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The Dark Passenger - Chapter 1
The Beginning
My uncle, a truly good person, was the reason I tried to avoid him at first. But he thought differently. He believed that he lost his brother because of his mistake and wanted to make up for it by taking care of me. The day my uncle died marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life, though I didn't realize it at the time. His death was sudden, a heart attack that left my aunt and me in shock. My uncle had been my guardian, my protector, and the one who took me in after my father's demise. Now, it was just my aunt and me, alone in the large, empty house.
In the wake of my uncle's death, my aunt decided to leave India and move to Australia to be with her son. Before she left, she hired a maid named Malli to look after the house. Malli was a tall woman with a slender build, her hair always neatly tied back in a bun, revealing a sharp, defined jawline. She had an air of quiet determination about her, her eyes dark and observant, taking in every detail of her surroundings. She wore simple, well-maintained sarees, usually in muted colors, with a touch of practicality that indicated her readiness for work.
Malli managed the household with remarkable precision. She was not only meticulous in keeping the house spotless, ensuring every surface gleamed and every item was in its proper place, but she was also an excellent cook. Each meal she prepared was a testament to her skill, and she always knew exactly what I needed, often anticipating my needs before I even realized them myself. I noticed how she always carried a small cloth tucked in her saree, ready to wipe away any speck of dust she encountered, while simultaneously keeping an eye on the kitchen. Her work was impeccable, and it was clear she took pride in maintaining the household to the highest standard.
Despite her efficiency and attention to detail, there was an underlying sadness about her. It was in the way her shoulders slumped slightly when she thought no one was watching, and in the faraway look in her eyes during quiet moments. I often wondered what burdens she carried, but I never asked.
Malli had a young daughter, Chinni, whom she occasionally brought to work. She was seven at that time. Unlike most people, I had a soft spot for children. Children, in general, have a unique way of tugging at my emotions. They're like a soft spot or a vulnerability for me, something I usually try to keep a distance from. Yet, there's a magic in their innocent eyes and their playful nature that never fails to bring a smile to my face. It's probably because it reminds me of my own childhood—a time when moments of joy and freedom were rare and precious.
At first, I was annoyed by the distraction, but as I watched the little girl play in the corner of the room, I felt a connection towards her. Chinni was a lively girl with big, inquisitive eyes and a constant smile that seemed to light up any room she entered. She wore simple dresses, often hand-me-downs, but they were always clean and neatly pressed. I may not be a good person inside my head, but I couldn't bear the thought of children working for their lives. Still, I controlled myself not to interfere.
One day, I found Chinni playing in the living room while Malli worked. Annoyed by the distraction, I called Malli over and shouted, "Why did you bring your daughter to work? This is no place for a child!"
Malli, usually composed, looked flustered. "Sir, I have no one to look after her at home. Since my husband passed away, it's just been the two of us. I promise she won't be any trouble."
"That's not the point," I retorted. "She should be in school, not here. Every child deserves an education."
Malli bowed her head and murmured, "We don't have the money for that, sir." I couldn't stand the thought of a child being denied an education. The next day, I enrolled Chinni in a nearby school, personally ensuring she had everything she needed. Seeing her in a uniform, excited about learning, gave me a sense of fulfillment.
"I've enrolled Chinni in a school nearby," I told Malli. "Her name for the school records will be Swapna. I'll cover all the expenses. Just make sure she attends regularly."
Malli's eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, sir. I don't know how to repay you."
"Just don't bring her here to work again," I said firmly.
Days went by, and true to her promise, Malli didn't bring her daughter to the house. However, I couldn't help but ask about her daughter from time to time. Those became the only conversations I had with Malli at my house. Most of the time, I didn't pay much attention to her presence.
One morning, I woke up early with a lot of work at the office. I left the keys in their usual place and headed out. When I returned in the evening, Malli was nowhere to be found, and the house had nothing to satisfy my hunger. It felt strange because Malli had never missed a day before.
Initially, I didn't think much of it. I assumed she might be sick or had some urgent matter to attend to. I carried on my next few days without the maid, and I realized how much I depended on her in the house. Each passing day brought with it a gradual deterioration of my once orderly home. The papers that once lay neatly stacked on my desk now littered the floor, mingling with unwashed dishes and overflowing dustbins. I brushed it off, telling myself I could handle it.
But then, one afternoon, a call came from Swapna's school. The teacher asked why she hadn't been in class for days. Panic gripped me as I tried calling Malli, only to find her phone switched off. My heart raced with worry, not for Malli, but for Swapna. Despite trying to reassure myself, the nagging feeling of unease wouldn't go away. I tried to convince myself that they must have gone somewhere, but my mind refused to rest. The thought of something happening to Swapna haunted me. Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, I made a decision—I had to go to Malli's village and find out what was going on, no matter the cost.
