The Farmhouse Lotion

It was a sprawling farmhouse about 10 miles from the very outskirts of Delhi. Green and lush with wandering shrubs that strolled the gardens mingling with my feet that lolled over early morning damp dew. I got up around 4:45 am as sleep always evades me in new, unfamiliar areas, eager to explore unaccustomed legacies. My uncle who had arranged for us to stay at the farmhouse had cautioned me that since it was located close to the Aravalli hills bordering the final outposts of the city, sometimes a cheetah is spotted in the farmhouses around this one.

        “After 11 pm and before 5 am, just be careful. I mean, I have not seen one in the last few days I have been here, but you never know.” As I strolled, I looked at the watch. It was still ten minutes to 5:00 am.

        The wet dew was inviting, and I dug my naked feet further into the soil. Nearby was an ancient looking covered circular veranda, and I sought a breather underneath. I opened the bottle of lotion I had brought down with me from my room, the one the farmhouse guests received besides the shampoo and conditioner. My hands were dry from flying nonstop for almost fifteen hours. Fragrance of tuberose or Rajni Gandhi as it is called in India, wafted out from the unscrewed plastic bottle. It was an inexpensive looking container, and had the word, lotion, printed on a homemade sticker. Perhaps it was produced by a small home business, however, the fragrance was priceless. It reminded me of my mom’s garden, and my childhood days pirouetted around me. How I missed my mom…and my dad…who had passed as well…I ached for one touch from them. Both would have enjoyed participating in the wedding reception of my son for which we had come to India on this trip. That ache led me to remember that my early morning stomach was hungry for a steaming cup of my mom’s robust Indian tea, and fresh oven baked biscuits. However, the farmhouse kitchen was still closed, and mom was a yearning memory now.

I heard feet near me stepping on the same grass my feet had been playing on a few minutes ago. I thought another visitor occupying one of the other rooms had woken up and was joining me for a morning walk. No one emerged. It was still about five minutes to five am.

I thought about the cheetah, and I started to walk fast towards the main building. As I neared the entrance, the bottle of lotion, still uncapped in my now sweaty hand, fell. I could hear it spinning down the slope of the pathway between the flowers and thick wilds. I had no time to stop and pick it up. And from the side of my right eye, I saw the shadow of the Aravalli cheetah, slithering majestically towards its prey. A few stray peacocks began screaming their horrible shrieks from treetops.

It was late in the afternoon that I emerged from my room next, and tentatively made my way down to the other building where lunch was being served. Loud laughter preceded my steps.

“What happened?”

“What time you woke up this morning, Priya?” my uncle asked.

“About 4.45 am, I think.”

“So…. did you come out that early as you said you would?”

“Yes! Oh, is it possible to get another bottle of that heavenly lotion?”

Everyone stated laughing crazily, some even doubling up in seated positions on the carpet.

“What?”

My uncle had continued to stare at me, and sheepishly grinning he said, “Oh, nothing, nothing at all! Oh, btw, the neighbor’s cat was found this morning with white mushy gel around her mouth. They rushed her to the pet hospital, and it seemed she had swallowed mouthfuls of our guest room lotion.”

Previously published in Confluence, February 2018 and in the author’s book, Life On The Go-Flash fictions from New Delhi to America, Vol 1(2018). The image is from the author’s personal collection and was converted to pencil drawing at: https://online.rapidresizer.com

Jaguar Filing its Nails

I

It was a humid April afternoon at the coastal hotel on a narrow strip of land in the Tortuguero National Park on the Atlantic side of Costa Rica where Priya and her family had been for the last two days. Another two days and they were off to Monte Verde, the second stop in their trip and then on to their last stop at Manuel Antonio on the pacific side of the Island. They had arrived at Tortuguero by a mini plane that brought them from the capital city of San Jose and then a tiny though engine powered boat had taken them to other side of the canal, where the different dwellings of the hotel rested. The waters of the canal hugged the lawns and the concrete side of the hotel main buildings, making it appear seamless.

The iguana residents of the hotel, two of them, almost four feet long each, a male and a female, were serious partners in munching lazily all day long. At night they escaped to treetops for

the cool air. They did not bother Priya. Neither did the poison dart frogs, the army ants, nor even the numerous colorful birds fluttering around everywhere. The Toucan with its rather long beak also did not terrify the mortally-afraid-of-birds Priya. Nothing bothered her. She was completely in love with the magical setting. Early morning walks…around 5 am… among the lush green gardens with the canal waters shimmering was immensely soul enriching. Early morning tea…around 6 am… on the veranda of the main dining area was more than simplybody warming. Priya just lapped it all up, keen to be free of the exhausts, the noises, and the urban dwellers.

