The moon disappeared out of intense fright. The goddess of darkness took over and spread its contour up to the horizon. Somrat, Khorshed and Babul took the chance.
They looked like frozen lumps of wobbling figures in the bone chilling mid-night wind as nagging fog aggravated the already distressed visibility. They cared about nothing.
Somrat was a dark lanky shadow carrying a shovel, Khorshed's plump and stout physique stooped forward negotiating with a heavy sack on his right shoulder and Babul, shortest but the sliest among them holding a torch and a stick, looking around, led them ahead, always on edge.
"Who hoot hoot" an irritated owl suddenly intercepted overhead from his ancient abode. His territory was trespassed.
Nobody answered. Somrat tightened his loosen muffler, transferred the shovel to another hand, and thought about his asthmatic mom. Cold of such intensity usually redoubles her dyspnoea. He was seriously in need of money to treat her. A lure of the share of a hefty amount made him brave this chilliest dark.
The other day, Babul whispered in his ears while taking lunch with fish fry and cauliflower during the break of harvesting, "Listen, I got the order of at least three, not too old or too new so that the bones are still intact. Each costs a good twenty thousand."
This time Somrat neither scared, nor surprised, he had been tempted by Babul for a long time and now he was convinced and settled his mind, because he needed some quick bucks.
Babul lingered, "After keeping his CNG in the garage, Khorshed will meet us during midnight. He was a mason earlier, very good at digging quickly."
Last week after the Juma prayer they offered fatiha in the biggest graveyard of the locality. Babul from his half-closed eyes selected three graves-neither too old nor too new.
They were on their way now. It was almost a mile away from their rendezvous. Khorshed began to have cramps in his legs and his entire body was convulsing on and off.
Was it for the wicked cold? He ventured such an expedition with Babul two times earlier, but he did not feel so wasted like tonight. He buried his five years old daughter a couple of weeks ago who died of diarrhoea carrying her corpse on his own lap and dealt with it stoically. But tonight an untold dismay gripped him from top to toe. Panic paired with acerbic cold partially paralyzed his every step.
Immediately a deeply agonizing and long wail from afar justified his inexplicable dread - Another death, another burial on the offing?
Khorshed cringed in horror and halted for a moment. Somrat almost tripped over him from behind. He struggled with cough and breathing issues and had been grappling hard with it in case their movements were heard. Babul's aural faculty was far keener, he gestured them from front not to move.
They huddled around. Babul's sense of self-preservation smelt a rat. Minutes later the sinister and unceasing wail drowned. Some abysmal rapid footsteps froze them instead.
All of them ducked their heads under a bush in sync. They chose this arboraceous route in lieu of the conventional one to remain unseen and they were almost adjacent to their destination. But who were they?
"Who�hoot�hoot�" another owl swore and snapped because he is fond of solitude.
Nobody answered. Did they hear anything wrong? Were the cursed jinns leading them astray? Babul did not afford to waste a second. It was a deal and he was unwilling to break their trust. He gritted his teeth and waved them to proceed.
Stealthily they stood beside the fence where they prayed earlier and lowered their heads underneath again. An insomniac dog whooshed past them casting a look of disgust.
Fog was thicker and the wind was cooler and the overwhelming gloom showed no mercy to the perceptibility. But their audition was staggered and aghast by a slew of dull, dreary and persistent digging sounds.
"Who are they?" They clasped and pressed each other's hand tight. Their bodies were icier than any cadavers. The writer is First Language English Teacher, DPS STS School, Dhaka
