The Cloak of Her Love

Shillong was young, a city just starting to come alive. Once a holiday retreat for the British, much of its architecture remained as marvellous remnants of a colonial past. Snuggled in the valley was a Polo sports ground that had once been filled with the sounds of hoofbeats and cheers.

Long ago, in the valley of Shillong, when the breeze cut through the air, colder and more biting than it is today, the town was just beginning to shape itself. There were only a few vintage vehicles and a few horse Tangas (carriages) rolling slowly down the narrow roads, their bells humming against the quiet stillness. Below the cliffs lay a handful of shops — a modest post office, a humble tea stall, a grocery store where goods were stacked on wooden shelves, and a hardware store, its tools clinking faintly in the distance. The town’s only hospital, still under construction, stood about 30 minutes away, a symbol of progress amidst the simplicity.

“A young man, an outsider in this growing town, had come from a small village to work for a living. The city was expanding, especially in construction, where he spent his days working on the dusty roads that would connect the hillside neighbourhood.

One evening, after a long, tiring day, he made his way back home, clothes dusty from work and steps heavy. He climbed the steep path, revealing the way ahead like slowly rising on an escalator. Then he saw her.

First, he noticed the outline of her long hair, then the soft blush of her cheeks, until she stood there — a woman alone at the hill’s edge. She wore a black saree that flowed in the breeze. Her bright eyes caught his gaze. She was beautiful, and before he knew it, he was staring. It was frowned upon to stare at women in those days, so he quickly looked away and hurried down the lane leading to his small rented room.

He heard footsteps behind him. Curious, he looked back and felt his heart race — the same woman, just a few steps behind. She held his gaze for a moment, a slight blush colouring her cheeks as a small smile appeared on her lips. They walked in silence, he in front, stealing glances whenever he could, and she a few feet back, occasionally looking up before quickly averting her eyes. Each glance felt like the soft melody of a love song. When he reached the wooden gate of his compound, his heart was racing. With a shy nod, he acknowledged his arrival. She held his gaze one last time, smiled faintly, and turned into a narrow lane. The man knows that even a casual look could lead to gossip.

Later that night, he lay in bed, replaying every detail of their brief encounter. He remembered her eyes, her gentle smile, and the soft sound of her anklet. He had never seen her before — was she new to the neighbourhood or just passing through? Sleep eluded him; all his tiredness vanished, but as he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but hope he might see her again.

The next day, as he walked home, he hoped for another glimpse of her. But each empty corner brought a pang of disappointment. What was I even thinking? She was beautiful, likely from a well-off family, while he was covered in dust and wearing torn clothes from a long day’s work. His anticipation turned into a quiet ache. Why would someone like her notice someone like me? He thought!

As he reached his gate, he noticed the lantern-lit outside and the enticing aroma of fresh rotis and spices wafting from his home. To his astonishment, the woman was in his room, tidying up. Shocked, he rushed to close the door — anyone seeing an unmarried woman in his home would stir up trouble.

Before he could ask her anything, he was struck by how clean and welcoming his small space looked, filled with a floral scent. The sight of her doing this for him overwhelmed him. In a soft voice, she said, “Go and change.” He forgot what he wanted to say, perhaps, he wanted her to stay.

The next morning, he woke up, trying to remember what had happened the previous night. She was not beside him; he assumed she had left quietly. He faintly recalled her serving food and the warmth of her presence; everything felt like a dream. But when he looked around, he saw his room was a mess— clothes were scattered, the dishes lying about, the freshness was replaced by an odour.

This pattern continued for several days. Each time he returned home, she was already there, quietly moving around. The questions he wanted to ask slipped away as soon as he walked through the door, no matter how hard he tried. It was as if he was under a spell. Gradually, he started to wonder: Where did she come from? Where did she stay? In those days, women didn’t stay out late. Even if she did, why would she spend the night with him before marriage? It confused him — women like her were usually conservative and careful.

His feelings were replaced by an eerie sense of something gone awry.

He was at a loss. This whole situation was wearing him down; it was unsettling. He’d wanted to marry her after that first night, to do things right. But the strangest part was that he couldn’t recall a single conversation with her or her talking to him about it.

One day, a colleague noticed his worry and stress and asked if he wanted to talk. The man couldn’t hold it in any longer and told him everything.

His friend listened quietly, then, with a serious look, said, “Brother, I don’t think that woman is human.”

The man shook his head, refusing to believe it. “No, that can’t be true,” he said firmly.

His colleague leaned in, his expression serious. “Think about it, brother. She meets you in the evening, alone, always by herself. Do you even know where she lives? Have you ever asked? Or even spoken to her?”

