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Vices of Eden
Vices of Eden
Vices of Eden
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Vices of Eden

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A young woman who can smell dead people desperately seeks recognition for her gift. A mother consumed with envy denies her daughter justice against a capital crime. A dyslexic orphan who floats through life in the shadow of her aunt hopes to grasp a piece of paradise. A middle-aged spinster possessed in physical love craves for a divine union. The socialite who nearly successfully battles her shopping addiction faces an unexpected roadblock to recovery.

Vices of Eden, Arpita Bhawal’s debut short story collection, is based on the Seven Deadly Sins: Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath and Sloth, and the Last Four Things: Death, Judgment, Hell and Heaven. The stories explore the complex and conflicting relationship women have with sin in our contemporary world. Vices of Eden reveals fragments and shades of every woman’s life story, filled with passion, desperation and hope.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherNotion Press
Release dateOct 17, 2014
ISBN9789384391232
Vices of Eden

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    Vices of Eden - Arpita Bhawal

    Vices of Eden

    Arpita Bhawal

    Notion Press

    5 Muthu Kalathy Street, Triplicane,

    Chennai - 600 005

    First Published by Notion Press 2014

    Copyright © Arpita Bhawal 2014

    All Rights Reserved.

    ISBN: 978-93-84391-23-2

    This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.

    No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    Thank you, Mum

    Author’s Note

    "Before me there were no created things,

    Only eterne, and I eternal last.

    All hope abandon, ye who enter in!"

    ~ Canto III - The Gate of Hell

    Inferno by Dante Alighieri

    Dante Alighieri’s Inferno is the first part of the fourteenth century epic poem, Divine Comedy (followed by Purgatorio and Paradiso). Like many English Literature students, Inferno has captured my imagination for the past couple of decades. When I was putting together this collection of short stories, I was reminded of the irrefutable concept of Hell by Dante, through which we must all pass (without leaving Earth).

    Dante’s Nine Circles of Suffering, located within (Earth), is an allegorical take on the journey of the Soul towards God. Dante’s Inferno is also manifested in the concept of the Seven Cardinal Sins floated by the Catholic Church of England in the early Christian times to curb man from leading a life of indulgence and debauchery.

    Vices of Eden is a collection of short stories based on women’s relationship with the Seven Cardinal Sins (Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath and Sloth) and the Last Four Things (Death, Judgement, Hell and Heaven). The tales explore our preoccupation with the erring human, the anxious being and the losing hero, all of whom have found or lost themselves in our modern world where the distinction between a Sin and a Virtue is getting blurred.

    These eleven stories throw light on the varied, yet similar, experiences of women everywhere in the world; their complex and conflicting relationships, the constant battle to justify acts of self-preservation and the desperate attempts to escape the negative impact of their choices.

    Stories like Rosa’s Day and What Really Matters are adult and graphic, because they tackle social issues like incestuous rape and inter-caste relationships. Others, like Dead Right, give a glimpse of the Achilles’ heel, Pride, which can damage one’s self-esteem for good. The title story, Vices of Eden, focuses on the hard hand of the lesser Sins like Sloth which can alter the course of one’s life. A heavenly outcome, like in Power Out, might raise our hopes of love and life once again, and redirect us to chase the dream that seemed impossible for a while.

    I truly hope you enjoy this collection and share these tales of irrevocable passion, impossible love and incomparable faith with your friends.

    What’s life, anyway, without good stories that ring true?

    Arpita Bhawal

    Bangalore, November 2015

    Second Edition

    Acknowledgements

    My first thanks to my mother, Manju Bhawal, for insisting on an English medium education in the early 1970’s; my English teachers, T. Malhotra, Tenaz Avari, Arpita Martin (Pratt Memorial School, Calcutta) and, Professor Rohinton Kapadia (Head of the English Department, St. Xavier’s College, Calcutta, 1988–1991) for instilling a deep love of prose.

    My most heartfelt gratitude to Ruby Zaki, childhood friend and first publishing partner.

    My sincere thanks to all the wonderful friends and beta readers who have been a part of my writing life in some way.

    Contents

    Title

    Copyright

    Dedication

    Author’s Note

    Acknowledgements

    1. Dead Right

    2. The Deal

    3. What Really Matters

    4. Rosa’s Day

    5. Off Season

    6. Little Things

    7. Vices of Eden

    8. In Fine Company

    9. Mirror, Mirror

    10. A Piece of Ginger

    11. Power Out

    PRIDE

    Dead Right

    Juhi took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, certain that she was right about the smell. She stole a glance at Shaurya, seated next to her in the back of Randeep’s SUV. He was a new entrant in her life, a future boyfriend, she hoped. Randeep was driving fast. His wife, Preetha, bobbed up and down in the seat next to him, taking the bumpy road in her stride and peering diligently at the map spread on her lap with an LED torchlight. It was past 11.00 PM and they were, without a doubt, completely lost on their way to the Mudumalai forest.

