Something unusual

Timeline: The bone chilling narratives happened in the year 1946-48. India was living in villages, without electricity, roads and telephones. This young man has heard, rather eavesdropped it, in the year 1957-58 . He relived a similar, horror filled experienced at the age of 23 year (1973).  But for the similar backdrops, he did not get to meet the ghost, his father had an altercation with. This experience had left such an indelible impression in his mind. As a result, even after a few decades, he is still apprehensive about going to unknown places, after sunset! 

The write-up, you are about to read, is based on real experience of a person. Giving it a semblance of an account is my only contribution. Go back to that time and imagine the life in a typical village, without electricity, good roads or telephone, before reading the narrative. An event can only be observed, if you happen to look at it exactly at the same time as it occurs.             - Author-

The evening of that day started with missing a connecting bus, which would have taken him to his hometown. Without thinking, he decided to go to his relative's village. This impulsive decision looked appealing, as the last bus service from that station was about to leave. He thought of himself to be in luck as he remembered the village can be reached, off this bus route. After requesting the conductor for an alert where he should get down, he settled down for the journey. It was already becoming dark. The headlights of the bus led the way on the greyish ribbon of a road. Looking out through the side windows, he could see only blackness, which brought cheer to his worried mind. Counting the minutes did not hasten the arrival of his destination.

Another misstep, a travel through black rural landscape. Literally, this trip appeared to be the last for any kind of vehicular traffic as he did not see anyone trying to overtake or come from the opposite direction. A co-passenger offered a helpful hint - take the approach road on the left side; it would be dark to see anything clearly. The next question, "is it your first visit?" loosened the tentacles of fear. It started to slowly tighten its grip which made him to curse himself again. He immediately scratched off the joy he felt earlier for being in luck to catch this bus. The full weight of his flash decision descending upon him, he alighted from the bus. Unmindful of his predicament, the taillight of the bus, he had just got down from, receded and disappeared from view. He found himself alone in a nowhere - no man's land. With the only illumination gone with the bus and with nothing else to bother it with, darkness encapsulated and swallowed everything into it.

The few steps he took brought him on the to the path to the village. Only a single low watt streetlight was trying to fight a losing battle with the surrounding darkness. Its futile effort could not lift the darkness even near the lamp post. He found to his utter horror, that this is the one and only streetlamp on the path leading to the village. His dread to blackness in any form - light, moderate or heavy, increased by leaps and bounds. Once again, with a mixture of fear and anxiety, he rued the impulsive decision. Fear of visiting an unknown place and anxious because his relatives may or may not be at home. He took few tentative seps on the gravel road with the faint star-studded night sky, indicating the late arrival of moon on the scene to improve lighting.  

Except for reciting the poem "Lead, kindly light amid the encircling gloom" by John Henry Newman, he was all alone in the pitch darkness, wondering why he suddenly remembered this poem. The chaotic dance performance of fireflies, around the dark shapes of trees, brought home into his mind the images of ghosts spitting fire. Even in his wildest dreams, he never had an inkling that this mid-summer of 1973 will bring such a trauma and almost take him to the cleaners. 

For every fear, there should be a background story. He as a child had eavesdropped, two vivid, chilling narratives. And the narratives made hairs to stand on ends, all over the body at that time, and got etched in his memory for instant recalls. The story tellers were two brothers, none other than his father and uncle. Both had a streak of a daredevil attitude in them and lived in a perfect setting - a village on a riverbank, surrounded by fields, casuarina plants and a huge banyan tree standing guard at the entrance. 

After about 100 meters down the road, he felt as if he was literally parting the darkness and making his way. On either side of the road, only clump of trees, hosting his imaginary ghosts, silently watched his progress. On his left, a barely visible patch of land parcel, with round objects strewn all around a small heap of earth, came into view. Promptly, at that instant, his uncle's narrative of a journey made  under similar circumstances, started to playback that soundtrack of 1957-58, to top up the fear in his mind. 

"It was very dark when I got down from the bus. Took a short cut through the casuarina trees as had been advised, to reach the village. From behind me or from somewhere, a peculiar whistling and snapping sounds came on and off. An eerie feeling engulfed me like an ominous cloud, as this was my first visit, on an unfamiliar path to that village. Left with no other choice, I picked up courage and walked some more distance to reach an open stretch of land. Suddenly, at a distance, I noticed a tongue of flame shoot up and vanish. At that point, I was neither here nor there. So, with a thudding heart and a million of goosebumps, I pushed on without another glance at the spot, where the mysterious flame appeared and disappeared.

Fear fueled my strides and focusing my eyes straight, I somehow reached the relative's house and banged on the door, enough to wake up every household in the street. Seeing me at that odd hour, the host reacted to my appearance as though he had opened the doors to a ghost. Being an elderly person, he let me get settled down and then asked, have you gone nuts? Don't you know even our villagers hesitate to travel that way, late at night? No doubt you must have heard whistling sounds and seen a tongue of fire flaring and disappearing? I nodded in silence. Then he gently told me the secret that the shortcut I took was around a burial ground. Out of reverence to his age, I didn't ask him why he had not included this piece of information, while giving me the directions. Probably, he might have thought I would come by during the daytime.”

His uncle's narrative pushed the young man deep into the panic pit. He started to suffer a modified Caesar's dilemma - to go forward or to retreat. Both options looking inimical to his wellbeing, he decided on the best foot forward strategy. A few meters later, his feet stepped into a pool of cold water. With a mixer of fear and dread, he pressed the 'pause' button to assess the situation. Vague outline of a canal lay in between him and the barely visible path. Wading in, to his dismay, he found himself in another miscalculation and hip-deep water. Again, the modified Caesar's dilemma had its second run.

