The Death Well

He looked up to the sky expectantly. 

Shit. 

He turned around, and faced the front door. 

I will count to ten. Of course, things will change. I am sure. Ten, nine, eight ….

Once again he stared at the sky. He squinted, and then finally gave up. The sun was having none of it. The sky was still clear, and there was to be no respite from the heatwave. The sun took unholy joy in tormenting its dependents, it seemed. This had been going on for weeks now. The inhabitants of the town, who used to flock the main road and the markets at all hours, now dared to venture out only after the sun had safely moved on to other areas to torture. Even the children, who had to be practically chained to their homes to stop them from playing all the time, were sulking within their homes. It was a sobering reminder that even after all the claims of progress and development, the town was still a slave to the whims of the sun.

Thoroughly disappointed, he slouched back into his house and slumped into the armchair. He hated this season. If the summer heat wasn't enough, he had the power cuts to get on his nerves. He knew there was no hope of getting anything done today, even though work waited for him at his desk. Course plans to write, notes to make, a letter for procurement of supplies to be written to the principal. A life as a primary school teacher wasn't easy.

His mind slipped into a reflective mode as usual. 

Look at you. With all your years of hard work, all your philosophical leanings, all your mindless rebellion. Stuck in this godforsaken town, teaching a bunch of stupid kids. Look at your brother. The respect he has earned. The way your father loves him. And you? He must be ashamed to introduce you as his son! So much so for 'forging your own path'! 

His brother. The bane of his existence. He had never loathed someone as much as him. It was not as if his brother ever treated him badly. To the contrary, he had even offered to get him a place in the town, and it was his pride that made him reject that offer. His loathing had more to do with how conforming and ordinary, for the lack of a better word, his brother's existence was. He was an average student who followed whatever path their tyrant of a father chose for him, and was rewarded for his obedience with his father's furniture business. He did nothing to earn it. He just lucked into it by accident of birth, and clung to it with his mindless devotion to his progenitor. 

What a life, wasted trying to please that old buffoon! He might have earned a bit more than me, but that's that. 

To say that he had earned a bit more was an understatement though. His brother had a mansion to his name, while he was lying in his rented two room home. The furniture business was booming, and there were talks about them opening another branch soon.

It better not be in this town, or I will personally go and burn that thing down.

Sometimes he did have doubts that his hate was rooted in something much less heroic. Much less principled. Was it just a jealous reaction to his sibling's success? Maybe a manifestation of the frustration that his life's lofty ideals led him nowhere? But he would quickly banish such thoughts away. Reality had messed up his life anyway. He wasn't going to let it ruin his fantasy too.

He picked up his phone hesitantly. He knew where this was going. 

An idle mind is the devil's workshop.

He hoped that he would find a message saying that sorry, today they were busy. Maybe someone's cousin's marriage. Or some uncle's demise. 

Anyway what is the use? It's not as if I have gotten anything out of it. Maybe they just forget to call me? Yup. Maybe they will just forget---

The screen flashed. 

Bro. 6:30. Got 3 new. Rich teams. Don't miss this.

He took a deep breath. 

Fuck.

The last time, he had somewhat made up his mind to give it up. To stop going there at all. He lost ₹3,000 last time. That was his record loss. He was losing too much at this point. Basically half his salary was going down this gambling drain. But this offer was tempting. Three new players, and all of them rich. Rich players were the best for others, in his opinion. They were rich enough for the others to profit handsomely, but not rich enough for them to get contented with their wealth themselves. It was just a matter of the opening rounds. Once they lose enough money, they would squander their remaining wealth too trying to recoup it.

But how did it really matter to him? He wasn't an expert in this art. Far from it. He was an utter amateur with no skills. But is gambling dependent on skills? He had conflicting views on the topic. Anecdotal evidence suggested that there was a degree of skill involved, while theory stated that it was a game of luck. But today, he was ready to believe in the theory. The vague hope of finally getting rich had taken its roots again. Maybe lady luck would finally smile on him, after having refused to even acknowledge his existence all these years? Maybe the dice will finally relent, and give him his just reward after wrecking his fortunes for so long? A change for the better was very much overdue. And if it ever had to come, he felt it had to be today.