    Juhi knew it would be totally bizarre to everybody in the car if she started to discuss how she had acquired the ability to smell dead people and to discern supernatural presences. Shaurya’s feeble attempts at reviving his dead cell phone by tapping on it would’ve been comical if it wasn’t for the sombre mood in the car. So far, Juhi hadn’t bothered to tell anyone about her unique gift, knowing that it was unbelievable. But lately, it had begun to bother her. She was tired of basking secretly in the glory of her profound situation; earlier she was fierce about protecting it from the world. What if she lost it suddenly and never got a chance to tell everyone about it?

    Juhi tried to frame a conversation in her head that would succinctly explain her ability, but gave up. It would not sound right under any circumstance, no matter how it was said - even the part where she had to mention that the smells differed from time to time. Her friends would freak out if she told them about the smell of burning flesh, or carrion, or such revolting things that one only experiences while watching films. As the SUV ploughed on, she tried not to inhale too deeply as she always did, once the cycle of smell started. It made her giddy.

    Randeep’s brows were creased with concentration as he tried to find his way out of the jungle road. Juhi felt stress waves emanating from him. They seeped into the steering wheel through his hands as he fiercely gripped it. Her thoughts began to blur as the smell became pronounced. stale flowers, or deodorant or moth balls mixed in lavender oil - but it had a new quality to it, unlike anything she had smelt before, as if it had tried to take a shower and freshen up.

    Juhi sneezed. ‘Excuse me,’ she said.

    The air-conditioning was freezing her to the bone, but she didn’t want to roll down the window. That might dissipate the smell and she hadn’t even had enough time to study it. She hugged herself wondering why she had packed the shawl into the duffel bag. It wasn’t easy to pretend to find objects in the darkness when she actually wanted to talk while categorizing the smell. The smell had a fierce quality, like it insisted upon being noted. Continuing to stare out of the window, Juhi found shapes and glimpses of dark green and black. In the ambient light of the SUV’s headlights, the darkness manifested into an unexplainable, invisible presence, far more menacing than the city’s pretty nights. She sighed. The precise character of the smell eluded her.

    ‘Where the hell are we?’ Randeep’s voice rasped unexpectedly above the hum of the air-conditioner.

    Preetha winced. ‘Randy, you startled me! Turn off that stereo, please.’

    ‘What? You can’t see with music on?’

    ‘Very funny, Randy.’

    In the back, Shaurya tossed his cell phone on the seat. ‘We’re lost, dude. What do you think, Juhi?’ He gave her a come-hither smile.

    ‘We took a wrong turn, I think,’ Preetha butted in exasperation and began to fold the map haphazardly.

    ‘You think?’ Shaurya said sarcastically and grunted. ‘I’ve done this trip by road from Ooty to Mudumalai from Bangalore several times and that’s exactly what I’ve been saying for the past hour.’

    ‘Yeah, yeah, we know. Thirty-six hairpin bends within thirty-six kilometres through natural forests,’ Randeep muttered.

    The smell in the SUV was getting excruciating now. ‘Randy, can you please switch off the AC for a bit?’ Juhi asked reluctantly. Her head was beginning to pound with its intensity.

    Shaurya looked at her and laid a warm hand on her cold arm. ‘Poor babe, she’s freezing. Are you okay?’

    Dizzy and nauseous, Juhi croaked unconvincingly. ‘I’m fine.’

    Randeep switched off the air-conditioner and rolled down his window. A cool breeze ruffled the top of his head as he switched on the cabin light and dropped speed.

    Shaurya squinted. ‘Holy shit! Where are we, dude?’

    The road ahead had just become unbelievably rugged. The smell gradually began to grow faint, until Juhi could barely sense it. Her heart thumped erratically. Was she losing her ability to smell in open spaces, or perhaps, in moving vehicles? That had never happened before. It would be a pity, if she lost it altogether. She wanted to grab her big moment of revelation and subsequent awe or even admiration from these friends. She already regretted asking Randeep to shut off the air-conditioning, because by now, everyone, except her had rolled down the windows.

    ‘Stop!’ Preetha screeched.

    The SUV jolted to a halt. Everyone sat upright, eyes peeled at their surroundings, except Preetha, who was staring through the windscreen.

    ‘What is it?’ Randeep’s voice dropped a decibel.

    ‘A tiger?’ Shaurya asked softly.

    ‘No, look,’ Preetha whispered to the three of them, who had their eyes transfixed on her.

