I found myself back in my childhood home. The familiar scene unfolded before me as if time had rewound. Sitting at the breakfast table, I saw my family. Papa was engrossed in his newspaper, Mummy bustling around the kitchen, and there beside me, Snowy, my dear old Pomeranian who had passed away when I was young.
A sudden chill filled the air, sending shivers down my spine. In an instant, Mummy and Papa vanished without a trace. Snowy, usually gentle and calm, began barking furiously at the door. I turned, and through the threshold stepped a figure that struck fear deep into my heart. That burned man, his face a gruesome tapestry of blood and charred skin, his clothes stained with the darkest hues of crimson.
"Come with me," he growled with a voice that echoed through my soul. The room split apart as flames erupted from the ground, casting sinister shadows that danced across the walls. Gripping my neck with an icy cold touch, he dragged me towards the gaping maw of fire that had consumed everything.
"Go away!" I screamed, pushing against the relentless force of the old man and running towards the garden door. But no matter how hard I ran, I remained trapped in place, caught in a nightmarish loop of fear and despair. Exhausted and terrified, I realized my parents were gone, and the chilling truth dawned on me that this had to be a dream, a lucid nightmare from which I couldn't wake.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turned to face the burned man, my heart pounding in my chest. "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear.
"It is me," he snarled, his laugh dripping with malice. "I will kill you again."
Tears blurred my vision as I struggled to comprehend the horror unfolding before me. "Crocodile tears," he sneered, tightening his grip around my throat.
"Damini! Damini!" Aunt's voice pierced through the nightmare, yanking me back to reality. Gasping for breath, I found myself drenched in sweat, the warmth of the afternoon sun replacing the cold darkness of my dream. Aunt offered me water and helped me bathe, her concern palpable in every gesture.
It was well past noon when Aunt suggested they visit the doctor in the district village. She had already packed their luggage and seemed calm, though her eyes betrayed a hint of unease. The carriage stood ready, and aunt gently patted the horse's head. Mr. Kale, their driver, was in charge, accompanied by Keshav, the stable keeper, and another boy Hari who served as the handyman. Me, Aunt and Shaku were in same carriage and Hari drove another carrying luggage.
The journey was rough and bumpy, making it feel more like they were moving home than visiting a doctor. The coach rattled through thick tropical forests, passing by bullock carts and horse carriages exchanging curious glances. After hours of travel, the coach finally came to a halt. My back had taken a beating despite the supposed springs and cushioned seats.
We had reached a checkpoint where horse carriages and bullock carts were parked, and drivers and customers milled around small shops. Keshav and Kale untied the horses and purchased hay and water.
I overheard a woman arguing with a Bullock cart driver. Curious, I approached to see what was happening.
"This lower caste woman did not tell me her caste. Now, I will have to purify the cart," the driver was shouting. His voice was filled with disdain. "Don't touch her," he warned me as I got closer.
"Shut up! Purify your brain," I snapped, feeling a surge of anger. How could anyone be so heartless?
The poor woman was in tears, her face a picture of misery. My heart ached for her, so I quickly fetched some water and offered it to her. She drank it gratefully and gradually stopped crying.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked her gently, trying to offer some comfort.
She wiped her face with the end of her saree and covered her head modestly. "My husband is working in the taluka village. I am going to meet him," she said, her voice trembling. "You see, I am pregnant and cannot walk the distance, so I hid my caste." Her words were filled with shame, and she lowered her head.
"Bitch!" the driver shouted again, his words cutting through the air like a knife.
"How much money do you want?" my Aunt asked the driver sternly, her tone leaving no room for nonsense.
"She paid the fare, but she polluted my cart," the driver continued his rant.
"Keshav, let this woman sit in the buggy. Shaku, you will be with her," Aunt ordered firmly.
"As you say, mother," Old Keshav replied, addressing Aunt with respect even though she was younger than him.
