stories. As children, everyone hears the multitude of different renditions of tales of kings and queens, of great kingdoms, legends of gods, adventures of heroes, tales of wit and lore, tales of history, and of present. our childish minds awing with wide eyes as we heard them, no one remembers all the stories that they heard, but some choose to stick with us, entwining with us, growing with us, haunting our thoughts.
as kids, me and my cousins would often find ourselves engaged in midnight peevish loiters, whilst staying over at our grandmother’s house. At one such event, our elder sister, a bit annoyed with our energy and craving rest, decided to calm us down. She sat us down, narrating what she said an incident that occurred with her physics teacher, as I am going to relay now.
Manvinder, her physics teacher, decided to a long due visit to his native village, something he had been avoiding for the sake of his studies and the trip taking a toll on his preparatory time. he rounded up two of his best mates, who were more than eager to accompany him, they too being drawn to the hills and intrigued by their mystique. having just finished their twelfth grade, full with the excitement that the uncertainty of the future caused, the three were alive with gusto. They say, that it’s never you who chooses to go to the hills, the hills are a magnet, they captivate the one thing no man can control, never has been able to, curiosity.
The trio set out for their first day of trekking, adrenaline taking over and convincing them to make the walk till the village, not taking the bus. A rather foggy day, as the three began their ascent, after only a couple of miles, Manvinder found himself bereft of his friends, Manvinder did what any panicking teenager would do in the situation, started yelling, bellowing at the top of his lungs for his friends. Despite all his efforts, the only sound his ears heard was just his own seclusion struck echo. In Greek lore, echo was a woman who fell haplessly in love with narcissus, but having been cursed for repeating the other’s sentence, she never was able to convey her heart to him. The heartbroken echo still roams in valleys, repeating all that is shouted into them, adding her own desperation to them, is she still just full with grief? or is this just her spite, sharing her desperation with those who dare raise voices at her? i guess this would be one of the many secrets that the hills have sealed within. Manvinder, now looked up at the terrains above him, marveling at their magnificence with gleaming eyes. The hills may seem impregnable to many, but those who seek romance are stubborn enough to consider impregnable just a glorified word for impertinence. truly the impossible is only achieved by those gaunt, foolish and daring enough to try. they are the ones sought out by the hills and then filled with a lust for adventure. Manvinder was no less of a romantic. With an inevitable smile, he set out to annex the peak himself, determined to find his friend. After about an hour’s rigorous climb, Manvinder started to confront bare reality. The lust that had overpowered him, was slowly fading into the distance, giving way for anxiety to crawl and manifest, as water fills a vessel, it slowly pushes all the air out, Manvinder too was now slowly drowning in the fear that overtook him, slowly easing all the excitement and reason out of him. He started to give up hope, feeling lost and alone. The hills that had seduced him, now seemed to scorn upon him, the wind that hit his face, that lightened his mood, now seemed to mock him, the trees now rustled at him jeeringly, the hills had proved a harsh mistress. Manvinder now once again looked at the sun free sky, the fog only seemed to add to his misery. on the verge of tears, his heart slowly weighing down on him, Manvinder slowly gazed into the distance as any man, ridden of hope would glance at, wondering so as to what was in store for him next. Staring back at him far off down into the woods was a seemingly familiar face. Manvinder bent, confirming his suspicions. he immediately jumped into the woods, going off away from the seldom used trekker’s path, jumping straight off away, ignoring the old rusty sign “trekker’s to not enter the woods” Manvinder slowly but briskly descended down across the hill, farther into the distance, he knew where he had seen his friend’s face, where he had seen hope, yelling his name as he ran. after running for about twenty minutes, he stopped, convinced he had reached the place, breathing heavily and frantically looking in all directions, yelling his name again, but the only thing that he heard, was his own echo. Manvinder now slowly walked, head bent down, tears slowly dripping down his cheeks, the hills had claimed him as his victim. Intoxication doesn’t lie in some bottle or in some plant, its the chemicals that overpower our cognitive thinking, that harness our minds, taking hold of our reasoning. The air of adventure, the aura is so overpowering of the mountains that no one is able to defy the energy, the adrenaline that releases in our minds because of it, that is the intoxicating vivacity of