    They saw nothing, except for two horizontal beams of golden light spilling from the car’s headlamps, scratching at the surface of a huge, dense, cloud of fog in front of the SUV. The smell returned suddenly again to Juhi, this time acquiring an aggressive personality, making her eyes sting and her stomach hurt. She clutched her middle with a hand and made a mental note of the type of smell: fresh fish gone bad.

    Randeep glared at Preetha and spoke louder this time. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’

    ‘Just switch off the light and you will see,’ Preetha hissed impatiently.

    ‘She sounds like Yoda,’ Shaurya mocked.

    Randeep switched off the cabin light and they plunged into darkness.

    After a few moments of silence, when their eyes adjusted to the surroundings and Randeep could make out Preetha’s form next to him, he cleared this throat. ‘Preet...’

    ‘Ssh! There! Can you see him now?’ Preetha’s excited voice faltered as she pointed at the windscreen. ‘There, look, he’s moving to the right. Who’s he?’

    They waited stiffly, following Preetha’s oscillating finger, apparently tracing the movement of what she saw in front of the car. Strange, but the fog looked like a ball of bright white wool in the glare of the lights. They saw nothing, yet waited. Shaurya began to toy with Juhi’s clammy hand. She pulled it away distractedly, leaning forward now, trying to squeeze into the space between the two front seats. She had to see this. Focus hard!

    ‘Juhi? Can you see him?’ Preetha hissed and glanced sideways at Juhi for a second, whose face was now inches away from hers.

    ‘No,’ Juhi said mesmerised, feeling fear for the first time. This couldn’t be true. Preetha must be making it up.

    ‘Preet, I’m switching on the light,’ Randeep said testily and switched on the cabin light.

    Shaurya grunted. ‘There’s nothing there. Let’s get out of here, Randy.’

    All of sudden, Juhi sat back in the seat and doubled over. The dead fish smell had become so strong that her stomach heaved violently and she gagged.

    ‘Hey!’ Shaurya moved away a little from her. ‘What’s wrong?’

    ‘I might throw up,’ Juhi mumbled apologetically and held up a hand to her mouth. Her heart somersaulted in her chest. What were the odds of encountering someone who could actually see the dead, after so many years of trying to visualize the presences she smelt?

    ‘Randy, this woman is going to be very sick now. We can’t let her out in the middle of the forest to do her business, so...let’s get the hell out of here, please!’ Shaurya handed a bottle to Juhi. ‘Here woman, drink some water. And don’t spray me.’

    ‘I agree,’ Randeep replied impatiently and reversed the car. ‘Let’s scoot!’

    Preetha looked about wildly. ‘Randy, there’s a man standing right there...what’s wrong with all of you? Juhi, can’t you see him? It’s so weird to find someone in the middle of the jungle at this time of the night...’

    ‘Shut up!’ Randeep barked at her and started to backtrack. ‘Roll up the windows, everyone. I’m switching on the AC.’

    ‘Yeah, better to freeze than be freaked,’ Shaurya said wryly.

    ‘Randy, we’re just going to leave that man in the forest?’ Preetha asked shrilly, red in the face. ‘I can’t believe that none of you want to acknowledge his presence. We don’t want to stop, that’s it?’ Preetha exclaimed loudly for effect and sat back heavily on her seat.

    ‘Relax, Preet! It’s just the fog...there’s no one out there. And yes, we don’t want to stop anywhere,’ Randeep replied, his voice louder than usual.

    ‘There was a man,’ Preetha argued angrily.

    ‘Preet, Randy’s right. It’s a trick of the light, that’s all,’ Shaurya said and glanced at Juhi.

    Juhi’s palpitations transmitted themselves like African drumbeats in her ears. She shut her eyes tightly, avoiding Shaurya’s questioning glance.

    The smell receded as the car backed off, until it was entirely gone.

    

    Juhi was fourteen when she went with her parents to the crematorium in Kolkata for the first time, to perform the last rites for her dead grandmother. Hindu women didn’t go to crematoriums, her aunts had warned, because unhappy souls clung to their hair. Juhi’s mother, an emancipated woman with a degree in Economics from Oxford, donning a slick bob-cut, took Juhi along for the funeral to demonstrate that superstition was for cowards and that spirits didn’t stay behind on earth because they fancied women’s hair.

    But that evening, when Juhi returned home with her parents, she went to bed, feeling more than deep sadness. Her body felt weighed down, she was excessively exhausted. She felt dizzy and her vision became slightly blurred. That night, she had a dream about her grandmother – except that she couldn’t see her, but she could actually smell her. The scent was familiar and sweet, of betel nuts and cloves, a starched sari and coconut hair oil, fenugreek seeds and milk.

