The Lost Fragrance by Amit Dasgupta

Author:Amit Dasgupta [Dasgupta, Amit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The LOST FRAGRANCE
Publisher: SCB Distributors
Published: 2013-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty-six

Under the starless sky, the steeples of the feared castle reached for the sky like the gnarled fingers of a witch. In a large room upstairs, lit by the flickering light of a million glow-worms, a shrouded figure swathed in shadows stood by the window. He gazed at the village below, and played with the beads of the bracelet he wore around his wrist.

Many said that he had only one friend, the night.

But that was not true.

He had, in fact, two friends—the night and the starless sky.

No one really knew how old he was. Some said that he was as old as time itself. That he enjoyed eternal life, spoke in different languages, and took on different faces in different lands.

Very few had ever seen him face to face, and those who did, had never lived to tell the tale.

But word had indeed got around, in hushed whispers, that he had long and dirty finger nails, a pointed chin and crooked teeth. Some said that he was thin, almost emaciated, and yet full of evil energy. It was believed that he could move as quickly as the desert winds. His head was always covered with a hood, and his eyes shone in the dark.

It was also said that when he spoke, the words came gushing out from the deep recesses of his abdomen, gurgling and hissing. He had a serpentine tongue that travelled great distances, dripping poison-coated saliva. In his hand, word had it, he carried a magic stick, and perched on his shoulder was a one-eyed vulture. Dressed in black, he and the night consorted with the vampires and the wolves. He never slept and he knew neither rest nor death.

They said he was a double-headed serpent with a long tail that ended with the sting of the scorpion.

All this and much more were spoken of only in whispers.

Many also said that since no one really lived to tell the tale, the stories doing the rounds were grossly exaggerated. But there were others who believed in the stories and never uttered a word to anyone.

The shrouded figure turned from the window, his expression thoughtful. ‘She is finally here,’ he whispered to himself. His face was almost entirely hidden under a hood. What little could be seen was elderly.

Yet, it was an odd and horrible face.

Perhaps it was the eyes and their cold, cold stare.

Perhaps it was the double-forked tongue that flicked in and out from a mouth that looked more like an abyss.

Or, perhaps it was the evil stench that flowed out of his breath and filled the room.

His shadow detached itself from him and as it snaked up the wall with serpentine ease, it said, ‘I just came from the village where everyone is singing silly songs, and I must confess my performance as a crippled old man hobbling around with a staff was masterful!’

The shrouded figure said wryly to his shadow, ‘You did look like you were getting somewhat carried away by your performance.’

He did not wait for an answer but paced up and down the floor, looking preoccupied.

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