FACE OF THE DEVIL

FACE OF THE DEVIL

Chapter 1 - A Portrait

The eyes stared back at him; mischievous, taunting, measuring him up.

He had the disturbing feeling at the back of his mind that he had seen these eyes somewhere, like a forgotten dream.

The face that adorned the poster size canvas, was that of a young man. His defined jaw bones and chiseled nose gave him the haughty aura. The back-brushed hair and the flippant smile gave him the confidence of a man on top of his game. But it was the eyes, those wicked coal black eyes - that made the back of your neck prick- they gave him the sheen of a man who is not to be meddled with.

A dangerous face.

A haunting face.

Samar had no doubts about the name of the portrait. He lifted the thin tipped brush from the easel, and wrote across the bottom border, in bold artistic curves -

"Face of the Devil."

He took a final look at the portrait before leaving his studio. The room was all done in white; white marble floor, white plaster-of-paris walls and a white ceiling. This used to be the prayer room for the owners of the house, before him.

The room of Gods and prayers now housed the face of the devil!

He chuckled at the irony, as he stepped out of the room.

His eyes hurt. So did his back. He had been working on this portrait relentlessly for 3 days; as if he was on a schedule. But he was not. It was as if he was possessed by some insane drive to get through with this portrait.

He tried to shake the haze off his tired eyes as he lumbered into the bathroom beside the bedroom. He needed a shower. It was not until then, that he remembered that the shower wasn't working. He needed to call a plumber to get it fixed.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, as he bellowed.

"Nandu... "

The sound violated the hollow silence of the house.

It was a big house. Albeit single-storeyed, but it had comfortably housed a 5 person family before he came into possession. It was too big for just him and his servant Nandu. But he liked it big. Extravaganza had never killed anybody.

He heard Nandu's reply, as he turned his eyes to the mirror over the wash-basin in the bathroom. An unkempt face looked back at him. He had let his beard and hair grow for over a year now. They say hair-beard combination is a mark of the superior intelligence; like Tagore and Marx. He needed that intellectual look for the profession he was in.

A painter.

But beyond the facade of the awry entangled mesh, was the face of a guy just over 34 years old. He was good looking. Though the beard added the years to his appearance, it couldn't take the charm away from his smile, nor the twinkle off his eyes. He thought he looked like modified version of Santa Claus; a skinnier, younger and darker version. A more handsome version.

He often wondered how his life would have been had he married. The fairer sex had showered him with their attention, appreciation and affection, both verbally and otherwise. He had the chance to just let himself fall for a perfectly lovely girl, who adored him and his work.

But she could never come into his life. It was his world and he didn't want to share any of it with anyone else. Besides, he didn't need the presence of another person in his life. It would just be a burden. Some birds are just meant to soar the sky on his wings. He was one of them.

He could still hear how Mr. Sen would say, "You are meant for big things, Samar. BIG things".

"Yes Babu.."

Nandu's call brought him out of his reverie.

"Get me some hot water in a bucket. And remind me to call the plumber tomorrow. What's his name again?"

"The plumber? From the hardware store down the street? Bapi?"

"Yes yes.. that Bapi guy..", Samar replied, "I have to call him tomorrow.. Shower is not working.. And what is for dinner?"

"I cooked some potato fry, and I have some fish fries and daal from yesterday.. I'll heat them for you.."

"OK.. now get me the hot water and my towel.. And keep my food in my room.."

The thought of Mr. Sen had brought back a rush of memories. Moments of happiness, of the feeling of being a part of a family.

A family he did not belong to. A family that would only have meant his confinement within the emotional limits.

He remembered the first day he had come into this house, into this family, as a paying guest.

Mrs. Sen always kept him at yard's distance, but Mr. Sen liked him. He liked Samar's dedication towards art, the focus towards being someone successful in life. He knew that Samar came from humble roots; born to family of limited means, which was pushed further towards peril after his father's demise when he was just 7. His mother kept them going with the little she made selling handiwork and homemade pickles. Samar learnt how money changed people's perspectives, at a very tender age. He tried to attend school while having to work at small tea-stalls and bakery shops for a handful of change, to support his mother.

He was brilliant as a student. So school wasn't a big deal, apart from the fact that he had to pay for it. But after he cracked the government scholarship exam in the 6th standard, it became a little easier to pay for it.

But he had found his true calling in life in class 5th, when he watched the painting teacher draw a landscape with a chalk on a board. He could almost feel as if he was a part of that sketch. He could hear the water ripple, feel the breeze disturb the leaves on the tree, see the colour of the clay change darker as it curved away from the sun on the hut in the corner. He felt like he was living it.

His mother passed away during his intermediate exams. She had a bad chest pain for a year. He couldn't afford the surgery that the doctors advised. His relatives turned their backs on him. What if another poor soul dies? It's better for the per head distribution of national wealth!

He moved to city from his village in search of a small job to support his college education. Hostels were too expensive. He started looking for shared rooms, when he met Mr. Sen, who had one room to rent. The rent was a little steep, but Mr. Sen agreed to collecting it from him after he got a job. He somehow took pity on this talented kid, whose dreams were getting grinded under the weight of the consumerist society.

Mr. Sen's two sons, Protyoy and Pronoy took to him immediately. They looked up to Samar like an elder brother. Mr. Sen came to the agreement later that Samar could teach his kids Physics, Chemistry and Maths, and he would deduct the amount he would have paid a tutor for those three subjects, from his rent.

The nostalgic spell was broken when Nandu left the bucket with a thud outside the door.

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The incessant knocking at the front door woke him up.

He looked at the timepiece on the table beside his bed. 3 o'clock in the night.

He thought of shouting for Nandu, but Nandu slept in the kitchen, and it would be impossible to wake him up.

He gathered the shirt from the chair and draped it on as he walked to the door.

"Who is it?" He shouted from behind the closed door.

"Police"

"At this time of the night?"

"Is this Samar Roy's house?"

He opened the door a crack, and put his face out. "Yes"

"We have some questions regarding Rajat Sen and his family."

Samar's heart almost stopped beating.

Memories of a night, 10 years old, came rushing to his mind. Memories of a night that he didn't want to remember.