In Mumbai, not only some film studios, some hotels, burnt-down Mills, old buildings, dilapidated structures and houses, but even some roads appear to be haunted by ghosts. It also appears that ghosts can move about from their dwellings to which they will lure their victims. This is a story about a driver who escaped death by the skin of his teeth on the night between 18th and 19th June, 2009. No, he was not involved in any traffic accident but in a mysterious encounter about which I heard directly from him.
Many Call Centres have sprung up all over the city of Mumbai. Almost all of them work round the clock. There are morning shifts, afternoon shifts and night shifts in which employees are rotated. For those who finish their job late nights, Companies make arrangements to drop their employees near their residence. For this, they hire transport vehicles that are manned by the drivers of the company offering transportation Services. Bhootnath (name changed) works as a driver for a Call Centre that is located in the heart of the Mumbai – Mumbai Central to be exact. It is his duty to pick up employees at 1 A.M., every night and then drop them near their respective homes.
On the fateful night, he left the office at 1 A.M. with his “drops”. He made the last drop near the Bandra Railway Station. All alone, he took off for his home which is located in a populous suburban area, just outside the city limit. Thanks to the many flyovers in the city, the flow of traffic has comparatively improved on the Highways. He used the Andheri Link Road. It was almost 3 A.M., and the unearthly hours had reduced the vehicular traffic considerably on the main road. Bhootnath had been recently married to a young, pretty girl and he was very eager to reach home.
While he was on his way via the Andheri Link Road, he came to a place where there is a famous Mall. There he swerved into a bye-lane which is generally deserted at late nights. This was not the first time that he had used this lane, this being the shortest route to his home. To his surprise, he saw a man ahead who was signalling for a lift. Bhootnath stopped the car near him. The stranger asked Bhootnath whether he could drive him to a building which was located on the way. The man appeared to be normal. Taking a pity on his plight, Bhootnath asked him to step into the rear seat of the car. Without a word, the stranger got into the car and did not speak a word.
After some time, the car reached a place where that man told him to stop the car. Then he got down near a building which appeared to be at the rear of some company (name suppressed). There was an eerie silence around the area. The man then suggested why not have a cup of tea with him at his home. Bhootnath was dead tired but maybe due to some hypnosis he welcomed the suggestion of the stranger. A cuppa was what he needed then. This building looked like a co-operative housing society, but there were no security guards. Nor there was any elevator to go up. This man lived on the third floor as that was what he told him. They took the stairs, the man leading him. On and on they went up the stairs and Bhootnath was surprised that climbing up to the third floor could take up so much time. He was panting for breath. At last they came to what appeared to be the terrace of the building.
The man got on to the terrace, inviting him. Bhootnath told him that this was no apartment but just a terrace. Thereafter he noticed a distinct change in the voice of that man who now commanded him to step on the terrace. But by this time, Bhootnath had sensed that all was not right. He realized that there were no lights on the stairs. He was awfully frightened. Without losing any time, he turned his back and began running downstairs. On and on he ran downstairs, wishing that he could reach the ground-floor soon. To his horror, he found that he was being chased by a dog which had appeared out of nowhere. Fortunately, it failed to harm him. At last he reached the ground floor, and dashed towards his car.
Before that, he had one last fleeting look at the building.
He was shocked to notice that it was not some residential premises that he had seen while entering the compound but some dilapidated and deserted structure.
The dog was staring at him from the building compound.
Fumbling with his keys, he started his car and took off with a great speed. Heaving a sigh of relief, he soon made his way back home.
By the time he got home, he was shivering with cold and fever.
Yes, that was a night which Bhootnath will always remember all his life. He had given a ride to a ghost and if he had stepped on the terrace he himself would have never made his way back home. And who knows whether there was a terrace at all! No more pickups or drops, for it could have been just a dead drop!
NASIR
STORIES OF MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTERS- 3.
Since my childhood I’ve always been fascinated by the stories of the supernatural, spirits, ghosts and the Djinns. Here I'm narrating a story that I heard from my friend Aamir (name changed). This happened when he traveled from Mumbai, (dated 20th January, 2009) to Unava, in the Western Indian State of Gujarat. The purpose of the visit to Unjah was to pay homage to the 14th-century holy shrine of Hazrat Sayyad Ali Mira Datar. This shrine is famous for healing mental illnesses, evil eyes, black magic, demonic possession, and the like.
The background to this journey is also interesting:
Sometimes in July-August 2007, Aamir’s wife, Fiza (name changed), had a dream. She saw some tombs and a renovation of a structure going on around the tomb. When she related this dream to Aamir, he began inquiring about the location of such a shrine. Later, he was told that the said shrine was of Hazrat Sayyad Ali Mira Daataa (Radi Allahu Anhu). Following this, discussions began about visiting the shrine. But Amir’s business engagements prevented the immediate travel plans. All of a sudden, one fine evening in September 2007, Aamir made a decision to undertake the journey along with his family by road. Having made the preparations, Aamir, his wife Fiza, mother, and uncle sat in their newly purchased Maruti Swift VDI the next evening around 5.30 p.m. and started for the said shrine which is around 660 km away by road from Mumbai.
They reached Amdavad (Ahmedabad) by 9 the next morning safe and sound. While proceeding further toward Unjah, they reached a junction where one road led to Unjah and the other to Ajmer (Rajashthan State). At this spot, my friend changed his mind and opted to travel further on to Ajmer, thinking that he would visit Unjah, later while returning from Ajmer. They reached Ajmer safely, but dead tired, around 11 O’clock at night. There they stayed for a week and paid homage at the famous shrine of Hazrat Khwaja Moinuddin Hasan Chishti (R.A.). However, on their return journey, they did not visit Unjah but straightaway came back home. My friend was full of guilty conscience at not having visited Unjah. His wife, however, used to remind him daily that they must visit Unjah soon and that they should not have come home directly. Meanwhile, my friend lost heavily in the business and had to even sell off his car.
