The Lullaby

The house was right next to Shyam's home. He could see it through his window. It was dull, lifeless, and he would watch the woman cook her food, eat and then sleep. Sometimes he saw her looking at a photograph and crying.

Shyam was an adopted child. After being shifted from various foster homes, a Bengali family had adopted him. They were nice to him, but they fought a lot amongst themselves. Everyday there was a huge fight between the husband and wife. The wife would throw the utensils, and suddenly Shyam could hear a loud smack. Once he found the wife looking pale, lying on the floor, crying, and the husband above her, kicking. Shyam couldn't bear it. His days would go locked up in his room, playing, making so much noise so as to drown their fights and abuses.

They didn't know, but he cried himself to sleep. One night, as he tried to sleep, teary faced, he heard a sweet lullaby. It was a sweet voice, gentle, caring, coming through his window. He felt himself drift off. Soon an unspoken bond had formed. Every night Shyam would fall asleep listening to the beautiful lullaby coming from the other house. He couldn't hear the shouting at night.

This went on for a while, he wondered if he should visit her. He went to the house but the door was locked. Maybe she had gone to the market. He waited for her outside. Soon it was nightfall and he was called home for dinner. Again during dinner, the husband and wife had a major fight over the salt content of the curry. The argument passed from the curry to his inability to produce a child. The husband, vociferous, angered, punched her and then kicked away. Shyam ran to his room, crying, waiting to hear the soothing lullaby. As he lay in bed, he heard the beautiful voice.

Next morning he went over, locked again. He waited and waited, she didn't come. The mailman passing by saw Shyam. Shyam told him that he was waiting for the woman living in this house. The mailman took Shyam back home and decided to have a word with his parents. He told them that everyone in the neighborhood knew about their fights, but now things have gotten out of hand. The child is getting affected and if things don't sort out, serious damage can be caused. The child was waiting for the woman living in the next house. No one lives there, he said. Keep the child away, there are rumors, that a woman lived there. Her husband died in war, the news was unbearable for her. She smothered her children and later killed herself.

The mailman left, on his way wondering, how did Shyam know that a woman lived there.

The Black Pendant

He found it while ploughing the field. It was beautiful, stark black, and magnificent. How was it dug deep into the dirt, he wondered. Why would anyone discard away this jewel which could fetch him enough money, that he would never again need to plough a barren land.

He took it to the local jeweler, building castles along the path that he hurriedly walked. But before he reached the jeweler, he randomly stopped. There was an unusual magnetic pull he felt. Why should he give the jewel away? It's too prized a possession to sell off for pieces of paper. He went home and presented it to his wife. The wife, who had never received a shiny utensil forget jewelry, was ecstatic. Her miser husband, who hardly made enough money to make little curry in her copper pots and boil rice, had today got her a beautiful black pendant. Happily, she wore it and went to her neighbor's house to show off.

As the wife entered the house, she saw Mrs B playing with her child. She suddenly felt an urge. It was probably just thirst. She asked for water, but it didn't seem enough. What did she want? It had become unbearable.

Mrs B was unbelievably jealous. How did that miser man manage to buy that beautiful pendant. The wife couldn't sleep, think, or eat. She felt a demonic desire. She wanted to eat the child. She craved human flesh. At night, when she was sure the village had gone off to sleep, she crept into Mrs B's window. The next morning, everyone woke up to heart wrenching screams. News spread like wild fire. There was a disgusting murder of a young child. The flesh was eaten off, and the bones were arranged into some design that could only mean that a devil was set loose in the village.
As three nights passed, another child was murdered, then another. Simple mathematics, every fourth night a child was eaten and the bones were arranged in a demonic pattern.

The people were terrified, no child played anymore. All parents locked their houses and rarely let the men out to work. A dull fear had taken over.

He watched his wife. She had a beautiful glow. He happily went to plough the barren land.