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Home alone

20/1/2012

26 Comments

 
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She shouldn’t have gone for that jog so late in the evening. The last stretch had been unnerving. The street lights had suddenly gone out and she had quickened her pace to a run to reach the safety of her house where the light was on in the verandah. Army cantonments were safe. But then you never knew. She unlocked the door and let herself in, standing on her toes to bolt it at the top. Picking up a bottle of water from the fridge she walked to her bedroom, panting with the strain of that last sprint and locked the door from the inside.
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The jeans she had just stepped out of were lying on the floor beside the sneakers she had kicked off. She was peeling the sweat-wet T shirt off when she noticed the shoes sticking out from beneath the thick beige curtains right across the room. There was someone there. She could make out the outlines of a body from the way the fabric was swelling slightly and the light was falling on a pair of faded canvas shoes that were showing where the folds ended an inch above the ground.

She reached out for the cotton night gown lying on the bed that she had planned to wear after a bath and pulled it over her head quickly. Fear made her voice stick in her throat. Even if she shouted, the chances of anyone hearing her in the old British time bungalow that she lived in were slim. It was a family posting but her husband was away on a routine field firing 85 kilometers away. Only this morning he had called to ask if she would like to send the boys there for the night and she had readily agreed. They would all return together the next day after an evening spent roasting fish and cooking Maggi on a bonfire. Only a few hours back, she had waved them off as they grinned happily from the jeep eager to meet their dad after a week, jungle caps pulled low over the smart crew cuts given by the unit barber, backpacks stuffed with snacks and juice cartons.

She had gone for a jog and had been looking forward to a soup and sandwich dinner and a quiet evening watching her favourite soaps without the boys screaming in her ears. In the fifteen years she had been married, she had stayed alone many times in areas much lonelier than General Cariappa Colony and it never scared her.

At this moment, however, she was trembling with fear. Whether the person behind the curtain was just hiding or waiting to attack her, she did not know. The bedroom door she had just bolted was closer to him than her. She moved towards the bathroom. It was her only hope. The shoes moved suddenly, a hand darted for the light switch and the room was plunged in darkness. She groped for the bathroom door but the figure had stumbled through the dark and was there before her. She dropped to her knees and tried to crawl towards the bedside table where she had left her cell. The last call had been from her husband and if only she could call back, he might be able to send help. A hand clasped her ankle and started dragging her. She kicked but the man pulled her back even as she screamed on top of her voice. A hand closed around her mouth in a vice like grip. She struggled for a while and then gave up and tried to pretend that what was happening was happening with someone else.
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She had been slipping in and out of consciousness. The pain at her throat was hot and searing, and eased only when the nurse injected a painkiller into the tube connected to her vein. There were 16 stitches outside and six inside and the surgeon said it was a miracle she had survived the vicious attack. Her neighbours who had been returning from a late night party had heard her gasping from across the hedge and had come to check thinking an animal was lying there injured. When they found her, bloody and weak, breath escaping from the cut in her neck they had immediately rung for an ambulance. They had marvelled at her courage and will to live. Not only had she opened the latch on the front door, she had also tried to walk to the gate for help when excessive blood loss made her collapse in the driveway. The assailant had fled from an open window after cutting her neck with the shining dagger that was always displayed on their sitting room wall, believing her to be dead.
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Her husband had pulled a chair close to the bed. Her older son was by his side. They were both looking at her with the same worried eyes. She tried to smile and reached out for the little hand clutching the blanket covering her. He was nearly ten and getting to be a handsome man, just like his father. Behind them, a familiar figure was standing with her younger son in his arms. It was Rajender. His eyes were clouded with tears and he was holding her younger son, who was clutching a red Hot Wheels car. It was a toy she hadn’t seen before so she guessed it was bribe for staying at home with Bhaiya while Daddy had been spending nights at the hospital with Mamma. She beckoned to him to come to her but he buried his face in Rajender’s neck, sobbing loudly. The woman with the tubes sticking into her arms and the bandages around her neck did not look like the mother he knew. “Take the children home. Sleep in their room. I’ll come home in the morning,” her weary husband said leaning his head back on the chair. Rajender straightened to say “Ram Ram Sa’ab.”

Just then the red car slipped from her son’s clammy hand and fell on the floor. Her eyes followed the sound automatically and stopped at a pair of faded orange canvas shoes that had a rip on one side darned with a dirty yellow cobbler’s thread. The sahayak, who had been with them for almost six years had picked up the toy, wiped it on his shirt and handed it to the little one in his arm. He was walking out holding the older one’s hand in a light grasp. “Stop him,” she whispered, her breath coming out in painful gasps. "I have seen those shoes before".

26 Comments
Otsieno Namwaya
20/1/2012 03:45:50 am

Nice story. Gripping. Hope it wasnt you or someone close to you.

Reply
Anju
20/1/2012 09:54:38 am

Riveting read.....i particularly like the end of your articles /stories you correlate with your beginings .hope to read more interesting ones from your pen in days to come ..

Reply
Cecilia
20/1/2012 01:59:52 pm

Not for the faint hearted army-wives this story!!!!

Sounds like a good old colonial story, a version of my story totally inspired by yours, a white memsahib on her walk for cool fresh air, and her native "sahayak" who sought revenge on the Gorra Col Saheb for not granting him leave to meet his son bitten by a snake in his village, hois revenge kill the wife.
Bad Story writer I am!!!

