Someone Near, Someone Dear

The night was pitch dark. The road disappearing into the gloom was lit every now and then by streetlights, which formed pools of ochre wherever they stood. Except for an occasional truck thundering by, the road was empty. It was late, about 2 o’clock.

In the distance I heard the roar of an approaching motorbike. It was coming fast. Too fast. Then I saw the powerful single beam of its light slicing through the dark of the night. As it drew closer I saw a young man hunched over the handles of the bike. I could not see his face. But something told me that I knew him. That he was someone near. Someone dear.

Even as I watched, I heard him rev up his bike to a faster speed. You’re driving too fast, I wanted to warn him. I tried again to see who he was, but to no avail. His face was shrouded in darkness. Yet, I knew that I knew him. He was a part of me – as tender to me as my own heart. Closer to me than my own soul. But who was it? His body, the way he held it, was so familiar. His name was on the tip of my tongue – and yet, try as I might, I could not bring his name to mind.

Suddenly, with a shiver of dread, I heard the growl of a truck approaching from the opposite side. And it too was coming fast, driven with the abandon of a big powerful machine having the freedom of an empty road. It had only one light on, and from a distance it looked like another two-wheeler. My eyes, for some reason, had taken on the power of seeing great lengths of distances. And I could see the both – the young man on his bike and the enormous truck – hurtling towards each other in an inexorable rush.

I wanted to shout out. I wanted to scream and tell the young man to stop. To please at least slow down. I opened my mouth, but no sound could I emit through my throat. Hand clutching my voiceless throat, I watched helplessly, as they came closer. And still closer. I wanted to run out into the middle of the road, outstretched hands waving to catch his attention – to stop somehow, anyhow, this dreadful drama from unfolding. But my body was immobile. My muscles caught in a dead freeze. And all I could do was watch with stricken eyes. The nameless sense of dread pervading my being.

And they drew closer. Ever closer. The still night waiting and watching. The street lights standing aloof and unperturbed. I broke out in a cold sweat. My heart beating in frantic thuddings and juddings. I tried to break out of my petrified immobility. Sweat poured and drenched me with the effort. I had turned into stone. Paralysed, with horror in my eyes, I watched powerlessly, and saw what I knew I could have stopped from happening, happen.

The motorbike hit the colossal truck front-on with its engine going at full throttle. The night was splintered by the sound of the tremendous crash . . . metal upon metal . . . screeching brakes . . . calamitous clank-clank!

The motorbike, glancing off the face of the truck, and with the force of the impact, flew into the air. Turning slowly, almost lazily, almost for an eternity, in mid air. As if time did not matter anymore now. As if speed was superfluous now. It hit the ground, the force still dragging it, metal tearing and screaming against tarmac, coming at last to a halt some distance away, the broken, inert body of the young man lying by its side. I tried again to look into his face. It was still masked in darkness.

But I knew in my heart, with the wisdom of the ages, that a great loss had befallen me. Someone near, someone dear, was lost to me forever. Someone I could not replace ever. Someone I would not replace ever. Someone who had crossed the great divide and gone. Gone over to the other side, into the void. Leaving me here – alone – bereft – forever.

I turned my face to the unfeeling night and wanted to cry out – Oh, Weep, Weep, Lament for one gone forever! I turned to the unseeing streetlights and wanted to say – Oh, Shed a tear for a beloved, departed! But, no matter how much I struggled, not a single word could I utter. A relentless force held me in its dark grip.

When I awoke from my dream my body was drenched in sweat. My heart still thudding and judding. And I was still filled with the nameless feeling of fear. I looked at my watch, it was 2 in the night. Staggering, I made my way to the bathroom and allowed myself to feel the sting of the cold water that I splashed on my face. I then walked slowly – a little unsteady – to the kitchen and made myself a hot cup of tea. I took my tea out into the balcony where I sat and felt the sips of the hot liquid course comfortingly through me. Slowly, I started breathing normally again. An uneasy calm descended on me.

It was only a nightmare I told myself. Probably indigestion. It was really silly to get so worked up about a dream, however vivid it may have been. But I had had nightmares before – none of them had been quite so lucid as this. And the feeling of foreboding would not leave me. I felt alone. I paced up and down breathing in the slightly chill night air deeply. That made me feel better. I breathed in deeply once or twice more. Then feeling much better I decided to try and go back to sleep.

The muffled brrinng-brrinng of the phone woke me up. It was early, just five, my bedside clock told me. I ignored the phone. It persisted. Groaning, cursing, I picked it up.

“Hello!” said a voice. It was Sanjay, an old friend. My sleep filled mouth refused to speak.

“Hello? Amita? Are you awake? It’s Sanjay here.” His insistent voice pierced through my consciousness. Why was he so insistent, I wondered irritably, still half asleep.

“Yeah, now I am. No thanks to you,” I said, trying to put sarcasm into my sleep thick voice. But then, his next words sent a charge of electricity through me, bringing me fully awake instantly.

“It’s bad news Amita. I’m coming over now. In about 10 minutes.”

My mind jumped sharply alive. The dread of the night swamped me. Somehow I knew what the bad news was going to be. I insisted that he tell me whatever it was on the phone, but he told me in a grave voice that he had to say it personally. When the doorbell rang, and I let him in, I resisted listening to his next words. I wanted to scream – I don’t want to know – Oh please, please, I don’t want to know – I wanted to shut my ears.

When he spoke, he used a gentle tone. “It’s about Ajay, Amita. He died in a motorbike accident last night.”

We had planned. We had plotted. Ajay and I. I and Ajay. Amita and Ajay. Ajay and Amita – To be wed. To be locked together forever in life. Nothing – No power – On earth – Or heaven – Would tear us asunder. To keep us apart. We had promised each other.

The wedding cards had already been sent. Death rendered them annulled.

-by Rita Putatunda

This story is based on a true incident which occurred in my life when I was about 20 yrs old. I later read up about lucid dreaming and precognition, which I found was quite common and experienced by many people.