In September 2008, Fiza suffered from a deep cut on her hand and the wound had to be sutured. Also, she began keeping unwell. The same month Fiza had the same dream about the Unjah shrine. It was finally decided that they should visit the shrine. In the absence of their car, they decided to use the Western Railways and travel up to the Unjah Station. Unfortunately, no seats were available on the train as the route is very busy as always. Hence they were disheartened. They cried they prayed that somehow they would be able to visit the shrine as early as possible.
All of a sudden things started looking better and Aamir was able to buy a new car. One evening their home was filled with some pleasant rose fragrance at Maghrib (evening prayer time). Fiza persuaded her “Saaheb” (for that’s how she used to address her husband, Aamir) that they should begin the journey to Unjah immediately. At around 11:30 p.m., Aamir and Fiza drove off in their car to finally visit the Dargah at Unjah.
Crossing the Maharashtra State, they entered the Gujarat State of India. They reached the highway near the city of Surat after about four hours. It was four in the morning. Therefore, Aamir and Fiza decided to lodge in a hotel along the highway. They went from one hotel to another but did not find any vacant rooms. They were forced to continue their journey without a break, till they reached Ankleshwar. Here they were fully exhausted and were unable to proceed further.
The reasons for their extreme exhaustion were not just the journey, but what they had gone through in Surat where they had stopped for refueling at a Petrol Pump or Gas Station. After the attendant had filled the car’s tank, Aamir realized that he had no cash in hand. The security guard who was carrying a gun with him, however, allowed them to go when both husband and wife pleaded with him and showed him the ATM (Any Time Money) Debit Card. He told them that the Automated Teller Machine was around somewhere where they could get the cash. After a search of a good 10 km stretch, they finally found the ATM near the same Petrol Pump itself. The job done, they proceeded further onwards and came to a bridge.
Now, a word about this bridge. This bridge, I’m told, is used by all those who want to travel beyond Surat by road. The bridge appears to be ancient because it literally shakes when the vehicles pass over it. Right on the bridge was a truck that had met with an accident and had turned turtle. After losing a good one hour in the traffic snarl, they had finally covered more than 60 km towards Ankleshwar, still looking for a hotel along the highway.
They found a hotel which was located at the end of a desolate road at a right angle, off the highway. This hotel is a one-storied structure and we shall just call it Samadhan (name changed). It was 7 A.M., in the morning. On the ground floor, there are about ten to twelve shops that had their shutters down. There was also a restaurant that had a capacity of a hundred tables or so. The restaurant counter also serves as the reception desk for the lodge. The restaurant was completely empty. Only a 12-year-old boy and a man of about 32 years were standing near the doorway. It took Aamir some fifteen minutes to get the man to open his mouth for a “Yes” or a “No” to his inquiries. The man finally opened his mouth to say that there was only one room available. The boy lifted the baggage and led Aamir and Fiza to the first floor. He opened a room for them. After Aamir had washed himself he came out of the bathroom and went near the bed. To his astonishment, he saw that the bedsheet had ugly dried-up red stains. In their eagerness to snatch some rest and sleep, they put their own bedsheet over the stained sheets and lay themselves down on the bed.
Hardly five minutes had elapsed when Aamir heard some noises from the adjacent rooms. The noises were very disturbing. Aamir then recollected that he had seen padlocks on the doors of all the other rooms on this floor. In other words, they had been misled into believing that all the other rooms were occupied. Aamir also realized that they were the only occupants in the hotel. This sent a shiver down his spine. At this moment, someone began to bang the door very hard. On opening the door, Aamir saw the same boy. He had a strange bewildered look about him. The boy asked him if they had pressed the service bell. Aamir shook his head in the negative and told him that they should not be disturbed. Aamir was unaware that disturbances would nevertheless come from other quarters. Aamir went back to bed. Since he saw Fiza was motionless, he too lay down by her side. After a little while, he heard the same kind of noises from the adjacent rooms. This time the noises were louder. As Aamir was about to get up, the noises began to subside. An eerie silence then prevailed in the room. But by then, sleep had fled away from Aamir who was gripped by restlessness and anxiety.
After twenty minutes or so, Aamir heard his nickname, “Saaheb,” being called out in a strange, long-drawn, shrill voice. Now, as stated before, it was the practice of Fiza to address her husband, Aamir, by that nickname. No one else called him by that name. Aamir felt that since Fiza had dozed off, how could she address him thus. At that moment, a chilling fear seized Aamir who felt immobile. He and Fiza were lying side by side. Both were facing the same direction towards the door. The bed was by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Aamir saw a blood-soaked lady, with disheveled long hair, standing at the foot of Fiza, staring down at them. She was taller than the average woman and had a manly personality, with wide shoulders. As Aamir looked towards the door, he noticed blood-stains on the walls which appeared to have big cracks all over them. Again he looked out of the corner of his eyes towards Fiza’s feet, and he found the same lady standing with a determined posture, staring at them. At that time he looked towards the wall of the bathroom, where stood a center table. He saw blood-stained broken glasses. The glasses were scattered on the floor of the room. All over the floor, there were blood stains. He also felt as if mutilated bodies were lying in the bathroom. To his horror, he got the feeling that a quarrel would ensue between him and Fiza, that she would smash that broken bottle on his head and both of them would kill each other. In this desperate moment, Aamir blurted out: “Yaa Sayyid Ali Mira Dataar Assalaam Alaykum. I’m on my way to your shrine and I’m your guest. Please help us out of this situation.”
