Encounter

Parshu Shrestha

In those days, I lived in Dharan and was a journalist. It was the month of Magh when this incident occurred.

It was a full-moon night with dead silence. Only my room was lit dimly, but none around seemed awake. I saw my watch when Keshav Dai dropped me at the gate of my residential house. It was 12:30 pm. A trace of fear touched my heart, and it shivered with the freezing cold of that mid-winter night.

As I entered the gate to walk to my rented room, I saw a mysterious figure of a man sitting across my way. He was only about fifteen feet away from me, and was staring at my eyes like a statue with his other-worldly eyes. He was hunching below the window of my room.

He might be an old man, or he might be a virulent young man. He might be hiding under a blanket so that I wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Somehow it might also be a ghost without its head but eyes on its shoulders. Who knows? It might be anything … anything that might have been waiting for a chance to attack me. Maybe he wanted to haunt on me. Maybe he wanted to prey on me.

My room was lit in a zero-watt bulb which my wife, now asleep with our infant baby on her side, had perhaps left on for me. She knew that her husband had a busy schedule and had to work hard. Being a journalist, especially a desk-editor of a left tabloid, was too dangerous at a time like that. The king had taken the constitution in his hands and been ruling the nation with his army for a year then. On the other hand, the Maoists insurgents were running their People’s War. Both sides were killing and torturing thousands of innocent citizens in the names of revolution and operation. Many journalists had also lost their lives, and many others had been suffering much from both the army and the rebellions.

Should I shout at the figure? Should I call my wife loudly to wake her up? No, it’s already half-past twelve at night. Perhaps the neighbors will be disturbed. My wife might also be afraid because of my yelling, or the feeling of the presence of somebody outside the window. What can I do then?

I could not find a way out instantly. He was continuously gazing at me, and I remained wary of his movement. I could not latch the gate immediately for I would need to flee in case the figure made any movement towards me. I must have spent almost half-an-hour during this process.

Remaining out for long at that moment was impossible since it was freezing cold outside. Getting in my room, too, was unthinkable with that mysterious figure in my way. So, I was undecided.

After all, I gathered a little courage in my heart. I picked up a small pebble from the ground and threw it towards the dark figure. My right hand was trembling. The pebble missed the target. However, the figure did not show any reaction.

After two or three minutes, it moved slowly. It changed into a man with a gun in his hand. Now, the man peered me through the binocular of his gun for target. My feet were shaking suddenly when I was about to run out through the gate that I had left open wisely for that kind of situation. He might be somebody with a task to kill me.

Since I was too horrified, I could not stand properly on my feet and turn away to run. I was sure by now that the man would fire the bullets at me anytime. I lost my control over my body and happened to kneel down. The pain in my knees was almost unbearable.

When I fell down, I was covered by the cemented railing of the ground floor balcony of the house. The man targeting me with his gun was out of my vision. I expected him to run forward to me and fire at me. However, that did not happen. I lay there painfully and anxiously for a while, but nothing as such happened. Now, I doubted the figure was a man with his gun.

I got up slowly and peeped through the small whole of the railing. I could still feel the pain in my knees. The figure was still as it had been before. Then, I collected some courage to pick up another pebble. This time bigger one. I hurled it towards the figure of my horror. It hit the target.

Thwaaak!

The figure did not respond. Only the dull sound of being hit by a pebble! I guessed it must be a log or something made up of wood.

Suddenly, I remembered that there was a thick log buried in the ground vertically to its one-fourth. The house-owner auntie was putting a potato sack on it for drying after its wash in the morning when I was about to set out for the newspaper office.

I felt light now. I had no fear, no anxiety. I picked up a bigger stone from nearby and targeted to the figure. The target was achieved with another thwaaak!

I braced myself up to walk towards the figure which was no more mysterious for me. I felt ashamed at myself. While walking past it, I kicked it hard twice for my reprisal of its pranks.  

The door of my room was not locked from inside. I opened it slowly so that the mother and the child would not be disturbed, and entered the room.

[Parshu Shrestha (1981) lives in Itahari, teaches English, and writes short stories. ]