to her. She seems prostrate in deep prayer or introspection. Ms. Taraporevala does not enter the room and walks away…

Read Part 3.