It appeared as if Time had come to a standstill. Fiza got up yelling at Aamir: “Why are you making so much noise? Why are you shaking the bed so much? Are you not happy with me on this trip?” Unknown to her, Aamir was passing through a different feeling. He told her not to yell at him but to go to the bathroom to clean up. The moment Fiza went to the bathroom and opened the water tap, Aamir came out of the trance. He jumped out of the bed, and opened the latch of the main door, stepping out of the room. There was no sound in the corridor, not even of the birds. Aamir stood outside the door, waiting for Fiza to come out of the bathroom which she did after a while. She saw Aamir standing outside the door and this angered her. However, seeing the fear writ large on the face of Aamir, she calmed down a little and rang the service bell. Five or six times she must have rung the bell but no one appeared. Aamir pulled Fiza out of the room and both of them then went down to the reception desk. There they found a different boy of fourteen years who had a clean white shirt on his person. No one else was around. Since the payment had been made in advance, they told the boy to bring down their luggage.
Thereafter, they left the hotel for the highway.
Surprisingly, this road had not appeared longer when they had first made for their hotel than it was now. After traveling some 40 km on the highway, Aamir stopped his car and narrated to Fiza all that he had seen and gone through in that short spell of three hours. She, too, had been experiencing horrid moments in the hotel. Then they invoked the name of Hazrat Sayyad Ali Mira Dataar and proceeded with their onward journey, reaching the Dargah safely.
When the above story was narrated to me by my friend Aamir, I asked him time and again whether the account was true. He vehemently said that every word was true. He further confided that he had not told me anything about how two butterflies had accompanied them, fluttering against the car’s windshield despite the speed of the car, all the way to Unava. Seeing my amazement, he stopped short, got up, and just went away without a word. I yelled after him that I would be publishing his story in my Blog. “By all means, Go Ahead,” were his last words.
NASIR
Based on Real life incidents:
STORIES OF MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTERS - 2: PHANTOM OF THE BUNGALOW.
Part 2: Continued:
By the time our story unfolds further, some of the rooms on the 2nd floor (attic) were given on rent to a couple of tenants. Room No.6 was given to one Aslam whose employees made leather bags and ladies’ purses there during the day. At night, Aslam was left alone with his assistant-cum servant, Babu – a lad of eighteen. Then there was a Saree-wallah, who had rented several rooms where he installed huge tables for his saree-printing business. I don’t remember his name. He was of a bachelor of medium height and used to wear Khaki shorts while working. He had female employees working for him and they used to print the Sarees. After a day’s hard work, he used to drink sometimes. There was one particular female who used to be in his company the most. However, I was not concerned with his personal life as long he was a good tenant.
Adjacent to Room No.6, in the southern corner, was Room No.9, where I began sleeping alone at night, though we had a house on the first floor too. Qaasam continued to sleep wherever he found an empty space in the attic. His presence and absence were one and the same since no one knew the time of his arrival and departure.
However, Qaasam turned up one fine morning and informed me of an incident that involved the Saree-wallah. He told me that the night before, he had been sleeping between the joists at the regular place on the 2nd floor where the room had not been constructed. The Saree-wallah had chosen to sleep in the open air on the terrace. According to him, all of a sudden sometimes during the night something brushed his feet when he found the Saree-wallah lying prostrate. The latter got up, all shaken up, and began to cry like a child at his feet. Qaasam was nonplussed. He asked him what had happened. The Saree-wallah told him that he had been flung from the terrace right through the small entrance to the inside of the attic by someone.
“Gaind kee tarah phaink diyaa.”
The amazing thing was that the entrance to the terrace was small, and as stated before, one had to crawl on all fours. Yet he was thrown like a ball right through that opening.
“Shaayad naapaak soyaa hogaa,” Qaasam explained it to me.
What he meant was that after sexual intercourse he had not cleansed himself and must have slept on the terrace in the state of impurity. This, perhaps, was not to the liking of the invisible phantom who must have visited the terrace too during his rounds in the building premises.
“Thank Heavens!” I exclaimed. “He was not flung down from the terrace to the ground below.”
“Yes,” agreed Qaasam. “That would have surely killed him!”
Now all this was getting on my nerves. Since I wanted to divert my attention, I made it a point to visit Aslam every night before I went to bed. I would chit-chat with Aslam, discussing inanities sometimes, and sometimes discussing the phantom.
"So what do you think?" I asked Aslam.
"Regarding what?" countered Aslam.
"Regarding both the incidents," I explained.
Aslam looked at me with mischief in his eye.
"Tell me," he said. "You didn't happen to hammer the bootlegger in the dark, did you? Both of you had a quarrel the previous day!"
"Good Heavens, no!" I exclaimed.
Brooding a little bit, Aslam answered: "In that case, there's a pattern in these incidents."
Being curious, I asked him, "How do you mean?"
Clearing his throat, Aslam replied: "I think that whoever he is, he doesn't like people who sleep in his path in the state of impurity!"
The drift of the conversation always ended up with the Phantom. When I found myself being overwhelmed by slumber, I would wish him goodnight and just dump myself on the bed in Room No.9 which was adjacent to his room. This was my way of keeping the fright at bay.
Now as days passed, even Aslam began to tell me that he heard noises at night on the second floor. He said that sometimes he heard someone walking past his room. At times he heard someone pulling the trunk. He was referring to an old discarded junk that had somehow remained in a remote corner. He emphasized that this was happening quite frequently.
