A long time ago when we lived in Ranigunj, we had a neighbour, Pishima. We never really knew her name. Only that she lived alone in the mansion at the end of the road. She was some sort of an invalid, and we had never seen her step out of the house. But she was very kind to us children. Not like the batty old people who would bark at us if our ball entered their yard. She would enjoy our company, often encouraging us to come play in her garden. We liked sitting with her in the soft winter sun. She would sometimes have sherbet made for us.
She also let us play with her cat. It was more like a stray cat, but she liked Pishima’s house much like the rest of us urchins. The cat had the most alert and mischievous eyes I had ever seen, they were green and blue, something Pishima described as aquamarine. It was a color I had never heard of, much like the many other things she spoke of. It was from her that we first heard of Marie Curie and Shakespeare, we heard about what Niel Armstrong had done, we first saw a globe. She spoke about museums and sculptures. She introduced us to Da Vinci and Michelangelo. We enjoyed our summer vacations sitting and getting regaled by tales of such faraway lands, stories which our families wouldn’t tell us and our schools would never teach.
Every evening after an afternoon of laborious playing, we would flock around her table as she sat for her tea. She would have her dutiful servant always bring some sort of sweet or savory snack for us. The cat would also sit among us, comfortably curled up on someone’s lap. One of us, I can’t remember who, had named her Neeli.
That summer break, just when the mangoes had started ripening my aunt came to spend the vacation with my cousin, that bratty Raju. He was always up to something or the other. Either tearing my books, or putting salt in father’s tea or some other mischief. My father who is a very genial man, would never scold anyone, but with Raju he would always lose his cool. But he was the apple of my mother’s eye. My father even gave him his prized silver paper knife with his name engraved because Raju like it so much.
Since I was the closest to him in age, it came upon me to keep him entertained in those months. He would accompany me and my friends to Pishima’s house too. Her house was full of curios and one day Raju took something from her house, but just as he was putting it in his pocket Neeli had jumped on him and scratched his hand. He pushed her away and started shouting, “What a wild animal!”
Pishima quickly came and put some mercurochrome on his injury. But she also knew Neeli would not attack someone just like that. So when she saw a missing miniature canon on her shelf, she quickly took Raju to task. Within a few minutes, he was on the brink of tears and ran back home after replacing the item that he had stolen.
Needless to say I was very embarrassed and avoided going out to play for the next few days. What would my friends say? My brother is a thief, they must be thinking the same of me. I was surprised how Raju, who was the culprit, strutted around the house like a prized peacock, as if nothing had happened. I knew what a bully he was and was honestly scared to confront him or tell the truth to the parents. I later learnt that he had convinced his mother that Pishima was in fact a strange old crone. Her house full of strangeness was surely not normal, and the mercurochrome she rubbed on him was surely some menacing potion. I eavesdropped my aunt telling the ladies of the neighbourhood about her conviction that Pishima was into black magic. I was furious to know this and went straight to my mother who laughed and took me in her embrace, rubbing my eyes with her saree. She asked me not to worry so much as my aunt would be gone in a few days. She was terribly blind when it came to her son. Also, my mother assured me that everyone knew Pishima all too well to buy into such tall tales. Who would believe the notion that Pishima was dabbling in occult? I went to Pishima’s the next day and apologized. She and my friends laughed and we played around like nothing had happened.
With no one believing in his cock and bull story, Raju kept aloof from us and ventured about alone. I was relieved he had found something to do on his own and wasn’t tagging along with me or my friends. He would be roaming all around and return late into the evening.
I just wished for Raju and my aunt to go away. One day my friends came to call me to go kite flying. I quietly sneaked out of the house before Raju found out. He would surely have come and showed off his skills, which none of us were interested in. As we were out on the streets rushing after our kites, we came upon Pishima’s house. Reeti was the first one who spotted Neeli, or whatever remained of her. There by the gate lay the mangled body, beheaded with a cruelty we could not imagine. We gasped, some of us started crying. We were after all just a group of eight or nine year olds, still untouched by the viciousness of life. A few of us ventured closer, just to check if there was any chance to revive her. Suddenly I noticed a gleaming silver paper knife, with my father’s name engraved on it. I picked it up and ran back to my father, sobbing. Raju and his mother left the very same evening.
Our parents did not stop us from visiting Pishima anymore. As if a spell had been cast upon them and with them gone, they had snapped back to reality. Next morning as we went into Pishima’s yard and sat beside her, she did not look at us or speak to us, her gaze glassy and transfixed on something far away, we were not sure what exactly. In the morning sun, her eyes shone a tricky shade in between green and blue, almost aquamarine, just like Neeli’s.
