Companion

Siliguri, 1942

When Professor Sukumar Chaudhuri, a fastidious and mildly irritable orthopaedic, received a complete human skeleton in the mail, he didn’t expect companionship. Certainly not the kind that would  alter his life completely.

The skeleton—was couriered by a former student in Bombay—was of a woman. Mid-20s, well-preserved, and oddly dignified, even in bone. One silver toe ring glinted on the right foot.

"A bit dramatic," he muttered. "Who sends skeletons with accessories?"

Along with his house help Chotu , he placed the skeleton in a selected corner in his study.

At first Chotu was scared and wouldn't touch it. He only reluctantly touched it after being rebuked by his master. 

"Ram, ram, ram.." he chanted.

"Arre buddhu..it's just a skeleton; most harmless."

Chotu left the room in a hurry after placing it appropriately in its designated spot.

Satisfied, Sukumar stood front of it.

"You are in fine shape..good for my studies and research." He said . "Let's call you Anaya."

---

Sukumar lived alone in a dated colonial bungalow that creaked like an old man clearing his throat. His only frequent visitor was Chottu, the house help who came four times a week, mostly to gossip and reorganize the kitchen incorrectly.

"Sir," Chottu said, narrowing his eyes at Anaya, "this lady gives me the creeps."

"She’s quieter than you," Sukumar replied. "Which I appreciate."

---

DAY 8: First Signs

Sukumar woke to find his spectacles perched neatly on his bedside table, cleaned. His notebooks neatly stacked.

He blinked.

"Why, thank you", he muttered to himself.

---

DAY 15: Domestic Partnership

Every day brought something novel. Papers sorted. Socks paired. Tea made.

"Anaya," he said one evening, swirling his cup, "you’ve reorganized my thesis notes. Also, your taste in Assam tea is excellent."

The skeleton, of course, said nothing. But he could swear the lower jaw bone tilted, amused.

That evening, Chottu found him humming Rabindra Sangeet while dusting the skeleton’s collarbone with a peacock feather.

"Sir," Chottu whispered, backing out of the room, "I think you’re getting drawn to the bone lady."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Sukumar snapped. Then, softly, to Anaya: "Not until she makes luchi."

---

DAY 27: Guests and Ghosts

A surprise visitor arrived—Dr. Nandini Sen, a former student turned government health officer.

"Still living with bones, sir?" she teased.

"She has a name - Anaya" he said. "Quite loyal."

Nandini peered at the skeleton. "Is that a... flower in her hand?"

"She likes hibiscus."

Nandini leaned in, raising an eyebrow. "And lipstick on that teacup beside her?"

"Hmm..what to say..."

That night, as Sukumar settled into bed, a voice drifted through the shadows.

 “She was wearing rose oil. You never liked rose.”

Sukumar sat up. The voice was unmistakably female—faint but firm. He looked at the skeleton.

"Anaya...?"

No response. But the faintest scent of cardamom lingered.

---

DAY 40: The Saree

That night, thunder cracked. Sukumar lit a candle.

In the flickering glow, he saw it—an outline. Bare feet. Yellow saree. A woman standing by the window - a feminine silhouette.

He didn’t move.

She came closer. Bent. Touched his cheek with a cool hand. Then vanished. He stiffened momentarily.

Her face, though not clear, held softness. A nose pin shimmered faintly through the haze.

He poured two cups of tea the next morning. Cardamom. Light milk. She preferred it that way.

---

DAY 51: Fever

Sukumar fell ill. A harsh fever gripped him, confining him to bed for two days. Chottu was out visiting his aunt, unaware.

He drifted in and out of sleep, burning with high fever . But one moment stood out:

He opened his eyes at midnight and saw her.

Anaya. Seated next to his head, not in bone, not in shadow, but something gently luminous. Draped in a soft saree, her spectral fingers dipped cloth in water and pressed it to his forehead.

In a state of delirium, he reached out and held her hand—or thought he did. It was cold, but soft.

And in a whisper, he muttered, "Will I ever know about you?"

 “You already do,” came the faint reply. “More than most ever will.”

No words after. Just a presence.

The soft clinking of bangles. Light breaths - almost inaudible.

Then silence.

When he awoke in the morning, a folded cloth sat in the bowl of water. A fresh cup of ginger tea steamed gently on the side table.

Though still weak, he managed to walk to the study and glanced toward the skeleton.

"You make decent tea." He said, feeling grateful to his "companion".

After that, on numerous nights Sukumar felt her presence on the other side of the bed; soft ruffling of bedsheet, light tossing and turning - all indicated Anya's closeness.

"You are here , aren't you?" Sukumar would ask sleepily.

A soft chuckle would be the response.

In the mornings, the bed would feel warmer.

---

DAY 58: Intimacy

There were no confessions. No longings spoken aloud.

Only gestures. A folded shawl. A cleaned inkpot. A fingertip on his shoulder when he coughed too hard.

"Anaya," he said once, pausing mid-writing, "you’ve ruined me for real women. They expect conversation."

The skeleton tilted slightly on its hook.

“You talk enough for two.”

Sukumar froze. Then smiled, wide-eyed.

"So you do listen."

 “Only when you’re talking sensibly.”

He laughed till he wheezed.

---

DAY 100: Coexistence

The house was spotless. The garden bloomed. Chottu now bowed to Anaya when he mopped.

"Sir," he said one day, solemnly, "I think she runs this place."

"I know she does," said Sukumar, adjusting his shawl. "I just pretend to be in charge."

---

Social backlash also followed. A few people labelled the bungalow as haunted; Sukumar was belittled with monikers like lunatic, tantric and what not. But he took everything sportingly and brushed away all negatives.

--

Spring came. Sukumar, now gently greying, sat reading Tagore aloud in the study.

On the table, two teacups steamed. A butterfly sat still on her collarbone.

Chottu walked in, stopped, stared. Then nodded and said:

"Good evening, Professor. Good evening, Boudi."

Sukumar looked up.

"See, Anaya? Even Chottu agrees. We make a fine couple."

 “He’s not wrong,” came the soft voice, warm as a hearth. “Now stop pretending you can sing.”

And from somewhere between shadow and sunlight, the scent of jasmine enveloped the room.

---

A few years later, Professor Sukumar Chaudhuri officially retired from his post at the Government Medical College. Some former students and colleagues came to his bungalow to felicitate him.

One of them brought a camera.

They insisted on a photograph—Sukumar seated on his favourite old chair, shawl draped neatly, a half-smile on his face.

When the photo was developed a few days later, silence fell.

Beside Sukumar, standing just behind him, was the faint image of a woman. Hazy but unmistakable. One hand rested gently on his shoulder.

The outline was soft, almost like mist—and the faint glint of a nose pin shone on her blurred face.

Chottu stared at it, then simply said:

"Boudi wanted one last portrait."

And Sukumar, holding the photograph, whispered:

"Perfect framing, as always."

---

New Delhi, 2025

Reema Sen visits the house of Pradosh Mitra , her fiance. They are set to tie the knot in December.

A room in the house is dedicated to photographs - mostly the forgotten, sepia-toned ones. 

Reema stands in front of one particular frame.

"Hey, this seated gentleman has a resemblance with you." She nudged Pradosh. "But the lady's face along side him , is not very clear. They made a lovely couple, though. Who were they?" She asked.

"Oh .. that's one of my great grand father; lived in Siliguri. Come , let me tell you a beautiful story ". 

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