Jasmine Buds
My father had once again forgotten to pick me up from school. My kindergarten teacher waited as long as she could. She lost patience, of course, and called a rickshaw driver to drop me at my house. I corrected her that it was a bungalow and not a house. She didn’t bother. The rickshaw driver asked questions. “Will your father be home? Why didn’t your mother come?” I told him I didn’t know.
When we arrived, he came with me to the gate.
“Is this your bungalow?” he asked, shocked at the humongous gates.
“No, we are the bungalow guardians,” I said. “But you must stay here. Rani and Julie don’t like strangers.”
“Who are they?” he asked, amused by my assertiveness.
“Our Alsatian dogs, of course.”
He was scared. He waited, and I went to the staff quarters. I knew my grandfather would be there. He was pruning carnations and marigolds—the second season was upon us. He got up, mumbling and scolding my dad. “He is never responsible.” Then he came with me to the front gate. The rickshaw driver was gone.
My grandfather looked around. On the ground, he noticed jasmine buds scattered. His face turned red. “He must have found a customer,” he said, and took me back to the bungalow.
As I grew up in the bungalow, I noticed jasmine buds in various places. One night, I woke to urinate, and I saw a girl with long silky hair draped in a blue saree walking out. Out of curiosity, I followed her, wondering where Julie and Rani were. Didn’t they notice this stranger?
The girl stopped in front of a walnut tree. She climbed up and suddenly she was dangling from the tree, and jasmine buds gently fell down from her hair. I didn’t know what to do. I ran back to my room, but my grandfather had come by this time.
I cried, “I saw a girl hanging in the walnut tree.”
He said, “Oh, nothing like that. Bad dreams. Now get back to your room.”
“No, I am not lying,” I cried more.
He then took me out, assuring me that I had simply dreamt. When we reached the walnut tree, there was no one.
“No, grandpa, she was here!” I insisted.
“No… can’t you see. There is no one.”
But a fresh jasmine smell floated towards us. My grandfather’s face turned red. He then whistled, and Rani and Julie charged towards us and stood. They barked and barked, and the girl once again became visible.
“Why can’t you men leave a lady to die in peace?”
The dogs’ barks went mute. I couldn’t scream, and only faintly could I hear the voice of the rickshaw driver.
“Boy, wake up… wake up…Is this your house?” He jolted me.
“Yes, not house, bungalow,” I said.
“Is this your sister?” He asked, getting out of the rickshaw.
My sleepy eyes were wide awake now. I saw a pretty girl wrapped in blue saree with jasmine covering her hair.
“Don’t disturb Grandpa. I will pay the fare. Go to your room and study.”
“Anna, please take me to Charing Cross…”
The rickshaw driver happily got in. He loudly said bye to me and failed to notice that the girl floated into the auto rickshaw.
That evening my grandfather told me about the girl. She was the daughter of the owner. She had eloped with a rickshaw man, and he had left her. She had returned after some days and hung herself on the walnut tree. And from then on, every year she had followed the routine of getting rickshaw rides and coming back and dangling on the tree. And by the way there had been 7 mysterious rickshaw drivers’ death till date.