THE MIST-I

The mist.

The world was a monochrome color of gray and white. A light moisture laden breeze blew chilling the bones. The greenery by the roadside looked dull and lifeless.

I asked the driver to drive real slow - because the visibility was just a few meters. As I looked down from the window of my vehicle the hillside displayed a sheer drop. The ground beneath the hills was not perceptible. Except for the mist and clouds, nothing at all was distinguishable.

At certain spots - the vegetation could be seen behind the mist like the abstract painting of a tired painter. The scene was morbid.

Even the sky was not seen. The mist created a plain white glow. It was dark, dank and downright gloomy.

The driver drove very slowly into the all-encompassing mist. The mist reminded me of my days with a lady named Dorothy, who is no more now.

The story moves back to the year: 1988

Dorothy used to tell me, “In case you get stuck in a misty evening near to my home, come to me, I shall light a log fire, offer you a glass of hot drink and you can sleep peacefully near to me.”

Dorothy lived in a log cabin by the incline of a small hill. During a sunny day, her home looked quaint and sweet. A lot of wildflowers bloomed in the grassy knoll by her home.

Whenever I knock on her door, an old lady with a wrinkled face and clear smile used to open the door. The old lady invariably had traces of dough in her hands. She was a great baker and made tasty bakery products.

The log cabin did not have electricity. As evening descended the old lady would light a huge candle and give us both a glass of hot milk. The flickering flame of the candle would create impressions of dancing ghosts in the walls.

As the evening changed into the night and the external world becomes pitched dark, the old lady would put on her raincoat after shaking loose the droplets of water. She goes back to her village hut, after saying adieu. She stayed for the whole day but never in the night.

Alone in the log cabin with Dorothy would create a piquant situation. I was a young man at that time and being alone with a beautiful girl in a log cabin would put my mind on fire. She would be quiet for a long time as the candle spluttered in the damp atmosphere. The glow of the log in the fireplace would create patterns on the walls. The patterns reminded me of ghosts and goblins.

Outside the rain would continue in frenzy. At times, the creaking wood and loose windows of the log cabin would give the cabin a life of its own. The rattling windows would make me feel as if a ghost is trying to come in.

Dorothy's hut was in a village where there were hardly five six households. It was a small village by the side of a massive hill. For far and wide there were no human habitations near to the village. The isolation of the village was not only geographical but also psychological. The village was feared by the neighbors. It was considered to be haunted. The villagers consisted of people who have been hounded out of their own villages under suspicion of practicing witchcraft.

Dorothy was a school teacher who taught in the small single room school of the village. The school was the only link to the external world. It also doubled up as a post office. The postman comes once in a while only when there is a letter to deliver. It meant the postman came very rarely.

A small church in the village had a pastor who came every Sunday to preach. Other than the pastor, Dorothy was the only one who tried to fight against the dark thoughts that had the people of the small village in a grip. False notions and imaginary fears filled their mental horizon. With time, Dorothy too became like them. Sometimes her talk to me, seemed like she is on the verge of insanity.  

On one such rainy night, she told me - "I think there is really a dark force that is drinking my blood. I feel so weak." Nervously fingering the cross hanging around her neck she said, "I think the Snake God has chosen me this time. He is living on my blood. Nothing will save me now".

That day, in the glow of the candle, her greenish eyes showed a kind of helpless fear. I lifted her from the chair and took her to the fireplace. We sat on an armchair as near to the fireplace as possible. The cold and dark night made us cling to each other. I hugged her tight as she sat on my lap.

The misery and fear in her eyes made me feel restless and angry. As I hugged her close to me she told me the story of the snake god that is reared by the shaman and lives on human blood.

At times she took deep breaths and nervously figuring the cross kept saying "Hail Mary"

(I may continue.....)