***

He gingerly stepped out of his house. It was 6:00 in the evening now. It was a fifteen minutes walk to his friend's place. The sun hadn't given up yet, but had finally relented enough to let mere mortals step out and go about their lives again. The streets were showing signs of life, and the shops were receiving customers. He liked this time of the day. It was as if he was seeing a giant organism wake out of its slumber. It was a well choreographed act. You couldn't tell who was the first person out for shopping or the first kid who ran out to the street. But you could see the results. One moment it was silence. And now it was alive again.

He was a couple of streets away from his destination now, and he slowed his steps. He looked in amazement at the architectural marvel to his left. It was the diamond merchant's home. He stood in front of the huge main gate, admiring the sight. If there was a person with whom he would be willing to swap his life, it was this guy. He was an enigma. He was a self made genius. No one knew from where he came, or when he landed in town. No one was sure how he first struck gold. The accepted version of events was that he started out as an apprentice to a jeweller, and took over the business after the owner decided to move on to other interests. He then decided to deal solely in diamonds, which was a risky move with an uncertain market and a perceived lack of demand. But it turned out to be a masterstroke in hindsight. With astute marketing and a natural mind for business, he cornered the whole supply-demand in this area. He then made this town his headquarters, and single handedly put it on the map.

Presently, he was shook out of his reverie by a pair of lazy eyes which were gazing intently at him. Now, he could hear someone labouring towards him, and the sound of a stick monotonously striking the ground. It was the security guard. He quickly crossed over to the other side. He was in no mood to hear any orders to go away, or even look at that pot bellied fiend with his stout stick.

He despised the security guard. His overt show of importance, and his lazy arrogance, got under his skin. As an individual member of the society, he was of no consequence. No street mongrel would look twice at him if he ever went their way. But within the four walls of the diamond merchant's estate, he held power. He wielded the right to chastise and verbally taunt any sloucher or gawker who stood in front of the gate, even though he wasn't much well off himself. The very fact that a great man like the merchant would appoint him as his personal security guard, tolerate his close presence and pay for his services, lend to the guard a sense of pride. It couldn't be put into words, or be measured in mere monetary terms. 

As the guard peered through the iron bars, contemptuously looking at his receding figure, he moved on. He was in no mood to have an argument now. If ever he found the guard outside on the streets, he would knock that mocking sneer off his face. But it was as if the guard had no existence outside the merchant's shadow. He had no family to speak of. He was a permanent fixture within the boundaries of the estate. He had lived there since the merchant arrived in town, and looked to stay in that position till his demise. He begrudgingly respected the guard for this. The guard knew his limitations, his source of power and its boundaries. As long as he played safe and within its limits, he was unbeatable at this game. He could take this derived authority with him to his grave.

Even he has figured out his life. What to do, what not to, and how to keep it on track. He needs to do nothing except doze off in his room, order his assistants about, and wave his stick about in the faces of people like you. What about you? 

He sighed, and quickened his steps towards his destination.

***

It was 9:00 now. It was finally dark. He was walking back to his house now. He had taken a detour through the fields. He cursed everyone involved in today's game. The three newcomers turned out to be devils from hell. They wiped the floor with the regulars, and he was the biggest casualty. He stood no chance, but fuelled on by greed and cheap liquor he did try hopelessly. In the end he lost ₹5,000 and was now a thousand bucks in debt too. 

As he walked on unsteadily, he came across a group of people engaged in a frantic search near the merchant's house. His eyes widened as he saw the security guard, finally out of his territory. His self assuredness and poise was nowhere to be seen. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt wasn't buttoned properly. It was as if someone had dragged him straight out of bed. This spectacle made him forget his travails for a moment.

He found out from a bystander that someone had broken into the merchant's house and gotten away with a diamond and some jewellery. The thief panicked when the guard spotted him, and seemed to have dropped something while fleeing. Another group had gone after the thief, and these people were searching for the stolen goods.

As he was processing this information, the guard came up to him. He was flustered and nervous, and asked frantically,

"Did you see anyone going that way? There, see that tree? He jumped down from there, and he ran into that street. Did you see anything?"

He was stunned. 

The pot bellied terror squealing like a kid! What a treat!

"No, nothing. Just came here now."

He could barely muster this reply without breaking into a laugh, and walked past.

