5 Billion Belindas: A short story by Ashok Banker
This one’s a blast from the past. An old short story I wrote like, twenty years ago.
I had forgotten all about it, until I found it tucked away in a long-forgotten website run by an old friend. I didn’t even remember giving it to him back when he started the site.
There are a few dozen more like this around somewhere, but don’t ask me where. I tend to forget about old stories because… well, because I’m usually too busy writing new ones! But also because sometimes, I cringe and wince at those oldies–definitely not goldies, some of them.
For its length, though, this one’s pretty okay. See for yourself. It’s a one-shot idea. In, boom, out.
And the reason it works, I think, is that it doesn’t try to do more–no padding, no unnecessary description, no ‘fleshing out’ of characters, nothing more than just that one idea, and a swift, graceful exit.
And for the trivia record, there was an actual Belinda once. Except that I wasn’t the one obsessed with her. Someone else was. A long time ago, in another place, another age.
But there was no photograph involved. And no curse.
5 Billion Belindas
“Want to see her picture?”
Ravi looked up at his friend. In all the years he had known Virat, he’d never seen him so depressed. The guy was really heartbroken.
“Forget it,” he said. “Forget her, forget the whole thing, Virat. Let’s go out, catch a movie, unwind, just like old times. What do you say?”
But Virat just shook his head and looked gloomily into his drink. He was just having a cola, but he looked like an alcoholic on his 10th peg. “Nahi, yaar,” he said morosely.
Ravi looked at Virat. The guy hadn’t shaved in days, and from the crumpled, stained shirt he was wearing, he probably hadn’t bathed either. Disgusting. “Come on, man. It can’t be that bad. Okay, so she ditched you. You can get a dozen other girls like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Stop moping around and get over it. Get on with your life, man. You can’t go on this way.”
Virat just shook his head sadly and kept his eyes on the cola. “You don’t understand. She’s no ordinary woman, Ravi. You should see her picture, then you’ll understand.”
Ravi was getting irritated now. “So she’s beautiful? Sexy? Fine, I’ll take your word for it. But she’s not the only one out there, pal.”
Virat shook his head again, still not looking at Ravi. “You don’t understand.” He paused and swallowed some more cola. “I see her face everywhere. The liftman, the doorman, my neighbours, people on the street, the people at work…everybody has her face. Even you.”
Ravi almost laughed. “I know what you mean. Everything reminds you of her. But–”
Virat interrupted him. “No. Everybody is her. Everybody has her face. Literally.”
Ravi stared at him. Maybe Virat needed a psychiatrist, not a friend. “What do you mean?”
Virat gestured morosely at the window. “I mean that every person out there, the entire population of the planet, every single human being, looks exactly like Belinda. It’s like the world suddenly became a planet full of 5 billion Belindas.”
Ravi sighed. This was worse than he thought. “Look, Virat,” he said gently. You’re tired, man. You haven’t slept since God-knows-when. You’ve been cooped up in here for days. You need to get out a bit, get some fresh air.”
“Don’t you get it, Ravi? I can’t go anywhere. Do you know what’s it like? Do you have any idea? It’s pure torture! Even you…” he looked up briefly at Ravi, shuddered, and averted his eyes. “I can’t take it any more. I wish I’d never looked at the goddamn thing.”
“What thing?”
“The damn picture. That’s what started this whole thing.”
Ravi was beginning to wonder if he should call a hospital and have Virat admitted for treatment. “Yaar, Virat, what are you talking about?”
Virat sighed. “Ravi, there’s no Belinda. At least not in real life. This whole obsession started with my looking at a photograph of a woman named Belinda. Apparently the photo was cursed. Anybody who looks at it even once gets the curse. After that, he sees only Belinda’s face on every person he meets. The only way to break the curse is to show the picture to another man–by passing it on to him.”
Ravi stared. “You really believe this crap?”
Virat picked up an envelope lying on the table beside him. “This is the photograph.”
Ravi reached for it, but Virat held on to it for a moment. “Ravi, remember. I didn’t force you to see this, it has to be your choice. Or the curse won’t get passed on.”
Ravi laughed. “Yaar, you’ve been reading too many horror novels!”
He took the envelope and yanked out a postcard sized picture. He looked at it for a moment, then shrugged. “She’s cute,” and put the picture back in the envelope.
Virat stared at him. Then he grinned happily. “It’s working!” He touched Ravi’s face. “I can see you now! Ravi, I can see your face again! She’s gone! The curse is lifted!”
Ravi stood up. “Virat, I have to go. Chall, yaar, I’ll be in touch, take care.”
He left the flat as fast as he could. Going down alone in the lift, he snickered to himself: The things people could delude themselves into believing! A cursed photograph. Five billion Belindas! Ridiculous.
He laughed as he stepped out into the street–then stopped abruptly. And looked around. The street was filled with hundreds of people rushing home from work, going to catch trains, buses, driving by, hawking stuff… Ravi looked at each one in turn, his eyes growing wider in disbelief.
“No!” he said, loud enough to make people turn and frown at him. “It’s not possible! Not everybody! No!”
Upstairs in his flat, Virat heard Ravi’s long, strangled scream and smiled. He whistled as he shaved, preparing to go out and enjoy Saturday night.
This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 18th, 2005 at 11:33 am. It is filed under Ashok.
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