One night, I went to Aslam’s as usual. I told him that henceforth I would be sleeping in his room if he did not mind. Of course, he didn’t! There was no bed but only a plain mat spread out in the entire room. Tucked away near the wall were sets of instruments that the employees used for making leather bags and ladies’ purses. On this particular night, my uncle too came to see Aslam and they both began a friendly game of card. I felt reassured and soon dozed off there after some time. I even dreamt that both were playing cards and that everything was fine. I had not realized that it was too late in the night and my uncle had already gone away without waking me up. Perhaps he did not want to disturb me. Suddenly, I found someone pulling my toe. I opened my eyes. It was only Aslam. I heaved a sigh of relief! Aslam quietly pointed out to Babu who was sitting cross-legged on the mat. He seemed to be pressing his abdomen with both his fists while his elbows jutted out at an angle from his body. As he continually stared at the wall in front of him, it looked as if his eyes would pop out. The whiteness of his wide, staring eyes contrasted sharply with his darkish complexion. He sat absolutely still, as if in a trance. In the stillness of the night, it was a scary sight.
I whispered to Aslam. “What is it? Why is he staring at the void?”
“I don’t know. He has been sitting in that position for half an hour at least,” said Aslam.
“Should I call my dad,” I asked him.”
Aslam shook his head. It then occurred to me that I should talk to Babu. I went near him and began asking him lots of questions. He neither looked at me nor gave me a reply. All of a sudden he pounced upon me. I quickly moved away from him. Thereafter, Babu broke down completely. He began to wail. I was at my wits’ end. Mustering courage, I tried to reassure him that everything was alright. After a while, he stopped crying. I then told Aslam that we should make him sleep in the midst, with both of us on either side. That was soon done. Babu was soon fast asleep. As for me, the sleep was far away from my eyes. My strategy of sleeping in Aslam’s room had been a mistake. Not only the safety that I had sought was absent, but it was also worse here! What if Babu suddenly did something rash? What if he just throttled me in my sleep or assaulted me with a sharp-edged weapon? Such whisperings of the devil were racing through my mind. Sleepless was the night! As the morning arrived, I went home on the first floor, resolving never to sleep in Aslam’s room. Soon, my family and every tenant knew about the Babu’s incident. After that day we never saw Babu for he had left the employment and gone back to his native place.
Since I had resolved that I would sleep in my own room, i.e. Room No.9, come what may, I carried a “Rampuri” knife with me, which I placed under my pillow at the time of going to bed. I had heard the old Indian tales, that placing something made of iron or steel under the pillow was effective in driving away the evil spirits. I also recited certain verses such as the Aayutul Kursi, and Surah Nos.113 and 114 of the Holy Quran at least.
I may point out here that keeping the knife under the pillow was the brainchild of Qaasam who said that he had once used the knife against a malignant genie. I know that the Jinn have been mentioned in the Holy Qur’an. In fact, there is a vast literature about the types of Jinn and their haunts. They are in fact another creation. I have no reason to doubt their existence. In some circles, it is believed that the term "pret-atma" or "Bhoot" or even "ChuDail" are just the variant names of the Jinn or Jinniya (female Jinn), depending on the culture of the geographical regions. But let's not digress from our story!
The question that confronted me was, how could I be sure whether Qaasam was not spinning a yarn. “It’s not a yarn, is it?” I asked Qaasam.
“Of course not! Remember that some truths are stranger than fiction. That’s not just an idle axiom!” he had said with a smile.
I wanted to know about that incident, and what he told me at that point in time is worth mentioning here. This happened to him many years before he came to us in the Bungalow. Recounting the story, he began: “There used to be a hotel called Mayfair, right opposite the Alexander Docks. " (The docks were later named as Indira Docks)
“That can’t be,” I cut in.
“There’s the Rex Cinema there, and in fact, I’ve even watched the first movie that was released there. It was called ‘World Without End’,” I said triumphantly.
“Yes, I know,” he continued calmly. “That movie-hall was built after the Mayfair Hotel was demolished.”
“Demolished! Why?” I asked incredulously.
“The owner of the hotel was a friend of mine,” continued Qaasam.
“He would often invite me to his hotel. Even your dad knew him. Once he invited me and said I could stay as long as I liked in his hotel without paying anything for meals or lodging. I had no money, no home, and no one to look up to. I found the offer tempting and I lapped it up. I was given the keys to Room No.707 which was located at the far end of the 7th-floor corridor. It was a standard double-room and well-furnished. I was happy that I could stay here as long as I could. The windows offered a panoramic view of the Arabian Sea. However, the strong breeze and the swishing curtains compelled me to latch the windows from the inside. Dinner was brought to my room at about 9 p.m. so that I had no need of going down to the restaurant section. The waiter knew that I was the honorary guest of his employer so he left hurriedly without bothering about the tips.”
Qaasam paused for a while. Taking a deep breath, he looked at me pensively. He continued:
“Since I had nothing else to do, I went to bed early. I had switched off the light. I don’t know how long I must have slept. I woke up because of the strong gust of breeze that was blowing from the windows into the room. It was chilly. The curtains were going haywire. The lights were switched on. I immediately got up from the bed and quickly latched all the windows from the inside. Wondering why I had not shut the windows before, I switched off the lights and went to bed. When this incident recurred on the second night, I was alarmed because before going to bed I had made doubly sure that the windows were latched from the inside and the curtains are drawn. The next day, the hotel’s owner did inquire about my well-being but I did not reveal to him anything about the sinister incident. However, I was in a dilemma. To leave or not to leave the hotel was the question.”
“Did you leave?” I asked.
Qaasam smiled at me. “Well, who would like to lose free meals and lodging at a plush hotel?” he asked rhetorically.
