This is in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt– Dream.
Rahul was sitting on a sunlit spot, on the floor of the loft in their ancestral house. He’d been curious about this house; locked and left unattended ever since grandma’s death. With hardly any memory of his yearly visits as a child, Rahul felt that this was a grand opportunity for exploring this treasure-trove-of-a-loft. After all, his ma was busy on the ground floor, dusting and cataloguing his grandma’s beloved items to retain or sell.
His gaze fell on a shiny silver gadget, almost hidden behind old knick-knacks displayed on a low shelf. Slowly, he crept closer and inspected the device. Gently, he put it down and unwrapped the translucent cover. It seemed odd; a pulsing red light blinking at the centre and a worn, yellow note attached. It was in Hindi- Rahul couldn’t read it.
As soon as Rahul’s palm touched the top surface, his mind was enveloped in darkness. He felt a massive jerk, like the bumpy rides on uneven village roads and found himself on a massive field with bright purple flowers. Wait, what?
He looked around, purple flowers (heathers; he recalled reading about them in the encyclopedia) covered every inch, except for a path that led to the a line of trees. It seemed he was the only one here, as far as he could see. How and why was he here? More importantly, how could he travel back to his house? Or had he time travelled?
“You’re a tardy fellow, boy. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” He whipped his head towards the direction of the stern voice. There stood a small, saree-clad figure; her frown accompanied by her many wrinkles. “Nani?” Rahul whispered, walking swiftly towards her. Or atleast the ghost of his grandma.
“I’ve got a lot to tell you and very little time to do so.” She seemed just like how his mother’s stories had described her, blunt and determined. (Difficult, just like you– his mother would joke) “Rachna shouldn’t sell the house. You make sure to warn to my stubborn daughter.”
“It’s the original site of the Tripartite Ritual.” Rahul was confused. He’d heard of the ritual, conducted by three powerful women tantrics ages ago, to bring rainfall, protection and prosperity to the then famine-ridden village plagued by bandits. But his mother had always made this seem like a fantasy story, a mythical tale narrated by the superstitious elderly of their town.
Seeing his incomprehension, the elderly lady continued, “Only those of the blood of the three can live there. The bloodline of the other two ended a while ago and anyone else living in that house will invite the wrath of the Gods.” Watching the no-nonsense woman utter these words of warnings made Rahul feel scared. Just as his grandma finished her last set of instructions, he felt another jerk that landed him back to the loft.
Hastily covering the device, Rahul rushed off to find his mother. Rachna was surprised to see her son so soon, looking rumpled yet eyes glittering with excitement. And she was even more surprised by his narrative. Just what had her son been up-to in the loft?
The black gadget was clearly a broken piece of junk, that her mother had won when the eccentric Chaturvedis’ had auctioned their properties and personal effects decades ago, according to the of note. Spirit Connector– it was called; Rachna scoffed mentally. She resolved to proceed with the deal offered by the estate agent and leave town as soon as possible. Her son had to be kept away from such rubbish notions.
The device must be damaged, Rahul concluded. The withered purple flowers clinging to his clothes were proof of his travel to that mystical land. But the gadget looked different now, almost burnt. And he’d failed to convince his mother of grandma’s dire warnings.
Or had it all been a dream? A hallucination perhaps?
For the following prompts as well:-
3TC#285– Put, Won & Auctioned
Word of the Day- Tardy