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Chapter 8 by Kanchana Banerjee | #WriteWithChitra #StoriesConnectUs

Chapter 8

Manorama shut her eyes tight as the cupboard doors opened slowly. She held her breath, scared to breathe, her heart thumping loudly inside her.

Oh, God no. Please no. I’ve left it all behind me.

‘Yes, you have Manorama. You thought that the past was done with. Didn’t you?’ Manorama flinched as a voice almost whispered in her ear. She spun around and saw that Vinod had moved away from her and the half open cupboard. There wasn’t anyone else in the room. Manorama’s eyes darted from Vinod to the other corners of the room. She’d heard a voice. A woman’s voice.

‘Who’s that?’ Manorama could hear her voice shake. She clutched the table nearby, and the corner dug into her skin. It hurt but she the pain didn’t bother her. She gripped it harder.

‘Stop with these games. Come out. Come out and show yourself.’ Manorama said in a clearer voice, trying to sound braver than she felt. The room, which had been stiflingly hot, making her sweat earlier, had turned cold. Almost like an ice chamber. One that’s used to store meat. To keep bodies. Dead bodies.

‘Vinod!’ she called for him out of habit. He stood at a distance, across the room. A sob rose from deep inside her as he saw him standing still, not taking a step towards her.

‘Rama.’ The voice spoke again. Manorama flinched as though a live wire had touched her. The voice that called out to her, came from inside the cupboard. Was she imagining it? She shook her head.

‘Rama.’ It called out again. Manorama shut her eyes tight and began shaking her head. It wasn’t possible.

No one calls me Rama. Not anymore. Not for a very long time has anyone called me Rama. Only Renu did. And … and she … she is … Manorama put her head between her knees, covering her face with her hands.

‘Yes, Rama. It is me. You aren’t dreaming or imagining. It is me. Renu.’

‘No. NO! This is some kind of a prank. A game. Someone’s trying to fool me. Trick me. It can’t be you Renu. I know it can’t be you.’ Beads of sweat lined her forehead, her armpits felt clammy as sweat trickled down her spine. The room was freezing and yet Manorama was sweating.

‘Your pride. Envy. Those were always your guiding forces, weren’t they? Nothing, no one was allowed to get in way of your plan. Little Miss Perfect and her perfect picture. It didn’t matter who you hurt, as long as your life stayed perfect.’ The voice sounded vicious, almost like a menacing snarl.

Images, voices from the past that Manorama had taught herself to forget, began flashing in her mind.

‘Your nanny. You made her look like a thief because you were jealous of her hair. You stole your mother’s ring and hid it in her bag. You branded her a thief. You ruined a life because someone complimented her hair.’ The voice from inside the cupboard was growing louder and louder.

‘No. I never did that.’ Manorama slid under the table and yelled back.

‘So many people Rama. So many innocent lives ruined because your pride couldn’t handle it. Our science teacher. The new girl who joined school in grade six? Do you remember the lives you destroyed Rama? Do you ever think of them? Ever?’ The voice was now a slow growl, like that of an animal in pain.

‘Those were just childish pranks. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody,’ Manorama was whimpering, sobs shaking her body. Why wasn’t Vinod saying something? Doing something. Where was he when she needed him?

The voice in the cupboard began laughing, a cold hollow laugh filled the room as church bells began ringing in the back ground.

Is there church nearby? Or a school? Manorama wondered; the church bell was the kind that rang in old catholic schools that followed tradition. The sound of the bells sounded familiar.

Where have I heard it before?

‘Of course you’ve heard the bell before. You heard it every day for ten years. Grace High school. Your school. And mine. The bell tower, adjacent to the church in the school.’

‘So why are the bells ringing now? Why am I hearing them? What do the church bells have to do with me or anything?’ Manorama sounded exhausted.

‘You tell me Rama. Church bell. The bell tower. Our school. You and me?’ The sound was now almost a hiss, like that of a snake ready to strike.

Manorama’s eyes grew wide and her breath quickened as though she was having difficulty breathing. She was gasping for air; it felt as though someone was choking her, crushing her wind pipe.

‘Help me! Help. I can’t breathe.’ Manorama was thrashing her legs as her hands tried to release the stranglehold she felt on her neck. In her struggle she didn’t realize she had moved closer to the open cupboard, in fact she was just inches from iit.

‘It’s time you found out Rama, how it feels to choke. Not be able to breathe, to scream hoping someone hears you and rescues you.’

‘Let go of me.’ Manorama’s voice was barely audible, a croaking whisper.

Suddenly the light in the room flickered and with loud pop it went off, plunging the room into darkness. Manorama heard something slam shut. It took her a while to realize that she had been pulled inside the cupboard and the door jammed shut.

‘Let me out!’ she pounded on the cupboard door.

‘You didn’t let me out Rama, did you? I bet you stood over the pit in which you’d pushed me, after hitting me on the head with the rod.’ The voice was near her ear but Manorama could only hear and feel the breath as the voice spoke. She couldn’t move. There was no space in the cupboard.

‘Death is just the beginning, Rama. Just the beginning.’

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Write with Chitra!

Your chance to continue bestselling and beloved author Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s story and be part of our first ever crowd-sourced novel!

Find out how you can join the storytelling by following the steps mentioned here.

Read –
Chapter 1 by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
Chapter 2 by Sumira Khan
Chapter 3 by Krusha Sahjwani
Chapter 4 by Sandeepa Mukherjee
Chapter 5 by Neha Gupta
Chapter 6 by Mohana Talapatra
Chapter 7 by Snigdha Mallik

chapter 8


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