A Vampire Dies

Fiction

Dr Pattabhiraman has had his usual overdose of his favourite Bacardi white rum. His weekend overdose begins on Friday evenings. Saturday and Sunday are days of leisureliness. Though the university is open on Saturdays, Dr Pattabhiraman has no classes on Saturdays. It is his day of research in the university library. His Saturday research usually ends in the manufacture of a thesis for some scholarly journal like The Indian Scholar and Asian Literary Review. On Friday evenings, however, he likes to take a long stroll into some deserted areas of the city. This evening he has reached Subhash Bose Botanical Garden.

There is not a soul in sight. It is quite late in the night. Dr Pattabhiraman is haunted by Keats’s poetry and he recites a couple of lines from the Ode to a Nightingale.

‘Now more than ever seems it rich to die,’ the professor recites musically as he does in the lecture hall, ‘To cease upon the midnight with no pain.’ Just as he lifts the palm of his right hand as if to seize the emerging midnight, a police constable appears around the corner.

‘Hey, man, what are you doing here at this time of night?’ The constable asks imperiously, looking the professor up and down.

‘Reciting a poem,’ the professor says, ‘John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale.’

‘Not nightingale, man, not quite,’ says the constable spitting out paan juice that looks like blood. ‘Vampire. There’s a vampire somewhere here, people say. A female vampire. Today is Friday too. You have every chance of getting your blood sucked dry if you don’t go home this minute.’

‘Vampire!’ the prof says gleefully. ‘A female one at that! Wonderful! I have never seen a vampire. I’d love to see one.’

The constable looks at the prof to make sure whether he is insane. ‘I have warned you. My duty is over. I leave you to your fate.’

Just as the constable is about to walk away, an eerie music rises somewhere in the darkness of the botanical garden. ‘O my god!’ cries the constable.

‘It’s quite godly, the music,’ says the prof.

The music rises to an A R Rahman kind of crescendo which mesmerises the prof and stuns the constable. Soon the crescendo acquires a material shape, the shape of a woman with an unearthly beauty.

‘Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?’ The prof sings borrowing words from Christopher Marlowe without noticing the constable falling down unconscious with his head resting on a cake of dried cow dung.

‘Who are you pretty lady?’ The prof asks.

‘I am Miriam Hussein Kaufmann,’ the lady answers very sweetly.

‘What are you doing here at this time?’

‘I’m running away,’ she says.

‘Oh, that’s interesting. Eloping alone? You want company? I’m quite lonely, you know.’

‘I’m running away from America,’ she says rather impatiently.

‘Aw! Everyone runs to America and you’re running away from it!’

‘Mr Trump wants an ethnic cleansing. He wants people to go back to the countries of their ethnic origin. My ancestors are Indians and so I’m here in India.’

‘Wrong place, lady. Quite a bad choice. India is also on a quest for racial purity. We will not drive you away, we’ll lynch you.’

Just then a car stops unexpectedly a few metres away and the driver is obviously unable to start the engine again. Two men get out of the car. Dr Pattabhiraman recognises them. One is a leading political figure from the ruling party and the other is a prominent businessman. On seeing the lady, they move towards her.

‘What are you two doing here at this time?’ The politician demands. ‘Such open immorality is against our country’s great culture, don’t you know? A man and a woman having rendezvous in a public place like this. Don’t you have any shame?’ He goes on with his tirade until the lady loses her temper.

‘Shut up, you idiot!’ She says. ‘I’m a vampire. I’ll suck your blood. I’m thirsty.’

‘Oh, oh,’ says the prof. ‘Such a bad taste in such a fine lady! Sucking blood is the sole prerogative of our politicians, my dear lady. I’ll get some Coke for you if you come with me.’

The businessman takes the politician aside and mutters something in his ear. They discuss for a while before making an offer to the lady.

‘We’ll give you plenty of blood, if you want. But you’ll have to sign a contract agreeing to our T&C.’

‘I don’t want any contract. I want blood.’ The lady is visibly angry.

‘Blood is our business too, you see. It’s better for you to cooperate with us whether you like it or not. Or else you won’t survive another minute here. One phone call is enough for a mob to materialise here and lynch you.’

The lady suddenly undergoes a metamorphosis. She transforms into a hideous monster with her canine teeth jutting out like tusks. A wind rises in the trees and a heavenly music emanates from the darkness. Even before anyone realises what is happening, the vampire is at the politician’s neck and blood flows from his vein. She drinks deep.

‘The bitch!’ The politician mutters as soon as the vampire releases him from her celestial clutch. He pats his neck. The businessman hands him a kerchief. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Hey, are you okay?’ The prof asks the vampire who looks faint. The vampire collapses.

‘We’ll get her later,’ the businessman tells the politician. ‘Let’s get to a hospital right away.’ Just as they leave the constable wakes up from his peaceful sleep.

‘What have you done?’ The constable asks the prof who is checking the vampire’s pulse.

‘She’s dead. It looks like.’ The prof says.

‘You killed her? You are under arrest.’

‘I didn’t kill her. She sucked the politician’s blood and she died.’

‘Sucked neta ji’s blood! Then she’s under arrest too.’

‘But she’s dead.’

‘We’ll take care of that later. Circumstantial evidences, my dear man, are against you.’

PS. Written for Indispire Edition 285: #StorySurprise