As I arrived at Malli's village, the villagers initially seemed friendly, offering to help me find her. But when I mentioned Malli's name, their smiles faded, and they quickly left without a word. The villagers were tight-lipped, and whispers of dark rumors reached my ears. They claimed Malli practiced black magic and was responsible for her husband's death. I denied all their remarks and, determined to find Malli and Swapna, I pressed on.
At the end of the village, I spotted a small hut. Despite my apprehensions, I decided to try my luck and approached it. But what I found there shattered me to the core— Malli's lifeless body lay at the entrance. My heart sank as I saw Swapna, tears streaming down her face, crying beside her mother. It was a scene that struck me deeply, filling me with a sense of sorrow and helplessness.
I had to do something. Confronting the villagers, I battled their superstitions with reason and anger.
"How could you let this happen?" I demanded. "She was a good woman, and you let her die alone!"
The villagers mumbled excuses, fear evident in their eyes. One elderly man finally spoke up, "She... she was cursed. We couldn't risk it."
"Cursed? Do you even hear yourselves? This is nonsense!" I yelled, frustration boiling over.
They eventually relented, and I took Malli's body back to the city, giving her a proper burial. Seeing Swapna in such a state broke something inside me. I saw myself in her—a child abandoned by the world, burdened with the loss of a parent. I couldn't leave her there. I decided to take her under my care, to give her the protection and support my father and uncle had tried to give me.
Back at home, Swapna was initially inconsolable. She cried for days, mourning the loss of her mother. I tried my best to comfort her, but it was a slow process. One day, I took her to visit her mother's grave. It was a somber visit, but it seemed to help. She began to accept her new reality, and gradually, she started responding to my attempts at conversation.
"Do you miss your mother?" I asked gently one evening.
Swapna nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Every day."
"I know it's hard," I said softly. "But you're not alone. I'm here for you."
Over time, Swapna and I developed a bond. I became her guardian, her protector. She reminded me of the innocent child I once was, and I vowed to give her the life my father and uncle had wished for me. It wasn't easy, but I felt a sense of purpose. For the first time in a long while, I felt I was doing something right.
© The Usual Guy
My uncle, a truly good person, was the reason I tried to avoid him at first. But he thought differently. He believed that he lost his brother because of his mistake and wanted to make up for it by taking care of me. The day my uncle died marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life, though I didn't realize it at the time. His death was sudden, a heart attack that left my aunt and me in shock. My uncle had been my guardian, my protector, and the one who took me in after my father's demise. Now, it was just my aunt and me, alone in the large, empty house.
In the wake of my uncle's death, my aunt decided to leave India and move to Australia to be with her son. Before she left, she hired a maid named Malli to look after the house. Malli was a tall woman with a slender build, her hair always neatly tied back in a bun, revealing a sharp, defined jawline. She had an air of quiet determination about her, her eyes dark and observant, taking in every detail of her surroundings. She wore simple, well-maintained sarees, usually in muted colors, with a touch of practicality that indicated her readiness for work.
Malli managed the household with remarkable precision. She was not only meticulous in keeping the house spotless, ensuring every surface gleamed and every item was in its proper place, but she was also an excellent cook. Each meal she prepared was a testament to her skill, and she always knew exactly what I needed, often anticipating my needs before I even realized them myself. I noticed how she always carried a small cloth tucked in her saree, ready to wipe away any speck of dust she encountered, while simultaneously keeping an eye on the kitchen. Her work was impeccable, and it was clear she took pride in maintaining the household to the highest standard.
Despite her efficiency and attention to detail, there was an underlying sadness about her. It was in the way her shoulders slumped slightly when she thought no one was watching, and in the faraway look in her eyes during quiet moments. I often wondered what burdens she carried, but I never asked.
Malli had a young daughter, Chinni, whom she occasionally brought to work. She was seven at that time. Unlike most people, I had a soft spot for children. Children, in general, have a unique way of tugging at my emotions. They're like a soft spot or a vulnerability for me, something I usually try to keep a distance from. Yet, there's a magic in their innocent eyes and their playful nature that never fails to bring a smile to my face. It's probably because it reminds me of my own childhood—a time when moments of joy and freedom were rare and precious.
At first, I was annoyed by the distraction, but as I watched the little girl play in the corner of the room, I felt a connection towards her. Chinni was a lively girl with big, inquisitive eyes and a constant smile that seemed to light up any room she entered. She wore simple dresses, often hand-me-downs, but they were always clean and neatly pressed. I may not be a good person inside my head, but I couldn't bear the thought of children working for their lives. Still, I controlled myself not to interfere.
