A Strange Statue In The Rain
Based on a true story about the time I met a ghost…or did I?
It was mid-October.
The delayed monsoon had arrived.
Although the farmers rejoiced, city dwellers such as myself were faced with many inconveniences. The rains felled trees, uprooted power lines and created roadside pools of sludge and dirt. Bridges were submerged underwater and the city streets resembled Venice. The dark clouds aptly reflected the citizens’ mood about the sudden change in weather.
Although monsoon in India was always a show of nature’s force, this was the most severe one in years.
Most organizations, including mine, quickly implemented a temporary work-from-home policy. However, as a new joinee, I was yet to receive my laptop — a necessity to be able to work from home.
After finishing my shift at 10.30 pm, I visited the IT Room to collect my laptop. Although my boss had expedited the process, it took some time to provision the laptop with personalized remote access. I left the IT Room around 11.15 pm, hoping it wouldn’t start raining before I reached home.
I checked the weather app on my phone, which ominously flashed an impeding thunderstorm icon. It also notified me that the shortest route to home was waterlogged. I would have to take an unknown route cutting through the outskirts of the city. Thankfully I had Google Maps and Bluetooth earphones that could feed directions in my ear at each turn.
After stowing the brand-new laptop and smartphone in my waterproof bag, I put on my gloves, raincoat and helmet, ready to head home on my two-wheeler. It was close to midnight when I left.
A few minutes later, I found myself at the fork where I would normally turn right towards the familiar city road. The road to the left was unlit and uninviting. I grudgingly turned left, hoping the unknown path would lead me home safely.
This road was dark and desolate. There were no residential buildings, street lights or humans; zero signs of civilization. I reasoned there must be very few people who took the route as it was outside the city. Plus, it was past midnight, and most people must reasonably be indoors.
The first piece of misfortune came in the form of tiny droplets hitting my visor.
I continued to ride at a medium pace, not wanting to slip and fall on the wet road. With my leather-strapped watch (a recent birthday gift) inside my laptop bag, it was hard to say how long I had been driving in the dark. My bike’s headlight was the only source of illumination, with faint speckles of city lights to my right. The coldness of the night had begun to seep in through my gloves.
I started driving a bit faster, and that’s when I saw a shadowy silhouette up ahead in the middle of the road. It was tall and strangely misshapen. I kept driving, wiping the drops off the helmet’s visor every few seconds. The silhouette was a bit clearer now. It had been deliberately placed in the center of the road.
Even stranger was that it seemed to be covered in some kind of cloth. Perhaps the road was closed ahead? That meant I would have to double back and find another way home. I decided to continue forward, motivated by the mental image of my warm and cozy bed.
The rain was falling faster now. My gloves soaked. The view of the road obscured by droplets racing down my visor. When I was about 50 meters away from the strange marker, I switched my headlights to high-beam. The now-illuminated silhouette nearly caused me to fall off my bike.
The strange object in the middle of the road was a woman.
She was dressed in a dark saree, drenched from head to toe. Her face was turned downwards; her hands cradled near her stomach. That was what made the silhouette so misshapen and deformed.
I slowed down to assess what I was seeing.
A lonely woman standing in the middle of a desolate road, in the rain, well after midnight. Pretty normal city stuff, right?
My headlight put this strange woman in a spotlight, yet she refused to raise her head. How long had she been standing there? And why?
My “fight or flight” instincts kicked in. I surveyed the side of the road; perhaps her companions were waiting to ambush anyone who stopped to help. It would certainly be an effective tactic. I asked myself: should I stop?
As I slowly approached the veiled figure, my headlights incident on her, I observed that she hadn’t moved an inch. Was it a statue? That would be a cruel prank to play on an innocent passerby, I thought.
Yet, there was a strange magnetism around her. I was convinced that this human woman was in dire need of help. That was partly why I hadn’t turned around when she first came into view. It was as if she was beckoning me — sans words or actions.
I was only a few meters away when I urgently slammed on my brakes.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up— not due to the cold, wet wind. I realized why her hands were placed that way: she was holding a tiny human baby. The infant looked malnourished, and frankly, barely alive. Despite the glaring light from the headlamps, neither the woman nor her baby reacted. Heck, any closer and I would have heard her breathe.
This was a more effective tactic, I thought. An infant doll would’ve melted the heart of even the most stubborn man. It could have been a well-established way for thieves to scam money from the occasional passerby on this road. Not wanting to risk anything, I stayed put on my bike.
I called out, “Hey, are you okay. Do you need help?”
No response.
I looked beyond the woman. The road looked dark, but fine to travel. In fact, I could see the right turn that would lead me back towards the city. After taking a few deep breaths, I decided to call the cops and inform them of the situation. She may have needed help or was part of criminal gang and I was about to be in huge trouble. Either way, someone needed help.
I got off the bike and retrieved my smartphone from the laptop bag.
No signal.
I couldn’t place a call if something untoward happened. I looked back at the woman and her child; both frozen motionless. From this distance, the woman looked strangely at peace gazing down at her still child. Yet, her non-reactive nature didn’t agree with the pit in my stomach. Something felt extremely wrong.
A crack of lightning lit up the scene for a brief moment. I couldn’t be sure if my mind had made it up, given the split-second I saw it, but the woman was looking straight at me. Although her face was lowered, her eyes peered at me through her drenched, disheveled hair. Had she been looking at me since I came into view? And if yes, why hadn’t she responded or moved? That was the last straw.
I got back on my bike, deciding to blaze it past her. My mind was already making up scenarios: she will try to grab me or run towards me with a concealed dagger. I calmed myself saying no mother would drop her infant to rob a stranger — who incidentally only had two hundred bucks.
Yet, did I know it was her child? Ans was the infant even breathing? Dark thoughts raced through my mind.
I focused on the straight patch of road in front of me. Although it was slippery, I had no choice. I secured my helmet, and swerved hastily past the woman. She did not turn, look or run towards me. I was home free, I celebrated with a fist pump.
As I raced towards the turn, which was only a few meters ahead, I adjusted my rear-view mirror to watch the road behind me. I half-expected to see the woman chasing after me, or that’s what my adrenaline-pumped brain thought.
I nearly lost balance when I saw the reflection in my rear-view: nothing. An empty road stretched out behind me. I slowed down enough to crane my neck backwards; the road was empty, and the spot where she stood glistened the same as the rest of the road. It was as if she was never there.
I heaved a sigh of relief. I could not make sense of what had just happened. I decided to focus on getting home as quickly as possible. After all, the frequency of lightning had increased, and so had the downpour.
As I took the right turn back towards the city, I felt a slight tinge on my shoulders, and then my neck. A warm sensation ran up my back despite the chilly weather.
A cold shiver ran down my spine when my mind fully processed what had transpired: the woman was now sitting behind me on the bike.
I did not dare to stop, or even look into the rear-view mirror, for the rest of the night.
Once I entered the city, I found familiarity in the streetlights and hoardings, although my heart was still racing and mind threw a million thoughts at me. My ears were strained, waiting for a whisper from the back that never came.
When I reached home half an hour later, I ran up the stairs to the comfort of my home. The bathroom mirror showed a pale reflection of my face. I threw up. After drinking some water, I climbed into bed, still shivering and processing what had happened.
The next day, when there was enough daylight, I went down to clean my bike. The series of events of the previous night crept up in my mind, but I dismissed them as a fantastical dream; a made-up concoction of tired thoughts and hallucinations.
Yet, as I wiped down my bike, I couldn’t help but notice two dry patches on the bike’s seat.