Legs shaking in wet pants and with fear, he tentatively lifted one leg and put it forward, while digging deep with his other foot in the slimy soil. Squishing sound, as the foot came up, started his heart to lump and thud. After a few squishy steps, he found no appreciable change in the depth of water and moved forward. After a few more steps, he was able to move freely and cross the canal. Still there was no sign of moonlight and he did not really know if the moon has a scheduled appearance that night or not. Every Minute stretched to give the feel of an hour's passage, and his heartbeat started the tick-tock counter, while his ears enthusiastically took station to amplify even the silence.

To further his misery, by the courtesy of fear, his bladder started filling to bursting point. Its frantic calls had a decelerating effect on his forward journey. Now his acute hearing started to pick up rustling sound, intending to collapse his lungs. To his immense relief, he saw a giant bandicoot, trying to run across the road, on dry leaves. With mounting tension, he moved forward, and a rhythmic, scrapping sound started floating through the calm night air. Intermittently, the sound of tinkling of bells, joined in now and then. 

Fortunately for the bladder, he had somehow managed to relieve the pressure before hearing this second set of scary sounds. His pupils dilated to extra-large size, though not improving his night vision appreciably. Ahead of him, a white clad tall figure, started to slowly appear, on the horizon, with the sounds of scrapping and tinkling bells, playing musical accompaniment. He sensed the presence of some question marks, hovering above him - Is this white clad, tall figure real or not? Is the figure approaching or standing still or going back? Or am I imagining things to mess up with my courage?

As if exactly waiting for a cue, his frightened mind switched on another 1957-58 soundtrack of the 'ghost who talked', narrated by his father. That day, as a child he had eavesdropped this story, in the dim light of a hurricane lamp and plaintive wailing of dogs in the background, enveloping the entire atmosphere with an eerie feeling. 

"One day, late in the night, I was crossing the riverbed, on a bullock cart. The pale moon barely illuminating the cart-track. A moment before, there was nothing and then suddenly, a tall and well-built person stood in front of the cart, blocking my way. After the initial surprise, I immediately judged it to be a giant apparition, in the guise of a person. Then, the figure initiated a dialogue, in a voice that sounded 'alien', challenging me to get down from the cart. Being a hardened villager, I have heard so many stories of such apparitions and   ways to deal with the issue. The strong belief is, as long as you are possessing an artifact in the shape of a wheel or wearing leather chappals or sitting or moving on a vehicle, the apparition is powerless to do any harm. You see, even the ghosts have fears.

Becoming clear about its intentions, I promptly refused to take up the challenge.  The ghost then changed tactics and asked me for the chappals as it was finding it difficult to walk on barefoot. Curious, I looked down at its feet and found it had no feet, sort of floating a few inches above the ground. On high alert, I refused to oblige. Once again it changed tactics, and now asked for a portion of my finger along with the nail. It promised to let me go afterwards, unharmed. Not the type to sit twiddling thumbs. I took a risk and did the unthinkable. Shouted and threatened it to show me its fingers, offering to cut one of them. Undaunted, the ghost tried to intimidate and scare me by showing its glowing fingertips, from a safe distance. Taking another risk, I asked it to at least get on to the cart and then decide who will cut who's finger. Failed in all its wily attempts, the ghost did a vanishing act. I don't know whether out of boredom or fear."

He could relive the same experience of that horror filled moments - hairs standing on ends, goosebumps erupting from head to toes, pounding, hammering and racing heart trying to do everything short of scheduling a heart attack. Coming to the present, he blinked his eyes several times, in disbelief, as the figure appeared to grow gradually in size with the sound accompaniment increasing in volume, by every passing second. Mesmerised and terrified at the same time, he stood transfixed. The mental picture forming in his mind, of angels hovering overhead like wingless helicopters, was scarier than the experience of watching a hardcore horror movie, all alone in a late-night show. 

The heart, threatening to jump through his mouth only accentuated the frantic signals from the ungrateful bladder. As the figure drew nearer, a deep gravelly voice sounded out, "Who goes there?" Relief washing over like an avalanche, he could not believe his ears hearing a human voice, yet a doubt niggled its worry - whether it is the apparition speaking to fool him. He did not answer as his vocal cords refused to move. After spending interminable terrorizing moments, he noticed a villager alighting from his bicycle, whom he had mistaken for a ghost.  In his confused state, he had failed to see the parallel path on his right, which the villager had used, coming in the opposite direction. Getting no reply, the villager repeated his question. Not waiting for an answer, he departed with a word of advice, " Don't dare to come on this route alone in the late nighttime." 

The story did not end there. As he approached the below-the semi-rural ranked village, a pack of dogs snarled and barked at him in displeasure. Luckily for him the dogs were only sending feelers and quickly lost their interest in him. Finally, he reached the house and knocked at the door a few times. He keenly listened for any noise, from behind the closed doors. After a long delay, his relative came out, blinking away sleep and holding a hurricane lamp. He doubly ensured the credentials with a Q & A session at the entrance before allowing him inside. Though it was late, dinner was served along with choice reprimands on his foolishness to travel like that. Overwhelmed by the ordeals and near-death experience, he questioned himself, " What made me to undertake this foolhardy journey. What would have happened if I had really come face to face with a ghost. Would I have acted like my father. The stories my father and uncle narrated were true or imaginary?"