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A short story about a smart old lady who had figured out how to cheat death..
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A short story about a smart old lady who had figured out how to cheat death..
Listen to BY THE CLOCK by VANDANA AZAD MP3 song. BY THE CLOCK song from VANDANA AZAD is available on Audio.com. The duration of song is 08:25. This high-quality MP3 track has 529.2 kbps bitrate and was uploaded on 1 Mar 2023. Stream and download BY THE CLOCK by VANDANA AZAD for free on Audio.com – your ultimate destination for MP3 music.
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Mr. Pundalik, a government auditor, agrees to stay overnight at a wealthy woman's mansion despite warnings that previous guests have died of heart attacks. The woman, Pirojbhai, believes that the striking of a mysterious clock predicts the listener's death. She invites different people to stay in her mansion, and they all die after hearing the clock strike. Pirojbhai invites Mr. Pundalik, who accepts. Later, Pirojbhai has a heart attack and asks for help. When Mr. Pundalik wakes up, he reveals that he is deaf and asks for an explanation. By the clock, Mr. Pundalik, a government auditor on official tour, was impressed with the local dark bungalow where he had taken up residence. It was clean and he was well looked after, all thanks to the caretaker, Ram Ratan. As Mr. Pundalik was getting ready to leave for work, Ram Ratan entered the room. Mrs. Pirojbhai has invited you to dinner tonight," he said. Pirojbhai, do I know her? She is the only living member of one of the oldest and wealthiest families in town. Must be 70 or so, lives in a big mansion and everything. She always invites visitors over for dinner and drinks. In fact, she has even suggested you stay the night, since it will be too late for you to return. This evening? Well, I don't have any plans. Tell her I'll be there. It's always nice to meet new people. Saheb, Ram Ratan hesitated. May I suggest you don't stay there overnight? Why? I could use the change and the company. Are you worried about your health? No, I am not worried. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. Are you worried a 70-year-old woman is going to eat me up? Saheb, I know of two separate instances I should tell you about. Both involve men who stayed over at her mansion. Both were found dead within four or five days. Heart attacks, they say. If she had poisoned them, they would have died that very night. Anyway, get the car ready. I think I am in for a pleasant evening. Ramratan lingered for a moment before nodding. Well, I did warn you, he muttered as he left. Around seven or eight years ago, Pirojbhai was all alone in her mansion, the servants having left for the day. Sleep eluded her as it did on most nights, and it was well past midnight when she finally dozed off in her chair. Suddenly she was woken up by the sound of a clock striking the hour. She heard twelve dings. After a brief pause, the clock struck another five times. There was no grandfather clock in her mansion. Her blood ran cold and it was almost dawn before she fell asleep again. She had kept the light on the whole night. That was when it happened a second time. The clock struck twelve, and after that, as she expected, five times more. What's happening? Was it just her imagination, or was it a warning, a threat, a premonition? Was it about death? The clock struck again, just before sunrise. This time, Pirojbhai was wide awake. Twelve followed by five. She remembered a tale from her childhood, in which the sound of a clock in such a fashion predicted the listener's death. The number of strikes after twelve told the number of days the listener had left. I am going to die in five days! Her mind raced to find a way to delay it. She invited Dr. Rustamji over for dinner and asked him to stay back and keep her company. She wanted to know if he could hear the clock too, but refrained from mentioning it. After all, she didn't want to seem like a senile old woman. That night, Pirojbhai expected the sound to wake her again. Meanwhile, Dr. Rustamji was asleep in a bedroom at the other end of the corridor. At midnight, Pirojbhai woke up to the sound of the clock – twelve and then four. A day had been struck off, and only four remained. The next morning, when Pirojbhai and Dr. Rustamji were having breakfast together, he said as she served him coffee, I meant to tell you, Pirojbhai, you are in the pink of health and should live for at least another decade. Pirojbhai smiled. Tell me, doctor, how did you sleep last night? No disturbances, I hope? Oh, don't ask, Rustamji began. I woke up three times to the sound of a damn clock striking sixteen. Please, scrap that old thing. That clock is why I invited you. Why do you keep the clock anyway? he asked. You won't believe me, doctor, but I haven't even found it yet. I turned the place upside down, but it's nowhere to be seen. Dr. Rustamji left without saying a word, lost in thought. Three days passed without a sound of the clock. Three days spent wondering about her death. The fourth was unbearable, until finally she got the news. Radhabhai arrived at night. She told Pirojbhai that Dr. Rustamji had died of a sudden heart attack. Pirojbhai wondered what it meant. Then she realized it. Rustamji had heard the clock, a sound, a message that was meant only for her years, and so her fate had befallen the poor doctor. She had redirected her death. Over the course of the next seven or eight years, Pirojbhai heard the clock many times. It indicated that she had five or six days left, and each time she invited someone to spend the night at her mansion. It was a motley mix, a rich local businessman, a visiting history professor, a government servant who was staying at the local dark bungalow on tour, a police officer, and once a lost traveler seeking shelter for the night. All of them heard the clock strike, and they all died after five or six days of their stay. Each time the cause of death was a sudden, unexplained heart attack. Now the striking clock was not a warning, only a reminder for her to find a substitute. This time she had found a certain Mr. Pundalik. He had agreed to dine with her and then stay the night. She sat waiting for him, worried he would decline. Mr. Pundalik arrived, as promised, much to her surprise and relief. They enjoyed their drinks and conversation. It was a lovely feast with a large spread of chicken and mutton dishes. Finally, Mr. Pundalik was shown to his room before she retired to her own. Four days after Mr. Pundalik's stay at the mansion, Radhabhai came running to the dark bungalow. It was well past midnight. She sat almost breathless. – Ramratan, come with me to the mansion. I stayed back at the mansion tonight and was woken up at midnight by madam's screams. She was on the floor clutching at her chest. It looks like she had a heart attack. Please come with me to get the doctor. Ramratan rushed to Mr. Pundalik's room. He banged on the door to find it open. He hurried in and nudged Pundalik's shoulder, saying, – Sahib, Sahib, wake up. Mrs. Purojbhai, she had a heart attack. We need the car to take her to the hospital. Mr. Pundalik woke up, shielding his eyes from the bright light. He sat calmly as he reached for the dressing table near his bed. – Wait, Ramratan. Let me get my hearing aid. You know, I am stone deaf. I never sleep with them on. After plugging them on and arranging his hair over them, he asked, – Now tell me, what is this all about?
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