The Witchtale

Born Ready

Aliya Saleh

I stared up at the moon, peeping down from among the overhanging branches and leaves, it was nearly 12:30 according to my watch. 12:30 of night. Mid night. I was standing at the edge of a cliff, beneath me a river gushed with thunderous might, while whispering and creaking around me was the dark deciduous forest of East India. And this wasn't even a dream!

Beside me a boy was crouching down on the ground. His hands flat against the hard stone tile of the pavement upon which we stood. In front of us was a locked gate, beyond which stretched a stone bridge that led to the island. Zachariah cursed under his breath.

"It's here somewhere. I know it..."

"Let's just use our torches now." I said.

"Yeah and pin point our exact location in this dark."

"Are ... are you sure – about there being someone there?" I asked, knowing full well that when the time comes this question of mine will be used to mock me. I wasn't really scared out of my wits. Yet.

"Hmm? Oh – yeah, I'm pretty sure." He said exerting some force as he tried to move one slab. It didn't budge. But somewhere something made a creaking noise.

"What was that?" I asked trying to look over his bend head.

"It's coming from beneath – that's strange. Grandpa always used to say no matter how much time pass by the trapdoor will open smoothly."

"Well – it's not doing that now." I said.

Zach sat back and looked up at me.

"Then again, things don't always work out the way one thinks they will." He said.

"Very deep." I scoffed at him.

He went back to finding the trapdoor and I looked up at the island that stood shrouded in silvery river mist. The trees stood tall and silent. Among the trees was a house, ancient Indian building made of stones and mortar. Zach had told me once that his great grandfather had found this place and the house in ruins, He was the chief of a small group of Santhals of Bengal who had managed to run away with their families before the army destroyed their village. Being on a run from the East India Company's officials he had immediately taken up residence on this island. At that time the island was connected with a bamboo bridge. After crossing over to the island they destroyed the bridge to throw off pursuit and went deep inside the jungle. When the river dried up in summer, he planned and built a very strong and narrow stone bridge, secured by iron gates at both its end.

That bridge was so narrow that only two men could walk abreast on it. This was in order to weaken the strength of onslaught, if the British should come again. But after India gained its independence, there was no need to keep hiding and people began to leave the island to settle on the mainland. Only the chief stayed back, and when things calmed down – he, now old with age but still insightful as ever, planned a change on the bridge. A wider bridge was made in order to provide ease to people, over the previous bridge.

The secret was that while people thought that the previous bridge is not there anymore, it was still where it was. Under the paved stones, the original bridge still existed hidden from sight, its entrance was through a trapdoor that was made on the paved platform upon a flight of stairs that camouflaged the original entrance door.

Zach knew all this from his grandfather's accounts and diary. As a child he had spent ten years in that same house living with his grandfather, learning fishing, climbing trees, hunting for consumable fruits, learning to avoid the inconsumable ones and in most cases learning their cures as well.