A queen sized bed overlooks a window. Around 12:00 in the noon, when the light is at its most splendid, it steels through the window and falls on the bed like thoughts organised neatly on mornings that one wakes up early. A sudden hustle of wind makes a hurried attempt at the bed, and spoils the painful neatness that is the bed spread. The folds on the bed spread grow thick and inconsistent. This irks the house keeper beyond measure but she likes light, wind and other such pleasantness so she will not close the windows or draw the curtains.
The table stands in a corner, looking orphaned yet sprightly. Its black doesn’t go well with the lavender of the walls or the curtains. Although the books themselves look devoid of dust, a slate of dust runs around books that haven’t been touched in ages, This wasn’t due to the house keeper’s carelessness. She was simply warned never to change the position of the books.
A broken lamp stands in another corner. It is a bronze lamp and one has to look at it very carefully to see where and why it is broken. A withering, brown book shelf is the lamp’s neighbor. And just above ‘A mill on the Floss’, is a very artistically carved hole where a spider lives and does what spiders do. An old, dusty copy of the ‘Walden’ sits alone on the top shelf. It looks returned. Is that why it sits alone? On the shelf below, a Waldenesque shape looks carved just as artistic as the hole – its predecessor. Only this one looks more enchanting. An OCD prone person would leave the Walden-hole alone.
Around 3:00, the light softens and this time when it falls on the bed, it looks like a well composed, grieving princess crying softly. A little after, the light falls on a pair of black sandals that are to the left of the bed. It looks just as inviting as the soft blueness of gigantic pillows propped against the headboard.
An empty glass jug is the light’s next affair. It sends shards of glassy reflections onto the mirror that towers to the right of the bed. Every time the house keeper walks in and out if the bedroom, leaving the door shut thud, flecks of dust float up and then settle down on the bed and there they rest until her next visit. They will continue to shift and settle down even after she cleans. The dust in this room is like the ghostly light in the room. It never leaves, just like its walls don’t, just like its secret hasn’t left the room since that stormy night 80 years ago.
The letters continue to collect dust between the pages of ‘War and peace’.
Tonight however, the owner will return to her bedroom, to reclaim those letters and to put to rest finally, the room and its dark secret.