these tears are going to cost him

© 2024 Puja Goyal

Chapter 1: THE WEEPING WILLOW

Summer air hung heavy without the scent of rain. Newspapers spoke about the impact of climate change and scarcity of water.  The streets were lined with skeletal trees; their leaves fell like crumbled paper. There were no shadows under which Aranya could take cover. She watched thirsty feral breathing fiercely looking for cover. At the heart of the city stood an ancient cemetery, its weathered headstones bearing the names of generations long gone. She approached the cemetery and waited at the bus stop for the kin of the deceased to leave. They watched her curiously. 

“Haven’t seen you at the condolences. You know him?” Asked one, as he watched tears rolling down her eyes.

“I’m not sure.” Said Aranya, wiping her face with the back of her palm and clutching to her bag, her heart heavy with grief. “I would need some alone time.”

As the family departed, the stranger hugged Aranya and departed leaving her a white rose stem, to pay her condolences. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she approached a weathered tombstone, its inscription barely legible.

“Dad” Aranya whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I miss you. I need you to tell me right now, that everything will be okay.”

It had been three years since her father’s passing. She hadn’t visited his grave since. Like an open wound that refused to heal; she knelt beside her father and wept. It wasn’t her father she was weeping about; but rather the sequence of events that led her to his grave. She felt a strange sensation wash over her, as though someone—or something—was watching her from the shadows. Ignoring her surrounding, Aranya let out a strong, menacing howl. She grabbed the soil on the ground and scratched the surface, ripping her nails out furiously. A gust of dead hot air, sept over her, causing the feral to wake up and surround her inside the cemetery; joining her in her grief. 

“Aranya,” a voice whispered from the tall branch of the banyan tree. “These tears, are going to cost him.”

Aranya stopped crying, looked up from where the voice came. The cemetery was empty except for the graves. The tree was morose and the only green standing. The sentinels now alert, stood surrounding her with the object of protecting her from harms way. 

Chapter 2: THE HAUNTING

That night, as Aranya stuffed her face with a pillow and cried, the events of the day, weighed on her. She had believed him. She had believed him to be true to her.

That wretched day, he had opened every single wound she had entrusted him with, left her in dire straits to fend for herself, along with a little child waiting to be born. Aranya tears had caused the baby to come early; and breath its last on the bathroom floor.  Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling of her loss, or the abject disregard and bullying she was subject to, towards the end. She remembered how she paced in her room at nights, watching a dead wall staring at her. Waking up with a start, damaged, and hallucinating with flashes; listening to his voice in the dark. 

“These tears, are going to cost him.” She remembered.

She sat at the edge of her bed, eyes red, fingers shivering, watching the bed lamp; as it crackled and burst, startling her. Something was wrong since she had visited the grave. Her mother had warned her in the past that any visit to the dead should end with a cold shower to wash off the energy.

As she slept, she was plagued with restless dreams; of Varun’s friends  laughing at her misery and pulling her teeth out. They chased her through the alley, surrounded her, throwing mud. “I can’t protect you anymore, I got to look out for myself.” Varun said as he let go of her hand, standing with the rest. He took a matchstick as another doused her with kerosene, flicking the burning match onto her.  Aranya ran across the street, her skin burning under the moonlight. Asking passerby’s for help as the troupe stood watching her with a grimace on their face. Varun scoffed. Aranya could hear the sound of a weeping newborn through her window like a mournful lament. 

When she awoke, she found herself drenched in sweat. Her heart pounding inside her chest and face sullen with starvation. Her hand, however, was soaking with blood. Gasping for breath, wanting to get rid of the stains, she stood up and glanced around her room. She wiped her hand on a towel. The glass mirror cracked in front of her. She backed into the wall and stood still. The room was empty except for a faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. 

She made her way to the washroom, and stood under the shower. She couldn’t shake the feeling of the graveyard or the sequence of events that led her to it. Her eyes swollen with the crying, ached under the water. What was she going to do now?

Chapter 3: A FATHER’S CURSE

“Hey…. Aranya, where the fuck are you?” Said Smriti over the phone.

“Hmm.” Replied Aranya, as she woke up. Her washroom door was ajar, towel lying on the floor. Aranya looked at her hands and pulled the sheets up her head.

“Bro, are you there? Did you hear…. its been a week. Where are you?”

“Hmmm… Don’t call me. Fuck off.” said Aranya.

“Look… wait… don’t dump the phone on me okay…  did you hear…”

“WTF!! Smriti.. hear what, huh??? Hear what???… What do you want, huh? STOP CALLING ME, GO DIE!!”

“Preesha died.”

“How?”

“She was found in a pool of blood, her eyes gorged out and tongue eaten.”

Aranya disconnected the line and sat still on her bed. People whispered about the curse that plagued the city. A curse born of sorrow and grief was difficult to revert.

Aranya carried grief inside her chest as she walked towards the newspaper stand, looking at Preesha’s face on the second page. She was wearing the same outfit the day she walked away with Varun. 

“You want the paper?” Asked the vendor as Aranya watched, her eyes fixed on Preesha’s image; munching on a burger, spilling ketchup on her shirt. “You can not read if you don’t pay.” The vendor said firmly. 

Preesha was the second from the group. Anuj was found burnt; his ashen body lying under the skeletal tree, with his eyes fisted inside his hand, hanging from the branches. 

Everyone in their college spoke in hushed tones during class; fearful of who was going to be next. No one dared to speak aloud of the victims, lest they be next. As Aranya walked into the class, no one noticed her. The girl who always received hushed gossip after she was mocked by Varun at the college inter-competition, was now yesterday’s news.

They spoke about the loss of both Anuj and Preesha and how this could have conspired. They spoke about the screams they heard at night in the dormitory. “These tears will cost him.” A student whispered. 

