Of Spirits and Souls

 

Occasional Jottings        

                   Of Spirits and Souls

                                                                             -          Dr. C. V. Ananda Bose 

Of Spirits and Souls – Part 1

 

Before I even realised it, my hand pointed towards the sky, timidly.

“That’s the spirit” my father thundered as he looked in the direction of the motley group of us kids squatting in front of him in the garden.

I have already spoken about our early morning yoga classes for us siblings and also some other kids from the neighbourhood.  I was the youngest among the group and initially a reluctant participant in the yoga classes.

But what my father said startled me and my heart missed a beat. 

‘Spirit?  Where? Here and now?’  were the thoughts raging through my mind at that moment as I glanced over my shoulders in a search mode.

My elder brother sitting next to me felt my unease and looking at me said reassuringly “Not that spirit from grandmother’s tales.  Father is appreciating your positive attitude.”

I was pleased. I had raised my hand when my father asked who would tend to the saplings and the plants in the garden and help Suresh uncle, our gardener.   My restless mind had done a quick calculation.  Helping with gardening would give me respite from at least one yoga class per week since the gardening schedule clashed with the yoga class schedule and my father wanted to introduce gardening in our extracurricular activities.

But a six year old’s positive attitude or negative attitude cannot wish away the so-called evil spirits or demons, would they?  Though in my grandmother’s folk tales and mythological stories, the evil or the rakshasa would always be vanquished by a hero and followed inevitably by the moral of the story, viz., good ultimately triumphs, still at times, especially in the late evenings and nights a doubt would crop up in my mind – what if stories were like stories only…what if a demon had won somewhere?  Would he peep from under my bed? 

Moreover, not only in grandmother’s tales, there was talk of haunted areas in the forests or spirits lurking in the dark corners of our village…or so the stories went around and came up from time to time. 

Several years later, as a young man I realised that those scary stories about our village were actually devised by elders to discourage children from venturing into the dark recesses of the village or the forests since there would be snakes, scorpions or even some animals that could harm us.

However, as I grew up, I also came across so-called real-life incidents of ‘spirit sightings’ and inexplicable incidents attributed to the influence of evil spirits and demons.

There may not be many who would not be intrigued by the unknown, the strange phenomenon and the inexplicable occurrences or be fascinated by the very spooky topic itself.  Indeed, at Shekharattan’s adda sessions on occasions the topic did come up and no matter how rational your approach was, if the narrator was Shekharattan himself – the fountainhead of knowledge for us – a chill would certainly run down your spine.

Shekharattan would confide in us – ‘The world is full of eerie and fascinating places that are said to be haunted by ghostly apparitions and supernatural entities.  Simply put, many would argue that if you believe in God, you should also be wary of the Evil.  There is the Holy Spirit because the Unholy Spirit threatens humanity.  Its manifestation could be diverse.

The concept of evil occurs in all religion and mythologies in one form or the other – be it an entity by itself or the evil attitude in men.

All religions have references to the evil or the good and the bad.  Hinduism, Ancient Mesopotamian religion, Abrahamic religions, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, Taoism,  and so on.

Several names and characteristics are attributed to different types of evil spirits and demons – from Lucifer to Hitler and so on…  The list is endless’  he would say.

Once, on an abnormally chilli and depressing November late-evening of All Souls’ Day, we had huddled together around two lanterns as there was an abrupt power outage.  Rajiv, our young mess help and friend, brought in fresh fired pakodas and steaming hot cups of tea for all of us and he himself settled in a corner wrapped in a shawl.  

Shekharattan sipped from his cup absentmindedly as if lost in a thought and oblivious of our petty jokes and hushed nothings.   We looked at him expectantly waiting for pearls of wisdom to illuminate our mindscape.  From his mood, we sensed something serious was going on in his mind.  What could that be?

Shekharattan presently signalled for a refill of the teacup as he consigned a few more hot pakodas into his mouth.  Rajiv obliged gladly. 

‘It was in the year 1962 – the year of the Sino-Indian War’  Shekharattan’s gentle but firm voice halted our causal talk.  In an instant we were attentive.  Shekharattan continued ‘I had the occasion to visit London on a scholarship programme.  But the visit was of a short duration.  Between strict and punctual studies, we would take time to explore the city and see its landmarks.  On my insistence, we visited The Tower of London on our very first exploration of London.   The historic fortresses’ infamous past with terrible stories of injustices and machinations, had preceded our visit and we were thrilled to witness a thousand years of history unfold before us.   Built by William I the Conqueror at the centre of his London fortress the grand structure must surely have made the defeated medieval Londoners look on in awe (much like the then Government House – the present day Raj Bhavan and my residence-cum-office – was built by Wellesley to generate awe among the Empire’s Indian subjects). 

‘The Tower’s buildings and grounds served historically as a royal palace, a political prison – especially during the Tudor period when it became the most important state prison in the country. Anyone thought to be a threat to national security was condemned into the confines of these walls and these included the high and mighty as well, such as Elizabeth I, Lady Jane Grey, Sir Walter Raleigh, Guy Fawkes, German spies during World War I for their elimination, and so on – a place of execution, an arsenal, a royal mint, a menagerie and a public records office.’ Shekharattan gave the details to us confident that we knew nothing about the place.

‘As in the case of almost all old buildings and locations, The Tower of London has a fair share of ghost stories and terrible tales of torture and execution.  Kings and queens imprisoned their rivals and enemies within its walls and also used the Tower as a luxurious palace.’

We were spellbound by Shekharattan’s narration and felt ourselves transported in time and walking those sprawling halls and labyrinth of corridors with him.  

Ajay Kumar blurted out feebly – ‘If William the Conqueror was so powerful, why would he need to build such a place for himself?’

We glanced at Ajay Kumar in disdain.  How dare he interrupt Shekharattan with unintelligent questions? 

‘Good question.’ Said Shekharattan.  ‘William had started building the Tower, soon after his decisive victories, in the 1070s.  But he was also nervous of rebellion.   And so he began to build the massive stone fortress to defend and proclaim his royal power.  He was perhaps so insecure that he brought masons Normandy under whose supervision the Englishmen formed the actual labour force.  And thus came up an edifice nothing like which had ever been seen in England before. William intended his mighty castle keep not only to dominate the skyline, but also the hearts and minds of the defeated Londoners.  The overall idea was not only to generate awe but also fear.   And he succeeded.’

‘And the Tower expanded through the centuries.  And so did the number of incidents and stories of tragedy and death increase.  During the Wars of the Roses, Henry VI was murdered here in 1471 and, later, the children of his great rival Edward IV vanished within its walls in 1483.  Almost two hundred years later two skeletons were unearthed at the Tower and as recent as in the early 20^th Century the bones were re-examined and determined to be those of two boys aged about 12 and 10, exactly the same ages as the children when they disappeared.

One of the most intriguing stories of the Tower is that of Anne Boleyn.’

‘Something that intrigues Shekharattan must be really serious’, we thought and looked at each other, undecided what to expect.

Shekharattan sipped from his teacup and continued. 

‘Anne Boleyn, wife of Henry VIII, was coronated in 1533. The King and Anne feasted in the splendid royal palace the night before Anne processed in triumph through the City of London to Westminster Abbey.  It was happy times.  However, three years later Anne was back at the Tower, this time accused of adultery and treason. She was held in the same luxurious lodgings before being executed by sword on Tower Green.  She was buried at The Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula where other queens of England, Catherine Howard and Jane Grey, were buried after being executed within the Tower.  After their execution, the queens' headless bodies were buried carelessly under the Chapel without any memorial.  Henry VIII's wives were accused of adultery and treason. Lady Jane Grey was an unfortunate pawn in a plot to replace Mary I and was executed for high treason, aged only 17.  In 1876, when the Chapel was restored, the remains unearthed in the chancel, including those of Anne Boleyn, were reburied beneath a marble pavement, inscribed with their names and coats of arms.

