Shefali
I hate women, especially those in their midlife. However, I was not born this way, neither was I brought up thus. I, Dr Amit Sharma, started hating the feminine gender in general, and those in their active sexual life in particular, say only about a year back. And how intense has it been! This is despite the fact that I know, with my high level of knowledge, it is a woman who has shown me the light of the earth. She had been kind enough to me throughout my life, yet I consider it only an aberration. If there are rules, there are exceptions.
Then what made me turn the way I am now? Let that story wait. At this point the cynics of the world might have started fancying my gruesome experience with my wife, or things in similar lines. No issues over there. At forty I am going strong as a handsome bachelor with no intention whatsoever to get married. The fact of the matter is, I have never loved a woman. Or maybe circumstances have forbidden me to nurture a romantic relationship. Only thing I enjoy is to play with their lascivious bodies, molest it, mutilate it, and finally demolish these so call flower-like beings.
Rape? I despise the term. I consider rapists an impotent bunch who use force to have sex with a female. Yet I practically rape them although technically I’m not a rapist. I make love with their free will. Of late it has become my passion as well as profession. I trap and tempt the society ladies with my built-in charm. I’m fortunate on that account. I am tall with a manly figure, and with a judicious mix of tan on my fair skin. My sharp features and eyes still carry that knowledgeable reflection in spite of having given up my career as an assistant professor of sociology. I can entice and win the females with my look, talk and amiability.
Many females in the higher society are lonely in spite of having money in plenty. Reasons can be varied. I don’t care whatever these are. All I care is to make love to them while hating them intensely. They do so willingly. So, technically I can’t be called a rapist. They offer me money- plenty of it. Technically I’m not a gigolo either. They don’t pay for my service. They pay it out of love, and they wish that I remain a lifelong partner to them.
At this point I differ from others. I make sex only once with a female as an emblem of hatred. After it I demolish her and let her go to the other world. You call it murder, but I call it supreme gratification. I help them die in the most sublime manner without a trace of evidence left for the police. I call the entire process an ‘operation’.
So long I have performed three such operations with clinical precision in this one year. I think it wise to let the last case settle and thaw before I start with my next case. I have changed my name. Let Dr Amit Sharma stay in peace as an academician. I am Punit Jaiswal these days. I am known as one in export and import business in the society, and I keep changing place to be on safer side.
*****
This evening I am on with my fourth operation. The ‘candidate’ today is Ms Shefali Naik, a fair lady on the plumper side in her late thirties. She has something to do with the technical side of film industry, or that’s what she told me. She is married to a film producer, but her husband seemingly doesn’t give a damn to keep her company. I came into her contact a month back in a party in a hotel at Bhopal. They are shooting some movie over there. Shefali has been an easy prey. She fits the bill. She is lonely, she has the means, and she fell for me after a few meetings. As I explained my ‘urgent need’ for some fund to be disbursed to a trader called Amit Sharma (my original name) she didn’t blink an eyelid before giving me a cheque of five lakh rupees in the name of the person. We met in isolation a couple of times, but I restrained myself from love making. It is my modus operandi. I acquire full confidence of my candidate, and full monetary dues before I jump into any operation.
She has been benevolent enough to select the venue herself. It is a farmhouse of one of her acquaintances, a little away from Bhopal City. I appreciate the location. It has got three to four rooms amongst a sprawling orchard and a small water pool. The rooms, though old fashioned, are equipped with modern amenities. At least it is so for the room we are in now. TV set, air conditioner, refrigerator, intercom, Wi-Fi, and so on. I’ve noticed three other persons in the farmhouse who comprise the caregiving force over here. Some or other is available anytime on call. I’m sure they will make themselves invisible after sometime and leave us with our much needed solitude.
We’ve reached here about an hour back at this place. We were received with water and coffee by a stout looking middle aged woman in white saree. Now it is quarter past eight in the evening. Four lights have lit the room. All of them are covered with ground glass shades thereby emitting a soft and dim light, somewhat like a moonlit night. It adds a romantic ambience to the room. I must admit Shefali has a refined choice.
