Devil by the Lagoon by Amrevis

I have been a dreamer all my life. Had all my dreams come true, I could have successfully been an astronaut, a deep sea diver, a motor racing champ, king or prince of a country, a rich businessman, a super spy a la James Bond, or even the consort to a sexy Hollywood actress. As years added to my age, I become cognizant of my limitations and my infantile dreams crumbled one by one. From the debris of vanquished dreams emerged new ones. I dreamed of owning a marvelous farmhouse, driving in a bigger car, getting promoted, authoring a book. Some of these dreams fructified, some didn’t, but the tedium of life went on, and so did my dreaming. When I passed 50, my priorities changed once again, as did the nature of my dreams. Now my fondest dreams were one of attaining peace of mind, a sort of nirvana. I dreamed of owning a café in an idyllic place somewhere far from the maddening crowd of the cities. I envisioned a place of great natural beauty where my café would be set. I relished the detailed visions of the hot piping coffee that I would serve to the few appreciative guests. Money was not a problem in realizing this dream. After working for 25 years I had sufficient funds in my savings. My wife had divorced me two years ago and I never had any children, which meant that I didn’t have to discuss my relocation with anyone. I could pack my bags and be off, just like that.

From an acquaintance I heard about Kodiattam, a small fishing village near Cochin in Kerala. One day I got into my jeep and drove into this village. From the first instance I was head over heels in love with Kodiattam’s fields of lush greenery, its network of lagoons and fresh water lakes, and the small colony of beautiful cottages where the denizens of this village lived. But what really won me to this backwater village was the presence of a small restaurant overlooking a picturesque lagoon. I had a delightful repast at this restaurant. My first visit to Kodiattam was followed by many more in days that followed and every time I made sure to stop at the restaurant overlooking the lagoon.

A couple of years later the restaurant went up for sale and without thinking twice, I made an offer and bought the place. Resigning from my job, I shifted permanently to Kodiattam, where I worked tirelessly to convert the restaurant into a café. In a matter of days my café by the lagoon was ready to start receiving customers, and I was pleased beyond means. I had made my dream come true. I felt I had truly achieved something. I wanted those happy days to go on forever, but nothing is forever, happiness certainly isn’t. Maybe it was my surfeit of happiness that attracted the evil eye, just as sweets kept in the open attracts flies. An iniquitous force intervened to cut my happiness short.

It was a bright summer morning. I was manning the café’s counter and randomly flipping through a magazine. I didn’t even hear him come. I noticed his presence only when I heard him say, “I will have a cup of coffee.” He seemed to be in his early 40s, and wore a black lungi and, a black kurta with strange skull and bones motif emblazoned across it in white.

I gave him a pleasant welcoming smile that I reserved for all my customers and pouring a cup of coffee, I set it in front of him. With that I returned to my magazine and the article on latest political scandal unfolding in Kerala.
A couple of minutes passed, and when I looked up. I found the man in black kurta and lungi staring at me.
“What?” I uttered.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn't realize I was staring.”
I gave him a big smile, saying, “I don’t mind even if you were.”
He extended his hand over the counter. “My name is Devil.”
I took his hand and shook it. It was a rough workingman’s kind of a hand. “Devil?” I said jokingly, “Well, that explains the skull and bones design on your kurta.”
“You like my kurta?” He seemed genuinely pleased. “I got it from someone whose soul I just liberated.”
“Liberated,” I said quizzically, “like one liberates a bird from a cage.”
He studied me for a moment before asking, “You don’t believe me?”
“Believe what?”
“That I am who I say I am.”
“You can be whoever you want to be. The Devil, Satan, or whoever else.”
He smiled wide and I saw that his two canines were made out of gold.
“Okay then, I’ll prove it.” He swiveled in his seat and looked around the coffee shop. “See that fat guy sitting alone by the lagoon?”
I followed his gaze outside the café and looked at a villager who seemed to be ruminating by the lagoon. “What about him?”
“He will die in three years from a massive heart attack.”
“Oh, you’re good,” I said sarcastically.
“The old man washing dishes in your café’s kitchen? Eight years from now, he steps on a snake and is bitten. He dies.”
“Imagine that.”
“And those two women sitting in a boat in the lagoon,”
I looked at the pair seated in a boat, steered by the local boatman, gliding softly through the lagoon. I recognized them. They were my neighbors at the village. At times they visited my café to have coffee.
“The one in the yellow sari lives to be a grandmother. But the one in blue sari, I’m afraid, she dies within an hour.”
The last statement unhinged me completely. “What?” I blurted, “What happens to her?”
Devil took a sip from his coffee, smiled, and I caught a glimpse of his golden canines again. “I thought you didn’t believe me.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You almost had me there,” I managed a laugh. “But you see, if you really are the Devil, the agent of death...”
“I am not the agent of death,” he corrected. “I am the liberator of souls.”
“Yeah right. Liberator of souls! If you are who you claim to be, why tell me? Why reveal your identity?”
The Devil placed his cup down. “You have no idea how boring my job can be? All I do everyday is liberate soul after soul. On any typical day it is normal for me to liberate about 5000 souls. I keep so busy that I seldom get the chance to hold a decent conversation.”
“Why reveal your identity to me? Am I that special?”
Devil leaned closer. “I’ve a feeling you won’t be telling anyone about me. It’ll be our little secret.” He leaned back. “Besides, you don’t even believe me, right?”
I shrugged and smiled. “That is true.”

Devil finished his coffee and left. The boat trundled to the bank and the two women came ashore. I saw that they were carrying fish in plastic bags. They waved at me, and I waved back.

All of a sudden I remembered something and I slammed my palm on the counter. “The Devil forgot to pay for his coffee!” I looked out of the widow, but Devil was already gone.

It was past noon, time for my daytime siesta. I told the old man in the kitchen to take care of the café till I returned from home. I walked to my beat-up Ford parked behind the café and started driving. The residential area of the village was on other side of the highway about 100 meters away. As I approached the highway, I saw the two women walking towards the middle of the road. I thought that I would give them a lift on my way to the village. I was barely ten meters away from them, when a crazy truck appeared from nowhere and in a welter of sound and debris hurtled past.

I shifted gears and slammed my foot hard, braking couple of meters short of the road. The gory scene on the black tarmac of the road instantly fixated my eyes. One of the two women, the one in blue dress was lying on the road; around her comatose shape there was a pool of blood rapidly increasing in size. Her stomach was ripped open, where the massive truck’s tires had passed, and her squished innards were littered all over. Beside her stood her friend, the one in yellow sari; she had escaped the truck. There was shock on her face and she seemed about to fall down.

I jumped out of my vehicle and was beside her in a moment. At the same instant she found her voice started screaming loudly. I made her sit down at the roadside. The dead body of her friend lay few feet away. I remembered what Devil had said to me in my café, “The one in blue, I’m afraid, will die in an hour.”
All of a sudden I was angry. I rushed to the middle of the road and screamed in the direction, where I had seen the truck disappear. There were sound of brakes, and tires whined on the pavement. In my eagerness to curse at the hit and run trucker I had failed to notice the car coming from behind. By the time I was alerted it was too late, the car was already on me. My last thoughts were of another sentence that Devil had said to me, “I’ve got the feeling you won’t be telling anyone.”

A soothing blankness descended on me. My happy days as a café owner of Kodiattam were over, so were my days of dreaming.

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