Suspense Short Story – Habits Die hard
Photo credit: imelenchon from morguefile.com
Radhakrishnan was a man of habit. Yes! Everyday he got up at 7 am. Everyday he left for office at 8.30. Everyday he broke for lunch at 1.00pm . And everyday he caught the 6.05 bus back home and watched TV till 10 pm. For him life was a routine. A routine, which had left him at 40, a lonely, introverted man with no reason to enjoy life.
But he had a hour of happiness every Saturday. Every Saturday he used to leave is house at 3.00pm. Take the Paharpur bus at 3.15. Get down at Paharpur depot. Then he would walk north. Through the lanes of the old city. On his way he would stop to have a paan and buy a cigarette. His next stop was at the sweet shop to buy two pieces. Armed with paan in his mouth and the small sweet box strapped with rubber bands he would enter Rani madam’s whorehouse at 3.45.
Everyone in the brothel knew him. He was Rammi’s man. Everyone waited for him. So did Rammi. Radhakrishnan had become of a habit in the Rani madam’s house. He was like the girls, soulless objects of enjoyment . Like the boys who cleaned the room after every encounter and dumped the used condoms in the drain. Like the rats that fed on those condoms. He was as much a routine in the life of Rani Madam’s whorehouse as his life itself. He would climb up the steps and knock gently on Rammi’s door.
Rammi knew the knock. She could tell the time of the day by the knock It was 3.50 pm.
And exactly at 4.50 pm. Radhakrishnan would walk out of the door, his clothes impeccable as ever. What they did in that one hour was a mystery. Rammi never told anyone. Only to her sister Pammi. They were twins and shared every gory detailed in life. But not that one hour which was Radhakrishnan time.
It had been nearly 5 years from the day Radhakrishnan had walked into Rammi’s room. And except two months in that 5 years, when his company had sent Radhakrishnan to Jammu, he had never ever missed a Saturday?
It was on one such Saturday when Radhakrishnan had stepped out of the bus. He walked on the street. He came to the cigarette shop but it was closed. “That’s strange” he felt. Was anything wrong? He bought his paan from the next shop and politely enquired about his favourite paan shop guy. “He died yesterday” said the new panwallah. He suddenly felt a bit unnerved. Radhakrishnan turned the corner and stopped in front of the sweet shop, still disturbed. As he was about to enter, he released that it was closed too. There was a small notice. The sweet shop owner had died.
Radhakrishnan felt his heartbeat rising. Something is definitely wrong today. He started to walk faster. He entered the brothel and rushed up the stairs. He had a strange feeling. “ I hope Rammi is okay” it said. He reached the second floor and knocked on the door.
“One minute”, a voice said from inside.
“This is not her”. Radhakrishnan was breathless. Someone came out of the room. It was Pammi. It suddenly hit him. He knew the truth. Rammi had died, just like the panwalla and the sweet shop owner. His head started spinning. And then he blacked out.
As Radhakrishnan came back into the world, he found many faces looking at him. “Are you okay”. It was a familiar voice. It was Rammi. “What happened” she asked?
Radhakrishnan was overcome with relief. She was okay. As he tried to get up and grasp her, he felt a pain. A sharp pain in his chest. It’s a pain of happiness he thought. But it increased and as he was about to hold her, he fell backwards. Everything became black.
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