It started raining again. The monsoons seemed endless. Elena had been in Darjeeling for two months now. The thick fog, the damp air and hours without electricity were her constant companions. Her new job at the college was her first. Fresh out of University, she had opted for Darjeeling. The change from the sunny Coochbehar was abrupt. New place, new culture, new language – it was beginning to dampen her spirits. The gloomy weather provided no cheer to her.
The kind nuns who ran the college had accommodated her at the college hostel. One of the oldest British structures in Darjeeling, it was an imposing building. Built in 1847, the stone edifice and the corrugated roof were straight out of a Gothic novel.
As she walked back from college, Elena wasn’t too keen on spending the extended weekend in the hostel. The girls had all gone for a trip to nearby Gangtok accompanied by the teachers. Elena couldn’t go because she had to finish her corrections of the University answer scripts. So it was just her and a few Sisters in the hostel. Usually the girls with their ceaseless antics would keep her occupied.
The rain pick up its pace as she reached the gates of the building. The watchman greeted her and said that he would lock up and retire to his quarters. As she stepped inside the hallway, Elena shivered. The hallway was silent. So she went straight to the kitchen to ask the cook for a cup of tea. The cook was waiting for her and obliged her with a warm cup of ginger tea.
“Won’t you go home, mam?”, the cook enquired.
“No, I have lot of work to complete this weekend, so I’ll be spending the weekend here,” replied Elena.
“Well, the dinner is ready so you can warm it later. I am off for today but I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
Elena slowly drank her tea and reminisced about what she had heard about the hostel building. It started as a novitiate for the nuns but had seen several changes over the century. At one time, during the Second World War, it had served as a convalescent home for injured soldiers. Darjeeling had always been at the crossroads of history. Being a student of history, Elena had been fascinated about this British hill station. She ultimately wanted to do her research on the history of Darjeeling during the Second World War.
She walked up the old wooden stairs to her room upstairs. The sisters occupied the West wing while the students and teachers were all on the East Wing. Tonight, Elena realised how quiet the corridor felt without the students. The footsteps echoed the polished teakwood floor as she walked towards her room. There were lot of rooms on this wing but some were never used. The hostel accepted only a handful of students due to the lack of personnel. The recent political upheaval in the hills had driven away many students. Her room was at the end of the corridor near the huge bay window.
She looked out and saw the same landscape as she had seen for the last many weeks. Dull grey fog with rain falling down the eaves, the rush of water on the drainpipes and tall pine trees standing like sentinels against the darkening sky. Friday evenings had never felt so lonely.
As she changed into her warm clothes and got into bed, she thought of reading something before she went down for dinner. There were still a couple of hours left before the nuns came down for their meal. She took out an old book about the history of Darjeeling and soon was lost in the maze.
A loud clap of thunder woke her from her slumber; she had dozed off while reading the book. The room was dark, a power cut again. The rain continued unabated. Elena always kept a packet of candles near the bedside table. She quickly lit one and looked at the time, it was near midnight. The thought of walking down the dark corridor to the cold kitchen downstairs didn’t appeal to her. So she took out a packet of biscuits to satisfy her craving for food.
As her eyes got used to the familiar in the room, her ears got attuned to the sounds outside. The droplets of water on the roof, the gusts of wind on the panes. Somewhere a window banged shut, someone had left it open. She could imagine the warden scolding the errant student. Then as she slowly munched on her biscuit, she heard an unmistakable cough. A long spluttering cough. A cough that refused to give up, a dry choking staccato sound in the silence of the hallway.
Elena was startled. It was an unmistakeably male sound. Maybe the nuns had a late night visitor, or a sick person who needed shelter for the evening. Sometimes people from the neighbouring parish came to ask for help, for medicine. Usually the sisters helped till the person could be carried to the hospital the next morning.
She drank a glass of water and prepared to settle for the night. But the sound of the cough bothered her. Try as she might she couldn’t sleep. She tried reading again but her thoughts wandered. She heard door open and slow footsteps sounded on the corridor. The visitor was also having a sleepless night. Then the coughing started again. The sound travelled through the stillness of the corridor, the rain has ceased to a hush. The candle glowed steadily. She got up to open her door to check on the visitor.
As she opened the door, a cool breeze made her candle splutter. She cupped it one hand and stepped out. As she gazed down the corridor, she couldn’t see clearly. The footsteps had now reached the stairs and she could hear it plod steadily downstairs. She followed the sound and it seemed as it had stopped at the foot of the stairs, unsure the layout of the house. The cough started again, the dry rasp of a throat in need of water. Elena knew the nuns couldn’t hear anything on the West wing. She had to do something.
“Hello, who is it?” she called out, “Please wait, I’m coming to help.”
She quickened her pace and reached the top of the stairs. As she peered through the dim light of the candle, she could make out a figure at the bottom of the stairs. She was sure it was a man as he was wearing a long coat and a muffler.
“Do you need help?”, she asked. He didn’t reply but slowly turned towards her. She gasped! His entire face was covered in bandage, except for his mouth. He was in uniform, she could make out the stripes on the coat, a war soldier! Elena ’s hand shook in fear, a cold sweat covered her forehead. Her every cell screamed in silent terror. The visitor started to walk up the stair. His mouth formed words but Elena could hear only his cough. She was momentarily paralysed.
As he coughed gain, she woke from her trance and started to walk backwards to her room. With every step the visitor took, she managed to quicken her steps towards her room. She walked the longest walk of her life backwards. She entered her room and bolted the room, thanking the builders for the strong deadbolt behind the door.
The coughing reached a hoarse crescendo and the knockings started on her door. She could feel the urgency and the desperation in the visitor. She covered herself in her blanket and prayed. For a immeasurable time, Elena ’s mind went through a gamut of emotions. Shock, dread, panic and horror. Her body trembled continuously. Finally, she heard the rain start again. A strong heavy downpour that drowned the sound of the coughing. She covered her ears with the hands.
The rain stopped just before dawn as the early birds started chirping. The faint rays of the morning reached the windows and Elena heard the muezzin call from the faraway mosque. Soon, it was light enough to see outside. The landscape remained unchanged.
“Knock, knock”. Her door banged with the sound. She screamed.
“Elena Mam, it’s me, the cook. I’ve brought tea for you”.
Many years later, Elena would look in to mirror and smile a rueful smile. She had applied for sick leave after the incident and never gone back. She changed her job more closer to home. But the mirror never failed to remind her of the night visitor.
When Elena finally opened door for the cook, the cook had exclaimed in surprise. Elena had developed a streak of white hair just above her forehead. A long lock of hair which had turned to show white overnight.
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