The Mystery Man -- a short story, by dinesh raheja Subscribe to rss feed for dinesh raheja

The Mystery Man: A short story by Dinesh Raheja 

‘Will I be able to alight at the station?’ I wondered,
even as a drop of sweat from the underarm of a tall, T-shirt
sporting hulk, loomed large over my head. Yech! Neha won’t
believe me when I tell her that I had lathered, spruced and
perfumed myself with extra care to meet her. 

When the train slowed down as it approached my destination,
the thought of melting into Neha’s arms set my loins on
fire, and I knifed myself, with a sudden surge of vigour,
through the multitude of nameless, faceless masses standing
near the door of the train compartment. Oblivious to the
impact of my sharp elbows on the unsuspecting ribs of fellow
passengers, I emerged triumphant in the nick of time. The
train had begun to snail its way out. 

Relieved, I waited for a few seconds to catch my breath
before I became one with the crowds moving en masse, with
conveyor belt precision, towards the exit. The humongous
horde shared a stoic statement (the chattering college girls
were, as always, an exception). 

Sweat caressed the nape of my neck and a stab of fear
pierced me as I searched furtively for my ticket. Strangely,
I am petrified of authority, including ticket checkers, and
clutch tickets, any tickets, as if they are my lifeline. Was
it because dad had always instilled the fear of authority in
me? Damn Freud and my analyst, why do I have to seek reasons
for everything and track them down to my dad, my childhood
or some related event. Let’s just say I am scared of
authority. The ticket was there, cautiously tucked in my
shirt pocket, beneath a bunch of keys, lest it flew off from
my pocket while I hung from the straps of the speeding
train. 

Will Neha be waiting for me, or will I have to wait for her?
When we meet at Rohit’s house, I prefer it if she is
waiting for me rather than the other way around. Otherwise,
my repressed passion makes my head pound and I am palpably
tetchy on her arrival. 

There was no ticket collector. They are never there when I
am suitably equipped to take them in my stride. Breathless
after a steep climb of dusty stairs, I caught my breath on
the overbridge. I saw an aged beggar crawling on all fours
like an ant which had been run over and was struggling to
find its bearing again. I avoided his outstretched hand,
preferring to throw a five rupee coin into his begging bowl.


"You feel repulsed at the thought of touching him, don’t
you?" The disarming question, the crystal-clear voice and
the suddenness of the interjection struck me. Preoccupied, I
didn’t register the face of the person who had just
spoken. Mechanically, I muttered "Yes" and moved on, egged
on by people who seemed in a frenzied rush to reach nowhere.

I didn’t realise that the stranger was keeping pace with
me till I saw him standing next to me at the auto stand. 
"Five rupees is a lot of money to give away to a beggar," he
said. Irritated, but incapable of impoliteness to complete
strangers, I explained, "Anything less is not acceptable
even to beggars nowadays." 
"Everything comes with a price, doesn’t it? Even feeling
good about yourself," the stranger said. Usually, I check
out the state of the auto (decent seats and no music system
is ideal, I dislike jhankar beats) before hiring one, but
this time, I just wanted to shake the stranger off my back.
I quickly got into an auto to escape him. To my dismay, the
stranger had quick reflexes and sat down next to me. "Where
are you going? he asked, authoritatively. "I will take a
ride as far as you go," he added in a no-nonsense tone, even
before I could recover.
"I want to go just around the corner," I lied, addressing
the driver, hoping the stranger would take a cue and leave.
"Get down, I don’t take fare for short distances," barked
the disgruntled autowallah. "Okay, make that Carter road," I
said. The autowallah spared me any questions about my change
of mind. 
"You lied to me," the stranger smiled, making himself
comfortable even as I squirmed at the thought of unwanted
company. "Now you have begun lying about petty issues too,"
he chided me in a gentle but firm tone. Piqued, my first
reaction was to abuse him, or even to ask him to get down
from ‘"my" auto. But my middle-class manners prevailed. I
decided to suffer him for the 15 minute drive and subject
him to my meditative silences. ‘Killing me softly with his
song’ began to play in my head. I wonder if it happens to
other people too -- does a song sometimes begin playing in
their head, without being instantly relevant to the moment?
The hum of the auto had never sounded so loud to me before.


