Tales of Horror by Nikesh Murali

Author:Nikesh Murali
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Prakash Books
Published: 2023-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

C h a p t e r

1

“He must meet the Black Man, and go with them all to the

throne of Azathoth at the centre of ultimate Chaos.”

H. P. Lovecraft

“The Dreams in the Witch House”

Inevitably, this pennukaanal (the pre-wedding ritual of the groom and his family visiting a prospective bride) too would end in failure for Roshan. It was also fated that someone would remark about the early onset of his baldness as a cause for the rejection.

Ramya was blunt when she confessed to him in the confines of her room that she had never found him attractive.

“I had told them when I saw your photograph initially not to bother with this visit,” she said sheepishly. “But they insisted, saying that a photograph is never a good representation of what someone actually looks like.”

Roshan pulled down his shirt, as if to shield himself from the humiliating words.

He skirted the comment to ask about her sketches on the wall.

“Well done,” he said as he got up from the rickety chair. “You must keep drawing.”

He exited the room and hurriedly ushered his stunned family members—his mother, two uncles, and a cousin—out of the residence.

As they walked towards the bus stop, he heard a hushed conversation between his maternal uncle and the marriage broker. “This is the 23rd one ending in failure. Is it possible for you to find him a suitable match, or should we get a new broker?” he said angrily.

“What can I do, sir? The ladies these days want Shahrukhs and Salmans. With a head like that. . .” the broker grovelled.

Roshan focused on the crunching gravel underneath his feet as he swept a palm across his head. He encountered thinning hair swept across the scalp in a comb-over, smooth sections where the hair was completely missing, and rough patches where dry, flaky scales crusted the surface. Over the years, he had tried many ointments (herbal and western) and pills to counter the vicious pestilence ravaging his scalp. But like a stubborn traitorous populace refusing to quell its insurrection, the condition clung to him, slowly eroding his confidence and joy.

Not that he didn’t have redeeming features. He had unblemished skin, an alluring smile that revealed perfectly straight teeth, and eyes that sparkled with intelligence. He was intelligent and held a good position at a successful accounting firm. He was also well liked by his family, colleagues, and members of society. However, despite his many admirable qualities, the women and their guardians could not look past his hair loss.

The hurt inflicted on his soul manifested as a throbbing pain in his temples. He was determined not to shed tears in front of his relatives. He would do that in his room.

As the bus stop came into view, he sensed his mother Sudha’s sad gaze on the back of his head.

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