But not all queens died here at the hands of an executioner. Elizabeth of York died after giving birth at the Tower. It was said that her husband Henry VII was so grief-stricken at her death that his hair turned white.  Such is the effect of true love and grief.’  Shekharattan paused and looked at us.

‘Several stories have spawned from this fearsome past of the Tower. It is believed that Anne still stalks the site of her execution on Tower Green.  The Chapel Royal – the burial place of Anne Boleyn – holds a special place to history buffs.

Arbella Stuart, the cousin of Elizabeth I who starved while under arrest for marrying without royal permission, is said to frequent the King’s House still. Two smaller ghosts are thought to be the 'Princes in the Tower' wander the corridors.

Similarly, such a fascinating place has also created legends surrounding the ravens.  It is believed that should the ravens leave the Tower, both it and the kingdom will fall.’ 

Today I recalled that narration of Shekharattan and chuckled…the colonial Empire did fall…and I have expelled the ‘spirit of Charles Wyatt’ from the dark recesses of Raj Bhavan – about which I have written separately.

Shekharattan resumed after a fresh supply of pakodas and tea arrived.  Rajiv had implored Shekharattan not to resume the story while he was away in the kitchen.

It was already past our usual dinner time at 8.30.  The power outage continued.  By now Satish or a different mess group had brought the news that a transponder had conked and the electric supply was yet to depute its technicians to attend to it.  The chill seemed to have intensified in the room that steaming hot tea was unable to tackle.  We pulled our shawls tighter around us while Amar reached out for the blanket.

‘As I said, what intrigued me the most was the Anne Boleyn story.  Whether it was a figment of imagination or there was some truth in those stories no one can confirm.’ Shekharattan resumed.  ‘Questions are still raised whether she was in the wrong or was she wronged.  The Boleyns were an ambitious family, as documented history tells us.   And history presented to Anne the opportunity to form a close connection with the French and English royal families. Her French education stood her in good stead and made her distinguishable in England.  She was also endowed with several artistic talents.  In due course, both Anne and her sister Mary became ladies-in-waiting to Henry’s first wife, Katherine of Aragon.  Fate brought Anne and Henry VIII together. In the Vatican Library, a series of 17 letters survives which detail Henry’s growing infatuation with Anne during courtship.

Katherine is known for her virtues who believed that her marriage to Henry VIII was a sacred institution.  In 1527, the King began looking for a political and legal solution, petitioning Pope Clement VII and claiming that his marriage had never been legitimate because he had sinned in taking his brother’s widow, which some scholars believed to be prohibited by the Bible.  The Pope refused to give into Henry’s petitions for setting aside his marriage with Katherine and grant a divorce.  It is believed that it was Anne who procured a copy of William Tyndale’s 'Obedience of a Christian Man' that argued that the supreme authority was not held by the Pope but by the words of God enshrined in the Bible. Henry defied the Pope and dismissed Katherine from court in early 1531.  Anne finally married Henry in January 1533 and was crowned Queen in Westminster Abbey, when she was six months pregnant. Henry and Anne’s first child, born on 7 September 1533, was a healthy daughter, who would grow up to become Elizabeth I. 

Henry broke with the Roman Catholic Church, setting himself up instead as the Supreme Head of what would become the Church of England.  This move caused upheavals in Britain for several decades to come. Anne supported Henry’s new religious and political policies. She was also the first royal patron of the great court artist, Hans Holbein, who designed an arch for her coronation and a rose-water fountain.

Questions about their union began rising in Henry’s mind, since apart from Princess Elizabeth they could not have any more children, and he started looking for solutions again.

An alliance, that was so important in those days, with the Holy Roman Empire floundered because the Emperor, Charles V, refused to ratify Henry's marriage to Anne.  Hostile factions gathered in the wings who were sceptical about the changes brought in by Boleyn.  Thomas Cromwell, Anne’s ally in the Court, did not live up to expectations of Anne and misappropriated proceeds from the sale of monastic property to end up in the royal coffers, rather than be made available for charitable purposes, as Anne had hoped.  Corruption reared its ugly head. In 1536, Cromwell made a decisive move against Anne. Accusations of adultery and even of plotting against the King’s life were levelled against the Queen, her brother and a small group of courtiers. 

Anne was arrested on 2 May 1536 and taken by barge to the Tower of London.  Henry VIII ignored the Queen’s protestations of innocence.

A sham trial filled with Anne’s enemies found her guilty, and she found herself a prisoner at the Tower of London, in the same royal apartment where, just three years before, she had awaited her coronation.

On the eve of her execution, according to the Constable of the Tower, Anne joked “I heard say the executioner was very good, and I have a little neck” before putting her hands around it and laughing heartily. Henry had granted her the ‘small mercy’ of dying at the hands of a skilled swordsman rather than an executioner’s axe. 

The execution of a queen for treason was an unprecedented event, and Henry and Cromwell ensured that it was carefully stage managed within the walls of the Tower, rather than at the public execution sites outside. On 19 May 1536, Anne, then 35, was beheaded on Tower Green. She protested her innocence until the last, but her final reported words were uncontroversial, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it … I pray God save the King … for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never.”

In life and death, Anne influenced the religious and political landscape of then England under the Tudors.  Her daughter, Elizabeth was to become the most famous queen in British  history, whose colonial imprint on India took centuries to erase.   In fact the noun ‘Elizabeth’ went on to become an adjective – ‘Elizabethan’ – as the highest lexical compliment and is used when describing anything reminiscent of her era such as clothes, literature, theatre, architecture, and so on.

During the reign of her daughter, Elizabeth I, Anne’s reputation was partly rehabilitated.

Anne’s supporters have celebrated her as the tragic ‘Anne of a Thousand Days’, the innocent victim of court faction and Henry VIII’s paranoid suspicion and dynastic ambition.

It is believed that Anne’s ghost is seen at the Tower and at several other places such as the Hever Castle, the Windsor Castle, the Hampton Court, and other places that she had influence during her lifetime.  More often than not it is believed that the ghost is headless.’

Shekharattan paused.

‘Did you see her when you went to the Tower?’ was our collective thought so loud that Shekharattan was able to hear.

‘No, I did not see her there.’

‘What?’ we shrieked.  ‘What do you mean ‘not there’.  Did you see her somewhere else?’  We asked in unison as we drew towards each other a bit closer making a tight circle that no ghost could infiltrate !

‘Yes and No.’  Shekharattan sounded suspenseful. 

‘From the tour of the Tower, we had returned to our lodge at dusk.  It was a very cold evening.  We went to our respective rooms.  My roommate and I went up to our fourth floor room and immediately lighted the fireplace.  We were immersed in our books when suddenly a flapping sound outside the window startled us.  Must be a bat.  We glanced towards the window and could detect large wings.  Must be a some nocturnal bird.  The intermittent flapping continued.  We rose in unison and went towards the window.  Whatever it was moved away.  As we were about to turn back, our eyes went towards the pavement opposite our building engulfed in thick fog.   Beyond that wide pavement is an enormous thickly wooded park dating back hundreds of years.   Someone in flowing black gown was pacing up and down the pavement in slow deliberate steps, upright and dignified manner.  We looked at each other.  It was well past 12.30 a.m.  Who would stroll at such an hour in such biting cold without what appeared to be just a gown? 