“Besides,” he continued, “Shutting the windows one more time during the night was no big deal. I even thought of a strategy. I bought a long Rampuri knife from the Chor Bazaar where things are sold cheap. I reasoned that if I remained brave enough and faced the situation suitably I would be doing the owner a favour and could continue with my free meals and lodging as long as I could.”
Qaasam pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled packet. It was a cheap brand. Taking a deep puff, he continued:
“It was my third night at the hotel. I clicked open the knife and placed it under the pillow. Then, without changing my dress and not even removing my shoes, I cautiously lay supine on the bed. But I did not shut my eyes. I wanted to know who or what had opened the window-latches from the inside. At about midnight, when I had nearly dozed off, I heard some sound. The lights were on. I saw that one window was open and a gust of air was flowing inside the room. While I was looking at it, the second and then the third and then all the windows opened one after the other as the latches came off automatically. No one was visible though. Perspiration ran down my spine. I was still lying on the bed. I pulled out the knife from underneath the pillow and held it in the state of readiness. Suddenly, at that moment, a hand came down on my throat. That hand was huge. I could not see anything beyond it. The hair on the hand, as I could see, bristled with coir-like fibres strings and the nails were like the talons. I was about to be throttled. Instantly, I raised my hand. Shouting ‘Ya Ali,’ with all my might, I struck the knife on that huge hand. The hand disappeared and I ran out of the room with all haste. My loud shrieks woke up others…”
Wiping off the perspiration from his forehead, Qaasam commented: “Nothing is dearer than life! There and then I left the hotel and resolved never to go back.”
So that was Qaasam’s story which initially I had taken with a pinch of salt. However, many years later, Qaasam’s story was corroborated by my Dad who revealed to me he had declined the offer for a free stay in the hotel because rumours about the hotel being haunted were rife. That was the reason I believed Qaasam’s story. No doubt, that hotel was pulled down because of that factor. I remember that even decades later when I was serving in the Gulf, I had seen a huge building in the heart of Bahrain, right at the busy thoroughfare. Ever since that building was constructed, it had remained deserted. As my friend Abdul Rahman pointed out, the building was occupied by the Jinn and no human being dared to tread into that territory.
The Wooden Plank
As I was saying, it was Qaasam’s story that inspired me to carry the knife to my bed that night in Room No.9. I don’t know for how long I lay on the bed and must have finally dozed off when I heard a sharp sound of tock, tick, tock . Someone was on the wooden plank that had been placed on the joists temporarily.
It seemed as if someone was approaching in the directions of the rooms. My room would be the first one, as it was at the right angle of the floor entrance. Chilling were the moments that crawled by in the ominous night. As I lay still with the sense of foreboding, my body was sweating profusely. The sound of steps was drawing nearer with each moment. However, I did not lose the presence of the mind. The fleeting thoughts in my mind were reduced to the thought of fighting or fleeing. Fleeing was out of the question since whatever it was had been approaching towards my door. I was now ready to face the intruder. Holding the knife in my hand and uttering the name of Allah, I jumped out of the bed. I dashed towards the door and in a moment was out of the room. The sounds stopped suddenly. Simultaneously, at that moment I also saw the Saree-wallah peeping from over the partitioned wall. Aslam too had come out of the room by then. All of us had heard the sound of steps very clearly. However, we saw no one around. Shaken up as we were, all of us sat together in Aslam’s discussing the incident till the streak of dawn.
Thereafter I did not deem it desirable to sleep alone in Room No.9 during the night. Qaasam continued to sleep there as usual until the time many more rooms were constructed and the place was fully occupied by tenants. As he had no place to sleep, he bid us goodbye. Even the Saree-wallah left the premises after a year. Aslam continued to stay there and brought his family to live with from Uttar Pradesh. No more did we hear those eerie sounds. Nor was there any new incident involving any entity or apparition. Human beings had usurped the place of the phantom. Gangaram had also left the job. After my father’s death, I too moved away from the place. The property changed hands. Today, a skyscraper stands tall at the site of the Bungalow that was once the haunt of a phantom.
Concluded: NASIR
Note: Thanks are kindly given to the internet sources for the photographs used in both the posts, but which are not related to the story.
Based on Real life incidents:
STORIES OF MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTERS - 2 -PHANTOM OF THE BUNGALOW - Part 1 of 2.
Many would call this incident as the one involving poltergeist occurrences but I would not tend to call it so for the reasons that I narrate below. I seek excuse from those who are looking for the gory stuff or the usual horror drama, for this is a real account which does not indulge in any fanciful reading.
It was in early Nineteen-Fifties that my father had purchased an old but reasonably large bungalow in Central Bombay. The bungalow was away from the main road and was located in a huge compound which also housed other immoveable properties. On the east of the compound wall, it was bounded by the fields where seasonal crops were grown.
The bungalow was at least a century old and was in fact the property of Maharani (name is withheld for the sake of propriety) before she sold it off to the person from whom my Dad had purchased it. Except for this, I had no inkling about the history of the Bungalow or the land on which it had been constructed. Since the adjoining lands surrounding the bungalow were also vacant, there were good many stables for the horses that might have been used by the royalty sometime during the British era, but which had long since been abandoned. However, some enterprising persons began using these stables on a commercial basis for plying horse-driven carriages called Victoria locally. Victoria was a popular conveyance in Bombay during that time, along with the public transport systems such as trams, buses and the railways. For many years, the bungalow itself had been lying vacant since no one seemed interested in buying it.
By the time we had arrived there, there was a watchman who used to look after the security of the bungalow. No, he was not the filmy looking caretaker they usually show in Indian movies and the TV channels. He was a middle-aged person and he lived there with his wife and a child of ten. I still remember that his name was Gangaram. As the new owner, my dad told him to continue his job. He was entrusted with the security of the building as well as the storage area on the ground floor which inter alia, housed many items of old traditional furniture that were elegantly crafted out of choicest teak wood.
