NIGHT, its veil of darkness descended silently and from the deep shadows as though wooed by night, came forth all that had stayed hidden in the day.

Naren, a security guard, walked along the cemetery road to the “backdams” where two machines tilling the land were parked. He was assigned to guard the machines that night until morn, a job that led him to different locations in the “backdam.”

Tonight the machines were parked on the dam of a canal overlooking a cemetery.

Not many people would have wanted to work in such a location, but Naren was a brave soul and had become accustomed over the years to seeing strange things on his night shifts; sleek white horses galloping along the dams then disappearing; ghostly apparitions of wandering souls, and strange voices speaking in languages he did not quite understand. But those haunting illusions did not bother him because the real dangers were encountering thieves, fugitives and tomb raiders.

Tonight though, was different.
He noticed not far from his post, a new gravesite, the fresh flowers on the tomb not yet withered. Someone had been buried there just that afternoon.

He wondered if it was the young woman, two settlements away from where he lived, who had died at the hands of her abusive husband. The story had been all over the news, the tragedy sending shock waves throughout the district. The young woman had been a school teacher, admired for her simple, pleasant personality and recognised for her selfless work with charities for children and the elderly.

Naren shook his head and sighed with deep regrets, “This violence seems to have no end from uncaring and cruel partners who refuse to let go.”
He checked the machines to ensure that everything was fine and just couldn’t close his mind from the disturbing thoughts of men who allowed power and control to hurt the ones they love.

He sighed again and settled down to another night of security duty. The hours ticked by and his eyes, not heavy with sleep, shifted regularly to the surroundings, his mind alert to every little sound.

It was just past the midnight hour, as he poured from his flask a cup of hot tea, when he saw dim lights coming down the cemetery road, quite unusual for that hour. Naren positioned himself behind one of the machines so he could not be seen and watched as a car stopped and a tall, young man strode into the cemetery grounds, straight to the new gravesite. He stood there for a long time with his head bent, then he picked up a handful of loose dirt and threw it with some aggression on the grave.

“I told you, you can never leave me,” he said with cold anger, “I told you, you can only belong to me, but you didn’t listen, you tried to leave.”

In the quiet of the night, although Naren was a fair distance away, he heard what the man said and though he was a brave man, those words sent a chill through his body. After a while, the young man turned and walked back to the car, glancing towards the parked machines. Naren couldn’t recognise him in the dark, but knew now he was the husband of the murdered woman and that he wanted by the police.
He turned his gaze to the grave site and drew in his breath sharply.

Standing there in the silent posture of a departed soul, was a young woman in a long, white gown, her hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck, decorated with tiny white flowers. From where he stood, Naren could not clearly see her face, but he knew there must be grief and invisible tears. She sat down, her head bent for a long time and he watched her, unable to move.

“So young and beautiful,” he said silently, “Life interrupted by cruel hands and he couldn’t even allow her to rest in peace.”
Naren closed his eyes for a few minutes and when he reopened them she was gone. The night wore on, soon to give way to dawn and Narun packed his bag to leave for the day, but before he did, he picked a bunch of wild flowers and putting it on her grave he said, “I don’t know you but I can feel your pain and I just want to say sorry for what happened to you.”

The day for Narun seemed long, her ghostly illusion and her sadness imprinted on his mind. The story of her death was still relevant on the news, the police appealing to citizens to help them find her killer. Naren called in and told the police what he had seen and that he was sure the man was her husband.

That night seemed darker and sitting by the machines, he watched her as she wandered around, seeming lost.
“Maybe she doesn’t realise she’s dead,” he deduced.

It was at that moment she turned and looked at him and Narun held his breath; though not afraid, he did not want a close encounter with a departed soul. He closed his eyes so she wouldn’t know he was seeing her, but moments later he felt a chill. He reopened his eyes and saw her standing just a few feet away from him. A pleading look in her eyes seemed to freeze his consciousness and in that portal, he heard her speak softly.

“I miss my little daughter, she must be crying for me. I need to see her, help me please.”
“How do I do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know how to find my way home, guide me please, my daughter needs me.”
“You know you have died, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she answered.
“Then how can you help her?”
“It was not my time to die, so heaven is not ready for me, and until that time, I will watch over my daughter.”

Her plea touched his heart and he nodded his willingness to help her. He risked losing his job that night, leaving his post to guide her home. As he watched her in her invisible form embrace her daughter, a very pretty child, he felt tears welling in his eyes. She would now be the child’s guardian angel until heaven was ready for her.

Two beautiful lives shattered because of one man’s obsession and deadly anger.

Naren returned to work feeling happy in his heart that he had done something good for her, and as he settled down, he thought to himself, “Don’t these things happen only in movies?”

Two nights later, the police who had been staking out the cemetery, waiting for the fugitive, captured him as he tried to escape in the “backdam.” Naren was on the scene, looking at him and seeing the savage look on his face, said to him quietly so only he heard him, “Your wife is very sad, she misses her daughter.”

The man looked at Naren, livid with anger.
“Who are you and how do you know her?”
“I’m a stranger,” Naren told him calmly, “But I can see her and hear her.”

The man looked at him in shock and disbelief as he was shoved into the police van. Naren knew those words would live within him and give him no peace for the rest of his life.
In a way, it would be justice for her.

Night shifts took Naren to different places in the “backdam,” but always whenever he passed by the cemetery road, he would put a bunch of wildflowers on her grave.
“So your beautiful soul can rest in peace.”