Young and adventurous at heart, I decided to find out myself.’  Shekharattan paused.

‘As I crossed over to the opposite pavement, the figure was moving farther away on its stroll.  I could not make out that it was indeed a woman.  I called out at her – ‘Ma’am. Do you need help?  Is something the matter?’ and started towards her.  The more I increased my pace, the more distant the figure seemed, as if the distance between us was constant.  I was losing patience and gaining more chill. After following her for about two furlongs, with no sign of catching up with her, I decided to return to my lodge which was now completely out of sight especially due to the thickening fog.  I turned back and started walking towards my lodge.  After a few paces, I could see someone walking ahead of me.  I peered through the fog.  A chill ran down my spine.  It seemed to be the same figure that I was following – tall, majestic, flowing gown.

I remembered what my grandmother had taught me as a child.  Hanuman chalisa. I started chanting Hanuman chalisa and quickened my paces towards our lodge.  The figure was moving ahead with the same speed.   As she went past lighted main door of the lodge, I could now make out that the tall figure was slender indeed and ended up to the neck.  I quickly entered our main door and closed the door shut and went straight up to my room.  My roommate Ajit and a couple of more friends who had assembled there by now enquired – ‘where have you been, we were getting worried.’  Ajit continued.  ‘Who was that on the pavement?’  I said ‘Cant say.  Could not catch up with it.’

Shekharattan paused.  We were stunned by the turn of events.  He seemed to mutter to himself, ‘Something did happen on that day.  Whether it was the magnetism of The Tower or the terrible legacy attributed to it by prejudiced or imaginative writers I do not know.’   Shekharattan concluded.

Power returned almost as soon as Shekharattan finished his story.

‘Time for dinner.’ He announced getting up purposefully.  ‘Rajiv, warm up the food.’

We looked at each other.  Was it Shekharattan’s storytelling ability that intertwined history and imagination?  Or was it true?  But our hero that Shekharattan was, he did seem lost in thought.  May be he was still figuring out who that lady indeed was.

Of Spirits and Souls -  Part II

“If you want to rise in life – not necessarily in the material sense of the term – you must do bit more than just ‘look at things’; you need to observe and see through the multiple layers of deceit, falsehood, deliberately created delusions and untruth.” My father would say when he felt it was the right time to guide me in the transitional phase from childhood to adolescence.  “This is not to say that you need to distrust people, but you need to find the Truth, for only Truth can stand the test of time.  And that is what makes one a good soul – one that is revered and respected for his steadfast allegiance to Truth.”

The late childhood lesson played in my subconscious mind in a split second as the illustrious leader of the masses and Minister, tying the proverbial red-tape on the file in front of him – one that I submitted through the proper channel a proposal for a housing project for the poor and the needy, which I felt was perfectly achievable and would be of immense benefit for the target masses – said in a soft but firm voice, “Surely you have taken a look at this, Ananda.”  

I was taken aback for a split second.  Had my superiors noted some adverse comments on the proposal initiated by me?  But I did cross check all the pros and cons of the proposal and have submitted a step by step approach for implementing the project.

Recomposing myself and musting enough confidence I said, “Yes Sir.  I have thoroughly looked into all the aspects of the proposal.”  I then explained the nuances and the Minister pushed the file towards me unceremoniously and without either complimenting me or untying the proverbial knot and apparently not noting anything.  “Yes.  I have observed it.  Go ahead.”

Phew.  That was close.  The Minister had indeed studied the proposal and nuances associated with the project entirely and had, most importantly, observed what was on his table and evidently did not pay heed to a couple of my detractors of whom I was warned would try to throw a spanner.   Indeed, the Minister was widely acclaimed to be a good soul.

“Thank you, Sir.”  I took the file and went out of the door even as the Minister pulled another file towards him without looking up.

The Minister’s confidence in my project gave all the boost it needed and the project was implemented with right earnest.

During my initial Mussoorie days undergoing training after clearing the IAS examinations we oscillated from strict training and study schedules to the intermittent ‘off-day relaxation’ restricting ourselves to the confines of the sprawling precincts of the Academy.  Mussoorie, in Dehradun district, is one of the most beautiful hill stations famous for its scenic beauty, good social life and entertainment. The excellent climate was soothing and we enjoyed our days there. 

Mussoorie was discovered by Captain Young, an adventurous military officer in 1827. He was lured by the extraordinarily beautiful ridge and laid the foundation of it.   As in the case of most of such colonial places, Mussoorie too had a fair share of so-called haunted places.  For the observer, the old mansions, colonial architecture, cemeteries, mysterious hill scape could transport him to a different era and to a different dimension altogether where the beauty of the Hill station throws up secrets and mysteries of bygone eras.   An observer would be receptive of the folklore, beliefs and stories of spirts of the past fueling awe and fear alike in the present times adding to the mystique of place.

Sushil Shrivastava was our physical trainer and yoga teacher in the Academy and would take the new trainees under his able and protective wings.  He would caution us about the do’s and don’ts of this enthralling Hill station.  Sushil ji was friendly with us and would gather us for a weekly adda in a corner of the gym hall.  

And it was over one such adda, just a couple of months into the Academy life, that Sushil ji brought up the topic of haunted spots of Mussoorie.  It so happened that a few days back my batchmate Amar, having heard from his native place about the haunted history of some of the spots of Mussoorie had asked Sushil ji if he was aware of such stories and infamous spots.

Our weekly adda session was essentially on Sunday evenings and lasted for about two hours when we shared with each other the progress we made during the week, our apprehensions, beliefs, light talk and jokes.  That evening, while we all gathered in designated corner of the gym hall, made a neat circle of benches and sat, there was no sign of Sushil ji.  After some initial gossip we wondered what would have held Sushil ji up; he was punctual.

That evening Sushil ji did not join us in our adda.

We trooped into the dining hall and there we learned that Sushil ji had taken ill and was resting at home.

Sushil ji taken ill?  It was unexpected.  How could a strong, active and physically fit man like Sushil ji take ill all of a sudden when only the day before he had taken our physical training class in his usual sprightly manner.

Hours and days passed.  Sushil ji did not come to the Academy for the physical training classes too.   Our enquiries with our other instructors yielded only terse response – ‘Sushil ji is recuperating.’ 

But what exactly happened was a mystery for us.

On the morning of the first Sunday following Sushil ji’s ‘disappearance’, we decided to go to his home downtown, off the Mussoorie Mall Road, at a distance of a few miles from the Academy.

Sushil ji’s uncle greeted us at the door and looked quite serious. 

‘How is Sushil ji?’ we enquired.

‘He is okay now.’ The uncle sounded unconvincing.

We trooped into the bedroom of Sushil ji and found him to be lying on the bed.  We could also see that he was holding a Shrimad Bhagavad Geeta in his right hand placed on his chest.

He tried to smile at us.

“Sushil ji, what  happened?”  We were thoroughly confused since we could not detect any signs of physical injury.  May be he had contacted some viral infection.

Sushil ji spoke slowly after what seemed like pondering whether to talk or not.

He gestured his uncle – and an equally serious looking aunt who had also come into the bedroom by now and we saw that she was preventing a young boy from coming into the room – to leave us alone.

We could hardly endure the suspense.

‘It was quite late and I didn’t want to come home that day.  However, since it was my nephew’s birthday, I thought that I should bring to him the gifts I had purchased for the occasion.  I took the Mall Road for a shortcut to reach  home quickly.  As expected, the Mall Road was deserted at that time.  A thick fog had descended on the entire area as if to cover it like a blanket on a winter night.   The street lights surrounding the Mall stood like skeletons emitting dim eerie lights that could not pierce through the thick fog.  There was not a soul to be seen around.  I was walking close to the line of shops with front lights on and had to cross over to the other side – the park side – to take the road to the house.   The park side pavement was very dark indeed.  The temperature would surely have plummeted to minus degrees, but was steady and I was of course accustomed to the cold weather.”  Sushil ji paused to catch a breath.

