If you want, you can suspect the whole thing from start to finish. You can easily call me a liar, a cheat, a fraud. It won’t affect me. I will keep telling what happened a hundred times over. Actually, I also don’t believe in ghosts.
See, my mother’s second aunt happens to be really rich; palatial house in Bullygunge surrounded by trees, lush lawn with green grasses, rows of Patabahar plants. All the rooms have marble flooring; their décor will make you lose your own marbles. That apart, how majestic is their lifestyle; they never walk out of the house on foot; they never get a glass of water on their own. Then again, how wonderful tennis they seem to play; how brilliantly they play the piano as well. And the food in their house is amazing. That was the real reason why I went there today. Otherwise, me in my khaki half-trousers in that palace! Oh, god!
Anyway, the house next door is quite infamous. Nobody lived there in the last twenty-five to thirty years. The garden is filled with weeds and wild plants; the walls are infiltrated by peepal trees; and the garage has become a colony of bats. It’s chokingly dark even in the daytime with a damp smell. On top of that, in the evenings, a bald huge man has been spotted standing next to the broken window at the first floor. He looks exactly like the grandfather of the present owners. But the old man has been dead for fifty years! And the owners live in Delhi.
I’m sure you have got it already, everybody is scared to visit the place. My case is different though. I don’t believe in ghosts and their grandfathers. I go up to the roofs alone for midnight strolls. To tell you the truth, I am scared of nothing except cats. Cats give me a little shiver.
When I got up and shook the dust off my knees, I felt I might have made a mistake. How sleepy and quiet was the place! It wouldn’t surprise me if some bad people had taken shelter here.
Anyway, I can’t tolerate mocking, so I had no option but to come. I took small steps. It was not all dark yet. There was some flickering light here and there. I saw broken doors and windows hanging from their frames; banyan trees sprouting through the cracks in the black-and-white marble floors; dense spiders’ webs filling up every corner. A strange wind had started to blow all of a sudden; the broken windows and doors were rattling; the webs were dangling; an odd sound was coming from the first floor – the sound of people walking and moving boxes and suitcases. But the big wooden staircase seemed broken and deserted in the ground floor; no one could climb it from this side. The circular staircase for the servants also seemed damaged.
I won’t lie, my heart was pounding. I left the room and came outside again. At that moment, I saw an Oriya gardener with a pair of garden scissors standing next to the servants’ staircase. Oh, what a relief! The house must not be completely empty then; maybe it was him who was usually seen at the window; he must climb up somehow to the first floor, clinging to this and that.
The gardener came close and asked me with a smile, “Why khokababu, are you afraid? My name is Adhikari. I work here.” I said, “Why should I be afraid? Afraid of what?” He said, “No, nobody comes on this side out of fear these days; that’s why I asked.” I smiled and said, “Huh, I don’t believe in ghosts.” The Adhikari guy was very nice; he showed me the entire house. He was lamenting that the owners had stopped coming and everything was in ruins – the chandeliers were coming down; termites were attacking the mahogany furniture; the giant paintings were losing their colours in the sun and rains. Practically nothing was left, I discovered. How much could one lonely gardener do?
In the garden, the Dhutura plants brought from the Himalayas didn’t bloom anymore; the Kurchi plants had died; the mango trees now had wood flies. Adhikari was almost in tears – “Nobody comes here to have a look.”
Finally, he brought me to his room at the end of the yard. He sat me on the clean floor and gave me coconut water to drink. I was thinking how stupidly scared people usually were! I was laughing to myself also, how many things they mistook for ghosts. Everything was shining in bright starlight. Sitting next to me, Adhikari said, “Please tell me, why don’t people come here anymore? It was so magnificent in the olden days. So many carriages used to gather here; the drivers and the coachmen used to sit in my room, drink coconut water and smoke hookah; the whole place used to be so thriving.” I told him, “They say there are ghosts here. That’s why people are afraid to visit.” Hearing this, Adhikari was irritated. He stood up and said, “Ghosts? Where are the ghosts in this house? If the grand old owner of the house stands at his own window, should people still be afraid of him? What nonsense, ghosts! I am telling you, khokababu, I am working in this house for the last hundred years, I never went home even for once, I have never seen these ghosts in my own eyes.” He looked around and added, “Now I have to go. I can’t stay once the Moon is out.” He finished the sentence and, believe it or not, vanished right in front of my eyes. Just like the way the fire on a matchstick goes out when you blow on it. The strange wind started to blow again from all the sides; the doors and the windows started to rattle; the Moon started to rise in the East, and I sprinted through the broken main door at my topmost speed. Here, look, I am still panting.
See, my mother’s second aunt happens to be really rich; palatial house in Bullygunge surrounded by trees, lush lawn with green grasses, rows of Patabahar plants. All the rooms have marble flooring; their décor will make you lose your own marbles. That apart, how majestic is their lifestyle; they never walk out of the house on foot; they never get a glass of water on their own. Then again, how wonderful tennis they seem to play; how brilliantly they play the piano as well. And the food in their house is amazing. That was the real reason why I went there today. Otherwise, me in my khaki half-trousers in that palace! Oh, god!
