Short fiction: In this Khasi story, a man’s obstinate pursuit of her rattles a young woman

Nestled amidst our rugged hills, we Khasis possess a wealth of words, each crafted to capture the very essence of rain. Here in Sohra, our astute locals effortlessly summon eight or nine distinct names, tailored to the rain’s myriad manifestations. Whether encountered amid the enchanting depths of our lush forests or upon the rugged slopes of our majestic hills, or even within the intimate sanctuaries of our homes, each and every rain bears a name inscribed in the intensity of its downpour.

Ah yes, the roofs once thatched and singing with rustic melody, are now suffocated by the cold embrace of tin, cement, and plastic – a poignant reminder of the changing tides of time.

Diangtimai Swer, a lone figure in the shadows of Nongsawlia, awaited the bewitching hour, her sanctuary a mere stone’s throw from the imposing Irrigation Office where she toiled. As 4.30 approached, the sky unleashed its fury.

While she waited, anticipation brewed like a storm within her, mingling with the awe-inspiring spectacle unfolding outside her window. The rain lashed with an unapologetic rage, as if nature was unleashing its wrath upon the earth. The heavens echoed with the bellowing of thunder followed by an assault of lightning, a silver sword tearing the very fabric of the sky.

Four moons had quietly passed since her departure from Sonapahar, where she had devoted two years of her life. It marked a significant transition, bidding farewell to familiar walls and a comforting routine. Before Sonapahar, Lyngngam had been her sanctuary for two and a half years, its embrace now a distant memory fading into the shadows of her past.

As a solitary woman, Diangtimai embraced a vibrant life, undeterred by the distance from her family, although she treasured her monthly visits home. Her role as a UDA bloomed with purpose, surrounded by kindred spirits from her workplace and gentle souls from the church.

Generous visitors to her office gifted her vibrant pumpkins, wild vegetables, and yams, inspiring her to explore their flavours. She also discovered that the wild varieties surpassed the mundane market produce, infusing her dishes with authentic and tantalising tastes with flavours that danced upon her tongue like whispered secrets.

The sudden arrival of a Bolero outside her veranda shattered the tranquillity of her thoughts, its presence an unwelcome intrusion into her sanctuary. Pherbak, a contractor with ties to Nongjadu, swept into her space with an urgency that hinted at concealed intentions.

This man of means, with a home to call his own and three children pursuing education in distant Shillong, often graced her office with his presence. His small talk masked a deeper agenda while his “gifts” veiled a hidden motive. Diangtimai, however, stood firm, gracefully declining his offerings of umbrellas, handbags, shawls, and fruits, refusing to be entangled in his web of deceit.

In the span of four months in Nongjadu, his presence loomed like a recurring nightmare, haunting her sanctum with each of his ten visits. His persistent desire to accompany her on journeys to Shillong or Sohra spoke volumes about his intentions.

On this fateful day, Bah Pherbak descended from his vehicle with an air of determination, his footsteps echoing with the weight of unspoken threats. As he invaded the main office room before intruding upon her sanctuary, a chilling sense of foreboding settled over her like a shroud.

“Kong Diang,” he murmured, his voice dripping with false concern. “The rain shows no mercy. Allow me to escort you home.”

“It’s unnecessary,” she countered, her tone resolute. “The storm has passed, and I am adequately prepared.”

“Why do you persist in rejecting my kindness?” he implored, his facade crumbling to reveal the venomous truth beneath. “Do you not see me as human, deserving of your compassion?”

“Bah Pherbak,” she retorted, her words laced with steel, “you know precisely the boundaries I have set. I want no part in your charade, and that is final.”

“You dare to spurn me like an animal!” he erupted, his rage igniting like a blaze. “Mark my words, you will regret the day you crossed me!” With that, he stormed away, leaving behind a trail of malevolence in his wake.

In a flurry of emotions, Diangtimai departed from her workplace, her steps heavy with unresolved tension. The echoes of her exchanges with Pherbak reverberated in her mind, filling her soul with despair and helplessness.

Returning to the solitude of her dwelling, she sought solace in the familiar routines of domesticity. Yet even as she cooked and cleaned, the spectre of Pherbak loomed large, casting a shadow over her every action.

With the night settling like a heavy blanket, she reached out to her mother in a desperate bid for comfort. Their conversation, though soothing, offered only temporary respite from the turmoil within.

After the weight of the day had settled upon her weary shoulders, Diangtimai sought refuge in the sanctuary of her bed. The darkness enveloped her like a shroud as she lay upon her linens, her mind swirling with tumultuous thoughts. Slowly, she succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep, her consciousness drifting away into a sea of restless dreams.

“How dare you intrude upon my sanctum, Bah Pherbak?” Diangtimai’s voice trembled with a mixture of shock and indignation as she confronted the unwelcome visitor lurking in the shadows of her doorway.

Pherbak’s response was a chilling whisper that slithered through the air like a serpent’s hiss. “You think I’m an animal, do you not? Then let me show you the extent of my savagery.”

Diangtimai awoke from her fitful slumber, her heart racing with fear. The first light of dawn filtered through her window, casting long shadows across her room as she struggled to compose herself.

Summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, Diangtimai rose from her bed and stepped into the cold light of morning. And there, on the steps leading up to her home, her gaze fell upon a sight that froze her blood in its veins…wrapped around a crimson wildflower like a sinister embrace, lay the skin of a serpent!

Excerpted with permission from ‘Ka Diangtimai’ by Desmond L Kharmawphlang, translated from the Khasi by Ellerine Diengdoh in The Greatest Stories from the Northeast Ever Told, edited by Jobeth Ann Warjri, Aleph Book Company.