Inside

I felt a throbbing pain in my elbow. How can one feel a pain in the shoulder when one hangs herself, I thought. 

‘Nimmi beta, what happened? I heard my father’s voice.
I opened my eyes only to see that the  ceiling had caved in and the fan had come out of the ceiling. It had not reached the ground but was dangling two feet above my head. There was a false ceiling to which it was affixed. Back then false ceiling was not much in vogue, and the kind of false ceiling which I am referring to was more of a hidden vault. I loosened the noose around my neck, switched off the pan and kept the stool on the bed and stood over it to see what was there in the attic that was concealed by the false ceiling.

‘Nimmi, why don’t you reply. I am coming up.’ My father said.
‘No. I am coming,’ I said and stepped down.

I went down and told my father that I had slipped in the bathroom. He looked worried. The creased lines on his forehead made me feel terribly guilty. I couldn’t imagine what would have been his plight if death had kissed me. Had I succeeded, I would have been guilty of strangulating him as well.
My father opened the drawer and took out the bottle of iodex kept in it. He applied it on my elbow and said, ‘You have to be careful beta. I am an old man know. You are the only purpose  of my life.’ I again felt terribly guilty. For some time, there was absolute silence. He continued caressing my hand in the hope that it would heal it. 

‘I will get something for you to eat.’ He said and staggered to the kitchen.
‘A cup of tea and a few biscuits will do.’ I said. 

He went to the kitchen, placed the tea pan on the gas and stooped a little to switch on the gas regulator. He was very meticulous about it. Always switch off the regulator he would say and get angry at me, if I left it open, which most of the times I did. I feel he too had become insecure about life like me.
‘Father, is there any attic, vault in the ceiling?’ I asked my father as he opened the container to take out biscuits from it. He stood there with the lid of the container open and cradling it as if it were a baby. His gaze turned upwards as he went into contemplation mode. 

‘We shifted here twenty years ago. We brought this house from the previous owner who was your mother’s school friend. He had built it a few years ago and had to sell the house because he had to go to the US. I don’t remember him saying anything about any attic.’ He said.

‘I will take some rest.’ I said and started climbing the stairs.
‘You have hurt yourself. Don’t exert yourself. Rest in my room. I won’t disturb you.’
I wanted to tell my father that I had hurt my elbow and not leg. The vault was intriguing me, calling me. I wanted to see what was inside it. I felt there was something in the attic that was drawing me towards it.  But I didn’t want to burden my father. I thought that the excuses which I would make to explain him how the ceiling came down, would not be convincing. Again, the rope was still lying there. Plus there was every possibility that given that I was hurt my father would come to my room, to check on me. So, I gave in and went to my father’s room. I had to be patient until the next morning, the time when I usually would be busy getting ready for my yoga class. My father would go for his morning walk at that time.

The next morning, I kept the stool over the bed and gingerly stood over it. I poked my head into the attic.  There was nothing in it except an old briefcase lying in a corner. I yanked and tried to reach the brief case. A pall of dust rose and entered into my nose and mouth giving me a bout of cough. I still kept extending my hand but couldn’t reach the box. I got down, covered my nose and mouth with a dupatta and came back with a stick. The stick reached the brief case, and it moved a little, then momentarily disappeared behind the cloud of dust. I continued and finally succeeded in reaching up to the suit case. I could hear the iron gate open. My father was back from his walk. I took the brief case and climbed down.  

That afternoon was spent in repairing the ceiling.
‘How did the ceiling come down?’ The mason asked.
I darted a glance at him.  He continued the work and didn’t pose any more questions.
In the night, when my father was in deep slumber, I took out the brief case which I had hid into the storeroom and opened it. There was a thick diary in it.  Its cover was hand painted. I  held in in my hands and reclined on the pillow. Its pages had yellowed and had that peculiar smell of old paper. My mother’s name was written on the first page with blue fountain pen. The blue ink had now slightly turned black. 

Each page bore a page number. I randomly opened the page sixty-five.
‘I know one day my daughter will read this page for she is destined to get this knowledge, which is secretly running through the family.’ It read

I was thrilled. I stood upright  and read further.
‘This knowledge is occult science. Some even call it black magic. But what is in names. It is the knowledge that matters.  By this knowledge you can  control  even the forces of nature, and change the destinies of men.’

This was followed by a series of procedures and their benefits. One of the procedure was to seduce the man of your choice by black magic.