One Foot In The Grave

Chapter 22: The Dead Tattoo

Ahalya, Day 19

I put my elbow around the steel tube of the water motor and squatted on its cement step. Moonlight fell on me, white and worried, like a handsome doctor checking me out. I neared the fence, rows and columns of sharp iron wires separated by fat cement sticks. The pause helped me to catch a breath, although I was wary of my surroundings. The pain on my cheek spread across my face. Every movement crackled the nerves, and I would wince. The swelling didn't shy away from forming fast, making my left cheek a weight to carry.

I turned the motor's lever, and the water began drenching my face. My mother-in-law and the doctor had teamed up. And the sketches; the sketch of the shed guided me right to the Vasu. As if someone knew and sent me towards it. I thought of Vasu, the way he helplessly lay in the car. The guilt weighed the same as the pain. I switched off the lever and moved forward.

I was running for my life and I still couldn't believe it. Like an elaborate, wine-driven dream that would end if I slap myself hard. No, my face sustained enough harm for the day. I pondered what my brother would be doing this time. Eating momos? Travelling with his obnoxious cameraman? He would rush here if he knew I were in trouble. The last time we spent a day without hating each other was when Ashwin got a job two years ago. It was the Ramadan season, and we drove eight kilometres to that place outside the city for the Haleem. He had paid, of course.

A teardrop navigated its way down my uneven face. I couldn't die like this. Whatever this was, I needed to escape. The fact that Vishwa was still in the house didn't bother me. He would be fine. He was her son, after all. Then a weird thing occurred to me: what if Yamuna and Indira had been together: get rid of the crazy daughter-in-law and rule the village together? How would the doctor fit into this? Perhaps he was just a bloodthirsty psycho. Too many probabilities. Too much hurt.

The fence was woven closer for me to escape. I used my knees to move me forward, searching for holes. My elbows shivered under my weight. But I kept going until the moonlight left me and the trees had grown wider past the fence.

No holes. I repeated to myself: No holes. My only way out would be through the outer gate, which would screech even for a touch.

I sat down in the mud, wheezing, and searched my surroundings again. At first, I didn't see the shape. Afar, beside a tree trunk, something familiar rose in the dark. Too high to be a mud hill. Too low to be a human. Perhaps the doctor was crouching. I picked myself and circled back to the motor and then to its rear. The shape didn't follow, still facing the same direction as before. I doubted if it was bait, luring me to approach so that he could leap and slash my throat.

But nothing moved. The wind fell silent like it wanted to hear my wrecked breath. I passed a few more trees. It could be a chubby stem that fell. I crawled forward, mud plastering to my wet hands and aware of people jumping out of the shadows.

As I neared, I grasped that it was a body. Half a body, but a human indeed. I called, but whoever it was, didn't respond. So, I went around.

Following the insipid body, I realized the person wasn't moving. When I extended my hand and thrust my finger on the person's hand, I sensed nothing but the cold skin. Not sure what to concede, I sat upward on my knees and loomed over. The face of the dead body had been disfigured, emitting a putrid smell. Worms were slithering over its half-opened eyes. Slim body. Pale and ghoulish complexion. Long nails. Hair had grown over most parts of the body. As if someone disturbed its silent, ugly decomposition. That was dreadful. The firm, mildewed breasts told me it was a 'she'. I swallowed the gag, which my stomach sent up, leaving an acrid, acidic taste in my mouth.

I glanced at her left hand resting over the dried, split-open stab wound on her heart. As weird and unlikely as it seemed, I observed the body, fidgeting. The gag rebound and I shook my head, sliding it back down.

Her elbow had a mark and I figured it was something bigger than a birthmark. The darkness set it harder to contemplate what it was. I lifted my eyes, checked for the gap in the trees and grabbed the slimy hair of the body. Eeriness passed down to me. I locked my fingers in and dragged the body under the moonlight.

Then I realized, the mark ended up being a tattoo. A swan. The next thought almost entered, shattering the ground in my head. Vasu had mentioned that his sister had a swan tattoo. The body was his sister. The missing girl. The pregnant girl. Now, the dead girl. Bhanu.

I wiggled my hands off her hair and crawled back while seated, wailing like a witch set on fire. I left my mouth wide open, and the spit trailed down. My stomach heaved and I fell forward, vomiting. And wailing. My body trembled out of control for doing both simultaneously, fearing how I might end up tonight. The naked death. A stab to the heart.

A worm was crawling down her cheek, then her neck, and when it reached between her breasts, it slowed down and slipped into the slit-open wound. I gasped for the air, hugging myself. My heart was struggling like a bird in a cage. I crawled backwards, knees driving the hips. Still wailing. Still imagining myself lying out dead in the dark.