Khatam Kahani

"Mama, tell me a story before bed,” said the boy earnestly, his eyes and voice expectant, alert, and honey like.

“A story huh?” she responded, her voice steeped in an air of mischief. She grinned and looked at her son with eyes she knew he’d recognize. And she was correct; as always.

He looked at her, and took the hint. She had no intention of telling him a story. At least, not any he was interested in. He began to speak a syllable of protest when she began once more.

“Main tujhe abhi batati hu.”

I’ll tell you right now.

She began that story again, her lyrical sentences interspaced with exasperated interjections from her child.

“Ek tha raja...”

“Ek thi rani...”

“Mama, come on, not this story.”

“Dono margay...”

“Mama, I’m serious!”

“Khatam Kahani!”

She chanted the last line with much satisfaction. She had won- and he wouldn’t ask for a story again tonight.

“Really Mama? Come on, I meant like a real story,” said the child, upset and yet clearly unsurprised.

“Would you like to hear it again?”

“Nevermind. Goodnight.”

He left in defeat and mild dissatisfaction. He knew it would end like this, but he had asked anyway. He had asked anyway just as he always had asked and was diverted just as he had always been diverted.

He wandered up the stairs, his mind echoing the lines of his mother’s ‘favorite’ story in uneven intervals.

‘There once was a king...’

‘There once as a queen...’

His brain chanted the tale idly in an unwelcome fashion. The tune of the lines lingered and lulled his mind, begging for repetition and ultimately being humored by some subconscious and accursed portion of his mind.

‘There once was a king...’

‘There once was a queen...’

He reached the top of the stairs and turned left to go into his room. The blue walls brightly glowed in yellow tones coaxed out of a household of warm light. He flipped the light switch and checked his night light to make sure it was plugged in properly- which it wasn’t. It had slipped out of the socket once again as the bulb drooped forward. He swiftly corrected its angle and marched towards the opposite side of the room. Absentmindedly, he took off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. Next, lifting one foot over the edge of his bed, he entered the threshold of his blanket and allowed himself to doze.

‘Ek tha raja...’

‘Ek thi rani...’

‘Dono margay....’

It was back, he thought lazily. Surrendering to its unending loop, he simply let go of his senses and let them spiral into his mind’s fancy.

‘Raja aur rani...’

‘Mar jaana aur chale jaana...’

‘A king and a queen...’

‘Dono margay...’

Poor king and queen. He wondered if it was a bad death. He wondered if the queen died first and the king mourned sadly. He wondered if it was the opposite. He wondered if anyone would mourn his death.

‘Dono margay...’

‘Both died...’

But in the end, it’s not like it mattered.

‘Dono margay...’

‘Khatam Kahani’

‘And that’s the end of the story’

The end of every story.

* * * * *

He opened his eyes with a start.

His room was dark; darker than usual.

He scanned the perimeter and realized that his night light had fallen out once more. Soon, he slipped out of his covers to push the bulb back.

Suddenly, he felt a brisk draft. It chilled his feet and inducted a startling and eerie impulse along the edges of his scalp.

He froze in position, his legs taut and his eyes suddenly alert and aware.

The breeze came in unevenly, roughly chopping at his behind while cacophonously chiming an orchestra of shards in dreaded unison.

In response, he acted instinctively, guided by a sense of utter caution and fear. He deliberately inched forward, leaning into his right foot while tentatively and slowly extending his left directly ahead of him. There was no need to look back. That was an unnecessary and excessive movement. Instead, he'd have to move quietly and far far away to assess his being.

As soon as he placed his left foot ahead and began to mirror his method of progression, he heard a deep and sonorous intake of air.

Soon, it began to leak- it flew in streaks. The rate of diffusion increased as its pitch climbed.

It began.

One foot,

the next,

faster,

faster,

then pairs-

a thud,

drumming,

two

three

shouting,

stairs-

two

four

calling out-

'succession'

six

eight

ten

warning-

'kings sevenfold'

twelve

fourteen

sixteen

'phir khatam'

eighteen

crash

* * * * *

He awoke the next morning in bed. The sun shined in unabashedly from behind, lighting his room garishly. He idly turned his head over to the side of his bed. As he rotated his neck, however, he felt a crisp bite freeze his head in place. He gingerly ran his fingers over his neck and along the base of his head to find that a large and rough bump had surfaced.

‘Phir Khatam’

The phrase echoed in his mind.

‘Succession and kings sevenfold’

As the events of the night replayed themselves earnestly in his brain, he felt himself tensen and grow alert.

He carefully lifted himself up to turn his body towards the window, crazedly searching for evidence of the night before.

Any trace of glass was utterly gone. His window, however, was still broken; overtop the jagged hole was a crude piece of cardboard sealed with duct tape.

He wasn’t dreaming; it was still here. He had evidence- his neck, his head, the window- all of it.