‘So what happened?’  We looked at him impatiently and did not utter a word.

We all know Sushil ji had a robust and athletic physique and being born and brought up in Mussoorie the cold would have been normal for him.

“I felt abnormally cold as I crossed the line of shops.  It was pitch dark now.  I quickened my pace in the hope that faster blood circulation would help cope with the sudden chill that set in.

Absentmindedly I looked towards the Park side since it was about time I crossed over to that side.   I was standing under a lamp post with a faint light flickering through the fog.

As I took a step towards the other side, in the thick fog I could detect a pitch dark silhouette – darker than even the pitch black that had suddenly engulfed the area in a vice like grip – standing under a tree beside a lamppost.   The silhouette appeared to move and move forward, towards me. 

Good.  I thought.   At least a soul is around in the seemingly lifeless expanse.

After a couple of more steps, I moved a bit diagonally aiming for a lamppost on the opposite footpath.  I pulled my coat collar tightly around me as the cold appeared to get intense with each passing second.  I looked up.  The dark figure had also taken a diagonal trajectory towards its right.  This would mean at some point we are sure to cross each other’s path.  I felt a bit awkward.  The sprawling Mall area was empty and here were two souls in the dead of the night sure to bump into each other.

Suddenly, I felt a sense of intense unease.  The cold was unbearable.   I felt something clog my windpipe and I could hardly breathe.  At that point a very foul odour appeared out of nowhere.  Some animal must have died nearby and was rotting.  Yes, it was smell of rotting flesh.  I could hardly breathe now.  I hastened my steps. To my utter dismay, and as I had expected, the silhouette was just 30 paces away from me and aimed directly across my path.

Hello.  I said, hoping that perhaps the person was known to me somehow.

The figure was holding a mobile phone or something, I felt.  For, through the thick fog, I could catch light near what would be its head.  The figure was tall.

10 paces.  Two shining lights.  Certainly not a mobile phone.

A sudden shock ran through me.  The ghastly odour was now unbearable.  The cold unimaginable.  I was shivering for all these reasons and more.

Two shining lights were the figure’s red blazing eyes.  I was sure.  The unblinking red blazing eyes looked straight at me and I could detect what seemed like fire from the pits of hell containing hatred of ages.

I could not carry my feet one more inch.  The pitch black figure was now standing right in front of me.  

I was cold, breathless, heart almost bursting out.

I opened my eyes to see Abdul bent over me, beads in his hand, mumbling something. 

‘He will be ok.’  Somebody said. 

I again opened my eyes and saw my nephew bent over me.  I was in a bright sunlit room.  I saw my uncle and aunt and my brother.   They looked confused and suspenseful.

Regaining composure I enquired – ‘Why was Abdul here.  Where did he go?’  Abdul had a reputation of being an exorcist.

My brother said ‘Abdul was here two days back.  You have been oscillating between consciousness and unconsciousness since the last four days’. 

Last night a strange thing occurred, I started to say, recalling my inexplicable experience on the Mall Road.

My uncle cut me short.  ‘Take rest my boy.  It was not last night.  Abdul found you in the middle of the Park at 3.00 a.m. four days back.  Abdul said on that night he somehow could not sleep and felt strange.  A true believer in Almighty he came out of his house and was going around when he heard shrieks coming from the Mall Road and then from the Park.  He followed the screams and found you unconscious lying in the middle of the Park, face down but screaming your heart out.’

Sushil ji concluded his story with a faint smile.

We were spellbound.  We handed over to Sushil ji the gifts we had brought for him and wishes him speedy recovery and trooped out.   On the way out we met his brother at the nearby tea stall.  Everyone there appeared to be serious and were looking at us as if expecting us to make sense of it all.  Sushil ji’s brother Anup approached us and said, ‘When Abdul found Sushil lying face down in the middle of the Park, he said, he could detect a pitch black blanket like layer hovering over Sushil as if it was a magic carpet and was about to descent upon Sushil.  As Abdul approached near to the spot chanting Almighty’s name the two blazing red eyes appeared from the blanket and looked at him with fury from the depths of hell.  Abdul fell on his knees and without looking at those hell eyes, chanting the Lord’s name.  There was whooshing sound and a whiff of cold air grazing Abdul.  He opened his eyes and found and from the flicker of the lamp he was carrying could see that the black blanket and the blazing red eyes were gone.  He then collected Sushil and brought him home.  Sushil regained consciousness only today morning.’

We shook hands with Anup ji and returned to the Academy without uttering a word.

Sushil ji did join his duties at the Academy but he was now only about half of what he was.  He seemed perpetually weak.  He was given a desk job. 

But our weekly addas did continue.

‘Mussoorie is an enchanting place, but there are indeed some areas from where stories of strange and inexplicable happenings come out.’ Sushil ji told us at one of the addas, almost a year after our joining the Academy.  Being a local chap Sushil ji heard about these haunted places as he grew up.  He said he did not believe such stories until the incident that night.

Sushil ji filled us up with stories of such haunted places in Mussoorie.  We took it in our stride, receptive of the import of those stories having seen what Sushil ji had to endure.  I recalled Shekharattan’s adda. 

A tourist to Mussoorie cannot miss the Camel’s Back Road if the idea is to witness the unfolding of stunning views of the Himalayas.  The street has an eerie past.  People walking down the road complain of feeling an unsettling presence beside them. Some have seen shadowy figures moving in the distance, while others claim to have heard footsteps following them.  Spirits of dead people may still be wandering the roads in search of peace or justice or who knows, revenge.

A bustling market place Landour Bazaar is a popular attraction for tourists wanting to carry back home memories of their visit to this enchanting place.   Under the hustle and bustle of this lively place lies a dark underbelly.  Some believe that the area is haunted by the spirits of those who lived and died in the old colonial buildings that dot the hillside. People who have visited the bazaar at night report hearing strange noises, such as the sounds of chains dragging or whispers in the air.   Some say that they have seen apparitions of old colonial-era soldiers or workers walking the streets at night.

Fairy Hill or Pari Tibba 

Located on the outskirts of Mussoorie, Pari Tibba is considered one of the scariest places in Mussoorie.  It is believed that the fairies who once inhabited the area were driven away by some dark forces. Locals speak of strange sightings and eerie phenomena in the area, feeling chill and hearing voices in the wind.   Some claim sighting apparitions at night.  People regard the place as cursed.

The Barlowganj Cemetery located on the outskirts of Mussoorie is one of the oldest colonial-era cemeteries in the area and known as one of the most haunted places in Uttarakhand.   Passersby claim to have seen apparitions wandering among the tombstones late at night or to have felt a cold touch by unseen hands.

Some people believe that paranormal activities take place in the Savoy.  And thus it has become quite infamous.   It is relatively a modern location.  However, a dark episode of a woman’s murder has attached itself to the hotel.  Guests have complained of hearing strange noises at night, seeing flickering lights, and even feeling an unexplained presence in their rooms. Some visitors have claimed to see an apparition moving along the halls. 