Aranya refused to believe in superstitions. She was a rational girl. However, these words she thought were only known to her. She couldn’t ignore it. The college was cursed with grief. Her Grief. 

Chapter 4:  THE PACT

Aranya watched the lecturer write notes on the board. She saw the chalk jar standing on the edge of the table where he usually kept it. She thought about her dream. She ran across the street, in flames, dashed into a bus as it sped over her. She watched Varun watch her from the sidelines with a smirk on his face; as the chalk jar fell face down from the table, waking her up from her reverie. 

“Aranya?? ARANYA!!” Called the Lecturer twice; as she got off her chair and walked out of the class in haste. 

Determined to uncover the truth, and stop the next accident from happening, Varun ran towards the library, pouring over dusty old books and newspaper clippings, piecing together fragments of the past and hearsay, from superstitions to curses, in an attempt to make sense of what was happening. The more he learned, the more he realised it was better left buried. 

“Dear,” said the librarian. “What is it you are searching for?” 

“Ma’am… Mrs. Rao. I was …. You mustn’t think I’m crazy….”

“Why? I wouldn’t know if you’re crazy till you tell me.” She smiled.

“Our college seems to be haunted. Streeties howl at night, birds are falling from the skies. Trees lie barren. It seems so sullen and stuffy. Can grief curse you?” 

“Sometimes, painful emotions get manifested forever inside people; the energy is so strong that it creates a curse for all those involved in it, there is a saying that tears will always be repaid. Who did you hurt?”

Varun was taken aback. 

“It’s just…” three of my friends have died recently… and… I didn’t hurt anyone. “”

“So you want to borrow the book?” Asked Mrs. Rao. “I have to close for lunch.”

Varun made his way home from the library, his palms sweat profusely as he clung onto his bike. He remembered. He thought. It flashed.

A large chocolate cake filled with ice cream was on the menu. Preesha and Anuj stood behind the door to surprise Aranya. The confetti blasted off the gun as Aranya entered. Varun stood holding the cake in his hand. SURPRISE. They said, as she blew the candles and cut the cake. Raspberry flowed out of the middle of the cake. They took large chunks of the cake and smashed them on Aranya’s face, wiping their hands all over her body. Laughing at her. “Its a birthday prank.” She thought, as Anuj tied a trail of crackers to the back of her skirt, lighting it before she could wipe her eyes off the cream and notice it. She ran out of the classroom, into the field, frightened, alone, as they watched her. Laughed. Varun stood holding Preesha’s hand. The Gardener picked the hose and doused her with water to extinguish the fire. The next day, the troupe was suspended. “I’m sorry for the prank. We didn’t know it would escalate. And… I’m with Preesha now. We have been talking last few months… so..” Varun texted.

Varun stopped at the street signal, looking at his watch as he was approached by a stranger – a tall, imposing figure, cloaked with a shadow; blocking his path. 

“Varun,” he said, his voice low and melodious. “I’ve been searching for you.”

Startled, Varun stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Who are you?” He demanded, his voice trembling with fear, recognising Aranya’s father’s voice from the days he would speak with him over the phone.

The stranger smiled, holding the bike, a slow, predatory grin that sent shivers down his spine. 

Varun’s blood ran cold as he realized the truth — he was cursed with a father’s grief for his daughter.

“What do you want from me?” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The stranger’s smile widened, his eyes glittering with malice. “I have a proposition for you, Varun,” he said. “When the signal turns red again, you must ride your bike through it.”

Varun recoiled in horror. “I will not,” he spat with defiance.

The stranger’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold fury. “Very well,” he said, his voice like ice. “Your refusal will not save you. Her tears are going to hurt you.”

With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving Varun alone between the honking cars.

Chapter 5: THE SACRIFICE

Aranya’s college descended into chaos, grief and despair. She knew that she had to do something, that she couldn’t stand idle while the darkness consumed everything she held dear.  Gathering her courage, she set out to confront the source of the curse, determined to put an end to the suffering once and for all. With each step she took, she could feel the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders, the burden of responsibility heavy upon her heart. She was hurt, she was grieving, she was devastated, but she didn’t seek to harm. 

As she approached her father’s grave, she could hear the sound of weeping echoing through the trees, a mournful chorus rising from the earth. With a sense of dread gnawing at her insides, she pressed on through the trees, with their branches twisted like the fingers of corpse. 

Varun searched for Aranya at their hangouts. Finally, he reached Matteo’s. In the center of the street stood the stranger, his eyes ablaze with malevolent fury as he chanted dark incantations in a language long forgotten. The stranger then let out a loud screech, the wailing of the demons bursting out of him. Varun watched with dread as he stood at the cafe side. Passerby’s walked by him, oblivious of the stranger. 

“Papa. I am with grief, and so are you, but you must let go, or your grave will forever be cursed. And the tree that shelters your stone will never bear fruit.” She knew that she had to stop him, no matter the cost. Summoning all of her strength and courage, she confronted her father, her voice ringing out clear and true. “Stop!” she cried, her eyes blazing with determination.

The stranger laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that sent chills down his spine.

“You disobeyed me,” he sneered.

“What power do you think you have against me?” replied Varun, challenging him.

With a primal scream of rage, the stranger unleashed his hidden strength, channeling the very essence of his being into a blast. Varun dashed into a delivery boy. Spilling the package and falling over the cake that dropped out of it. He dashed into the crossroad as a passenger bus, gearing up to start, crashed into him as the signal turned green. Varun lay under the wheels, cake spread across his face.

A soft breeze blew across the grave as the pup slept on Aranya’s lap. 

“It is over.” She thought. “Thank you, Papa.”

Though the scars of the past would always remain, Aranya knew she was safe, and her father protected her from the grave. 

THE END