When I sensed that the intruder, whom I had filed away in my
mental computer as MM for Mystery Man, was looking away, I
stole a few quick glances at him. Assured that he was
sufficiently enamoured of the view from the autorickshaw, I
braved taking a longer look at him. MM was dressed
immaculately in white from head to toe. A smart white shirt,
well-tailored white trousers and a loose white blazer
accentuated the carved contours of his athletic physique. A
smile flirted constantly with his lips. His nose was a
woodpecker’s envy -- beaked and a tad too big for his
otherwise well-proportioned features. His face had an
uncommon look -- it seemed suffused with light, like an idol
in a roomy church basking in the morning rays filtering from
a glass pane fitted on a tall window. But it was his gimlet
eyes that fascinated me the most. They had the intensity of
border post searchlights and made you appreciate the
sagacity of the man who coined the cliché that eyes as the
mirrors of the soul. MM’s eyes were honest, bright and
inquisitive. 

Suddenly, he turned towards me and caught me unawares. I
felt foolish, gaping at him like an open-mouthed oaf. 
He said, "You are trying to assess me. Slot me so that you
can be comfortable with me, or rather, yourself. Right?" 
Disconcerted by MM’s acute observations, and in a bid to
fob off this line of conversation I asked him, "Have we met
before?" 
"Yes. When you were 10 and pushed your kid brother Govind
off the ledge of the bungalow at Shimla. You were angry with
him for prying on you and eavesdropping on your conversation
with your cousin, Suresh. You had hurt Govind very badly, he
had lost a lot of blood and the doctor had to give him six
stitches. Govind still has a faint scar to show for it."
"Where were you at that time?" I asked, my voice quivering
with nervous excitement, my mind rifling desperately through
rusty memory files to place MM. 
"I was the one who told your dad about it. Or else, your
brother would have just bled to death." He paused, before
adding, "That’s an exaggeration, let’s just say he would
have lost a lot of blood." 
"That’s not true. I told my dad, myself. You didn’t tell
him. I did. I still remember, Dad slapped me hard, real
hard." Unconsciously, my hand reached for my left cheek to
caress it. "Who are you anyway?" I shot back. Before he
could answer, I noticed that we had overshot Rohit’s
skyscraper, Sea Breeze, and I sharply asked the autowallah
to stop. After paying him off, I turned left, but to my
surprise there was no one in the autorickshaw besides me. 
Immediately, I reached out to check if my mobile phone was
still there; and was assured by its cold and clammy
presence. 

I walked back to Sea Breeze, where Rohit’s unoccupied
house awaited me. I stopped at the paanwallah, my heart
pounding against my ribs in anticipation of my rendezvous
with Neha. The paanwallah smiled to reveal paan-stained
teeth. He obviously believed in sampling his wares. "What do
you want?" he snickered. Did I imagine it? The flicker of
recognition was disturbing. Next time, I would fetch the
cigarettes, the coffee bites, the wafers, the 500 ml bottle
of Pepsi and Maggi Noodles from another shop. If only I
didn’t get so ravenously hungry after Neha and I made
love. 

I reached the thirteenth floor after minimum eye contact
with the liftman, a talkative Charlie. I knew Neha had
arrived. She had a duplicate set of keys, and the lock had
been released and relocated on the door handle instead of
the latch. Yet, I preferred to open the door rather than
ring the bell. I didn’t want the neighbours to see Neha
open the door and pull me in. 

After entering the apartment, I threw my shoes off. Taking
off the laces would be far too time-consuming. Neha greeted
me with a broad smile and a very warm Hi, locking my lips
with hers and muffling my ‘Hi’. She looked beautiful, as
always. I instantly concurred with people that Neha was
gorgeous, but while they attributed her beauty to her
shampooed black tresses, dark, inviting eyes and her
sylph-like figure, I thought Neha was beautiful for all this
... and more. She was beautiful because she was ... Neha.
She stripped the past of all its emotional baggage till it
wore just the bare bones of facts; she didn’t weave dreams
from the fabric of tomorrow. 