Lambi Dehar Mines is believed to be one of the most notorious haunted spots in Mussoorie. Several workers died in the limestone mines over the years due to accidents.  It was closed down due to some reason.  It is believed that people still hear the eerie sounds of the workers’ screams echoing through the air at night. Some even claim to have seen shadowy figures lurking among the ruins. People also experience unsettling negative energy in the places.  The place is desolate and has a strong, unsettling energy. Local folklore suggests that the spirits of the workers who lost their lives here still haunt the site.  They are perhaps tied to the spot unable to get mukti.

Haunted House Near Sisters Bazaar

An abandoned, old and crumbling mansion near the popular Sisters Bazaar is believed to be haunted.    Local people and unsuspecting passersby talk of strange sounds, sights and flickering lights at the location.  Some brave hearts who ventured into the mansion could not remain there for more than a few minutes having been startled by loud banging noises and footsteps even though no one was around.  As in the case of other haunted properties, some believe that the house is cursed and can cause misery to those who enter the mansion.

The Mussoorie Christ Church

The Church is one of the oldest churches in the region, having been built in the 1830s.  It is regarded as one of the most haunted places in Mussoorie. Many people have reported seeing shadowy figures in the church after dark, and some claim to hear the sound of footsteps echoing through the empty halls. There are stories of ghostly figures that appear in the church during services, and some say that the spirits of past parishioners still roam the premises. Visitors often feel a strange presence when they enter, and some have claimed to feel cold spots or sudden chills in the air.

The abandoned Old Victorian Lodge, famous for its colonial architecture, was once a popular spot for British officers and their families.   The lodge is known for its haunting atmosphere, and locals claim to have seen figures in Victorian-era clothing walking through the windows. Some say the spirits of the former residents still inhabit the lodge, causing strange events to occur. People who visit this haunted house in Mussoorie report hearing the sound of piano music drifting through the air, even though no one is there.

Kempty Falls: One of the most famous haunted places in Mussoorie is the Kempty Falls. Located at a distance of about 15 km from the town, these falls are a popular tourist destination. However, it is also said to be haunted by the ghost of a British soldier who fell to his death while standing near falls. Visitors have reported feeling a presence around them and hearing strange noises when they visit the falls at night.

          Rest of our training period at the Academy passed by without any incident.  Sushil ji never did regain his robust health.  He was a changed man.

          Our training at the Academy concluded and thanks to Yoga and spiritual discourses by gurus, we could imbibe positivity in our approach.   We also learnt that there are always two sides of a situation – the positive and the negative.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Spirits and Souls - Part III

Raj Bhavan, Kolkata. 

Sounding mysterious and suspenseful my attendant, Devi, confided in me gravely with an air of ‘I know everything’. 

‘Kai kahaniyan hai Sir yahan.’  (there are several stories here Sir). 

‘What do you mean?’ I asked absentmindedly, for in the back of my mind I was thinking of how well to refurbish the huge halls, long corridors and massive rooms and suites that appeared to be intimidating for Ananda Bose, though not for Governor Dr. Bose.  I had decided to go round the Raj Bhavan, visit every nook and corner of this magnificent edifice and cover the entire 84,000 sq.ft of floor space.  This three-storied building with a magnificent central area consisting of large halls has curved corridors on all four sides radiating to detached wings, each constituting a house in itself. It didn’t matter to me that it was just a few hours after my swearing-in ceremony and I had yet to unpack my suitcases.   I had already met Charles Wyatt, the architect of this colonial ‘palace’, as I climbed up the Netaj Bose portico (earlier known by its colonial name – the Grand Staircase).

‘Kahaniyan jo samajh ke pare hai, Sir.  Vishwas kare to kuch hai, nak are to kuch nahi.’ Said Devi. (stories that are devoid of logic, Sir. If you believe in those, there is something, if not there is nothing.)

Devi can be poetic, I thought.  And mysterious.

‘What exactly are you referring to, Devi.’  I enquired, though I could sense what he was trying to say. 

It was just after my dinner and I wanted to take a stroll that would take care of both my after-dinner stroll habit and also to see the interiors of what is now my new home and office.

As we moved through the long corridors and halls slowly (the lights are never sufficient here, I thought) he rattled on the so-called incidents and beliefs of various people in the Raj Bhavan.

‘I heard from my father who was in service here, Sir, that a very senior young and robust official attached to the then Governor had felt something inexplicable in that particular suite that is in the high security area.’ Devi said and pointed at suite straight ahead of us.  The other attendant scoffed. 

We were headed towards that suite in any case.  The suite consisted of a large sitting room, three bedrooms, a kitchen area and a store room.  We went around it.  Any individual moving through it alone would get an eerie feeling.  There was stillness in the heavy air.  I made some calculations as to what was needed to refurbish the entire suite.   Primarily the windows and doors are to remain open for some time every morning so that fresh air comes into the suite.

We moved downstairs.  As we approach a staircase and its adjacent lift, Devi remarked.  ‘I never use this lift Sir.’ 

‘You should not use any lift.  I rarely do.’ I thought.  ‘Using the stairs is good for health.’

Devi continued ‘There was a very senior official here, Sir, who left on retirement just a few years back.  He had once narrated that one night when he had to go to the top floor he got into this lift and pressed the button.  The area was deserted with not a soul in sight.  The lift was lying idle.  However, the lift went up and immediately came down.  Again it crawled upwards, and stopped at the first floor.  Now a lift would do that but not unless someone had pressed a button before the present use.  

The officer came out of the lift.   It is a practice here that after Sunset, all the vacant areas are locked up and main switches of lights turned off to prevent any electrical or fire accident.  The connecting massive door from the first floor wing to the staircase and hall areas was locked.  But the time the officer tried to see if the door was open or he could hail someone beyond it, the lift door shut and the lift buzzed away.  With no light anywhere, as the lift door closed shut, the entire area was plunged into pitched darkness.  The officer took out his mobile and fumbled to switch on its torchlight.  He found the lift switch and pressed.  The lift took abnormally long time to come back to life and came up to the first floor – this was inexplicable since the officer was pressing the button for third floor all along.  The officer decided to take the stairs and pressed the ground floor.  The lift crawled upwards and opened at the third floor.  Same problem ensued. The door leading from that wing to stairs and hall areas was locked.  The lift hurried down. Pitch black everywhere.  The officer waited patiently clutching on the mobile phone.  The lift took an eternity to come up to the third floor.  The officer got into it and pressed 0.  Finally the lift took him downstairs and ‘ejecting’ him closed with what seemed like a sneering sound.  The lift looked foreboding.  There was a Chaprasi station nearby.  He used the intercom to call up third floor and convey what had to be conveyed and left for his quarters outside Raj Bhavan.’

‘Electrical malfunction.  Everything here is historic.  I must modernise the equipment and gadgets.  In no office doors and windows should remain open at night or power main switches remain on.’               I thought as Devi finished narrating the episode.

We went up to the top floor taking the staircase.  The huge hall in the middle connected the North side to the South side.  We started to cross the hall.

‘Sir, another incident I had heard is connected to this very hall.’  Devi declared.   ‘A young staff member – Ajay – had a nice voice and used to sing and whistle melodious tunes.  The man passed away following a brief illness.  It was not his time.  His friend and colleague, Shamim one night took that particular lift and came up to the third floor and was required to cross this Hall to reach the South side wings for an official work.  As the lift door closed the entire area was plunged into darkness.  As Shamim began to cross the North side hall to the central Hall, he heard a whistling sound.  He thought some other staff member was working in that area.  But in insufficient light he could not see anybody else.  He called out – who is there?  No answer, but the whistling sound was clearly a nice melody and appeared to draw nearer and nearer to Shamim.  Perplexed, Shamim looked frantically around to locate the source of the melody.  Nothing, but a strange air going round as if in circles although all the massive doors and windows were locked as per usual practice.  And suddenly Shamim recalled.  Ajay would frequent whistle this particular poor melodious tune.  A cold shiver ran down his spine.  He quickened his pace to cross the massive Hall and did stop till he crossed the south side hall and entered the living quarter areas where security was present.’  Devi halted.

