Our Favourite Indian Stories by Khushwant Singh Read Free Book Online

the
samadhi
has passed.'
    Drawing Siddhi to himself, he held her by the nape of her neck, 'Tell me the truth. You have tried to be forgetful of the self for so many years. For so long, you have tried to forget the world through
samadhi
. But, truthfully, have you ever been as content, as self-forgetful as on this night?'
    And he smiled into her sleepy eyes.
    Once again, self-abandon took possession of Siddhi, 'Arya, you speak the truth!'
    Translated by Keshav Malik
    Edited and condensed by Ms. Neelam Kumar

Under Cover of Darkness
    Nirmal Verma
    Bano had to cut across three goat-paths to reach our house. 'Any news?' She always fired the question at me immediately on entering the room. I was sorely tempted to lie to her and say, 'Yes, there is. It's all settled. We'll be leaving for Delhi soon.' But I refrained from doing so. Bano was too shrewd not to see through my lies. Instead, I lay silently, with my eyes closed.
    As usual, she came over and felt my forehead. When her touch was cold, I knew that my fever had not gone down. But when it was warm I felt elated. Eagerly opening my eyes I would ask, 'Bano, don't you thing I am getting better?'
    Looking disappointed, she would reply hopefully, 'But your temperature is bound to shoot up in the evening!'
    She was unhappy whenever my temperature came down. She knew that as long as my fever lasted I could not leave her and would stay put in Simla. Sometimes when I heard her footsteps, I quickly applied a wet towel to my forehead.
    'Feel my forehead.' I would reach for her hand and brush it against my brow.
    'Cold, is it?' Without a word, Bano would start looking out of the window.
    Outside, one could see the forests enveloped in a blue haze, and lofty mountains, range upon range. When the curtain fluttered in the breeze, the room was drenched with a dream-like fragrance, wafted from afar.
    'Beyond those mountains, lies Delhi. You know that, of course,' I said.
    Bano nodded. She had no interest in Delhi, had never been to that city. Her father's office remained in Simla all the year round. I pitied her.
    'I have been to our house,' she said changing the subject.
    The mention of "our house," which on other days swept me off my feet, today held no interest for me.
    'Bano, you can keep my share of plums,' I said, without opening my eyes.
    'Who would care to eat your rotten plums?' Bano said, peeved. 'Take them along when you go to Delhi — your precious cargo of rotten plums!' She went into the verandah.
    It made me angry. But when one is ill, one cannot work himself up to a high pitch of anger. In illness, all feelings peter out without reaching the crescendo of passion. If one cries, no tears come — only the eyelids flutter. If one feels exhilarated, the heart does not beat faster — only the lips tremble.
    The house, which Bano had referred to as "our house", was said to be haunted and lay deserted all the year. They said an English woman had committed suicide in this house. We would store our treasure trove of raw plums and apricots in one of the bathrooms. It was a closely guarded secret and no one was aware of our secret.
    Bano kept swinging in the verandah for a long time. As the swing went up, her
salwar
puffed out like a balloon. The rhythmic creaking of the swing acted like a soporific; I dozed off and dreamt. I always remembered the dreams I had in the afternoons. I dreamed that the
chaprasi
had come from the office to fetch father's lunch. He laughed and told us that we would soon move down to Delhi. Then I saw Bano throwing apricots out of the window of the haunted house. Far away in the hills, I could see the English woman who had committed suicide, leaning out of the window of the Kalka-Simla train. With outstretched hands she grabbed at the apricots which Bano was casting to the winds.
    When I woke up, Bano had been gone a long time.
    In the evening when mother brought in the tea I asked her if the
chaprasi
had come in the afternoon.
    'Yes, he did.