Nainona

Far up north of India was a rural town nestled between two large lakes. Nainona boasted ancient, ornate bungalows peppering its lakefront jungles, each house perfectly situated on vegetative land so that it promised its homeowners a good harvest. Nainona also happened to be my favorite summer destination. Home to my grandmother’s ancestral cottage, the town was an escape from my grimy city life. I liked to spend my holidays here, away from the hustle, where I could leaf through books harboring sexy mysteries and pick fruits by the lake to juice into evening drinks.

My summers stretched into autumns in Nainona, and on the last day of my vacation, I’d bundle up my belongings for my flight back home, then spend the rest of the day at my grandmother's treehouse.

In 2009, there was a happening which made me vow to never come back.

My cousin and I were lounging in the treehouse, sun, wind and fauna playing with us. I wished to savor my last day peacefully, to mentally capture all the things I'd only revisit a year later. I had just about dozed off when my grandmother joined us in the treehouse, gathering fallen mangoes on her way up and handing them over as she sat down.

“Last day, huh? Perhaps—,” she looked at me with her large round eyes, then coughed, as if bargaining with herself on whether or not to continue. She was fiddling with the hem of her saree.

I perched up and yawned. “What’s up, Nani?”

“I suppose I should tell you the tale.”

I looked back and forth between my grandmother and cousin, smiling in amusement. “What tale?”

She took my hand and started to pull me outside wordlessly. “Come with me.”

I looked back at my cousin, perplexed, but he simply shrugged and pointed at the sky. It had turned a deep azure. I must have slept long. The three of us climbed out of the treehouse as my grandmother led the way, crossing the canal where children raced their paper boats and heading straight into the forest. I’d never ventured in this direction.

“So, about these tales. You must know these tales,” my grandmother nodded at no one in particular. “I understand that you’re going to college next year. Who knows where you’ll be next summer? Who knows where I’ll be?”

I laughed. “Nani, I’d be daft not to visit you.”

“No.” She increased her pace then, pulling me tightly behind her. Ignoring my comment, she continued, “these tales. They’re essential to this town. They preserve our traditions. They keep Nainona spoken about, respected, alive. Today, my dear child, I must tell you the tale about the bride because you simply have to know it before you leave.”

An uneasy heaviness formed in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t understand my grandmother's sudden urgency to narrate a story and understood even less why it had to be in the forest. Where were we headed anyway? And why was my grandmother behaving so… unlike herself?

I glanced behind only to find my cousin staring at his feet as he followed silently, and I deduced immediately that they both knew what was going on. Whatever it was, I didn’t like the feel of it. At all. “Nani? What story? Who’s this bride and why are you acting so strange?”

My grandmother stopped dead in her tracks and spun around. “You need to know what you mustn’t forget. Nainona. Speak the name.”

“But for God’s sake, I’ll just be going to college next year, why would I forget—,”

“Hush, child. Come.”

My heart was pounding now. Something felt morbidly out of place, and all I could think of was the many ways in which people died when they encountered cults in the wild. Before I could form another sentence, my grandmother pointed to a clearing by a boulder that was lit up by glowing embers, then grinned wide.

“You’re scared shitless, sis!” my cousin erupted into peals of laughter. I stared at him, baffled, then turned to my grandmother. She joined him in a hearty chuckle and patted my shoulder, mouthing “sorry”.

“You tricksters!” I punched my cousin and gave my grandmother a gentle squeeze. “What the hell was all that about?”

“Well, you’re leaving for college next year, no doubt,” she laughed. “We’ve set up a bonfire for your final night here, until, well, God knows when you're back.” She pulled me into a warm hug and went on, “we have marshmallows and chai set up by the pit. It’s a special way to celebrate your upcoming final year of school, and I know you love camping and scary stories, so let’s just say this was our…setup? Surprise? Whatever you want to call it.”

“Marshmallows! We’re doing marshmallows tonight!” my cousin ignored us and ran towards the fire.

I exhaled then, shook my head, and pulled my grandmother into another hug. “You are an absolute nutcracker.”