Reply
rachna
20/1/2012 02:55:21 pm

the problem with having gifted storytellers as friends is their versions always sound better than yours. you scared me. :)

Reply
rachna
20/1/2012 03:04:35 pm

the problem with having gifted storytellers as friends is their versions always sound better than yours. you scared me.
and now that you remind me, aren't army cantonments reliving the colonial story. only the gorra sahibs and memsahibs have turned brown

Reply
SAM
21/1/2012 10:26:24 am

Nice piece. Grabs one's attention & doesn't let go..
Thanks Rachna

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Mahendra
21/1/2012 12:27:54 pm

The story does not fully explain what the Sahayak was trying to do, since a) he has access to the house so he does not need to break in / hide, and b) he does not seem to steal anything or commit a crime. So why does he grab the ladie's leg and attack her? (unless some other part of the story got censored out here....)

But it supports my argument that army should do away with the sahayak / batman system. Or hire the real Batman to protect the ladies / families :-)

Reply
rachna
21/1/2012 02:11:56 pm

I was waiting for someone to point that out. Thanks. In my mind there had been sexual assault. But i guess i need to make it more obvious to readers

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Mahendra
21/1/2012 04:56:13 pm

Yes, maybe being a little more explicit will be good for readers who are either a) trying to tie the logic together, or b) are looking for some more spice in their reading material.

Of course there is a third category which cares for neither of the above, but then it can be quite challenging to cater to them :-)

suman thapliyal
21/1/2012 09:30:37 pm

Well written story.Gripping, I must say.

Reply
Archana
21/1/2012 10:06:07 pm

Very well written,the way u have described the big british time bunglows is very realistic.
I am sure every lady married to an officer must have lived in a scenario like this. As u have written, even though the cantonments are safe but sometimes the hugeness of the house and living alone itself makes it scary!!

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Manoj Rawat
21/1/2012 10:07:50 pm

This time you will agree rachna that you didn't have to insist. I read the story on my own in one go. gripping as others have already pointed out. kudos.

Reply
puneet
21/1/2012 10:22:25 pm

nice piece, liked the end of this story.( the plot looks familiar...you didn't describe the paintings ;)

Reply
Ganga
22/1/2012 12:07:30 am

Gripping story and very well-written.
Only one thing which I would have wanted: a short para (maybe even just a couple of lines) alluding to why the sahayak attacked her. I am not sure if this is something the "army types" would get immediately, but since I am the "non-army type", I wanted a little bit more on that angle--- THE MOTIVE!!

Reply
Prithvi
22/1/2012 08:37:38 am

Gripping story Rachna ! The description in the beginning was captivating - the tension was well created. I liked the end as well - left us wanting more.

Regarding suggestion (being a twist-fanatic ) :) .. I could do with a little bit more weaving up with the plot - like introducing the badman in an innocent context in the beginning of the story ..

Enjoyed reading it !

Reply
tanu
22/1/2012 10:41:20 am

Goosebumppy..............! and pretty well written. Will be checking under the bed and behind the curtains every time i get home. But was it inspired by the Black cat incident.?Also wish you had not named the sahayak Rajender.. Wasn't that the name of the Sahayak your dad had for many years when you were kids in Agra? He was essentially a great guy if i remember right.

Reply
Jhoomar
23/1/2012 10:47:14 am

Enjoyed the story, for some reason I was expecting it to be the ghost story but it ended up being scarier. Funny that the evil sahayak is Rajender....is that inspired by the insolent servant in Kotdwara who incurred Brig Bisht wrath some years ago.

Reply
Anima
23/1/2012 01:51:18 pm

Made the hair on my neck stick up... you are definetly my fav.story teller...:)

Reply
BIG B JB
23/1/2012 03:05:35 pm

Very interesting and thought provoking story....a person whome you call "Bhaiyya" can be so nasty......because if he is working with you...he may not be a nice person as he pretends....I think now its high time..all such perks should be do away before they creat havock in someone's life.....Days were when "Bhaiyya" was actually Brother..a caring brother...but whatever reason...that "Bhaiyya" is becoming a monster in life....think..if its someone daughter......????? a very good story but a lesson for others..Be Alert and be Careful.....its better to live a hard life than a "Shocked" life........its better to be reserve than getting into trouble........Thanks for sharing such beautiful article......

Reply
Swapan Lahiri
25/1/2012 05:45:25 pm

Chilling as well as un-nerving especially because for all faujis the setting is all too familiar. Hope it never happens in real life. Very well written especially the end which has left the motive to be guessed by the reader. In any case, the lady's agony and the terror are the focus and that has been brought out very well. Thx!

Reply
abhilasha
25/1/2012 07:04:12 pm

hi Rachna...
very well written i must say,as alaways!!
Am soo proud of dear sis!
keep up the good work.
Luv always.

Reply
Anisha
27/1/2012 02:52:34 am

Very very well written Rachna.. Very realistic ..What's happening in this new year? Why are you going to the dark side? I need your comedy too :-)

Very gripping, as i said.. i had a couple ques which could have been clarified with some more words, or its your choice to leave it to your readers interpretation..
1) motive of the assault 2) How come she hadn't noticed his worn sneakers before as he is their sahayak?

Reply
Ritha Hegde
29/1/2012 08:42:41 pm

Totally gripping. Even I wondered why did he do, what he did. But then got the answer from your answer to a comment. So the story is complete for me now. One little thing though...from next time, dont let your character to go jogging in jeans, they will be more comfortable with track pants ;)

Reply
rachna
30/1/2012 12:05:07 am

you got me :) sharp reader. i did think about that but then let it go since visually jeans was sounding more interesting (girl in jeans vs girl in track pants) a regular jogger will never go in jeans. teaches me never to take readers for granted.

Reply
satyendra
29/1/2014 10:51:01 am

Your trademark description of the surrounding take you right there and cunning ending leaves one gaspjng for more...great

Reply
Nandita gupta
23/12/2017 10:15:13 am

Well written Rachna...

Reply

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    Rachna Bisht Rawat is a full time mom and part time writer. She is married to an Army officer whose work takes the family to some of the most interesting corners of India.

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