Mahesh Rao’s new novel: A chance of romance between two men cooped up in a hotel after a landslide

It was silent in the kitchen. The dishcloths were still in the straight row where Pavan had hung them the previous night, the clean bin upturned in the corner where he had left it. He headed for the adjacent storeroom as he knew Bumba Das would soon want to know what stocks were running low. As he prised the lids off aluminium dabbas, he heard the loud creak of the back door, followed by Jeevan on the phone, switching on lights, running the tap.

“I knew this about him. The others would not believe me but I knew from the start,” said Jeevan.

Pavan felt a sudden flash of dread. He switched off the light. He dared not push the door further open, so he turned to face the chink of brightness and strained to listen.

“You just have to look at him to know,” Jeevan said, his shadow sweeping across the floor as he moved to the other end.

Pavan realised he was holding his breath.

“You can’t trust anyone. How many times have I told you this? Tell me now, what are you going to do?”

Jeevan’s shadow moved back.

“We’ll make a plan. Don’t worry, we’ll make a plan,” he said, his voice beginning to fade.

On the shelf in front of him, Pavan could just about make out the label on a drum of kerosene, a bright-orange flame. A few seconds later, the kitchen light went out and he was standing in total darkness.

The back door creaked and banged as Jeevan left the room.

The conversation had been vague enough to unsettle Pavan but also to make him wonder whether Jeevan had been talking about someone else. A dangerous word had been painted in red on the cupboard door but he still found it difficult to imagine that Jeevan had been responsible. He was a gruff and moody man who swatted in irritation at people in the kitchen with a bamboo stick, knowing they were just out of reach. He snapped at laggards and twisted the ears of boys he suspected had disrespected him. But he had never been unkind to Pavan, who simply did as he was told.

There had been one occasion when Jeevan had described the exorcism that his family performed when his daughter-in-law was possessed by a demon. He and other male relatives had dragged her by her arms all the way around a shrine, her body trailing on the ground, head thrashing from side to side. They had then tied her to a peepal tree and left her without food or water for twenty-four hours to force the demon to flee elsewhere for sustenance. Cruelty could rear up anywhere. And Jeevan could have become aware of something about Pavan that he found too repugnant to tolerate.

Pavan opened the door to the kitchen and saw that Jeevan was nowhere in sight. None of the guests were about and a strange silence had descended on the hotel. It would soon be time to prepare the dining room for breakfast. As he crossed over to the main building, he saw that Bumba Das had obviously driven down the hill as far as he could go and returned. His van was now parked on the other side of the driveway. He had bought the van from a pest-control company but had been too mean to have it repainted. Images of a cockroach, a mouse and a termite still graced the side together with the phone number for Top-Klean Pest Services. Strangers in town would approach Bumba Das about an infestation as he sat in the driver’s seat and he would snap at them as though their enquiry was preposterous.

The reception area was deserted. Bumba Das had returned the key to room 2, which he had taken the day before. Someone had moved the vase of plastic flowers to the other end of the counter. Pavan hated the sight of them. They looked nothing like any flowers he had seen in real life. If it had been up to him, he would have thrown them onto the dump. The registration book lay on a shelf under the counter. The previous evening, after first hearing of the landslide from Bumba Das, Pavan had run a finger down its latest entries. There were still nine guests in residence and he had to make sure they were all still in the hotel compound and aware of the landslide.

The newlyweds were on their verandah and took the news in their stride, disappearing into their room with a giggle. The elderly couple had stared at him from their pale, gaunt faces, as though this news had laid waste to all their plans for the future. The woman had sunk heavily onto the bed, the man had glared. He looked as though in a moment he would stamp his foot. There was a tense pause as there was nothing for Pavan left to say. He had given them an apologetic half smile and made his way next door but there was no answer from the foreigners. He ran into them later in the courtyard, relieved that they had not been clambering up a dangerous hillside. They seemed to understand that they would be stuck in the hotel until the road was cleared. The man made the thumbs-up sign as he left, which Pavan took as a sign of benign optimism. Worst of all had been the woman in the furthest room. She had opened the door and grilled him about every aspect of the landslide. As he tried to explain what little he had learned, her eyes had darted around behind him, as though each of the mountain peaks was threatening to disintegrate and roll down on top of them.

“Let him go, Audrey, poor fellow, how much can he possibly know? They are probably all still waiting for help,” said the other woman, appearing at the door too.

“He can find out from that owner chap or they can phone someone, I don’t know. This is just a total disaster,” said Audrey.

“Neville is finding out if there is any information online,” said the other woman.

“What if we miss our flights back?”

“Let us just take it step by step, sweetie.”

Pavan had slowly backed away from them as they spoke, and he returned to the reception area.

Neville was the boy who seemed to hover wherever he looked. He had probably been there with them but for once had not appeared, that intense look fixed upon his face. One of the women was probably his mother: Pavan was amazed at the boy’s audacity and recklessness in the presence of his family. Once again, unease had risen through his belly and hardened in his chest.

It was now more than fifteen hours since he had spread the word about the landslide. The reception phone rang every few minutes and he had stopped answering it.

His own phone buzzed.

“Sir,” Pavan said to Bumba Das.

“They are saying there’s no bulldozer available until tomorrow at the earliest, maybe the next day,” said Bumba Das.

“What shall I tell the guests? They keep phoning. Especially the two ladies in number 7.”

“Tell them you don’t know anything and we are trying to find out what the situation is. Also, there’s a problem now with the water. We need to save it for drinking. No bathing, and also no more toilet flushing every ten minutes, we don’t have that luxury, hoosh-hoosh every time they do even a small number one. But don’t say anything about the water till tomorrow morning. We’ll close the supply and then tell them slowly. Let us try and get at least one good night’s sleep before they start causing a commotion tomorrow.”

Excerpted with permission from Half Light, Mahesh Rao, Penguin India.