‘Dim and outright insufficient lights, sprawling areas, huge halls, old building – nice cocktail for the mind to play tricks.’   I felt.

Finishing tour of the first floor and top floor wings we took the stairs to the ground floor.   Devi continued seemingly pleased to fill me up with what he felt was very critical information about my new home.  ‘Once during April or May some years back just after an evening Kalbaisakhi that brought gale-speed wind with torrential rain that uprooted a few trees in the garden, our sweepers began cleaning the open areas of the dry leaves, rubbish and rainwater that flew in.   The climate was warm and the rain water would dry in no time.  However, no matter how many times the sweepers wiped the floor dry, there was water all the time in this particular area of the ground floor Hall.  It was strange.  Throughout the evening the sweepers toiled but fresh wetness seemed to rise and water accumulate on the marble floor.  They finally left it as it was, since the offices had closed by now and the staff members had dispersed, so there was no danger of anyone skidding on the water and hurt himself.’  Devi concluded.

‘Kalbaisakhi can be a romantic moment if you are in a secured location.  It is thought to have inspired the great Kabiguru Rabindranath Tagore to pen his famous and popular song "Esho Hey Baisakh".  These storms generally occur in the afternoon or just before sunset, when thick dark black clouds start appearing over the sky and then bring gale-speed wind with torrential rain but spanning only a short period of time

‘I have to introduce modern cleaning equipment.  There would surely be damp rising during such rainy times.’  I thought.

I retired for the night in my apartments.  Devi went to his quarters.

A few days later I spoke to one of my Assistants about these so called experiences.  The Assistant, though he did not discard the stories, told me, ‘Sir, I have completed 30 years in Raj Bhavan.  There have been times along these decades, when I had to work till late hours in my room which is located in a secluded area and the entire floor would be deserted soon after office hours.   I never felt anything amiss, nothing that cannot be explained.  No gusts of wind entered my room ever disturbing the papers – though such an inexplicable thing did take place in the ground floor office area once.’ 

And he left me a bit confused.  

A year into my residency in Raj Bhavan, a young officer joined the rolls and was attached to me.   He was residing in his allotted quarters adjacent to Raj Bhavan.   The officer once narrated that every evening and at a particular time, his pet cat would halt and stare at a particular spot on the wall.  Just stare, not purr, or meow.  Nothing.  Wherever the cat was at that time, he would inevitable come to that room as if it was trained to do so and keep staring right across the room at some unseen spot on the opposite wall.   This would go on for 10-15 minutes, after which the cat would go about minding its usual playful business. 

As a boy I had seen that a neighbourhood dog – a good, playful and domesticated one – would howl in a strange manner every time a particular vagabond many said to be a beggar would go along the road.  The vagabond wouldn’t beg, just pass by our houses.

We cannot discount the supernatural or the paranormal – whatever the situation and wherever be the location.  Many feel that there could be multiple worlds and dimensions existing within the folds of the known world – the world that we can feel and touch and interact with.  There has to be a scientific explanation for everything.  Scientists would scoff at the idea of supernatural. Doctors are trained in their knowledge through dealing with corpses.   They can be expected to explain everything.   I have also seen extremely devout doctors who believe in God.  And, as Shekharattan would say – ‘the Holy Ghost exists because the Evil Ghost has never left us.  We have a hierarchy of the seven archdemons Lucifer (Pride); Mammon (Avarice); Asmodeus (Lechery); Satan (Anger); Beelzebub (Gluttony); Leviathan (Envy); and Belphegor (Sloth).   Devils, evil spirits, fallen angels are believed to cause various types of calamities and are viewed as the agents of famine, disease, war, earthquakes, accidental deaths, and various mental or emotional disorders.

The terrible aspects of demons have been represented in various forms throughout the progress of civilisation either to frighten people into submission or to ward off the power of the demonic forces.’  

 

 

 

Of Spirits and Souls - Part IV

“So, the idea was to rattle the indomitable spirit of Don Bradman, is it?”  We turned our heads towards the source of the voice with disdain.  It was Amar.  We don’t interrupt Shekharattan either at the adda, where we were then, or anywhere.   But only Amar could commit such a travesty.

We glanced towards Shekharattan.

He was, however, calm.  And continued…

“Yes, not only Bradman, but the entire Australian batting lineup and the team.”

It was the year 1970 Ray Illingworth’s English cricket team was touring Australia for the 1970-71 Ashes series and the adda, after ‘assessing’ the unfolding situation, veered round to that famous tour of Jardine’s English cricket team that toured Australia for the Ashes series in                                                                                                                           1932-33.

Shekharattan was narrating how Jardine devised the fast leg theory bowling tactic to combat the batting skill of Australia’s leading batsman, Don Bradman.   The bodyline delivery.  We all knew about it.  But Shekharattan’s penchant for details and narrative skills were undeterred.

“This fast leg theory bowling tactic relied on pace bowling and delivery of the ball that would hit the ground at a short length and rise in a trajectory aimed directly at the batsman’s head or chest.  Even if the batsman were to defend himself with his bat, there was high chance that he would be caught out by several fielders deliberately placed on the leg side. At the time, no helmets or other upper-body protective gear was worn.  And as such the tactic was outright intimidating and the batsmen were exposed to injuries.  It was not sportsmanship, several were of the opinion.  Over time, and after the introduction of helmets, short-pitched fast bowling continues to be permitted in cricket, even when aimed at the batsman, and is considered to be a legitimate bowling tactic when used sparingly.

In that series, not only Don Bradman, but also Bill Woodfull, Bill Ponsford and Alan Kippax were also targeted.

And Jardine had brought forth two deadly bowlers from his arsenal with the specific instruction to bowl on the leg stump and make the ball rise into the body of the batsman. They were Harold Larwood and Bill Voce.

Larwood and Voce put the incredible plan to practice with increasing success and several injuries to batsman, as a stunned Cricket world watched in utter disbelief.

The legendary speed that the bowlers could generate with the ball aimed specifically at the batsman’s body gave the latter may be just a split second to decide whether to defend himself with the bat risking a caught out by strategically placed fielders or to duck or to execute a shot.  There were then no rules that would limit the number of such deliveries per over and the pacers relentlessly challenged the batsman with this new weaponry.  The ball would hit the ground and rise and the batsman would see not much more than a red blur rising towards him.’

“Like a ghost ball, isnt it.”  This boy would never learn.  But somehow Amar got himself spared from Shekharattan’s wrath.

“Yes.  A ghost ball.”

A fresh round of steaming hot tea arrived with a beaming Rajiv, our mess help and friend.   Our hopeful glances at Rajiv did not go in vain.  Rajiv declared, “Auntie is bringing in pakodas.” 

“Good old Rajiv.”  We thought, relieved.

Even as we talked in hushed tones about little nothings, Shekharattan, sipping from his cup of tea and as if oblivious of our existence, threw forth a question. “Did I tell the story about the ‘Ghost Ball’?

No adda is complete without a thriller and nothing is more gripping than a dose of the curious and the inexplicable – especially when the setting is a late holiday evening, sprawling halls in a rickety old mansion, the usual insufficient lighting that casts ghostly shadows all-around (despite our pleas the landlord would not work on the lighting system).

We hushed ourselves to silence and were attentive to every syllable that dropped off our great leader’s mouth, eager to pick up the pearls of wisdom.

