The gudiya moved...

Last night, I felt her warmth as if she was human. I felt her move, and then she started talking to me.

Tariq Hamid February 21, 2015
Being a homicide detective for over 25 years, I could write books on crime, but this case came to me in the fall of 1973. It took place in a small village near Haroonabad, Punjab. The deceased was a 27-years-old school teacher. The evidence: a cute looking rag doll and a diary that was found.

This was the easiest case which I had solved; all I had to do was read the hand-written diary. I started reading her diary.



Monday – August 20, 1973

This has become a ritual for me. Each day, after coming home and finishing the chores, just before I retire for the day, I write in my diary. It has become a habit – or perhaps I have made it a habit. But why?  For whom? For no one... there is no one besides me and my loneliness is my only existence.

It was just another ordinary day; the same village, the same narrow streets and the same school. There were so many children in that school, chatting and blabbering so loud, eating my brains away. Today was just another day and there was nothing special about it.

Tuesday – August 21, 1973

I came home quite late in the evening as I had to buy some provisions. Right in front of Abdul Razzaq’s shop, I saw children thronged around a small Ferris wheel in the small playground. There was a rumpus, a noisy commotion. As I got closer, I could not bear it anymore; especially not after spending the entire day at school with loud, noisy children. I returned home without going any further.

Wednesday – August 22, 1973

I’m sort of exhausted today. I feel feverish too. I did not cook and anyway I am not hungry. But as every day, I cleaned my small room which has only a few things taking up the space. There is a bed with an old sheet and a pillow, and just opposite my bed is a mantel piece with a flower pot on it with some old withered flowers in it. Next to it is my rag doll. Okay now, let me retire for the day.

Thursday – August 23, 1973

It was a nice day. While I was walking home, it started to drizzle. I enjoyed the tiny droplets kissing my face. It gave me a rejuvenating feeling as if I had awoken after a long time. Later, I cooked my favourite dish, methi ka saag, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I fed my doll too… see how she is looking at me! I am feeling sleepy now…

Friday – August 24, 1973

It seems my fever has not subsided as yet. Perhaps the light shower gave me temporary relief yesterday but now I feel as though my fever is spiking. The school is closed for the next three days; holidays for me and the children. I wonder what they all will do in their spare time. I am sure they will enjoy the time with their parents, what else can they do?

Oh… I will be back soon.

Back now… with my rag doll…

Look! Her hair is so messed up. Let me comb and untangle it…

Time seems to have gone by so fast. I had been combing her hair for over an hour. I will call it a day and sleep. I will sleep with my doll as she seems sleepy too.

Saturday – August 25, 1973

It’s 2pm and I just woke up. Last night was weird… very weird. I had bad dreams, and they dwelled in my past, depicting horrific scenes. I was travelling on the train in the same compartment again. That person came again…

I was sweating when I woke up. Thinking that it was just a nightmare, I cuddled my doll. It was an affirmation that I am alive.

But... her features seem to be different somehow.

No. It must be my imagination.

After writing, I fell back to sleep but the nightmares kept coming back. It’s 7pm now and it’s already dark. I switched on the light in the veranda. I tried to eat a bit but I could not. As routine, I tidied my room a bit and put my doll on the mantel piece. I had a glass of milk and took the pills that I had got from hakim sahib. These pills work great. I feel a bit intoxicated but it’s fine, as he said they are harmless and will help me sleep at times when I can’t. Let me go to bed now and let me take my doll with me.

Huh! She isn’t on the mantel piece.

Oh! There she is… ha ha… on my bed. Maybe I put her here instead… oh well!

Sunday – August 26, 1973

It’s just past dawn. Last night was terrible. The same horrific dream kept replaying in my sleep over and over again – same compartment and that monster, the one who completely ruined my life.

Dreams are weird, they turn from one scene to the other without any correlation – I am at home and then I get up in the middle of the night, touch my father’s feet who is sound asleep and I walk out of the door for forever. I take just one thing with me, my rag doll. I travel places until I reach this village. But before reaching here, I stop at a clinic in a small town. There is that lady doctor to whom I am so grateful to for doing what had to be done.

The small clinic is where I left behind another doll.

The dreams that we see with open eyes are even more frightening that the dreams in our sleep.

Now this rag doll stares at me the whole night. Wherever I go in the room, she seems to be turning her neck towards me. Her eyes pop out at times.

Last night, I felt her warmth as if she was human. I felt her move, and then she started talking to me. She started questioning me as to why I killed her. There was lunacy in her eyes. I saw blood in her eyes.

I am terrified. I am scared to death that she will kill me as I killed her that day in the clinic before reaching this village.

Please spare me gudiya. Please forgive me. Don’t kill me. I don’t want to die.



Three days later, they found her body and reported it to the police station. I was visiting this particular village at that time in connection with a big serial killer. It so happened that the sub- inspector that day had to go out of town on another assignment and thus, this case came my way.

It only took a few hours to go through her diary. No sooner I read the diary of Akhteri Begum that I stamped her file ‘innocent’ and ‘case dismissed for foul play’. I played an instrumental role in her case.

Her body was not claimed by anyone and hence she was buried near the school where she taught and that too with the blessings of the villagers. I heard that most of the donations for her funeral came from her pupils’ piggy banks and some from a few parents.

She hardly had any belongings, except for an old broken vase with withered flowers and a gudiya. Those came my way and I kept them for a reason.

It's been a while since the case and I still have both the memoirs. The withered flowers still give out a fragrance at nights and I get lost in that one night when I met a stranger while travelling in a train. When I entered the compartment, by sheer luck, I came across a beautiful voluptuous woman who I couldn’t resist. The other memoir, the freaking rag doll, I buried in my basement. But that creepy thing has been coming to me in my dreams lately. To be honest, I have not been sleeping well for several days.

I fear if I fall asleep, the gudiya will come and take revenge.
WRITTEN BY:
Tariq Hamid He has a distinguished career in travel and tourism. He now resides in Houston TX and is an occasional writer.
The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necassarily reflect the views and policies of the Express Tribune.

COMMENTS (5)

TR | 8 years ago | Reply unable to understand the guriya character, either the girl was killed by the guriya or a serial killer????????
Above the poverty line | 9 years ago | Reply wat?
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