The Dark Side - Short Story

The phone was ringing. She looked at the display. ‘Javed Calling’, it showed. She looked at the clock which was close to strike 9:30 pm. With utmost reluctance, she picked up the phone and held it in her hands for good ten seconds as she continued to put lip stick on her pretty lips admiring herself as the beauty that she was.  Soon enough, she forgot totally about the phone that was still in her hands, getting louder with each passing second.

The phone went silent after its failed attempt to get even the half of Rashmi’s attention. She was about to wipe off the lipstick that she had just put on her lips. She seemed unsure and then was lost again into the eyes of the familiar face in the mirror. The phone started ringing. Javed seemed to have called at the right moment now to get her attention.

 She picked up reluctantly and without any formalities in a cold tone, uttered, “Yes. What now?”

Javed on the other hand sounded like as if God had answered all his prayers just to avoid him from getting angry. He asked in a loud tone, “Why didn’t you answer my call for the first time?”

All she said was- “Lower your voice, you bastard.”

Javed was taken aback and realized that anger just won’t work. With a tinge of a giggle, he said, “You bitch”.

Something in Javed’s tone made her smile too. She asked, in a more polite manner, “Why have you called? What is it?”

“I have called for work”, Javed mentioned with utmost professionalism.

“Haven’t I told you a million times that I don’t work after 9.” she stated as a matter of fact as she continued to wipe that lipstick from the side of her lips.

Javed was convinced that he will convince her. In a pleading manner, “I don’t call you up every day for work after 9. Once in a while you need to do this. It is difficult for me to get you clients like this. Please. You have to do it”.

There was a long silent pause as she continued to think with the phone still close to her listening to all the ‘Please’ by Javed with her least possible attention. The silence was interrupted by the door bell.

She opened the door to a guy who stood there holding food parcel in his hands. In a very usual manner she gestured him to keep the stuff in kitchen and asked him to add the bill in her account at the shop. The guy left.

After closing the door, with phone still held close to her ears, she sat on the very same chair facing away from the mirror and asked Javed in a low voice preceded by a deep sigh. “So who’s he?”

“They are two people. They are from some foreign country staying at the hotel across the road from your house. They are Sumer’s clients”.

“Javed Bhai, you know me. I don’t do such stuff”, she resisted.

“Everything happens for the first time. They are paying you Rs. 12,000, which is thrice the amount you get paid for handling one single man”, Javed stated with confidence.

“I am not getting a good feeling about this. Anyways, how many hours?” she continued.

“10  to 12. Two hours and 12,000 rupees. These a****** foreigners can’t keep it going like Indian men”, Javed said with a huge laughter as if he had cracked the best joke ever.

With almost a fake giggle, Rashmi asked, “What if I say no?”

Javed’s laughter came to a sudden halt. He continued, “Do it or get yourself a new manager. I am not doing it for you. I have given them my word.  No one would even pay a penny for your body if it wouldn’t have been me behind you”.

She gave in, “Okay. 10 to 12 and not even a second more than that”.

Javed looked calm now, “I am sending you the details, go through the sms. And yes, those are foreigners; I don’t need to tell you what they want”.

She uttered in a low tone, “Okay”.

After keeping the phone down, she made sure that everything, right from her gloss to eye lashes are in place. She picked up her bag and as soon as she reached the door, she paused for a while unsure of her decision. Somewhere in that dilemma, she chose to open the door and leave and paced to the hotel. When seen through the window of her house, it seemed like the darkness of the night engulfed her giving out suggestive silhouettes of her every now and then as she crossed one street light after another.

The clock showed 9:45 pm now. It was a long haul before she would be back. The lights of the house were left on. May be because she forgot to switch them off or probably she didn’t want to. The grim silence that engulfed the entire house was in a constant struggle with the second hand of the clock as it kept on moving. And somewhere in the mid of this extended tussle between the clock and the young night, the clock reached to show 12:20 am.

The door opens and Rashmi walks in. She threw her bag aside and sat on her chair in front of the mirror. After staring at the person in the mirror for a good span of time, she frantically started looking for the pile of tissues almost in a desperate attempt.  As soon as she got hold of the tissue box, she started taking out tissues hurriedly while still trying hard to hold her tears within her.  She started to wipe her face leaving aside the few drops of tears that rolled down her eyes. She almost made a conscious attempt not to bother the two drops that made efforts to reach all the way to her eyes from her soul.

She stayed there for a long time, motionless and thoughtless. She looked at the clock and it showed 1 am in the morning. She got up, moved to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. While she was busy quenching her thirst, she noticed the untouched food packet she almost forgot about. She picked up the packet, almost unsure as to what to do with it and placed it back. She got out of the kitchen and moved towards the adjacent room. Just as she was about to enter there, she made sure that her eyes are clear from the traces of tears that she embraced a while back. She took a deep sigh and stepped inside the room that was barely lit with the help of a side lamp.

There on the bed in that room, was a 13 year old boy who was lost in his sleep. The races he used for walking were perfectly placed against the side table. The hearing aid was placed on the table next to a few scattered crayons. The teak wood of the table had a few interesting strokes of red, yellow and green on the shiny brown surface. Rashmi walked closer to the bedside almost stumbling over the false leg of the boy. She picked it up, placed it on the side and kept walking.

She stood there looking at the boy for a few minutes by the bedside until she noticed a piece of paper tucked inside boy’s fist. She carefully took the paper out. It was a paper that had a few scattered words placed here and there with colours and a stick sketch. In a writing that looked like to be of a 4 year old was written, “Happy Birthday to the world’s best mommy”. The emphasis given to the word ‘Mommy’ brought tears to her eyes. She was clearly lost. Her lips moved a bit and tears started rolling down one after another. She placed the card next to the boy, sat by her bedside and lied down next to the boy.

She switched off the table lamp and decided to go through a message on her phone one last time.

It read,

“Hi Rashmi. You have not been answering our phone calls and every attempt to get in touch with you has been a waste. We have no other way than this to tell you that your reports have come and we don’t know how much time we have in our hands. Please try to be strong. Don’t lose hope. We will do our best. Dr. Sharma”

In the light from the display of the cell phone, she kissed the boy on his cheeks and hugged him tightly. She looked at the cell phone once again, deleted that sms and switched it off. Now the night was even darker, the sound of the clock was even louder. The only thing that was racing fast and was yet not making noise was her own heart which somehow came to terms with the reality. The clock now showed 2 am in the morning. The lights were still on but they failed to flood in the dark insides of Rashmi’s heart.

- Piyush Singh

www.piyushsingh.in

PS:  I would like to Thank Ishita for reading it, editing it and looking for the apt titles as well as the apt picture as I have been unwell and couldn't finish it off on my own. Thank you Ishita.

Picture Courtesy: World Wide Web