"Should we?" I said. She grinned mischievously and soon our
clothes were lying in a heap on either side of the bed. Neha
was finicky about keeping her clothes on her side and
insisted I keep mine on my side too. Snuggling close to her,
I smiled like a child, "You know something. When I peel off
my clothes in front of you, I don’t feel even an iota of
embarrassment. If anything, I feel as if I were unfettered,
free. In fact, I feel as if I were shedding my duality, my
untruths and letting you see myself as I am. I feel
confident that you will accept me as I am." Neha sealed my
lips by playfully running her manicured fingers softly over
them. "Why the need to analyse so much? How many times have
I told you not to make me think, not when we are in the
midst of love-making at least. I write programs for
computers all day, I like to unwind." 
Realising that I was easily piqued, she ruffled my hair and
said, "Besides you are not nude, you still have some buttons
on." She laughed tantalizingly. Amused but clueless, I
responded with a quizzical statement. Running her hand over
my sensitive midriff, she giggled, "You are still wearing
your belly button." 
I tugged her arm to draw her close to myself but she
protested, "Mmm. You come towards me." 
What was the sound? I sat up with a jolt. "What sound?" Neha
whispered, stiffening a bit. "I can’t hear anything." 
"Not a sound exactly, may be a feeling that ... as if there
was somebody else in the room besides us." 
Neha laughed raucously. "You are mad. You writers have a
vivid imagination." 
Irked, I said, "Why haven’t you drawn the curtains
properly? What if somebody ..." 
Neha lost her cool. "Don’t you know somebody is sitting
behind the curtains with a stool, charging Rs 50 for a peep
show? And you know what, there is actually a queue. Since
people can’t enter from the front door, they are jumping
in from the neighbour’s balcony to see two of the greatest
love makers in action." 
I was seething with anger by now. "I hate it when you talk
like that, and you know that." 

Minutes passed but it seemed like an eternity. The tic toc
of the clock was nerve-wracking. Neha turned her back on me
and though I couldn’t see her, I knew there would be tears
streaming down her eyes. We knew each other so bloody well,
we were dangerous for each other. Vanquishing my massive ego
-- something I never admit to possessing when Neha accuses
me of being an egoist -- with great difficulty, I put my arm
around her and said, "Sorry." Neha turned around and melted
into my arms. 
"You brute, I’ll bite your ears off for this," she
murmured affectionately. I closed my eyes, while she nibbled
my ears. This was bliss. When I opened my eyes next, I got a
start. MM was sleeping between us. 
"What are you doing here?" I spluttered. "This is
disgusting." 
"Exactly my sentiment," he said. 
"What are you doing here?" I repeated myself, bewildered
beyond my wits. "Reminding you that you shouldn’t be here.
Aren’t you engaged to Athiti? She has gone to buy her
engagement ring, while you, in your own words, are in an
important meeting with a client. Or did you say mating with
a client?" 
"None of you business," I said, unable to deal with the
absurdity of it all. 
Neha looked up at me, "What is going on here? Why are you
mumbling?" 
I was appalled. Did she need an explanation? 
"Do you know this man?" 
"Who?" she asked. 
"Are you blind? This man in white." 
"Which man in white?" she was fuming. 
"The one lying down between us, shamelessly. Him." 
Neha brusquely brushed me aside, drew herself out of the bed
and began dressing up. 
"Where are you going?" I asked. "And how can you just get
out of the sheets and into your jeans when this man is still
here? Ogling at you." 
Turning to MM, I said, "Don’t you know when two consenting
adults are making love, you are not wanted? You bloody
killjoy." 
Enraged and exasperated, Neha hobbled across towards the
door. "Damnit you have flipped it. Big time. You frighten me
now," she fumed and shut the door loudly behind her. 
I couldn’t believe this. Arching towards the stranger, I
asked, "Can’t she see you?" 
"No she can’t. Probably she doesn’t want to," he said,
simply. Was I hallucinating? Or was this is an unending
nightmare? 
"Get out," I shouted. He left. 