*

The last branch burst into flames and sent sparks flying into the sky.

“Okay. That was pretty mild,” my cousin muttered.

“Mild? You both would have crapped your pants had this been anything more than mild. Who doesn’t love a good story before bedtime anyway, eh?” my grandmother winked at me and handed my cousin a bowl as he popped freshly roasted marshmallows out of their skewers.

“Nani,” my cousin grumbled back. “Scary stories are meant to be scary, at the very least.”

My grandmother smiled. “You keep pretending you don’t want to hear this old woman gab, child, but the truth is you’re afraid, and you mask your fear with skepticism. You and I both know that nothing is scarier than a scary tale that is actually true.”

I bit into a lychee and looked up at her. “How do we know you’re not just making it up?”

She motioned at the wilderness around her. “The sounds at night. They won’t lie to you.”

I stared at her, not quite sure about what that meant. Somewhere in the distance, a fox howled, and my cousin sighed loudly as he leaned closer into the warmth of the fire. “Well, go on then,” he said. “Don’t let me stop you. Can we go home soon though? We have to wake up—,”

“Till this day, people swear they can hear the bride prowling in the early hours. Let me also tell you, my sweet children,” my grandmother said with a flash of her hands, “it is this very jungle in which she faced her tragedy.”

I laughed anxiously. “You’re kidding. Right?”

“I wouldn’t. Like I said, be patient. The sounds at night won’t lie to you.”

I hugged my jacket and shuddered lightly, cold from the rising chill in the air, colder yet from an irrational fear creeping inside me.

“So you’re saying,” my cousin started, “that a bride died here because her palanquin carriers were so drunk they dropped it?”

“Yeah, well, men suck,” I laughed, attempting to squash the morose mood. Palanquins had been an important conveyance in Ancient India. Brides used to sit in box-like structures while men carried them on their shoulders with poles, often as they journeyed to the groom’s house.

My grandmother stood up slowly and stretched, wagging a finger at my cousin. “Yes. She still haunts this town, going from door to door, looking for a man she never got the chance to marry. Most people are warned by her jingling bangles and lock up. The rest of us who sympathize with her… we named this town after her.”

“Nainona.”

The realization made my gut lurch. I got up to follow my grandmother as she collected the empty cups and snack wrappers and tried my best to contain the shivers. I felt my cousin stick close to my side, mumbling how it was the wedding-related banter that always scared him.

The rest of my night was dreary. In no more than thirty minutes of returning to the cottage, my cousin was soundly snoring despite the tantrums he’d thrown earlier.

I couldn’t catch a wink. In a quick act of bravery, I stole a glance at the wide-opened windows and inky night outside, daring whatever or whoever was out there to make an appearance. Immediately shutting my eyes with fright, I scolded myself for acting silly and whined loudly in an attempt to block myself from thinking of far sinister things and to awaken my cousin.

What on earth was I doing? Obviously this had all been a ruse by my mischief-loving grandmother, and it had worked.

Even though my body was sweating, I continued to clutch my blanket. Images of a young bride and her broken palanquin crossed my mind, and my brain teased me, enticed me, to think of the story just a little harder so that it could somehow manifest itself into reality. I was too scared to look now. God knows who was staring in through the window. Smiling even, perhaps.

An excruciating two hours later, my eyelids succumbed to exhaustion as they began to get heavy, and my thoughts dissolved to welcome the first waves of deep, cool sleep. I turned my back to the window, faced my cousin, and sighed softly at the glorious retreat of my insomnia.

Then my ears picked up on something that chilled my bones. My heart froze in my chest, refusing to function, and I lay stiff with panic. A sound resonated far away, almost too far to decipher correctly, but deep within me I knew what it was. And it was getting closer and closer.

It stopped. For a good thirty seconds, nothing happened. I swallowed hard and pressed my eyes shut, praying for it to go away.

Suddenly, the bangles sounded again, angry, jeering, deafening. Continuously, right outside the window behind me.