Since this was the time of his retirement, my dad needed a source of income. Therefore, he constructed some thirty tenement premises on the first floor of the bungalow, some big and some small, in order to accommodate the middle-income groups. These tenements were soon occupied on rental basis by various tenants, including some who worked for a very famous 5-star hotel in Bombay as waiters and even chefs. Some were teachers in a convent near the Regal Cinema. Some of them worked in the nearby Docks while some were sailors by profession. There were also a couple of businessmen who manufactured cartons in their premises for some pharmaceutical companies.
As the years rolled by, my dad felt the need to augment his income. The only other way was to construct more rooms on the huge unused attic which was as large and as high the first floor premises. It was a huge task to put the attic in order. There was no flooring and no natural light. Entrance to this attic was by means of one-foot wide iron ladder that was installed from the first floor leading to the small opening on the attic so that one had to pull himself up to land on the attic. There were many X-shaped wooden props of pure teak wood at various places that were used to support the roof structure that was laden with too many layers of tiles. At the northern and the southern end of the attic there was a small terrace, each open to the sky, which could accommodate only a few persons. The entrance to the terrace was so low that one had to crawl on all fours to enter. From one end to the other, it was not possible to walk without the battery light, even during the broad daylight. Such was the darkness during the day! Since hardly anyone visited the attic for any reason, there were lots of cobwebs and dust around. Those who made the attic their home included the innocent pigeons, owls, and Qaasam!
Qaasam was a frail person of about 50 years, with thinning hair and broad forehead. What I found unique to his personality were his long strong nails that were almost like the beak of a parrot. He used to be a ‘Lakhpati’ or millionaire during the last days of the British Raj. During his hay days, he was addicted to smoking and drinking imported brand of cigarettes and liquors and moving about in his own DeSoto. This was the introduction my father had given me about him. What he did not tell was filled in by Qasam himself. He had whiled away his time and money in the company of starlets of the growing film industry and the fair-skinned beauties. Evidently, the guy had squandered all his wealth and fallen upon evil days and completely reduced to penury. Such reversal of fortune is nothing new! We have a history of famous people who lived life king-size and died as paupers. Why, even his contemporary Indian actor who used to charge One Lakh Rupees (an astronomical amount during the British Raj) for a movie died as a pauper so that the film industry people had to contribute money for his funeral. Qasam’s bearings and speech did give a hint about his glorious past about which he often talked to me. Sometimes when I met him I had the pleasure of listening to the old Hindi film songs of the Forties that he sang on my request. I still remember the Anokhi Ada (1948) song, BHOOLNE WAALE YAAD NAA that I learnt from him. For my part, I used to apprise him with the songs of the nascent Sixties. Often I wondered how Qasam never felt frightened sleeping alone at night in the attic where one would not dare to step even during the day.
As the renovation began, the iron ladder was removed and the opening sealed. A gate was built on the attic and a proper staircase was built from the first floor to this entrance. The props were removed so that the attic was transformed into an open hall or space. The weight on the terrace was lightened by removing the unnecessary layers of tiles. In this huge open space, rooms were built but after doing the flooring job. Since not all the flooring work was done, a long wooden plank was placed from the entrance to these rooms. Since the plank was long it bent a little under the weight of the person walking on the plank.
At the foot of the staircase that led to the first floor, a small dais was also built in one corner, adjacent to the walls, where sometimes some elderly persons often used to sit to while away their time. Those were the days when there was no TV and even the programmes aired on the radio went silent before midnight. As a result, our tenants used to sleep early by about 10 or 11 p.m.
Now it so happened that a new tenant rented a room on the first floor. Unknown to us, he was a bootlegger. Later, when we came to know about his illegal activities in the building premises, I took a strong objection and even lodged a police complaint. A verbal quarrel ensued between us and it could have progressed to physical assault had not my father intervened. Now this incident assumed significance by what transpired immediately the next day.
The next day, I was surprised to see the bootlegger all beaten up black and blue. He could hardly walk. His neck was sprained so that his head tilted at an angle of 45 degree. It was a pitiable sight. He had a strange story to narrate. According to him, the night before, he had consumed some liquor. After strolling about he went to the foot of the staircase that led up to the second floor. There he sat on the dias. It was already after the midnight and all was silent and still in the building since everyone had gone to bed. However, he didn’t remember when he fell asleep there and would have remained there till morning if he were not woken up by the blows to his body. There were no lights on the staircase and he could not see his assailant. Worst of all, he could not even catch hold of him. It was as if some invisible entity was giving him the thrashing of his life. After he was lifted up and thrown down on the dais, the blows stopped and whoever it went away. This gave him a chance to scram home, beaten and bewildered.
He narrated the story unabashedly and sincerely, and I listened to him with rapt attention. I felt that there were some grains of truth to it. The bootlegger was not a person who could be afraid of getting into any kind of scuffle with any person. However, the fear on his face, his tilted head that resulted from the severely sprained neck, as well as the bruise marks on his body were enough tell-tale signs to prove that what he had narrated was the solemn truth. There was no reason or interest for him to lie! I decided to check out with the watchman whether he had seen any outsider during the night.
