Ramesh was a well built man in his thirties, wheatish complexioned and tall. He would boast of his strength and courage to all the other men, while sitting in village tea stalls, and chewing the betel leaf.
“I am not afraid of any ghosts or betaals. It is all foolish, you know. And if ever I had a chance to meet one of them, they would have no place to hide,” he said and started laughing. He was sitting with three other friends of his, at a paan stall in the evening, and boasting of his dare-devilries.
It was December, and soon the dusk grew into a dark night. The mild cold wind blew, adding to the chill. The small vendors in the bazaar started closing down there shops, as it usually happens in Indian village bazaars during winters. Few opened, had dim lit bulbs hung in front of their shops, waiting for their last customers to arrive.
The owner of the Paan shop, Buddhu, too started winding up his business and asked the customers seated there to leave, since it was already dark.
“I think we should leave now and go back to our homes,” said one of the friends of Ramesh.
“Why are you getting so desperate Rajesh? Is bhabhi jee waiting for you?” said Ramesh, mockingly.
“No, Ramesh. It is not like that. You know that these days it is really dangerous to travel in the night, especially, after the sad incidence that occurred with Ashok bhai.”
“These are all rumors, Rajesh. He had some other problems and died because of that,” replied Ramesh in return.
“You will never understand Ramesh,” said Rajesh, tying his muffler around his head and getting on his bicycle. He murmured something to himself and rode swiftly on his bicycle.
The two other friends present also left, one walking and the other on his bicycle.
Ramesh went near his bicycle and blew the dust off, which had gathered on its seat. He then rode his bicycle and came out of the bazaar.
He could have taken the other way also, but with a curiosity he took the way which crossed through the haunted mango orchard.
The cool wind blew and pierced his ears, the mango trees standing erect and strong like well built ghosts with their branches spread like huge arms. Far somewhere in the distance the jackals also howled. A normal human being would have been terrified but not Ramesh. He rode on his bicycle unmoved by the sights and sounds.
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You can read my full collection of Short Stories on:
The ghost of the Mango orchard & Other Short Stories