And it is evident from the elegance she is dressed. I am sitting on a sofa enjoying my scotch with fried cashew nuts and roasted chicken. Shefali is reclining over a side pillow while her legs dangle at the side of the bed. The milk white bed provides a sharp contrast to her magenta-colour frill evening-gown that is exposing her cleavage and a part of her voluptuous, strikingly fair thighs. She is holding a glass half-filled with red wine balanced delicately within three fingers of her right hand, and a cigarette held as delicately with a pair of fingers of her left. All her fingers have manicured almond shaped nails painted in light pink. She has a round face and her curls are dangling around her shoulder. Her bright eyes are looking at me invitingly.
‘Looks like a bed scene from some Bollywood movie,’ I muse, and wonder whether she does set designing. ‘She must’ve tried her luck as an actress and failed,’
“Why don’t you come to the bed, Punit?” Shefali has a lewd voice.
“Just joining you, darling,” I reply rather calmly sipping my drink. Whereas I am aroused I am still planning the intricacies of the operation. After having a go at her I’ll have to take her to a lonely spot in a drugged condition and kill her in cold blood, and finally have to dispose her body off in the most unsuspecting manner. Disposing the body off is the most important part of the operation. I possibly will not chance it today. These server guys can prove to be the witnesses later on. In my earlier operations I killed and got rid of the bodies as per the situation demanded; but at the first possible opportunity. In this case it is better I wait for a better chance. Still I have to do it sooner than later. I am not one to make her enjoy. I am here to punish her.
I finish my glass, and step on the bed. She opens her arms at me keeping her glass and cigarette stub aside. I am about to embrace her tightly when I hear a soft rustle behind me. I turn back and look at the wall. A greenish smoke is being gathered at a spot near it. The rustling sound increases a bit, though soft still. It surprises me. I get up on the bed in my pyjama set that I was planning to remove subsequently.
The smoke has become a mix of green and light yellow now, and is taking a definitive shape. I look at it intently. It is taking a human shape….a female shape…..and a shape known to me! It is Arundhati, my last ‘candidate’! It advances a little and settles there. Her face is more conspicuous now. It is Arundhati, clad in some white attire that I am not able to make out. It can be an old fashioned sari or some modern outfit, but I am not sure. Her face is, however, distinctive with her pockmarks.
Is it possible for dead to come back? My head feels blank. I can’t take my eyes off Arundhati. She starts talking with a mild nasal intonation. “Why did you kill me, Punit? What harm did I bring you? I only loved you.” Arundhati has a sad smile on her face. I see no trace of vengeance in her large eyes.
Yet I feel week and dizzy. I’ve never believed in ghosts and other super natural stuff. Yet I perspire profusely despite the comfort of the air conditioner in this sultry March night.
“What the hell are you talking of?” I shout in a desperate voice. It sounds shaky. “I never killed anybody.”
“Whom are you talking to?” Shefali calls me from my behind. I have completely forgotten of her presence in my present state of bafflement.
I turn around to face Shefali. She is sitting on the bed with a quizzical expression on her face.
“Didn’t you see it?” I ask her, still shaking.
“See what?”
“See Aru….I mean a female talking to me?”
“That’s a bad joke to play on me, Punit,” she has a fib complaining voice. “How can you see another female when a lady in full bloom is waiting for you so eagerly?”
“I’m not joking, Shefali,” I reply rather gruffly, contrary to my velvety manner. “She is still there. Look!” I turn towards the wall.
But this time around there is nothing over there. A lizard on the wall makes a clicking sound as if to rebuke me.
“But believe me, she was there just a while back,” I say desperately to Shefali.
“Come on, Punit,” Shefali pulls me and rests my head on her lap. “It must be the nerves due to overwork. A little rest is going to settle everything.” She ruffles my hair tenderly.
‘Can it be the scotch?’ I wonder. But I haven’t taken more than two pegs. With this dose my brain works even better. ‘Possibly Shefali is right. Maybe I am a tad overstressed, or pondering too much about my past operations.’
I try to go into a slumber, but it eludes me.