Anyway, the house next door is quite infamous. Nobody lived there in the last twenty-five to thirty years. The garden is filled with weeds and wild plants; the walls are infiltrated by peepal trees; and the garage has become a colony of bats. It’s chokingly dark even in the daytime with a damp smell. On top of that, in the evenings, a bald huge man has been spotted standing next to the broken window at the first floor. He looks exactly like the grandfather of the present owners. But the old man has been dead for fifty years! And the owners live in Delhi.
I’m sure you have got it already, everybody is scared to visit the place. My case is different though. I don’t believe in ghosts and their grandfathers. I go up to the roofs alone for midnight strolls. To tell you the truth, I am scared of nothing except cats. Cats give me a little shiver.
Anyway, in the afternoon, we all sat together and finished countless helpings of mutton samosas, chicken sandwiches, sweets of kheer, pink pastries and so much more. But then, trouble started to brew. By the time it would have been wonderful to take the small steps to home, people started singing, dancing, playing instruments and reciting poetry. I was so restless! Then they tried to drag me into that. I was unmoved by all means! My mother’s uncle said mockingly, “Oh, you think singing and playing instruments is all very girly and you are a big man. All right, let me see how big a man you are; I will admit your courage if you can go to that haunted house!” Hearing that, everybody rolled on the floor in laughter.
Just listen to the insult! My body started to burn in anger. I stood up and said, “Why, are you challenging me? I don’t believe in ghosts. See, here I go.” Immediately, I sprinted through the garden and, within a minute, jumped over the walls to land in the house next door!
Just listen to the insult! My body started to burn in anger. I stood up and said, “Why, are you challenging me? I don’t believe in ghosts. See, here I go.” Immediately, I sprinted through the garden and, within a minute, jumped over the walls to land in the house next door!
When I got up and shook the dust off my knees, I felt I might have made a mistake. How sleepy and quiet was the place! It wouldn’t surprise me if some bad people had taken shelter here.
Anyway, I can’t tolerate mocking, so I had no option but to come. I took small steps. It was not all dark yet. There was some flickering light here and there. I saw broken doors and windows hanging from their frames; banyan trees sprouting through the cracks in the black-and-white marble floors; dense spiders’ webs filling up every corner. A strange wind had started to blow all of a sudden; the broken windows and doors were rattling; the webs were dangling; an odd sound was coming from the first floor – the sound of people walking and moving boxes and suitcases. But the big wooden staircase seemed broken and deserted in the ground floor; no one could climb it from this side. The circular staircase for the servants also seemed damaged.
I won’t lie, my heart was pounding. I left the room and came outside again. At that moment, I saw an Oriya gardener with a pair of garden scissors standing next to the servants’ staircase. Oh, what a relief! The house must not be completely empty then; maybe it was him who was usually seen at the window; he must climb up somehow to the first floor, clinging to this and that.
The gardener came close and asked me with a smile, “Why khokababu, are you afraid? My name is Adhikari. I work here.” I said, “Why should I be afraid? Afraid of what?” He said, “No, nobody comes on this side out of fear these days; that’s why I asked.” I smiled and said, “Huh, I don’t believe in ghosts.” The Adhikari guy was very nice; he showed me the entire house. He was lamenting that the owners had stopped coming and everything was in ruins – the chandeliers were coming down; termites were attacking the mahogany furniture; the giant paintings were losing their colours in the sun and rains. Practically nothing was left, I discovered. How much could one lonely gardener do?
In the garden, the Dhutura plants brought from the Himalayas didn’t bloom anymore; the Kurchi plants had died; the mango trees now had wood flies. Adhikari was almost in tears – “Nobody comes here to have a look.”
Finally, he brought me to his room at the end of the yard. He sat me on the clean floor and gave me coconut water to drink. I was thinking how stupidly scared people usually were! I was laughing to myself also, how many things they mistook for ghosts. Everything was shining in bright starlight. Sitting next to me, Adhikari said, “Please tell me, why don’t people come here anymore? It was so magnificent in the olden days. So many carriages used to gather here; the drivers and the coachmen used to sit in my room, drink coconut water and smoke hookah; the whole place used to be so thriving.” I told him, “They say there are ghosts here. That’s why people are afraid to visit.” Hearing this, Adhikari was irritated. He stood up and said, “Ghosts? Where are the ghosts in this house? If the grand old owner of the house stands at his own window, should people still be afraid of him? What nonsense, ghosts! I am telling you, khokababu, I am working in this house for the last hundred years, I never went home even for once, I have never seen these ghosts in my own eyes.” He looked around and added, “Now I have to go. I can’t stay once the Moon is out.” He finished the sentence and, believe it or not, vanished right in front of my eyes. Just like the way the fire on a matchstick goes out when you blow on it. The strange wind started to blow again from all the sides; the doors and the windows started to rattle; the Moon started to rise in the East, and I sprinted through the broken main door at my topmost speed. Here, look, I am still panting.
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