Immediately thereafter, I made enquiries with the watchman whether he had seen any outsider in the building last night. When he said he hadn’t, I related to him about what I had heard from the said tenant. He was not in the least surprised. According to him, the bungalow had been lying unused and vacant for a long period of time. So that when he was appointed by the erstwhile owner as a Security Guard or a caretaker, he used to hear lots of strange noises and foot-steps as if someone was walking about in the bungalow. Initially, he used to be very scared. However, he took everything in his strides and never bothered to upset the equation. He was not harmed. Thus assured he had called his wife and the child to stay with him. He admitted that sometimes he used to see an apparition walking past upstairs well after midnight. From the description given by him, this apparition was visible in white clothes, and wore a black beard. In course of time, the bungalow had gained the notoriety as the haunted house and hardly anyone had dared to purchase the bungalow that was offered at the rock-bottom price.
“Saab, is liye is ko Bhoot Bangla boltaa hai. Kashaala ik.de aale tumhee?” he blurted in Marathi.
I had no time to explain to him why we had come to stay in the Bungalow. However, based on his anecdotal and visual evidence I was persuaded to believe the bootlegger. The bootlegger was probably beaten up for two reasons: One, he had, perhaps, slept in such a way that he had obstructed the path of the apparition; and two, he was dead drunk which was not liked by it and so it gave him a sound thrashing as a warning. I inferred that perhaps this apparition was a soul of some holy person who did not like people obstructing his path in an impure state. Nor could it be a Jinn since the source was a grave. This is the reason why I said at the very beginning that I don’t agree with the word, “Poltergeist”.
Now curiosity got the better hold of me and I began to frequent the first floor’s staircase after midnight when all was quiet, in the fond hope that perhaps I would catch a glimpse of the apparition. However, after a few nights, I gave up those nocturnal rounds because, frankly, I was scared of the eeriness that the atmosphere had generated.
Continued in Part 2…..
The year was 1965. I had been enjoying my vacation in Goa and had just returned to Goa Velha from Vasco after a romantic jaunt.
As I stated before, there was no electricity in this hamlet. I found this a sort of blessing because when it got dark the members of the family got together and discussed many things, narrated many tales. Early to bed and early to rise was the way then. This was not the era when even the humblest of villagers owns some property as in present times. At that time, weddings ceremonies and celebrations used to be simple and not some lavish affairs of booking prestigious halls in Goa.
Pre-monsoon is also the season of weddings some of which I had attended in Vasco. One day my friend, Cajetan, informed me that I must come to the wedding reception that was to be held in the village that evening. The bride was from a nearby house. That was fine with me since the evenings used to be mostly dull. At the appointed time I put on my best dress and shoes and went along with Cajetan to the reception-hall. But there was no hall. It was an open place which was surrounded by intermittent poles. On each pole there was a “Petromax” lamp so that there was sufficient lighting. The “hall” was adorned with festoons. In one corner there was a make-shift stage. Musicians were playing some western melodies. Right before the stage, in the open space, couples were dancing on a big mat that had been spread over the sand. At the fringe of this open space there were chairs for the invitees. To the left of the stage sat the bride and the bridegroom facing the invitees. I met the couple and wished them a long and happy married life. Then I was free. Since I was a teetotaler my friend pointed out the place where soft-drinks were available. He also informed me about the instant-soda that came in the bottles that had a sort of small round marble inside. He said that it was dangerous for the man who prepared the soda in the vending machine, since quite a few vendors had lost their fingers while preparing the instant-soda. I don’t remember much about it and so am unable to explain. In Bombay we had the Roger’s Company that had a soda and lemon plant at Clare Road, Byculla.
I had some “lemon-soda” and began to ponder what should I do next. I then asked my friend about the crooner who was nowhere to be seen. There was no crooner he said. Then I went up to the stage and asked the band-master whether they would allow me to sing. He was happy to oblige. I asked them to play the music of Cliff Richard songs. I started with a bang by singing YOUNG ONES, DARLING WE’RE THE YOUNG ONES. I could sense some animation in the crowd and the dancing couples. The bride and the bridegroom also came on the floor. The song was repeated some three or four times so that there was no break for the dancing couples. The next number was WHEN THE GIRL IN YOUR ARMS IS THE GIRL IN YOUR HEART. I also included a Bobby Darin number: EVERYNIGHT I SIT HERE BY MY WINDOW…Thus it went on and on. My day was made. My hosts and the neighbours were very pleased and surprised too that I could mix with them so well.
The next day Cajetan informed me that there was another wedding reception in the evening from the bridegroom’s side at a place that was some two miles away.
“What?” I asked. “Two receptions for the same wedding?”
I pondered over the Goan wedding receptions that I had attended in Bombay. I knew that there was just a single reception. For us in Byculla, it was common to visit St. Joseph’s Hall in Dongri or St. Isabel’s High School Hall at Mazagaon, sometimes the hall of Rosary Church, Dockyard, or at Hume’s High School Hall opposite the Traffic Institute. Anthony D’Souza High School was also the rendezvous for the wedding reception sometimes.
“Two receptions is the custom here,” Cajetan replied.
Since Cajetan’s aunt was away at Mapuca Town, to sell mangoes there, we shifted to one Louis’ house who was a common friend of ours. This was a spacious house that was built some three feet above the ground level. As one climbed the four steps one first reached the long verandah. There were big rooms that served as a hall, a bedroom and a kitchen. The kitchen had a chimney for emitting the smoke. Outside the house was a small shack where dry wood was stored. To the left was the mango orchard and the woods that had various other trees and vegetation as well.
When the evening came we set out for the bridegroom’s place from Louis’. One way to go there was to cut across the woods to reach the tarred road that went by the church, I was told. But that route was a pretty long and circuitous. There was a short cut that could take us there faster. Cajetan took me along this short-cut route. It was getting dark, and as I said there was no electricity in the hamlet in 1965. Fortunately, the moon was rising and it was a full-moon night. We passed by Casa De Pova and then the Village Post-Office. Thereafter we climbed some three steps into a sort of lane that was pitch-dark. It was so dark that we could not see our own hands. Perhaps it was a passage through some walls. Finally we came out in the opening. After traversing some distance we came to the bridegroom’s place.