Sensing our ‘question-marked faces’ – without looking at us and extending his long wiry hands towards the pakodas – Shekharattan continued with an inaudible sigh “Not necessarily a ghostly ball.  You see, a "ghost ball" can refer to different things depending on the context.  For instance, in Billiards, a ghost ball is an imaginary ball that helps players aim their shots.  It can also be a colloquialism to describe a ball that seems to be moving or behaving in an unpredictable or unusual manner, as if it were being controlled by an external force.  In sports it can be referred to as a ball that takes an unexpected bounce or trajectory or seems to move on its own or change direction suddenly.

However, I will tell you about a ghost ball or a ball thought to have been possessed by some supernatural force or entity.” 

We looked at each other as Shekharattan munched on the hot pakodas and sipped from the teacup.   He started.  We inched closer to him. 

“Udayan had recently taken up a job in the city and had to shift from his ancestral house in the village.  Thrilled as he was of his new found freedom, he was secretly also apprehensive about how he would manage himself – for he had never left his parents’ care till then.  After staying in a mess for a few days initially, on the insistence of his mother, he looked for a rented apartment to live comfortably.  He did find one – a rather cheap one, especially since it was furnished – in the 6^th floor of an old building with wooden staircase and no lift.  He shifted his meagre belongings from the mess to his new dwelling place near his office but on the outskirts of the city on a rain-drenched Saturday.  The excitement of freedom and toil took its toll and after arranging some of the pieces of furniture and unpacking a few boxes and having a quick meal, he hit bed.  The storm outside had intensified.  Loadshedding had ensued.  The entire neighbourhood was plunged in darkness.

Tapping sound woke up Udayan.  Tired and drained from the effort of moving throughout morning, he could hardly muster his senses and slipped back in slumber. 

Something woke him up – now with a startle.  Distinctive sound of playful footsteps on the corridor outside and the tippety-tap sound now clear.  What was the sound?  He thought.  Seemed like a hard plastic ball bouncing up and down on the rickety wooden floor of the balcony.   Was a kid from some other floor playing?  Udayan cursed the parents under his breath for allowing a child to play at this un-Godly hour and that too in pitch darkness.  He could easily hurt himself, leave alone disturbing other people. 

Finding a torch-light he opened the main door to his flat and looked outside, determined to grab the child and take him to his parents.  He was determined to give a short lecture to them about parenting. 

He looked to his left and then to his right.  No one was in sight.  Not a sound except for some crickets chirping away.  And the aeolian sound of the wind.  It was still raining, though the intensity of the storm seemed to have passed over.

The child must have returned to his flat.  Must find his parents tomorrow.

Udayan shut the door and unknowingly locked it – it was after all his first night at a new place.  As he turned towards his bedroom across the living room, something caught his eye under a sofa.   The flat came with furniture – old furniture; looked as old as the building itself – and Udayan had decided to change the upholstery.

Udayan bent a bit and could see something glowing from under the large four-seater sofa.  He went closer to take a closer look.  It appeared to be glowing.  What was it.  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness and torchlight focus, he could now see that it was a ball.  Udayan bent and picked it up and felt it.  The mysterious object was made of a strange, glowing material. 

As soon as Udayan touched the ball, he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. The ball began to move on its own in his palm pushing on his grip.  He dropped the ball in a scared reflex action.   The ball now began to move around the living room with an eerie, unnatural motion.

Udayan started to feel a creeping sense of dread. The ball seemed to be exerting some kind of malevolent influence over him, tempting him to do dark and terrible things.

Next thing Udayan remembered was bright sunlight streaming onto his face.  He was lying sprawled in the living room.  In an instant he regained composure and scarily looked around for that creepy ball.  He could not find it.

He kept to himself in the next few days, not interacting much with his colleagues.  He enquired about the tenants from the watchman.  Apart from him there were two other tenants in the entire building, and they were on the third and first floor.  None had any children.

As the days passed, Udayan became increasingly unhinged. He would find himself doing strange, unexplainable things, like drawing twisted symbols on the walls or whispering eerie incantations in the dead of night.

It wasn't until Udayan stumbled upon an ancient tome concealed in one of the drawers in his kitchen that he discovered the ball's dark secret. The ball, it turned out, was a vessel for an ancient, malevolent entity that had been awakened by Udayan’s response and recognising its existence when he heard its tapping sound the other stormy night.

In a desperate bid to break the ball's hold over him, Udayan decided to confront the entity possessing the ball, head-on.   It was a battle of wits and it was a fierce battle.   The entity unleashed a maelstrom of disturbing supernatural fury.   Udayan’s upbringing in his pious family, their faith in God’s power and his own trust in himself ensured that no damage was done to his person and he managed to find himself another flat in a bustling neighbourhood.  But the victory was not without its battle scars.  Udayan knew that he would never be the same again, haunted as he was by the memories of the possessed ball's dark and malevolent influence.”

Shekharattan paused.  Looked unapprovingly at the empty bowl of pakodas. 

“Don’t eat too many pakodas.”  He commanded.  And his command jolted us back to reality.

We looked at each other. The rain outside intensified.  Rajiv brought in fresh candles and lighted them.  Shekharattan now lighted his cigarette.

* * *

 

 

 

 

Of Spirits and Souls - Part V

 

Shekharattan had once said, “Most scientists think humans are simply smarter apes. They accept Darwinian evolution over millions of years as the source of human origins. Some, however, believe that a creator "guided" evolution so that Homo sapiens are ruled by a soul or consciousness. And thereby hangs a tale.”

“Hangs a tail?” Amar interrupted.  We shot furious glances at him.

Good the great Shekharattan didn’t hear that !

We were assembled and sat in a circle on the floor in Sashi’s room for our adda session.  Thank God there was no internet in those days and heart to heart and in-person interactions ruled.  Sashi’s room had two other occupants while rest of us shared two other rooms.  In all we had taken up the entire second floor of the old building with numerous rooms that have been converted into accommodation for bachelors.  We also had a kitchen on this floor and Rajiv presided over it.  Auntie came every day to clean up our rooms and the kitchen.

We were discussing about a visit to the zoo. And the adda, after traversing through the labyrinth of gossip, stories, tales and casual nothings, veered round to evolution of humans and their consciousness.

The leader among us continued – “All civilisations have their own tales, stories, beliefs and secrets.   Those stories shape our future and embellish the past. There are also tales curious and fascinating that intrigue us.  These stories and tales spawn from what people felt or have seen; some explainable while others inexplicable.  The supernatural.  The world is also full of eerie and fascinating places that are said to be haunted by ghostly apparitions and supernatural entities. Some of the most famous haunted places are believed to be -

- The Tower of London: This historic fortress in England is notorious for its dark past, filled with executions, beheadings, and royal machinations. Visitors have reported seeing the ghost of Anne Boleyn, King Henry VIII's ill-fated wife.

- Edinburgh Castle: Perched atop a dormant volcano, this Scottish castle is said to be haunted by the spirits of former prisoners and soldiers. The headless drummer boy is a particularly famous ghostly apparition.

- The Winchester Mystery House: This labyrinthine mansion in California was built by Sarah Winchester, the widow of the famous rifle manufacturer. She believed that the house was haunted by the spirits of those killed by Winchester rifles.

- The Catacombs of Paris: This underground ossuary in France contains the remains of millions of Parisians. Visitors have reported feeling a heavy, eerie atmosphere, and some have even claimed to have seen ghostly apparitions.

- The Whaley House: This historic house in San Diego is said to be haunted by the ghost of Thomas Whaley, the house's original owner. Visitors have reported seeing apparitions, hearing strange noises, and experiencing unexplained phenomena.