    The smell then changed to a burning odour, reminiscent of wood charcoal, and later, of barbecued meat. She woke the next morning, feeling different - unafraid and calm - and perhaps even wiser, as though she had been let into a great secret. Her sorrow had vanished discretely in the dead of the night like the fumes of a mosquito repellent coil that burned in her home. She knew her grandmother was present - only now in an invisible form - and had tried to communicate with her through the dream. Those smells were not just memories; they were real, physical, indicators that suggested her grandmother had indeed visited.

    After a couple of months, a series of incidents confirmed that Juhi had awakened something dormant within herself, particularly the sense of smell. It had to be a gift, she surmised, because how many people could actually claim to smell dead people?

    The first time, it was Mr. Chatterjee, whom she smelt during the History lesson at school. He lived next door, on the first floor of their building, Navadweepa, in Auckland Square; a posh neighbourhood of Kolkata. She specifically remembered the scent of Mr. Chatterjee’s tobacco and body odour; exactly the same as they were when he came back from a morning walk each day and rang their door bell to give the newspaper to her father. Juhi felt inexplicably alarmed when she identified the smell to be Mr. Chatterjee’s. She feigned a headache and excused herself from school. When she reached her flat, her mother was already at Mrs. Chatterjee’s penthouse, consoling the woman for Mr. Chatterjee’s sudden demise that morning.

    Juhi became obsessed with her new-found aptitude. She made journal entries with dates and timings. She wasn’t afraid, even though she had started to smell dead people with an unfailing regularity. Sometimes, they were connected to her, like Mrs. Dhar, the music teacher who died from a heart attack; little baby Pia who fell from the fourth floor; Shankar, the milkman, who got knocked down by a truck; the beggar who slept outside their building gate for twenty years and got his head smashed one night with a boulder (by the copycat criminal, nicknamed ‘The Stoneman’).

    At other times, it was totally random, like when she was passing Lower Circular Road cemetery on her way to Pratt Memorial School, or the railway-track-suicide victim next to her uncle’s house in Burdwan. She never actually saw any of these dead bodies, nor was she aware of who they were or where they lived. She figured that they all had to be within a kilometre radius or two from her as was evident from the past experiences. She read extensively about pheromones - what gave people their sense of smell and what it attracted them to - their DNA connection and memories of past lives.

    All the while, Juhi managed to conceal the ability from her parents. But sometimes, the odours clung to her hair and skin for weeks, making her lose appetite. While she rapidly started to lose weight, her expenses increased manifold on shampoos. She would wash her hair daily and bathed several times in a day. Her father commented on the dozens of soaps in the bathroom, all half-used and abandoned. Juhi’s mother suggested first-level counselling, specifying that medication was optional. Juhi, of course, ignored them. She began to use a lot of perfume to mask the odours that only she could smell and sometimes even lit incense sticks in her room as a precautionary measure. What if the sheets, the curtains and the towels started to smell that way to others also? That was her greatest fear.

    A few of her friends noticed the incense sticks and joked about Juhi’s sudden inclination towards divinity. She took it all in her stride, determined to retain this unique advantage she had over others at any cost, even if it meant concealing the truth about her inexplicable behaviour at times. She fervently wished that her gift could somehow be put to better use someday, in which case people would eventually have to be told about it. If she could smell death before people died, she could act as an advisor to those families, which would make her gift less formidable perhaps and thus, relatively more acceptable.

    Juhi wanted to test this gift-versus-benefit theory and tried to discuss it speculatively along those lines (pheromones and the ability to smell people, dead or alive, in a heightened sort of way, like a modern-day Superwoman, fighting to save the world) with a guy from her college. He never spoke with her again.

    

    ‘Hey, are you asleep?’ Shaurya tugged Juhi’s arm.

    She woke with a start and grimaced when she realized her head lolled on Shaurya’s broad shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ she said and straightened her posture.

    ‘No problem, babe. Slept well?’

    ‘Yeah,’ Juhi rubbed her eyes. ‘I...I didn’t realise...’

    ‘Better now?’ Shaurya took her hand into his.

    ‘Yes, thanks,’ Juhi smiled warmly. Her head felt lighter and the nausea had passed.

    Preetha snored gently, her head resting against the car window. Juhi knew Preetha was probably drained, a feeling that was supposedly connected with ‘seeing a spirit’ for the first time. The stereo was playing again and Randeep was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he hummed along.

    ‘We’ll reach in another fifteen minutes,’ he stated.

    Shaurya lifted Juhi’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

    Juhi blushed and smiled. He seemed all right, sometimes too eager to please. Would he believe her, if she told him about her secret? Probably not. Men mostly never believed in anything they couldn’t touch and feel. Possibly why sex was about the only most believable

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