Same sort of arrangements as the one we had noted in our part of the hamlet were seen here too. The band was playing the music with the crooner belting out Konkani songs. To my annoyance, Cajetan left me in the hall and went to see his friends who were busy quaffing liquor at one end. Left to myself, I had no alternative but to join the dancing couples. There was a young girl who sat all by herself. I went up to her. I didn’t say: “May I have the pleasure of dancing with you?” Extending my hand I just said: “Dance?” She got up as a matter of factly and I slid my arms round her waist.
Though we were dancing, both of us were mum. When the band stopped playing for break and refreshments, I went back to my seat. I was getting awfully embarrassed, with no one to talk to. But I kept looking at that girl across my table. So when the band began to play again, I went to her and she got up by herself and soon we were dancing again.
I remember that she was a slim girl, with auburn hair, sharp straight nose, thin pink lips and gray eyes. She had a “Sadhna” cut hairdo. She was attractive though she wore no make-up. Her skin had a golden tan. She had the looks of Sophie Marceau. (see the inset to the right). Yes, I remember she looked like her.
Later on, I did have an opportunity to meet her near her residence. She used to hum one particular Konkani song the wordings of which I don’t recollect at this instant but which I remembered for many years. Neither do I remember her name . But I did learn a line of that number in order to break the ice with her. Though she looked at me she kept rather aloof. Was it a pretence? Maybe she was too young to experience any feeling. Remember that song from Aayee Milan Ki Bela (1963): TUM KAMSIN HO, NAADAAN HO, NAAZUK HO? It fitted her like a glove. After leaving Goa I had forgotten her completely for a decade until I learnt that some truths are stranger than fictions. The same girl came to my building at Byculla after ten years. She was no longer as pretty when I had last seen her. The ravages of ten years had robbed her of her original good looks. By some quirk of fate, which is another story, she in fact landed at my house . However, by then, I was a married man and could not take any kind of risk with her which would destroy my marital bliss. After a month she departed, I don’t know where…
To come back to our present story, somehow I passed my time till midnight at the reception. By this time there was quite a crowd of dancers. The bride and the bridegroom too were in their elements. In the meantime, I had approached the crooner who called himself Johnny Salsette. I wanted to give a song but he refused me tactfully. I went over to Cajetan who was guffawing with his friends oblivious of my presence. I told him I wanted to go back. But he asked me to stay. Finally, I made up my mind to leave the party. However, I could not opt for the short cut route where we had walked in complete darkness for a while. I set out for Louis’s home, opting for the longer route since the moon was bright.
Now when I came to the tar-road, there was not a soul in sight. It was silent and eerie! However I kept walking, whistling sometimes and sometimes humming a song and pretending that I was not scared. The road was long. Finally I came near the church, oblivious of the graveyard there. Sometimes I would hear an occasional barking of some dog. Then I had to take a turn towards the kutcha path which led to the woods. There were lots of trees here and therefore it was comparatively darker but enough for me to make a headway. I also took care to see that I did not step on any snake slithering in the night. There were bats flying about. Some owls were also doing the round perhaps hunting for rats. I went on and on until I was right in the midst of the woods. A bat flew past my face and as I followed its flight, I saw three tamarind trees ahead at a distance. The trees stood side by side.
In the moonlit night, I saw a hazy figure of someone sitting on a branch of the tamarind tree that was in the centre. He was dangling his legs. I was shocked for a while. He appeared to be looking down at me. Frightening thoughts crossed my mind. Perspiration appeared on my forehead. My mouth went dry. I was also afraid that the entity or the ghost or whatever it was might extend its legs right in front of me. It was best to pretend as if I I had not see him, I thought. Wiping my sweat, I began to hum La Dida Da….la la la… aloud and increased my pace. After a time I saw a pack of dogs and they were barking from a distance. Surprisingly, they did not scare me. Their barks in fact sounded like music to my ears as I felt reassured. Soon I had crossed the entire stretch of the woods and came to the house. I sneaked in and removed my shoes and socks. I did not think it proper to wake up anyone in the house at that unearthly hour. I picked up a mat from a corner and cuddling myself went to sleep on the verandah itself.
When I woke up the next morning I found Cajetan and Louis sitting by me side.
“Why did you leave early?” he asked. Before I could answer him, Louis asked,
“How did you find your way back?”
“Oh, I came by the tar road,” I said.
“What!” Both of them appeared incredulous.
“Don’t you know there’s a graveyard there? You shouldn’t have taken that road at that time of the night. I hope nothing happened,” Cajetan shot back.
“No, nothing happened there, but…”
“But what?” asked Louis.
Then I told them about my walk in the woods and the tamarind trees and the ghost that I had seen. “Oh!” exclaimed Louis.
We had a breakfast of toast and butter and a glassful of black tea. Then we bid Louis goodbye, as both Cajetan I were to leave for Bombay the next day. On our way to the aunt’s house, Cajetan revealed to me that a year ago Louis’ father had fallen off the tamarind tree and died at that spot. So did I see the ghost of his father, I wondered.
That evening I met with everyone I knew in the village and bid them goodbye. I had made up my mind not to travel by ship. If my memory serves me right both of us went to Margao Railway Station and boarded a train which took us to Miraj. There we took another train that took us to the Victoria Terminus (CST Station), Mumbai. The journey by train was full of joy and memories of its own. However, this time I had returned with a ghostly experience which I could never forget.
NASIR
