Chapter 6
Memories
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As the rod struck the box, Nitin’s life moved in his eyes.
There he was, with his father, in the Meghdoot Garden. Nitin was four years old, on the top of the slide. His cheeks were round and large, which had disappeared now. A thick shock of black hair lay over his head uncombed. He wore red half-pants, that made him look as if he was wearing a skirt.
“Get down, Nitin,” Vyom called out from below. Nitin didn’t have the intelligence to recognize the anxiety in his voice.
Darkening had already begun in the sky. Except several other roamers, no one was there in the garden.
“No, I won’t!” Nitin thumped his feet on the slide platform.
“Nitin—”
His leg slipped on the slide. His head clobbered on the iron, and he skidded down.
Unlike most of the slides for kids, that were laughably low, Nitin had climbed on a super-high slide.
He was going to hit his head on the asphalt if Vyom didn’t catch him.
But Nitin had other plans. Somehow, he slithered in a downward position. He could see the horrified face of his father waiting to grab him when he reached down. Nitin couldn’t help laughing as he descended on his belly, his arms and legs in the air.
“Wihii!”
The image dissolved like ink.
This time, Nitin was six.
He was involved once again in one of those usual first grade fights. Those fights were just stupid, and Nitin now liked to laugh how could he have fought over such things (Five star is better and dairy milk).
Nitin stood in the school corridor. In front of him towered Lokesh, a blue Tupperware in his hand. A puddle of water from Nitin’s bottle between them. There was only one crowd, that lingered and jeered behind Lokesh.
“Stay down!” Lokesh had his hands folded.
“Go away!” Nitin wanted to run away, but he was afraid what Lokesh would do with his bottle. Little children are always possessive.
“Let me throw more water on your face!” Lokesh yelled. “You ran away and I missed my shot. See, what mess you have done. Now, stay still, so I can get a better aim.”
Nitin just wanted his bottle back he would do anything to get it back. Little Nitin gulped, and closed his eyes. The crowd’s racket was now hurting his ears. There was only one claim: Lokesh.
Several seconds passed. Nitin had no idea why it was taking so long. Then Lokesh yelped, and the crowd burst into murmurs. Scared, Nitin opened his eyes. Lokesh stood drenched in water.
The picture dissolved again.
“Find me! Find me!”
Nitin’s five year old voice reverberated throughout the house. He peeped down through the balcony. Vyom stood in a state of complete uneasiness below on the landing.
“Find me! Find me!”
“Where are you, Nitin?” Vyom called over. This time it was not a sweet one, but a worried one. For the tenth time, his father looked directly into his eyes. Vyom was just acting he didn’t see him.
“Did you find me?”
“Where are you, Nitin?”
Vyom’s eyes glinted.
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Nitin saw a sea of dissolved ink, and then he fell hard on his head on the floor.
Images spun in his head. Dozens of childhood memories, that somehow had found a way to resurface full-fledged.
Nitin tried to open his eyes. His head ached. His mind was still unconscious.
Moment by moment, Nitin sat upright. He was in his room, white lights on. His eyes stung. The box lay as it was a few feet away. Beside the door was the iron rod he had struck against the box. Nitin walked on his knees and approached the rod. His head could have bobbed down any moment.
The iron rod was in two. From where it had split apart, were black marks. As if it had burnt. As if burnt by lightning…
Nitin remembered, as the rod contacted with the box, a jolt of electricity had run down his arm, and he was thrown against the wall.
Nitin had grasped the rod and climbed up the stairs. Tonight, he was finally going to reveal himself the contents of the box. He would break it open .The iron rod was enough.
Through his way, Nitin checked in Vyom. Sleeping. Suppressing his footsteps’ noise as well as he could, Nitin climbed to his room.
Nitin placed the box on the floor, the weapon ready in his hand. He would make it in a single go. He raised the rod, and struck.
That seemed a long time ago now. The memories—or whatever he had seen some moments ago—had lasted long enough.
Finding the strength in his knees, Nitin stood straight. The box frightened him now. The intimidating snake insignia again stared at him. The riddle below the snake seemed to chant on its own, as if taunting him.
“I won’t keep this box anymore.” Nitin was amazed that he had just spoken a thought aloud. That never happened before. Maybe, he was more determined now.
The box had caused him much. Even more, strange things had been set in motion after the box arrived. He had had enough trouble already. He didn’t want to bear it anymore. It was better if he just disposed it and forgot about it. The man go in hell! He didn’t care.
Nitin knew he was being irrational. He wanted to be irrational. He had always restricted himself to philosophies. But they seemed to work only in the best of times. His mind was made up.
The wooden oddity had endured even an iron smack. How was he going to get rid of it?
I will throw it in the Khan, Nitin picked up the box, Wednesday evening. Two days after.
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