nature. Manvinder slowly edged into a clearance, a road that lay in the middle of the woods, reasoning came back to him as he realized all he had to do was follow the road, it would have to lead somewhere, maybe back into the trekking path that he had so gallantly and gauntly strayed from. As he walked on the road he started to notice its dilapidated unkempt, shrubs grew in every crack, tree roots edged onto it, the road itself was seemingly broken and rough, thinking of all this, he suddenly saw the headlights of a vehicle in the fog, moving toward him, instincts kicking in, he jumped as he shouted for help, flaying his arms about, shouting and jumping. The silhouette indicated it to be a bus, as it slowly stopped. Manvinder ran toward it, now heaving a sigh of relief. the bus doors jerked open, the conductor stepped out. Manvinder without giving two thoughts, narrated his whole story, all that happened. the conductor signaled him to step inside the bus, as Manvinder clambered in, he took a look and saw the face of all school children, all of them sitting still as perfect figures of adonis, no shouting, chattering, nothing, even the teacher didn’t notice him as he cautiously stepped into the only empty seat. A coldness seized him as the bus moved, his instincts rebelling against him, as if pleading him to get down, Manvinder fought back, as he turned to ask the child who sat beside him, completely silently, for a drink of water in a joking and frivolous fashion, as one would amicably address a child. the kid, who was staring out the window, slowly turned, looking up with cold eyes, grey eyes, “dead eyes” Manvinder thought, as sudden chills ran down his spine, alarms ringing in his head, the child handed him a bottle, and slowly turned back to face out the window, Manvinder’s hands were now jittery as he trembled and got up, mustering up all his courage as he approached the driver, meaning to ask him so that he could get down, the bus suddenly soundlessly, Jerklessly came to a halt. The conductor turned around, peering at him, Manvinder now noticed his eyes too. the same color. the same shade. cold. grey. “dead” Manvinder’s jaw slowly dropped, his eyebrow trembled. The conductor said in a uniform expression of a monotonous voice”bus doesn’t go further”, manvinder practically threw himself down the bus, immediately brisk walking the other way, slowly breaking into a run, tears returning, yelling, screaming as he ran, he didn’t know where he was headed, he just wanted to get away from that coldness he had felt, that was growing on him, reaching under his skin with every metre the bus advanced on the road…
Manvinder slowly opened his eyes, his uncle from his native village staring back at him, a grave look on his face, Manvinder slowly got up, his friends lay asleep at the bench across to the bench he was lying on. he immediately broke into story again, telling his uncle everything that had happened, all the incidents, sparing no detail, his uncle’s eyes widened as he spoke, his uncle looked down as he finished, then saying “your friends came in here before you, they seemed to be looking for you, I immediately dispatched my workers to look for you, before the inspector called me in, telling me you had been found at the edge of the old road. It’s midnight, your friends didn’t leave you alone,” he nodded towards them as he smiled. Manvinder looked at him, demanding more of an explanation, his uncle sighed. looking down. ” A government school bus from the foothills, it was supposed to be the school’s first picnic; a trip to the hills, the poor families of the children had been finally able to afford the trip since the prices had gone down for there had been a storm three days before. ” he slowly started covering his face with his palms as he spoke” the bus capsized into the ditch. has been there ever since.” Manvinder looked at him again, ” been there?” he asked hesitatingly, his uncle now conformed a still face,”they filled the ditch, sealed it with cement.” Manvinder slowly spoke, shock taking over, “the children?” his uncle looked at him again, ” some secrets once sealed, shouldn’t be disturbed.”his uncle looked at him again, straight into the eyes, a sudden darkness in them. “uncle why do you know this if no one found out?” Manvinder was now shivering, but his curiosity triumphed as he asked” uncle if no one found out, how do you know?”, his uncle got up, handing him a card as he walked out of the room. ” Singh builders pvt. ltd.” it read. ****** “How do I know this is true?” I asked my sister as my brothers lay scared in a corner, my sister slowly opened her bag, pulling out a small article, “I asked him the same question”, she said. I pressed my finger slowly onto the bottle, quickly pulling it back as i felt a sharp cold sting. I looked at it closely in the mild light of the torch, the point where i had touched the small bottle, there was a small mark, subtle and faded, in the shape of a small hand. ****** Shrouded events are rumors, rumors are lies and lies after some time, become stories, do all stories have shreds of truth behind them? Realities so dark, so macabre, covered in lies?