If the merchant is so unhappy, he could always buy a new diamond. Heck, he can buy one for his lazy good for nothing henchman too. What is it with all this craze about diamonds anyway? Stupid pieces of carbon. Can you eat it? Can you drink it? Can you write with it? If ever there was a poster boy for the futility of human desire, then it is this!

The alcohol in him was having its effect. He was losing his focus and his mind was busy battling human idiosyncrasies and wastefulness. The moonlit path was becoming progressively harder to follow, and now he doubted whether taking this detour was the right idea. He had only come this way a couple of times, and that was with his friends and in daytime. There was a decent chance of him getting lost now.

His unsteady gait was slowing him down. He stopped for a minute, and started again. This was a battle between mind and body. His mind was focused on reaching home, while his body wanted to sway about and spin in circles. He trudged along, silently.

It was his right foot which stumbled upon something. He braced his hands for impact, but things seemed to happen in slow motion. Then his feet too lost contact with the ground, and it was with intense terror that he realised that he was freefalling. The impact was sickening. He landed on his stomach. The blow was cushioned somewhat by the muddy terrain, but it hurt nonetheless.

What the fuck?!?

He struggled to his feet. He was in a hole of some sort. Looking up, he could see the moonlight at the top. But there was no way he was climbing out of here. The hole was nearly 40 feet deep. And about 10 feet wide.

What the fuck is this hole doing here?!?

Then the realisation dawned on him. This was a well. The town well. Once it used to supply the town's water, but with the advent of pipelines it had fallen into disuse. The water had dried up, and all that was left of it was this muddy hole. The fields around the well were snake infested, and there were rumours about a king cobra which lived near the well and would attack any human who came near its abode. They even gave it a fancy name, the Death Well.

Stupid superstitions! It is just a human fallacy to think that every creature is born to either slave for us, or torment us. It just serves to rationalise the notion that the world revolves around the human race! Why on earth would a king cobra be obsessed with us!

However, now wasn't the time to argue about the validity of myths. There were many ways to die within a well, even without a king cobra. It would take days for someone to even think of searching here. He looked around, hoping for some sort of escape.

Some foothold, just something. Just---

He couldn't believe his eyes. A rope dangling down the sides of the well. He reluctantly yanked it downwards, half expecting it to come undone. But no, the knot was tight and strong. He looked up. The rope went outside the well. This was his ticket to freedom.

The alcohol in him was in full effect now. He gave out a whoop of joy. With a way out in sight, he was no longer in a hurry. He looked around the well.

This is a fine good hole, to be fair. Maybe I can lure those three robbers and push them into this well, and take off with their money! Not that they earned it, they must have cheated. Pathetic gamblers with no honour! Anyway they couldn't have deserved it more than me, with my intellect and ---

He saw a glimmer in the shadows. A faint glow. He slowly moved a bit, to ascertain whether it just was the moonlight playing a trick. It wasn't. The shimmering remained. 

It can't be. Or can it? 

It all fell into place in his mind. The robber flees from the merchant's house. He has a diamond and some jewellery with him. He chooses to dump the diamond here and goes off with the other goods. The search party can find the diamond, and with the more valuable property retrieved they might call it a day and stop hunting for the thief. And now there lies the diamond, within his reach.

How much can I ask for, as a reward? A job maybe? Can I ask the merchant to bump off the incompetent guard and take his position? I can't be worse than him surely…

But then another thought crossed his mind.

A diamond for the merchant is nothing, to be fair. He will get over his loss tomorrow. But for me? It can be my ticket to a new life! Would the merchant himself have given back the diamond had he been in my position? Isn't ruthlessness a basic business principle? Who knows how he got hold of the jewellery business in the first place? Just imagine. I pawn off this stupid diamond, and I am practically a made man. I use it to start a business, and multiply my wealth. And finally, I roll up to my father and his stupid spawn, and give them the finger and buy their business out! Glorious!

He was shaking with excitement now. With trembling hands, he reached out to the diamond. But suddenly, the diamond jerked back. It was as if it was floating mid-air. And now he could see two of them.

Well, that is funny. Never seen a diamond do that before.

The diamond then reached forward. Now he could see it wasn't floating at all. And he could see the fangs below the diamonds.

***

They found his body a couple of days after. The autopsy ruled out foul play, and put down the cause of death as a heart attack due to shock.