“Are there jaguars in the forests around the guest house or here?” She casually asked the guide who took them on a boat ride to the backwaters to observe the caiman, the monkeys, the lizards, the sloths, etc. The quiet in the muggy air, the hush the boatmen directed their passengers to, all added to the suspense and fear of the boat capsizing. It was full to capacity. Each person was wearing a lifejacket… as if the caiman couldn’t sink its teeth into its air-filled covering! And then, Priya had to ask that question sending folks fidgeting.

“Oh, yes! In fact, we spotted two of them last year, almost right around here. They were sitting in that clearing behind those trees.”Peering in that direction, everyone’s eyes widened in alarm. Priya’s too and just to make sure they were all okay, she went on…

“Do you think we’ll see them today?”

“Maybe not…we haven’t spotted them since last year.”  Everyone seemed to heave a sigh of relief.

II

Each night the hotel staff left bourbon shots and a packet of dry fruits in their room. She was sharing the room with another family member.

“I’m surprised there are no glass windows in any of the rooms. Only gauze netting separates us from the outside,” said her room companion (henceforth RC).

“Yes, it’s unusual indeed…. Perhaps to let the cool breeze in.” There were no air conditioners in the room. “It does add to the uniqueness of the way the hotel has been built. Even the main dining hall has no doors or windows. And with the canal waters literally holding hands with us, it’s truly an open concept.” Avid HGTV watchers, both laughed heartily.

Priya took out her travel nail kit to file off a broken nail. After completing the task, shewalked over to her bed and leaned back on the pillow. She had the bourbon shot, which combined with the long day of activities, lulled her quite instantly into deep sleep. She woke with a startle around 4 am, hearing scratching sounds on the gauze windows. At first, she thought she was dreaming. Didn’t even know where exactly she was trying to make out the contours of the room in the dark. Only a bit of moon light was filtering in through the chinks in the curtains.

“Hey, hey,” she called out to her RC. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? What?” Her RC said in ananxious voice. Suddenly both saw the lustrous eyes of the Jaguar through the gauze windows. It had managed to kick its entire one paw through a torn portion of the gauze. And then, right before their stunned eyes, it hasitly managed to make the hole larger and push itself in to the room. Both girls screamed, jumped, but had the presence of mind to pick up their bags with their passports and their cell phones before running and attempting to lock themselves in the bathroom.

The jaguar seemed amused and sat down near the sofa. On the coffee table Priya had left her nail cleaning set. The jaguar picked up the nail filer and started filing its nails, watching the girls with its one eyebrow arched up. “Seriously girls? You gonna get your stuff first and give me time to pounce upon you… as if I’m gonna be just sitting here filing my nails.” The jaguar suddenly gave a huge roar and fell upon both as they neared the bathroom door. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” Their yells were loud…piercing…earsplitting.

The howler monkey began their morning screeches around the same time. Both girls sat up straight in their beds. “What… wait, not those howlers again…every morning at 4 am without fail!” lamented the RC. “But why are you screaming?”

“Nothing, nothing... I think I had a nightmare.”

“You and the monkey howlers aren’t going to let me sleep!”

As Priya took courage to go on her early morning walk, the hotel cooks and servers were milling around and talking animatedly. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Good morning, ma’am. How was your sleep?”

“It was fine, thank you…though I had a very scary nightmare…So, what’s the matter? Anything going on?”

“Ma’am, not to scare you but this morning, a Jaguar managed to break open a torn gauze window into one of the hotel rooms. Thank God, it was empty.”

Jaguar, Jaguar, on the prowl

What did you see beyond your scowl?

People behind gauze windows?

Running for life, fear on their brows?

Dreams might seem real

And reality could destiny seal

Jaguars or people, both on the prowl

Spitting out characters so very fowl

Image is from the author’s personal collection and was converted to pencil drawing at: https://online.rapidresizer.com

Anita Nahal, Ph.D., CDP is an Indian American poet, flash fictionist, children’s writer, editor, and professor. She has three books of poetry, one of flash fictions, four for children and four edited anthologies to her credit. Her third book of poetry, What’s wrong with us Kali women?  is compulsory reading in a course on Multiculturalism at the University of the Utrecht, The Netherlands. She is the daughter of Sahitya Akademi award winning Indian novelist, Chaman Nahal and educationist, Sudarshna Nahal. Anita teaches at the University of the District of Columbia, Washington DC. More on her at:  https://anitanahal.wixsite.com/anitanahal