The man stammered, “No… but, every time I try —

“Exactly! She hypnotises you every single time. How does she even get into your house without anyone noticing? And every morning, she’s gone — vanished without a trace. What’s left behind?” His friend’s voice dropped lower, his tone grim. “A house full of garbage, a rotten smell. No human would do that.”

The man stared, a chill creeping over him as his friend’s words sank in. “Could it be true? What am I supposed to do now? He asked.

“I know someone who might be able to help. A priest — a wise man who knows about… things like this.” The Friend replied.

They met the priest, who listened intently as the man recounted his story. Finally, the priest nodded and said, “Bring me a woollen yarn and a large needle.”

The man and his friend exchanged puzzled glances, but they didn’t question it. They returned with the items, and the priest gave his instructions. “Tonight, I want you to stay aware. No matter how tired you feel, keep your mind alert. The moment you have a chance, when she’s asleep or even just distracted, pin this needle in her saree.”

The man felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him. “How am I supposed to do this? But I have to try.” he nodded, knowing he had to try. With the yarn and needle in hand, decided, prepared and determined. Tonight, he’d have to fight to stay awake. And he knew — this time, he couldn’t just fall under her spell.“Tonight would be different. I would face whatever she truly is— and he would end this.”

With one last look at the night sky, he stepped into his home, determined to see the night through!

As he sat there, fighting sleep, his hand hovering over the yarn and needle. Suddenly, he heard her.

“I knew you before we met,” she said softly. “I watched you, coming home every night, tired and alone, working hard just to save a little extra to send home. There was no one here to welcome you home, to cook you a good meal, to take care of you, to ask how your day was…” She paused, her voice catching. “I felt pity for you.”

“You’re a good man,” she went on. “No bad habits, no vices, just a quiet, decent man with no one to share his life. That sympathy… it grew into something else, something I didn’t understand at first.” She looked away, her eyes lowering, her eyes filled with emotion. “But then I realised — I had fallen in love with you.”

She stepped closer. “I wanted to visit you, to be there for you, to show you that someone, somewhere, cared about you… and you weren’t alone. I have come far for you; I have crossed boundaries to be with you”

“I just wanted you to have a reason to smile. If I must leave, know that I truly love you.” A single tear slid down her cheek.

A hurricane of questions swirled in his mind, yet, unable to speak a word.

He sat there, lost in thought, “Perhaps she knows what am I up to!”

“She looked different tonight,” The man thought. She served him his meal, poured him water, and sat with him as always. Then, quietly, she led him to bed, sat by his feet, and gently began to press them. Her gaze held something he couldn’t ignore — like she was asking him endless, silent questions, a look that said, This is it…We won’t meet again, I hope you remember me!

She finally rested her head on his chest and drifted off to sleep. He knew, deep down, that this could be their last night. His heart twisted with regret; he didn’t want to do this. But fear pushed him forward. With shaking hands, he reached for the needle, and finally, he managed to hook the needle to the fabric of her Saree.

As dawn broke, the man jolted awake, panic rising in his chest. He looked down at the wool yarn, now reduced to a small, gum-sized clump, rushing to find his colleague. Together, they hurried to the priest, he took the yarn, his expression serious. “Let’s see where this leads,” he said, rolling it out.

With every turn, the man’s heart sank. “Is this the end?” he thought, battling heartbreak and fear.

The yarn led them down the hillside to the construction site, winding through a dumping ground toward a narrow stream covered in thick underbrush. As they pushed aside the branches, they gasped in shock. The needle had penetrated a small bone, half-buried in the earth. “This could be human remains,” the priest said grimly. “Someone might have killed her here.”

“What have I done?” he cried, the tears streaming down his face as the weight of his choices crushed him.

“She must have fought against the Almighty itself to be with someone she loved from this world.” The man is still sobbing.

He realised the woman he had fallen in love with was a ghost. But a wave of regret washed over him; he should have let it be. “She made me feel at home; she came for me,” he sobbed. Her words from the night before rang in his ears. “She sacrificed everything… all for me.” “How could I have done this? She loved me… and now I’ve lost her.” The pain of his choices crushed him, leaving an unbearable emptiness in its wake.

The man turned his back on the city, his heart heavy with sorrow. He returned to his hometown, leaving behind the memories of a love that had changed him forever.

The End

We’ve all experienced love, haven’t we? Some moments fill us with joy, while others leave us heartbroken. Yet, despite the highs and lows, we keep moving forward. We hold onto hope that we might cross paths with those we’ve lost. Many of us carry the ache of love lost, a reminder that even in our absence, love has touched our lives. Ultimately, love persists, guiding us to embrace new beginnings, even after painful endings.