Janki’s Diary

Herbert was a man who took action when he needed to. A letter allowed him to go to India and work as a postmaster in the province of Siwan in Bihar. Herbert was ecstatic when he learned that his new salary was more than double what he had earned before. His only mistake was not understanding the consequences of his hasty departure from Canada and hasty arrival in India.

Herbert had been in India for more than a month, but he still had difficulty conversing with the locals, although he could speak Hindi as fluently and easily as the locals. He knew only a handful of men and only one woman, his maidservant who prepared his meals.

He went for a walk that day, which was uncharacteristic of his personality (he had never opted for a walk since he came here). God knew why he changed his mind. It seemed like he was walking forever, turning in any direction he wanted. He found himself in a deserted area after wandering for a while. A few men, all of whom were unfamiliar to him, could be seen near the young man. He looked straight ahead and saw what I thought to be a magnificent bungalow, completely white, like the Taj Mahal from an Arabian tale, and completely overgrown. Its vast garden was populated only by feral moss, grass, and stormy flowers. As a whole, the setting was exotically eerie enough to attract anyone, and he was no exception.

A huge, rusted Iron Gate greeted him as he approached it. JANKI MANSION was the name of the building on the sign. He snuck a peek and was enticed by someone’s beckoning. This heightened his desire to investigate. It creaked as it opened. One thought stopped him – ‘Why were there no birds or animals in that wild orchard, not even insects?’ He tried to go back and retrace his steps, but the same thing kept happening. He was drawn to someone’s voice. He could no longer stop himself from moving forward. He went inside the bungalow to take a look around and then he left. There was a lot of furniture and a lot of lighting. All of the surfaces were covered in long, white sheets. He removed them all and was awed by how beautiful they looked. All of them were antiques, and they were all in excellent condition. Unexpectedly, however, the wall clock’s ticking intensified, interrupting this mystifying ritual. “How was the wall clock working in a ruinous, abandoned home?” he asked himself. It was getting late, so he glanced at the clock. Now that the pendulum had stopped swinging, the clock had also stopped ticking. When he attempted a retreat, he was met with the same incident. He moved on after he heard someone’s voice calling out to him. A room full of cobwebs and paintings hung on the walls awaited him upstairs. But he couldn’t help but notice a massive picture. Beautiful woman in red silk sari depicted in a painting. There were many gold and diamond and ruby ornaments on her person. As if this picture was the reason he went there, he thought. He couldn’t help but stare at it for a long time. When he turned his head, he saw something shimmering in the distance. He walked up to it and took a look at it. I had been given a diary, a golden one. “I AM JANKI,” he read. And then, all of a sudden, the calm that had been prevailing there turned spooky. But, he had JANKI’s diary with him as he ran downstairs, out of the bungalow, and out of the gate.

Home he went, and he read it all night and all day. It took him three to four days to leave his house. He read JANKI’s diary. It was both a paradise and a hell for him, he said.

It wasn’t until the end of his stay that he returned to the bungalow. But not against his will this time. He had read about JANKI’s hidden treasure in her diary. Thanks to the diary, he now knew exactly how to get to the destination.

“What should I do, Imran chacha?” I asked.

“I don’t know anything else, Nitin, except that his body was found abandoned on the street in front of this hut the next day. The cause of death is currently unknown.” Imran Chacha, the owner of dhaba who had breakfast there replied.

“How did you learn so much? Since you said I only know the men on the list, then I am one of them.” Paused, and I asked, “Who is Gyanki?”

“Oh! She was a very kind and generous person. Many people were helped by her during her lifetime. Her handouts are still remembered. However, one aspect of her character was criticized…”

“What was that?” I asked.

“They didn’t last long, though. In her lifetime, she had married nine men, all of whom she had murdered with her own hands.”

“Why is this the case, exactly?”

“Her treasure had been stolen, and they were trying to steal it. Even though she had no children and lived for nearly ninety years, it is said that her spirit still guards her wealth.”

“Oh! It was a nice gesture on her part, I said, chuckling.

“You’re now 27 years old. This woman is still looking for a husband. You can marry her.” He mocked.

Laughing, I said, “I’ll have to think about this.” Having said this, I rose from my seat to pay for breakfast and walked home.

Herbert’s lodge was in my path, and I stood motionless in front of it as I made my way there. As soon as I saw that the gate had been left unlocked, I decided to go inside and check out the diary. Opening the door, I overcame JANKI’s apprehension and went inside. No furniture or décor could be found in the room, which was completely bare. The diary was the only thing on the table.

I took it home with me after I picked it up. I was an alone resident, so my activities were not restricted. As soon as I sat down on the couch in my study room, I began to read it. During the course of five to six hours, I read it non-stop. It was just so damn charismatic that I couldn’t bring myself to stop watching. I was still reading it at four o’clock in the evening. After I finished reading it, I put it down. Afterward, I still found myself wanting to read it again. It enticed me.

I dreamed that night. My delusion involved a man who was lying on his stomach, hands on his cheeks as if reading a book in a room. The same reverie haunted me for three to four nights. But one night, I had a more vivid dream. He lay on his stomach with his hands clasped in front of him in a dark room. Behind him, I noticed a woman wearing a traditional red silk sari with her hands raised as if about to strike him and holding a razor-sharp dagger in her right hand. She raised her hand even higher and stabbed the man, who was unable to utter a scream. He was dead. Her body twisted, and I took note of his face – it was none other than me. He was reading a golden book, Janki’s diary when she bent down and stole it.

When I awoke, I was drenched in sweat. Janki’s diary was missing from the drawer in my study.

I sat there trembling like a leaf.