He bolted downstairs and found his mother and father in their room downstairs. They sat on opposite sides of the bed, distant and tense.

“Mama, my window is broken!”

His mother simply looked at him, forlorn. She slowly turned her head to her husband and gave him a constant gaze. In response, he sighed and avoided eye contact. He turned towards his son,

“The, uh, neighbors” he began, “were really hammering it down last night”. He paused, as if contemplating how to phrase it. “Someone was probably out of it; they must’ve thrown something at our window and broke it”.

His mother sighed and looked at her son.

“Yeah... Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix it,” she assured gently. After a moment, she began to look troubled. “Are you ok? You like something must’ve happened”.

He simply looked at her and said nothing. He quickly nodded a no and turned to go upstairs.

The boy began to lose trust in his parents.

No, that wasn’t it.

He simply didn’t know how to tell them what he had seen the other night. Yes, it was far too radical to consider. It had to have been a nightmare.

But still, he couldn’t help but look to the signs of its truth- the bump, the broken window. All of it made it unavoidably clear that what he had seen was likely true.

‘Succession sevenfold’

‘Khatam’

The voice; the wind. What did succession mean? What did it have to do with kings? What would end?

* * * * *

The night began to creep in once more. It was almost time for bed.

The boy earnestly approached his mother once again and asked for a story. Today she obliged and read him The Little Prince. He loved that story. He always wished he could give his mom a rose just like the prince’s friend. But he was always afraid he just wasn’t being practical. Not only that, but what if the rose became too proud to love. He knew it happened. It simply wasn’t worth it.

As his mother read the story, the boy dozed off and drifted to sleep.

He dreamed of watching a play with his mother. In the play, a silly king walked around town and returned home. Once there, he trifled with his things and decided to list all things in his domain. As he wrote and wrote, he grew old and old, all until he died.

The funniest part was that a new king just took his place, and so did a new queen. Then they started doing the exact same thing.

Such silly people.

* * * * *

The next day his father wasn’t home. His mother was sad. She hid it, but he knew. Maybe they knew it was coming too.

The end.

‘Khatam’

The day dragged on into night and the boy went to bed once more. He asked his mother for a story once again.

She just smiled and said, “Maybe tomorrow”. However, she must’ve seen his disappointment. In a moment, she drew up a smile and teased. “Ok, fine. I have a story”

And so the story was replayed.

‘Ek tha raja, Ek thi rani. Dono margay, Khatam Kahani!’

The boy grinned along with his mother this time. The story itself wasn’t important. He just had to have a story told. He knew his mom had to as well.

He quickly went to bed and had the same dream again. In his sleep, he had the same dream. That made two kings.

‘Succession sevenfold’

Twice confirmed.

* * * * *

Over the course of the next four days, time plodded on in isolation. If everything must end, the boy must make the most of his life. And so, he spent as much time as possible with his mother.

Every night he was told the same story; every night they laughed and hugged each other dearly. It had become their inside joke- their thing.

He wished his father would stop preparing for the end and come home too. Lately he had been out on errands, supplying and preparing things. But if it was all going to end, it should end peacefully and idly. He wished his father understood that.

It was ok though.

After falling asleep each day, he had the same dream over and over. A third king, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and then a seventh, all lost in succession towards an inexorable end.

‘Khatam’

It would come and it would pass, as everything would.

* * * * *

The boy went downstairs to see his mother and father. Today, both were in their room, ready and prepared. His father had all of his things packed; clothes, tech, and books- the entire ensemble.

The boy gingerly slipped a copy of his favorite book into his father’s book case.

From afar, his mother watched him sadly, smiling at her son.

The U-haul was parked outside, almost completely packed. They led his dad up to the door to say farewell.

“Papa, aap kab aaoge?”

He looked towards his son and smiled vaguely. He gave him a loose hug and packed the last of his things into the truck.

“I’ll pay for the window. It’ll be in the next check” he said in a monotone.

His mother didn’t respond.

Soon, the vehicle was barreling off into the distance, unseeable within a minute and never to be seen again. It was gone.

After a moment, the boy smiled to his mom and went up to his room. As he walked up the steps, his mind spiralled in the abyss it had dwelled in for the past week-

‘Khatam Kahani’

The story’s end, met after the death of seven kings.

As soon as he crosses the threshold of his room, the boy cried and cried, waiting for the end to completely set in.

But the end had only begun. And that was the worst of it.

Nearby, his mother hovered outside his door, unsure of how to enter. Even if every story must end, it never made it any less painful.

Even if their end had begun, she hoped his didn’t have to.

She walked into his room and hugged her son tightly. The two cried for a long time: the boy vehemently and the mother softly.

She gently caressed his hair and told him a story with a sad smile, hoping to calm him down. She began and ended as she always had:

‘Ek tha raja,’

‘Ek thi rani’

‘Dono margay…’

‘Khatam Kahani.’