I quickly dressed up, ran a comb through my hair, and
pocketed Rohit’s unpaid electricity bills. The least I
could do was pay his bill, considering that I had been using
his bed, air conditioner, refrigerator. Gawd! The fridge. I
was in the elevator by now, and I recalled that I had left
all the food in the refrigerator. And to think that I had
switched off the electricity switch too. The food will rot,
may be not the Pepsi. Damn it, I wasn’t going back. 
I didn’t want to take an auto, it was only 4 p.m. Too
early to return home, too late to reach office. The office
would close in a couple of hours. I decided to walk
aimlessly, I needed solitude. My mind was buzzing. And a
fast-paced song was slowly playing in my head again, hazily
at first but soon reverberating like a haunting echo, "Aa
taiyyar ho jaa, aa taiyyar ho jaa." What did it signify? Who
cares! 
I passed a flower shop and thought to myself that it’s a
shame that I can’t recognise any flowers besides roses,
daisies and sunflowers despite studying Botany in school and
scoring 63 on 100 in the subject. Unconsciously, I slowed
down and retreated my steps to enter the flower shop. An
elegant boat-shaped bouquet, housing red roses and some
bright yellow and white flowers, caught my eye. If it was
priced at 250 rupees or less, I would buy it for Atithi.
Unable to peel my eyes away from the riot of colours
distributed unevenly over an array of bouquets, and without
looking up, I asked, "How much for these?" 
"You are buying flowers for Atithi?" I recognised the voice,
even as I raised my head to see the familiar face. It was
MM. Without losing my composure, I said, "Yes. Any
problems?" 
"Why are you buying flowers for Atithi?" he asked. 
"Because I love her and we are engaged to be married," I
replied, playing with a leaf to contain my rage which was
rapidly coursing through every vein in my body. 
"You love Atithi and make love to Neha," he half-stated,
half-asked. 
"Yes. But after marriage, I am going to stop seeing Neha," I
responded, amazed at my eagerness to explain. 
"You believe that," he smiled, before adding, "and you will
believe anything. Isn’t that what you have been telling
Neha, after your passions are sated, for two months now? And
hasn’t she told you to stop fooling, both, yourself and
her?" 
"Are you a private eye? Has Atithi hired you? Does she
suspect, does she know?" I asked, trying to contain the
sharp jab of anxiety that paralysed me. Almost. 
MM laughed. "Don’t let your imagination seduce you. If you
love Neha, why marry Atitihi? Why keep her in the dark?" 
"Because Neha is married. Her husband is in the merchant
navy, He is away from home for six months a year. She
won’t leave him, not for me, not for anybody. She says she
loves him, and she loves me too." I could barely hear myself
now. 
"So Neha has it all worked out. Huh? I am not interested in
Neha, I am interested in you. Are you comfortable with this
arrangement?" 
I was beginning to feel increasingly suffocated now. The
flowers seemed like they were creeping out from the
cellophane and growing into shrubs. No not shrubs, huge
trees with wild branches that threw out tentacles to
envelope me. The night sky was disappearing, there was a
canopy of wild plants and sheer darkness engulfing me. It
was eerie and frightening. There was pollen everywhere,
making it difficult for me to breathe. I felt constricted,
asthmatic. I had to get out of here, I rushed out of the
shop and gulped in the fresh Carter road breeze. 
MM followed me. 
"Leave me alone," I implored. 
"You haven’t answered my question?" he persisted. 
"What question?" I said, exasperated. I really didn’t
remember the question. My mind had hacked all the day’s
events and dialogues in bits of pieces and jumbled them up.
A part of my mind was a butcher’s shop, while another part
was struggling to place the leg, the head, the brains, the
ribs together to bring the slaughtered goat back to a
semblance of shape, even if I couldn’t infuse life in it
again. 
"I will repeat my question. Are you comfortable with the
arrangement?’ 
I deliberately kept quiet despite feeling extremely
agitated. 
"Are you?" he persisted. 
MM’s tenacity got the better of me and I lashed out, "I
was happy till you came along. You spoilt it for me. And it
will never be the same again." 
A thought flashed across my head like a bolt from the blue,
like a prayer answered. "Unless ..." 
Before he could ask me to elaborate on ‘unless’, and
spurred into action by the aroused savage in me, I nabbed MM
by the nape of his neck and pushed him into a dark,
seemingly unoccupied alley. My fingers tightened mercilessly
around his neck. He fought back desperately as I struggled
to pin him down. I discovered reservoirs of strength I never
knew I possessed; and finally snuffed the life out of him. 
As I waited for the enormity of what I had done to sink in,
I saw MM give one final twitch. "You think ..." he gasped,
"that you will be happy now that you have eliminated me?" 
"I don’t think, I am sure," I said, confident that I was
no longer afraid of the consequences. 
My eyes were searching furtively for signs of blood. There
was no blood. Not a single stain. The clothes were
spotlessly white still, reflecting the setting sun's dying
brilliance. And his eyes continued to shine like twin pencil
torches in the dark even as he lay supine. 
He smiled feebly. "Only the enlightened are unafraid of me.
Because they have transcended desire, and consequently the
dilemma of right and wrong, good and evil." 
His last statement aroused my curiosity beyond imagination.
"Who are you?" 
He responded with a mysterious smile. 
"I may not be enlightened but I am not afraid of you
either," I affirmed boldly. 
"You are not afraid because you have decided to be amoral,"
he said. "But you live in a society peopled by my friends.
Worshippers are more like it. These people won’t let you
be." 
"I will be a loner, then. I will isolate myself," I said. 
This proved to be the final straw. His smile froze and he
died. 
Posted: 2015-08-02 00:16:47 UTC

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