The Local Bazaar
After an eventful new moon night, the subsequent morning bestowed upon the village; a conglomeration of aplomb & repose. Having learnt about the legend of this land, my inner “writer” had awakened to get to the core of it all, and holding this thought in mind, I decided to visit the local market.
Local markets are usually known to be the melting pot of any place. A visit to a local market can be termed as the best place to be at, if one is interested in having a feeler of the mind-set of the local residents, and this Bazaar was no different. People from all walks of life could be seen, shopping for their daily essentials here. The vendors, on both sides of this narrow road, could be seen; selling vegetables that were spread evenly on the tarpaulin carpet. The one thing, that was shared by each and every person present in that market, was a sheepish grin on their faces, as if they have just ducked a bullet. On the fag-end of the market, was there a butcher shop, which was attracting a lot of traction.
Up until that point in time, I had lived under the notion, while I was away from here, that predominantly residents of my native place, are all pure vegetarians, and hence it was quite an eye opener on the personal front. I know more of it, I decided to take a glance of the butcher store. A man, who wouldn’t have been any lesser than 6 feet 3 inches in height, with a pair of colossal arms; hanging from the edges of his broad shoulders, confiscated my field of vision. Seemingly, years of practice with his cleaver, had made him an expert in the craft of chopping. Every strike of his 12 inches cleaver, would cut through the flesh and bone of the sheep, how any knife goes through a block of butter.
For his profession, the shirt he wore, under the apron, was a little too neat & nice, so much so, that it might even be looked upon as akin to exotic taste. “For a butcher, he must be doing really well for himself, as for being able to afford an opulent silk shirt, such as this one.” I mumbled to myself. While I stood there, for minutes, analysing this herculean personality, this man, who was passing by, must have observed me doing so and to quench his curiosity, he came up to me and asked. “I am trying to deduce a cause for your uncanny engrossment towards Emmanuel Dillon. And by the way, I haven’t seen you around before! New to our village? And, myself Stan Jacob, by the way.”
An avalanche of questions on me, that’s precisely it was, by this voluble personality named Stan. “Although not new, but yes, indeed have come back after a long time.” I gave my introduction to him, which literally transformed him into my long lost friend, whom I never met before.
“As a friend, let me give you an advice, Mark. This Emmanuel guy, isn’t a friendly lot and if you were take my suggestion, you should evade any sort of indulgence with him, as much as possible. He has a history of brawls and physically assaults, with a number of lads, for petty of reason.” Stan continued. “I have heard many speaking of him, as the bringer of the bad omen upon our village, as ever since he came to live in this village, satanic mishaps begun to occur. How much I wish, he never had come to our village.”
“I wasn’t aware of it, Stan. Thank you for giving me this vital information.” I said.
“The state of affairs aren’t in great shape here and I’ll have to take every possible precaution, to quench what might grow into a mammoth scandal.” I told to myself in mild voice.
“Emmanuel seem to be quite an interesting man. Having gotten a heads up on him, I shall be better prepared, when I talk to him, to know some more of him.”
I went ahead, by passing the butcher shop, towards the big banyan tree.
End of Chapter- 4
Previous Chapters:
1- Chapter- 1: The "Ancestral" Village
2- Chapter- 2: The Haveli
3- Chapter- 3: Legend of the Village
Would you please consider to follow me 
