The agony of being stranded on a stormy night on the undulating roads was ineffable, that too for the two young ladies.
It was a sultry April afternoon, in the late-90s when we hurriedly walked towards the blue Omni Van parked at Chulsa club, after munching on the sandwiches and washing it down with warm tea. We ladies had enjoyed the skit and dance practice to be staged at Western Dooars Club, a week later. The light of the day was draining away, giving way to dark smouldering clouds. I turned on the ignition and reversed; driving through the kutcha road, crossing the culvert and accelerating a little, my friend seated on the passenger seat gazed at me with expressive eyes (after all she is a graceful dancer) and then towards the dark grey smudges of woolly clouds which threateningly surrounded the sky. “Will we reach before the clouds explode?” she wondered aloud.
Though the highway was abandoned, a lone car overtook us, splashing slush from a puddle. It was a day when the clouds played roar and pour, with us at its’ own will. We entered into the desolate narrow estate road leaving behind the highway and with it the glow of the few scattered streetlights. There was absolute darkness, the kind that robs one of one’s senses and replaces it with a paralysing fear. Now we could see the wind blow through the hillocks scattering the leaves. Some of the leaves still attached to twigs fell on the car making a tictac sound. The gust was strong and I could feel the car sway on the narrow slopes of the estate but firmly gripping the steering wheel, I decided to speed up a little. After all my two young daughters, aged one and two, were in the care of Marita the maid, for a couple of hours, as I had promised her I would be back before dusk. She was a compassionate and helpful woman whom I could trust blindly. Marita had a personal errand to run and wanted to be relieved of her duties early that day.
Taking a sharp turn on the hairpin bend leaving behind the Chhota Bungalow of Sathkaya division, rolling down the slopes, as the engine revved uphill my friend let out a shriek “stop!” she cried and I braked. I too saw the silver branch of the tree across the width of the wet rutted road. There were muddy marks of the garden tractor, so we assumed that help won’t be far. A detour in this weather was unthinkable.
We waited for, what seemed like an eternity while we watched the swaying of the branches and could hear the rustling of the leaves. But our wait was in vain! We got out of the car. Just then a strong wind announced its arrival, howling. Mustering all our courage, we stood firm on the road against the wind, gathering all our might. We had been meaning to exercise our triceps and biceps since long but we didn’t know that mother nature would serve it to us thus-on the platter -and we started to work, squatting we pulled the silvery boughs, shifting it to the side.
Heaving a sigh of relief, we giggled at our efforts and also to shake off our jitters. We walked towards the car, shielding our eyes from the strong beam of the headlights. Just then the pitter-patter of rain turned into wet thuds splattering on our heads, making our hair limp and fall into clumps. We were cold and sodden, weakened by the weight of our soaked clothes and our footwear seeping with water. Checking myself in the rear-view mirror, I let out a shriek and my companion too screamed in a shrill voice. She turned to me panicking and asked what happened? “Nothing really!", I calmed her nerves, "it’s just that I was shocked to see myself in the mirror", kajal dripping, lipstick bleeding and hair tousled about. She laughed, making the situation light and at the same time checking herself in the mirror mumbled, “we surely could give the ghosts a run for their money".
As I swerved left, there was only a long expanse of tea bushes now. The cluster of new B-type bungalows was not far off. We could see dim lights from the factory and the workers' colony, giving us a flicker of hope. It had stopped raining; jabbering all the time I glanced at my friend to see her a little nervous “Is it spooky”, she whispered or "is it just our imagination?" and then in the shadows cast by the trees we saw a silhouette of something moving, blending into the darkness.
As we approached, the figure revealed itself to be a dusky tribal woman in a sari. Though our mind was in conflict, we stopped. She seemed harmless. In the flash of lightning we saw her cold impassive face, she stood there unblinking. There was an ominous thunder making my stomach shift uneasily and my friend and I were holding hands out of fear so tight that it hurt. Asking the woman if we could drop her home and then her name- "Dhana Munee", she had whispered. Both my palms now clasped and unclasped the steering wheel as if I wanted reassurance from the eerie feeling. Dhana Munee had unnaturally long fingers and greased black hair. She had a mysterious glint in her large eyes. She refused any help from us. Somewhat relieved we carried on. My friend looked back and quickly in front again and asked me “Was it tears on her face or raindrops?” This woman had a plucking umbrella in her hand and yet she was drenched.
We pulled up our dipped courage; there was a part of us which knew that speeding wasn’t safe. Now a startling low rumble rang loud in the cool air. The sky was roaring with satisfaction. Trickles of liquid hit the windshield and soon the drizzle turned into cannon fire, barricading the view in front. The wipers worked overtime because of incessant rains. There were chances of skidding and visibility was poor. A dense earthly smell rose from the ground enveloping everything within its embrace. Suddenly out of the blue there appeared a huge speed breaker. It was too late to brake, so with my foot on the clutch, I let the car roll and the car jumped to such a height that for a moment, we were airborne. Our heads hit the hood, our bodies jerked forward and the car landed back cushioning itself on its suspension. "Sorry", I muttered. Thankfully the car slowed down. Regaining momentum and driving into the cluster of bungalows, I dropped Raktima to her bungalow where her family was overjoyed to see her. Waving adieu, I drove into the porch of our bungalow and was happy to meet my family as well. The sky finally settled as if it was comforted and coaxed, just like we were with our families.
The next day, Marita wanted a leave. One of her relatives was seeking refuge at Marita's village because she had been ostracized from her own. She had been accused of witchcraft and black magic and some angry villagers were after her life. Marita had to go to the Police station to report. Granting leave I asked Marita the name of the relative,
"Dhana Munee" She replied.