- Alcatraz Island: This former prison in San Francisco Bay is said to be haunted by the spirits of former inmates and guards. Visitors have reported strange occurrences, such as unexplained noises, apparitions, and cold spots.

- The Queen Mary: This ocean liner is now a hotel and attraction in Long Beach, California. It's said to be haunted by the spirits of former passengers and crew members. Visitors have reported strange occurrences, such as unexplained noises, apparitions, and ghostly encounters.

- Poveglia Island: Located in Italy, this island is said to be haunted by the spirits of those who died there during the plague. Visitors have reported strange occurrences, such as unexplained noises, apparitions, and an eerie atmosphere.

- Aokigahara Forest: This forest in Japan is said to be haunted by the spirits of those who have taken their own lives there. Visitors have reported strange occurrences, such as unexplained noises, apparitions, and an eerie atmosphere.”

Rajiv brought in a fresh round to Coffee and samosas and setting those in the middle of the circle announced… “Dinner is almost ready.”  Rajiv cooked well, especially non-vegetarian dishes.  But he himself was a strict vegetarian. The cooks can be curious too.

Sashi intervened “Aren’t there some haunted places in India too that we keep hearing about?”

We all figured out why Shekharattan had narrated about haunted places abroad first – perhaps it was due to the strange experience he had during his London days.

“Oh yes”, said I and was eager to give a short narrative of a couple of places I heard about. My feeble voice was drowned by Shekharattan’s baritone voice.  Survival of the fittest.

“Yes, there are indeed.   Some of the famous ones are:

The Indian Ghost Town of Bhangarh

Located in Rajasthan, this town is considered one of the most haunted places in India. The story goes that a magician was forbidden from falling in love with the local princess, and in revenge, he cast a spell on the palace, leading to its doom.

Dumas Beach

This beach in Gujarat is known for its eerie atmosphere and strange occurrences. People have reported hearing whispers and seeing apparitions, and some even claim to have been possessed by evil spirits.

The Shaniwarwada Fort

Located in Pune, this fort is said to be haunted by the ghost of a young prince who was brutally murdered. People have reported hearing his screams and seeing his apparition, especially during full moon nights.

GP Block

This abandoned building in Meerut is said to be haunted by the ghosts of four men who were seen drinking together. People have also reported seeing a young girl in a red dress.

The Brij Raj Bhavan Palace

This palace in Kota, Rajasthan, is said to be haunted by the ghost of a British major who was killed during the Revolt of 1857. People have reported seeing his apparition and experiencing strange occurrences¹.

Kuldhara

This abandoned village in Rajasthan is said to be haunted by the ghosts of the villagers who disappeared mysteriously. People have reported strange occurrences, such as hearing whispers and seeing apparitions.

Agrasen ki Baoli

This stepwell in New Delhi is said to be haunted by the ghost of a woman who was killed by her husband. People have reported experiencing strange occurrences, such as being followed by an invisible entity.

Mukesh Mills

This abandoned mill in Mumbai is said to be haunted by the ghosts of workers who died during a fire. People have reported strange occurrences, such as hearing whispers and seeing apparitions.

Sanjay Gandhi National Park

This national park in Mumbai is said to be haunted by the ghost of a woman who was killed by her husband. People have reported experiencing strange occurrences, such as being asked for a lift by an apparition.

But I must tell you, these are only beliefs and stories, we all know, spread like wildfire rising in intensity every passing hour.”  Shekharattan concluded.

We trooped into the large kitchen for our dinner, lost in our own thoughts.

Moral of the story – We must keep our spirits high in the face of challenges and odds.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Spirits and Souls - Part VI

My tours in West Bengal are several spanning across the length and breath of this vibrant State.  My interactions with people have been both on official plane and also casual occasionally.  It has been a compulsive habit for me to welcome people, to listen to them, understand their feelings and learn from their experiences.  I wanted to ‘observe’ and not just ‘look’ at this blessed State.

It is one of the most endearing achievements for me in West Bengal that I found that people could relate to me and interacted with me freely. Whether it was my staff in Raj Bhavan or people in the remotest corners of the State, they did have a story or more to share with me.

Devi had already enlightened me about what he felt were unusual occurrence in my official home cum office – the Raj Bhavan. 

A visitor – during a casual interaction one Saturday afternoon – filled me with some unofficial stories about a few places in West Bengal and Kolkata that apparently were believed to be cursed and pulse with otherworldly energies.

The visitor rattled off a few such places with elan:

- The National Library: This iconic library is said to be haunted by the ghost of Lady Metcalfe, the wife of a former Governor-General of India. People have reported strange occurrences, such as feeling someone breathing down their neck, hearing footsteps, and seeing chairs being drawn away.

- Putulbari (House of Dolls): This century-old house is said to be haunted by the ghosts of young girls who were abducted, raped, and killed by cruel landlords. People have reported seeing a crying woman on the second floor and hearing strange noises.

- Hastings House: This building is said to be haunted by the ghost of Warren Hastings, who is rumored to ride a horse to the location. People have also reported seeing the ghost of a young boy who died on the premises.

- Lower Circular Road Cemetery: This cemetery is said to be haunted by the ghosts of people who were buried here. People have reported seeing strange shadows and hearing eerie noises.

- Nimtala Ghat: This cremation ground is said to be haunted by the ghosts of those who were cremated here. People have reported seeing Aghoris, a group of priests who eat the leftover flesh of the burnt bodies.

- Rabindra Sarovar Metro Station: This metro station is said to be haunted by the ghosts of people who committed suicide here. People have reported seeing strange shadows and hearing eerie noises.

- The Royal Calcutta Turf Club: This horse racing track is said to be haunted by the ghost of a snow-white horse named Pride, who died on the track. People have reported seeing the horse's shadowy figure running on the track at night.

- Park Street Cemetery: This cemetery is said to be haunted by the ghosts of people who were buried here. People have reported seeing strange shadows and hearing eerie noises.

- Kolkata Dockyard: This dockyard is said to be haunted by the ghost of Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, who was betrayed and dumped by the British. People have reported seeing strange apparitions and hearing eerie noises.

- Writer's Building: This building is said to be haunted by the ghost of Captain Simpson of the East India Company, who was murdered here by revolutionaries during the struggle for independence.

- Howrah Bridge: This iconic bridge is said to be haunted by the ghost of a woman in white, who is rumored to appear to people and call out to them.

- Dowhill, Kurseong: This region in the Kurseong hill station is known for paranormal activities, including voices and footsteps of children in the Victoria Boys' school.

- Morgan House, Kalimpong: This hotel is said to be haunted by the ghost of a woman who was tortured by her husband, with reports of eerie feelings and unexplained noises.

- Bandel Church, Hooghly: This church is rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of those who died during its construction, with reports of strange occurrences and apparitions.

- Begunkodor Train Station, Purulia: This train station is said to be haunted by the ghost of a woman who was killed there, with reports of strange occurrences and apparitions.

The gentleman presently took his leave.

I could sense Charles Wyatt staring down at me from his vantage point up in the ceiling. 

“No Charles.  Nothing deters me.  You have already been banished.  Look at yourself.  You are stuck there unable to move.  I shall make you disappear you soon.”  I thought, determined. 

Why would a place be cursed?  Does a curse surely cast its deadly spell?  Who would curse?  Someone who has been wronged?  Does a curse rise in the dying moments of one who had no control over his or her fate or destiny?

It was almost evening, and I returned to my desk to write and took up my favourite pen.   

“Coffee, Sir?”  Devi asked.

“yes please.”

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