Chapter 1
“Behind the pool, by the short valley between the thick bushes on either side is a green milestone” she paused, and with great tremulous voice continued “beneath the milestone, is a key hidden under the red slate” with those words, Nupur’s grandmother threw her head into the soft pillows “could you climb up?” yes grandma, Nupur obliged and patiently lent her weight to the sixty year old’s listless back. Grandma slept with her head down; nupur nibbled with her feet across the freckled blood rid white skin of her grandma, she observed “granny, your spine is curved near the shoulders”. Grandma was lost in her reveries. Cold breeze unfurled the drawn curtains and the yellow rose bush stalk was beating against the window sash; fog had lain its bare chest over the garden. At eight in the morning, one could only see eight feet beyond the nose.
“Grandma, the key; tell me more” Nupur implored. She was nine years old, and had spent her summers with the granny for as long as she could remember. Clearing her throat slowly, Granny continued “behind the milestone is an old banyan tree with an overhanging branch that reaches out into the well nearby” pointing the child to rest by her side, Granny continued “in the well where the branch sinks into the void is the key hole”. Sound of shuffling feet in the hallway reminded Nupur of something that slipped off her mind. Pulling the silk gown by its plates, she rapped it in air to reveal the soft muffled thud of the flutter. That swift sound produced by the flap of skirt in air was Nupur's recent accomplishment. Granny nodded impressively and they both walked into the hallway to receive their guests.
Aunt Sara, a woman of rare elegance, kissed Nupur on her red cheeks and inquired “what have you both been up to?” laying the green apples on the table beside the flower vase, Aunt gathered her tightly knit brows together and eyed the child askance “what is that in your hand?” Nupur hesitantly exposed her palms, but the pale brown butterfly dropped dead to the floor. Aunt Sara grabbed the fly with a hand towel, threw it through the window that revealed to the child something that she had forgotten. The milestone, the banyan tree…
Through the misty garden, brushing the dew of the leaf tops with her pointed fingers and nipping the tops of flower buds, Nupur walked towards the gate. Muddy water splashed on her shins as she carelessly trampled across the mushy garden floor. Dark clouds sank low overhead, the iron railings on the hedgerow had caught rain drops on the knots so huge that Nupur’s face ballooned first and slipped later as the rain drop slackened under its own weight. The slanting rain dropped on her dimpled cheeks as she cautiously approached the pond. Taking the slippers off her muddy feet that were unusually long for her height, she minced heavily with rain dropping an occasional drop in the deep burrows left behind her trail. Aunt Sara always observed "Nupur, you have penguin feet".
The milestone was behind a line of thorns, so she put her slippers back on before attempting to make an entry. It had stopped raining now; the milestone was not as she had imagined it, it was small, short and uncouth with earthworms flitting around mushrooms and dead twigs. She pulled at her frock frightfully, but it was only a thorn that tugged at her frock. With a dry twig, she cleared the area and dug into the mud with her fingers. There it was; a copper plated key that was black as a dead tree’s trunk.
Nupur’s parents had arrived, and they were sounding horn now. She quickly gathered her torn frock’s loose end in her left hand, muddy slippers in her right hand and ran home. The deep burrows that she had made in the mud by the pool were now filled with rain water. Then she observed something very strange. The burrows were deeper and thicker; at times there was a shuffle of burrows as if she had gone back and forth more than once stepping cautiously into the same burrows made hitherto.
Back home though, her parents had not come. The car wasn’t there at all. Did she imagine the car’s rattling sound as it swerved round the corner? Did she also imagine the honking? Her Aunt Sara drying Nupur’s hair noted “where did you tear this pretty gown of yours?” holding the torn end in her hands and examining it, she continued “take it off, put on a new gown. You are dripping wet, don’t want to catch fever now, do you?”
Towards the afternoon, sun slipped through the snowy white clouds and cast her rays on Nupur’s bedroom window which gleamed and reflected hazy outlines of diamonds on the opposite wall. She waited patiently for her aunt and Grandma to take their afternoon nap. With nimble feet, she tip toed onto the porch, where her shaggy dog Galileo was trying his might to tear the hand towel which Aunt Sara had put out for drying. The towel was wet and Galileo wastefully tugged at it like a monster with rabid teeth drooling all over the place. Nupur patted on his head, ran her fingers through his mane and out of an impulse untied him and off they went towards the lake. As they both stepped over the thorny fence to reach the banyan tree, Galileo hurt himself and pawed at Nupur. He licked his hurt paw and moaned complainingly; going round and round in circles chasing his tail, he refused to go any further. She however was stubborn and carried on.
The banyan tree had grown ominously large with its branches piercing the ground and making new trunks. There were a couple of monkeys that watched Nupur’s movements curiously. She searched for the branch that grew into the well, but after tirelessly searching all over the place for an hour, still couldn’t find any. One of the monkeys descended down and she fearfully stepped away. Galileo must have noticed his owner’s predicament, for he ran up to stand by her side in a ziffy, prancing and dancing. The monkey retracted his steps, but the well was no where to be found. She sat with her back rested on one of the trunks; Galileo was intently sniffing at one of the thick branches which grew in unusually brown mud.
Upon closer observation, She noticed the shade of brown mud that gradually changed into that of dark brown and finally she found the small outlet that was once the well. It was all dried up, the branch was dangling over the dry well as if admitting a wail of cry. She looked around to find the void that grandma had mentioned but none was to be found. Galileo examined the place for hope of finding the object that his master was searching for, who now looked dejected and sorrowful. Galileo’s sniffing must have irritated the rats for they ran helter skelter. While he went after the rats, his master was drawn towards the rat hole. There it was, the void that grandma had mentioned.
With utmost care, nupur inserted the key into the key hole, but it just did not fit. She looked about her as if to seek confirmation from the banyan tree, she wiped the key clean, scrubbed it with wet sand and cord lying by the hole. But nothing worked. The key hole was drilled deep into a rusted iron frame, Nupur collected a couple of dry twigs and proceeded to sweep the iron frame clean. Then she dug into the surroundings of the frame to see if there was another key hole in the area. The sharp end of the stick grew blunt after repeated digging but nothing dramatic happened. Galileo as if tired by the rat chase, approached his master and sat crouched. With a sharp gaze, he tilted his head as if he found something more intriguing than merely a rusted frame. He bent closer to the frame and sniffed, so close was his nose to the frame that something must have caught his nostrils, for he sneezed involuntarily. So sudden was his sneeze that Nupur felt fear grip her nerves taut and pass a sharp streak of electric current down her frame. After recovering, Galileo from his sneeze and his master from the shock, they both noted but one serious development; his sneeze must have blown the mud off it, for now there was a wooden casing, a particularly large one which seemed to have housed the rust frame.
It started raining again. The exploration had to stop for now. Hesitantly, Nupur rose up and with a soft thud, her key, which was in her skirt folds, dropped into the abyss, the dry well.
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