“I’ve been sent here by your head office...” the young man who stood in front of Kedare’s desk said. He had curly dark hair, dark complexion, bright eyes, and a crafty, cunning smile that seemed to belong to a trickster. Seeing that smile, Kedare’s own face grew sombre. He thought: this young man means to steal something from me, but I will not give it to him, no matter what happens.

“Do you have a letter from the head office?” he asked the man.

The young man held out an envelope.

Kedare opened it and read that this man was sent to work as a stenotypist. He was to start work immediately. Kedare was surprised. There was a typist in the office already. Her name was Sarita Shahade. She was not being transferred. There were no complaints about her work. Kedare didn’t have a personal problem with her; nobody else did, either. Theirs was a tiny little branch office with no more than a couple of dozen employees. So then why did the main office send him another typist?

Something was out of kilter. “There is no vacancy for you here,” Kedare said to the man.

“Then you tell the head office,” said the young man. Was there a tinge of insubordination in what he said?

“All right, I will let the head office know,” Kedare said, unperturbed by the tone of the man’s voice. He jotted down the man’s name, address, and the reference number of the letter from the head office. The young man took the envelope and stepped out of Kedare’s tiny office. Kedare felt relieved. He took a deep breath.

But the next day, when Kedare came to the office, the young man, who was sitting on the bench, stood up and said “Good morning.” Kedare returned the greeting by habit, but when he saw the man, he was puzzled.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting to take charge of the job.”

“That will take some time,” Kedare frowned. “I’ve dictated the letter. Now it’ll have to be typed up, then signed, and it will go in today’s dispatch. It can easily take a week to get an answer from the head office.”

“But the head office has already instructed me...” the man said. Kedare couldn’t decide if the man was insubordinate or stupid.

“But there’s no place for you to sit,” he said, irritated.

“Okay, I’ll wait,” the man said calmly. “I’ll wait until space becomes available.” Kedare didn’t quite understand what the man meant, but he felt uncomfortable.

The man sat on the bench all day long, as if he was waiting for something. In front of him, but at a distance, Sarita Shahade sat, busy with her typing. The man sat and stared at her. The next morning, when Kedare came in to work, the man greeted him again. Kedare did not appreciate it, but he could not think of what to say. He walked past the man and went to his office.

The same day, in the afternoon, Sarita Shahade started having powerful spasms in her abdomen. All the office staff gathered around her. Kedare immediately called for the doctor. The doctor was confused by her symptoms. He advised that she be taken to the hospital. In the hospital she was diagnosed with food poisoning. All night long she convulsed with pain. All night long the doctors tried to save her, but towards the morning she died. Some of her co-workers went for her funeral. Others paid her their respects and went back to work. Without a word from anyone, the young man sat at Sarita Shahade’s desk, now empty, and started typing.

When Kedare saw him typing, he started having heart palpitations. He could not ask the man to leave, because he had the letter from the head office with him. There was a vacancy, and now the man had filled it. But who had authorised it? And how did he know beforehand that there would be a vacancy? How could he wait calmly for a vacancy to occur? He must have wanted to fill Sarita’s seat. But she...the whole thing was scary.

“I’ve been sent here by your head office.”

A new man stood in front of Kedare’s desk. He showed Kedare the envelope. Kedare opened it. This man had been sent to work as an accountant. Kedare was astonished. He was to start work immediately? But accountant Kundaikar has not been transferred!

“It’s all right, I will wait,” the man said.

Kedare stared at the man. He had eyebrows that met above the nose, which made him look cruel, and he had a habit of tapping the desk, which Kedare thought was rude. He said in his best official voice, “I cannot tell you anything till I hear from the head office.”

“So what should I do until then?” the man said. “The head office has given clear instructions.”

“All right, you’ll start tomorrow,” Kedare said, and a chill passed through his body. “I’ll find you some other job.”

“No, we cannot do that. You have to hire me as an accountant. The head office states so quite clearly.”

“All right,” Kedare said, reluctantly. “Pull up a chair and sit with Kundaikar. Learn the job.”

Kedare took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and breathed the smoke in. But that did not help him. A terror crawled up his whole body. He started to write a memo to the head office. He did not dictate many memos nowadays. But he was afraid that the new stenographer would make fun of him. Last week he had sent just such a memo to the head office. He had not received any reply to it. If he were to send another...he was scared.

For the next couple of days, Kedare saw the new man sitting with Kundaikar, who did not seem to be aware of his transfer. On the third day, Kedare heard a sudden hubbub outside the office. All the employees ran out. There was a group of people gathered near the corner. The security guard came out. More people came out. A stone from the old building on the corner had come loose and fallen down on the head of a pedestrian.

The man had died instantly.

Though the man’s skull was crushed and his face was covered with blood, the employees from the office recognized him easily: it was Kundaikar, the accountant! The work in the office didn’t slow down because, although Kundaikar was gone, the new man had taken over; he was now the new accountant.

Kedare, however, was terrified. He couldn’t understand how the same thing could happen again. He felt as though something beyond his understanding was developing around him, a dark cloud of something obstinate and violent, and it was spreading. It was taking over.

He decided to do something that was rarely done: he would make a call to the head office. The head office was far, and getting a long-distance phone line was difficult, but it was necessary. Perhaps by coincidence or by some unknown machination of events, two employees were dead after the two letters from the head office. He wanted to alert the head office not to send new employees to replace the old ones. Chances of the call connecting were slim, but somehow he got through to the head office.

“I am the branch manager,” Kedare said, as if under duress.

“Yes?”

“Sir, two new employees were sent to fill vacancies before the vacancies occurred. Why is this happening?”

“Are you questioning the decisions of the head office?”

“No, no, no, sir. Please don’t misunderstand me. Why is this happening? I don’t understand.”

“We are not obligated to explain our decisions...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are the new employees working out well?”

“Yes, sir. But I am scared...please send someone to come and take a look. Sometimes I wonder if these new employees are human.”

“Mr Kedare, don’t talk rot. Your fear is affecting your head. All right. I’ll send someone to come and take a look.”

“Thank you, sir. I feel relieved now.”

Indeed, as was promised, a man from the head office came to Kedare’s office. Kedare welcomed him eagerly. This serious looking middle-aged man had silvery hair and a smile on his face. He showed Kedare an envelope.

“I’ve been sent by your head office,” he said.

“But...but...” Kedare’s words were swept away by a tide of pain in his chest, and his dead body slid to the floor. The man with the silver hair walked toward Kedare’s chair, now empty.

Excerpted with permission from The Greatest Marathi Stories Ever Told, selected and edited by Ashutosh Potdar, Aleph Book Company.