The tiny stone temple

 The wind felt chill , almost immediately as the sun dipped. 

Standing on the terrace, looking out at the erstwhile green expanse , shrouded in darkness and mystery now. 

It was the same , just a few trees that dotted the fields had disappeared. It was just another expanse of flat land , made easier for combine harvesters . Earlier ,the land border demarcating each field would be a hard ridge, grassless from being  pounded  by so many bare feet. Hard worked souls rested beneath trees to  catch their breath, drink water, eat frugal meals, catch a nap . 

I looked out towards the house. The golden tips of trees from the fading sun melted swiftly into the darkness of the sudden night you witness only in villages.  Air becomes crisp and cold, a soft breeze blows , softening the heat of the day , and crickets come out . 

The well , at the back , now with plaster cracked at several places, even the chunks falling in , barely standing. The stone temple , dark and mysterious , beyond the wall . 

I remembered the day the wall was erected. Hastily, irreverently, angrily. Grandma had cradled her in her lap and had wept . 

Her bony knees poking through the pale whitish saree she always wore . The smell of cardamoms and cloves emanating from her . I remember looking up at her face and hating the person who made her grandmother weep . 

I  had barely seen this person . But I  had promised herself that l would hate this faceless person, and I had held onto the hatred, like a comforting thought. 

Everything that lay beyond that short wall was hateful . 

Except for the dark stone temple which was in the family for generations . 

I remembered my grandmother telling me that it was the most ancient thing in the family . Made of a black stone, with a tiny window, and large iron door .  The room was ritually purified , cleaned up and pooja performed every year during Durga Puja . 

Once the ten days were over , it was locked and we went back home walking on a tiny stone path , carefully closing the wicket gate behind us . It was this wicket gate that was removed and a brick wall built hastily to stop us from " trespassing" into his home. The nerve. It didn't help that he was the son of my grandfathers younger brother , my father's cousin , and would have to , perforce, come and touch my grandparents feet at every vijayadashami evening.

We kids were herded into rooms , while these deplorable people were being served tea and sweets. Ladoo and khaja from my grandma's secret larder . Stone faced , head covered , she would hover in the kitchen. She remained stone faced even when the young upstarts came to touch her feet. 

My grandfather did all the small talk . Grandma watched the charade from the distant safety of her kitchen . We just heard snippets of conversation from faceless voices , locked up in our rooms . 

Outraged and afraid that they would eat up all our beloved pooja sweets , we would emerge an hour later to find a relieved grandma smiling. 

We were given sweets too . Plenty were made during the pooja. 

A ritual that she never missed was the evening aarti . Standing at the well , behind the wall, a flickering ghee lamp would be waved in the direction of the temple and chants murmured . A head covered in white saree pallu , bowed in reverence, eyes closed , sandalwood smoke rising fragrant from her brass pooja thali . 

A flickering beacon of hope in a sea of darkness, a firefly, an act of defiance. 

That is when I saw her . 

At the well . Behind the wall . A ghee diya flickered. A head bowed. A pale white saree. A tiny sphere of unsteady light that attempted to fight the growing darkness. 

Then slowly, the light caved in and all encompassing darkness rushed in . A gust of wind blew away the lamp . Just the sandalwood fragrance lingered onto the air . 

I drew my shawl around me. Shivering . A faint smell of cloves in the air .

A voice shouted at me from the stairs , holding aloft a kerosene lantern. "Beware , the steps are broken."

"The deed is ready for you to sign " . "Buyers will come tomorrow, again."

" You are not staying the night are you? The car is waiting." 

I shook my head in negative. Not trusting to speak 

The  caretaker took a look at me and said " what? You saw her too ? Yeah. She comes very often at the well" .