A vile entry  

Let me tell you about an incident when a fellow was swallowed by a pattern. Now, some of you readers may raise your brows and say ‘surely that is a fantasy’. I assure you it is real, and I will vouch for it. You may not be convinced so let me narrate as to what really happened so that you can decide on the veracity of my claim. It so happened I was walking through the shaded lane paralleling the backwater, popular with the tourists; an array of restaurants and coffee shops invited them with offseason attractive discounts. After raining heavily for last few days the winter monsoon that swept from the mainland seems to have subsided. The bright sun lit the back water and ignited the drops trapped in all the cervices, on the grass, between the branches and clinging the swaying fronds. I was standing at the arbor crossing keenly witnessing school of little fishes that congregated through the hyacinths plucking the rotting jackfruit. They were like faint waves alive in its action. The fellow at the coffee shop called out to me. He sat under the parasol fashioned like caparison on captive elephants during festivals. He was having coffee, and offered to order for me. I didn’t know him nevertheless accepted the offer. He stood in some deference as I took the bamboo chair. Let me tell you dear readers there is something about coffee that I cannot resist. I don’t know whether he noticed it or not but the reason I stood there pretending to observe the fishes was mainly to waft in the coffee. The pleasantly intoxicating aroma mesmerized my sense into stillness. I could tell from the smoky whiff from the brew that the fresh beans were roasted to perfection. You could almost taste the coffee. The fleeting floral note was just the right mix for the heavenly sip. I had already gravitated towards the shop before he called me out. The moment I sat down the frothing cup was placed. Never in my life was I so disappointed. They slaughtered the coffee by immersing it in syrupy saccharine. The sickly sweet slew my senses and I had ominous sensation of end of the world. The fellow didn't take any note of my situation. He was not even looking at me. “There is a pattern trying to murder me. Can you help? I need help”. So here I was wrenched out my senses gathering to concentrate the fellow. He was middle aged with large eyes and faint moustache in an oversized outfit that was carelessly tucked in. His large eyes pounced on me like wild feline ambushing from the dark. “The pattern that you see are alive. The horizontal that meets the vertical and then the horizontal and the vertical is a trap. It is meant to trap people”. I really couldn’t make head or tail of anything he was saying, or for that matter whether he was even talking to me. I shifted myself, the uneven bamboo poked into my body, and it hurt. “What do you mean?” I couldn’t help asking.

“They are faint to begin with but beckoning nevertheless. So you start tracing it in all earnest. Then quite unexpectedly pronounces itself with deeper lines, it annoys, and start to affect and incite your feelings. You want to escape but have no choice but follow the pattern it exhibits, and then it curves and plunges into abyss. You will have to jump into it to get over it. It keeps repeating every night. There is no escape. It is as if I have lost contact with any reality. Can you save me?” he pleaded, and for a moment he seemed alive. I listened to him intently but couldn’t comprehend his predicament furthermore the coffee was bad and had affected my attitude. I tried to extricate myself from the situation. The fellow seems to have sensed my intention. He said “You give me your phone number. I will contact you”. Sure I said, and blurted a number that I fancied for the moment. I stood up to leave as fast as I could. He punched in the number into his phone, it didn’t ring. I tried to hide my phone, but he saw it so I pretended as if I was shifting it to other hand. “There seem to be some mistake” I apologized and gave him my correct contact number. Dear reader you realize I had no choice. I thanked him for the coffee, and as I crossed the pedestrian bridge over the canal I set to block his number.

Early next morning I get a call from an unknown number, an elderly voice asked me as to who I was and whether I had seen Rajan. I told him I didn’t know any Rajan and why would I tell a stranger who I was when he was the one who is calling. I was irritated by these blunt demands. There was silence and I could hear asthmatic breathing. “Well I am sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you like this early in the morning. Rajan is missing. The last call he made was to your number. Can you please come over?” I was reluctant but he gave me the address. I made a mental note of it. It was on the other end of the town where the lake opened to the sea. The courtyard of the old house had many jungle crows that squabble and create great ruckus on seeing me. A half-naked elderly man opened the door, and hastily led me to a spacious room. “This is Rajan’s room. He was in his room yesterday night but vanished in the morning. The house is locked from inside so he couldn't have left anywhere”

“Why tell me you could call the police?” I asked as I scanned the room.

“No. He keeps vanishing like this for days. This time its different. This was first time he called someone before vanishing” The elderly man picked up the phone to show my number.

Of all the things in the room it was the bed sheet, impeccably spread and delicately tucked over the bed, that fascinated me. It had patterns that were in extreme angles and seem to cancel each other in unseen contradictions. I think I understood the pattern but was surprised by its unexpected detour and shocked as it vanish and camouflage into the surrounding. The more I look at it the more it fed into me. It enmeshed its pattern into my psyche like an indelible memory that start to grow and acquires its own life.  It hits hard and tortures when I lose concentration. It trample me for any mistakes. It is a nightmare that grows. I sensed a constant attempt at defying the natural laws in order to awe and weaken my mind. In the brightness of morning sun that fell through the ventilator the patterns on the sheet lit and revealed weird hidden formless figures that arose and disappear in strange pulsation as if the room is breathing. The pattern reminds of deep agony, of suffering, of all the souls who ever lived. It reminds you of the deceit for greed and treachery for power. It is a pattern that cannibalizes its own design. Sprouting into endless convolution like life itself. Always appearing in riveting patterns to entrap and emasculate the soul.

The slubs on the linen stared like bulbous eyes very much aware of the malicious influence it was having on me. The pattern assembled into twisted bodies and dismembered body parts. They stood around sacrificial alter in great gathering and behead people. They pour the blood to the god. Enormous blabber bellies swallowed all the offering. The hideous lurk behind the pointless conspicuous façade of rituals, and manipulate the pattern. They construct temples, mosques, synagogues, churches, and the pattern repeats itself.