One day, I found Chinni playing in the living room while Malli worked. Annoyed by the distraction, I called Malli over and shouted, "Why did you bring your daughter to work? This is no place for a child!"
Malli, usually composed, looked flustered. "Sir, I have no one to look after her at home. Since my husband passed away, it's just been the two of us. I promise she won't be any trouble."
"That's not the point," I retorted. "She should be in school, not here. Every child deserves an education."
Malli bowed her head and murmured, "We don't have the money for that, sir." I couldn't stand the thought of a child being denied an education. The next day, I enrolled Chinni in a nearby school, personally ensuring she had everything she needed. Seeing her in a uniform, excited about learning, gave me a sense of fulfillment.
"I've enrolled Chinni in a school nearby," I told Malli. "Her name for the school records will be Swapna. I'll cover all the expenses. Just make sure she attends regularly."
Malli's eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, sir. I don't know how to repay you."
"Just don't bring her here to work again," I said firmly.
Days went by, and true to her promise, Malli didn't bring her daughter to the house. However, I couldn't help but ask about her daughter from time to time. Those became the only conversations I had with Malli at my house. Most of the time, I didn't pay much attention to her presence.
One morning, I woke up early with a lot of work at the office. I left the keys in their usual place and headed out. When I returned in the evening, Malli was nowhere to be found, and the house had nothing to satisfy my hunger. It felt strange because Malli had never missed a day before.
Initially, I didn't think much of it. I assumed she might be sick or had some urgent matter to attend to. I carried on my next few days without the maid, and I realized how much I depended on her in the house. Each passing day brought with it a gradual deterioration of my once orderly home. The papers that once lay neatly stacked on my desk now littered the floor, mingling with unwashed dishes and overflowing dustbins. I brushed it off, telling myself I could handle it.
But then, one afternoon, a call came from Swapna's school. The teacher asked why she hadn't been in class for days. Panic gripped me as I tried calling Malli, only to find her phone switched off. My heart raced with worry, not for Malli, but for Swapna. Despite trying to reassure myself, the nagging feeling of unease wouldn't go away. I tried to convince myself that they must have gone somewhere, but my mind refused to rest. The thought of something happening to Swapna haunted me. Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, I made a decision—I had to go to Malli's village and find out what was going on, no matter the cost.
As I arrived at Malli's village, the villagers initially seemed friendly, offering to help me find her. But when I mentioned Malli's name, their smiles faded, and they quickly left without a word. The villagers were tight-lipped, and whispers of dark rumors reached my ears. They claimed Malli practiced black magic and was responsible for her husband's death. I denied all their remarks and, determined to find Malli and Swapna, I pressed on.
At the end of the village, I spotted a small hut. Despite my apprehensions, I decided to try my luck and approached it. But what I found there shattered me to the core— Malli's lifeless body lay at the entrance. My heart sank as I saw Swapna, tears streaming down her face, crying beside her mother. It was a scene that struck me deeply, filling me with a sense of sorrow and helplessness.
I had to do something. Confronting the villagers, I battled their superstitions with reason and anger.
"How could you let this happen?" I demanded. "She was a good woman, and you let her die alone!"
The villagers mumbled excuses, fear evident in their eyes. One elderly man finally spoke up, "She... she was cursed. We couldn't risk it."
"Cursed? Do you even hear yourselves? This is nonsense!" I yelled, frustration boiling over.
They eventually relented, and I took Malli's body back to the city, giving her a proper burial. Seeing Swapna in such a state broke something inside me. I saw myself in her—a child abandoned by the world, burdened with the loss of a parent. I couldn't leave her there. I decided to take her under my care, to give her the protection and support my father and uncle had tried to give me.
Back at home, Swapna was initially inconsolable. She cried for days, mourning the loss of her mother. I tried my best to comfort her, but it was a slow process. One day, I took her to visit her mother's grave. It was a somber visit, but it seemed to help. She began to accept her new reality, and gradually, she started responding to my attempts at conversation.
"Do you miss your mother?" I asked gently one evening.
Swapna nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Every day."
"I know it's hard," I said softly. "But you're not alone. I'm here for you."
Over time, Swapna and I developed a bond. I became her guardian, her protector. She reminded me of the innocent child I once was, and I vowed to give her the life my father and uncle had wished for me. It wasn't easy, but I felt a sense of purpose. For the first time in a long while, I felt I was doing something right.
© The Usual Guy