I felt a rush of pride. My family was modern; we believed that all humans are equal. The young pregnant woman looked at us with gratitude. She introduced herself as Leelabai, explaining that she was pregnant for the first time after twelve years of marriage. Her husband was a laborer building the railway platform, and she was on her way to visit him. Despite her old saree, she wore it cleanly, and her eyes sparkled with hope.
As we resumed our journey, Aunt and I were left alone in the carriage.
"Let's stay with Tatya home in Guhaghar tonight and set out to Kolhapur the next day," Aunt suggested.
"As you say, mother," I mimicked Old Keshav, causing Aunt to laugh. She pulled my cheeks and kissed my forehead.
"I want to live like a lady in the city," Aunt said, fanning herself.
"Like a foreign madam?" I teased, showing my teeth in a playful grin.
"Yes," she replied.
"Aunt, you should wear a frock like them. The skirt should go above your knees and be sleeveless," I continued to tease.
"Shameless!" Aunt scolded, though she was smiling.
"But madams wear such clothes. You would look very chic," I said with a wink.
"Mini, Foreigners aren't rushing to wear our clothes then why should we?"
Radha Aunts remark made me speechless.
" Some princely states have indeed lost to invaders but that doesn't mean we are weak and our traditions and clothes are not modern. Modernity is technology and thinking."
"I agree." I sighed. Aunt was correct.
" Our King is still sitting on the throne. Mini,"
Oh! Sometimes i forget that i have time travelled into the 1920s. My country doesn't exist yet.
I sheepishly grinned.
"I didn't know about Aunt's views. What do you think about Leelabai's situation?" I wanted to know this Aunt who i thought was a normal countrywoman of the 1920s.
"They are crused. People will hate them no matter what. Nobody leaves their privilege. The King is trying to help them. We must support the social revolution." She spoke passionately.
"I hope our society becomes equal ."
I have loved reading about social renaissance in this time period. If i get rid of these ghosts. I will surely meet some of the famous historical people.
Our journey continued peacefully, and we reached the district village around twilight. Leelabai alighted from the buggy, and Aunt offered her two pai, but she refused.
"Though we are lowly, we are honest people," she said with a smile. "Mother, you treated me like a human." She wiped her tears away.
"We are all children of God. Go home. A pregnant woman should not venture out late at night," Aunt bid her goodbye and went back in carriage. Me , Shaku and hari were fussing over her.
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, Leelabai caught sight of her husband approaching through the bustling village. She pointed at him. We didn't want to disturb them and hurriedly climb back in the carriage again.
He walked with a determined stride, his dhoti swaying gently with each step and his shirt neatly pressed against his strong frame. His moustache, thick and well-groomed, added an air of pride to his demeanor.
"Leelabai!" His voice, deep and reassuring, echoed across the gathering dusk. I watched as he rushed toward her, his face lighting up with joy that seemed to melt away the exhaustion of his day's labor.
"Here I am!" Leelabai called back, her eyes sparkling with happiness. I could feel my own heart swell at their reunion, a bittersweet reminder of the love that could endure even the harshest trials.
As they embraced, I saw the tension leave her shoulders, the warmth of his presence enveloping her like a protective cloak. "You shouldn't have traveled alone," he murmured, his tone both stern and affectionate. "It's dangerous, especially now."
Leelabai's voice was soft but resolute. "I had to see you. I couldn't wait any longer." The bond between them was palpable, and it made me long for the same connection, the kind that transcends hardship and fear.
He took her hand, their fingers intertwining effortlessly, as if they were two parts of the same whole. They began to walk side by side, their steps in perfect harmony. I trailed behind them, a silent witness to their love story, feeling both an outsider and a part of something beautiful.
The vibrant sounds of the village filled the air around us—the laughter of children playing, the distant calls of vendors winding down for the night, and the rustling of leaves stirred by the evening breeze.
I felt a flicker of hope for a world where love could triumph over oppression, where voices could rise against the darkness that threatened to consume us all.