The Spirit Of The Deceased

The picture frame which hung in one corner of the wall is of someone whom Krittika has never met before.

The man whose portrait occupies the yellow tainted canvas inside the picture frame, passed away years back when she was not even born into this world. His little visible eyes were the center of her attention, as the rest of his torso seemed to fade out, little by little, as she grew older. The man who stared back at her through the picture had once built the very house where she lived at the present.

She glanced up at the whitewashed ceiling, and then her eyes swept over the thick walls of her house, wandering about the hundreds of stories they wished to whisper into her ears, as they lulled her to sleep at night.

She drew in a long breath before turning on her heels and headed for the balcony, where she found Baba leaning against the railings.

"You never told me any stories about Dadu*," she demanded.

* A/N: Dadu refers to grandfather

He looked down to where she stood and then shoved her aside to reach the clothes which were dripping wet from the recent wash, as he prepared them to be hung over the clothesline.

"What is it that you want to know," he asked, his voice nonchalant, taking little to no notice of his eldest daughter.

"Anything. I seem to know so little about my grandparents. Look at the other kids, most of them are lucky to still have their grandparents at home," she swallowed down a gulp which had formed in her throat as she took a step forward, "You never told me anything except that he passed away when you were a ten-year-old child."

There was a moment of silence.

"Let's have lunch. And then, I may tell you a bit about your grandparents if that's what you wish for," her father spoke as he left the balcony and closed the door behind him, followed closely by his daughter.

"Is that a promise?" her voice was tinged with excitement as her feet barely kept themselves on the floor, and she rushed to hug him by his waist.

Her younger sister, Smritirekha, hopped out of her room and following the lead of her sister, grabbed her from behind, letting out a cry of excitement and now the three of them were roaming the whole house like some disoriented train, whose compartments clung to each other, and whose engine had no sense of direction.

It was a summer afternoon, and after lunch was over, the three of them settled down in the smallest of rooms, located in the farthest corner of the house, as their mother busied herself with the daily routine chores.

The curtains were drawn, and a refreshing cool breeze circulated itself throughout the room, as their father seated himself over the edge of the bed, accompanied by two of his daughters, Krittika and Smritirekha.

Her father spoke, "Baba used to work as a Station Master of Ghoom Railway Station, Darjeeling. It's a small hilly neighborhood in the Darjeeling Himalayan region of our state. Those were the days when he used to live alone, far away from his family in Sonamukhi, Bankura."

He looked down at his fingers and started to fidget with his rings as he continued the rest of his speech, "Working as a government official, earned him respect and he was provided with a roomie, one-storeyed building, as his primary residence during his stay there. For some reason, even after being married, my step-mother didn't prefer to stay inside those office quarters in Darjeeling. She preferred to stay in the house of her in-laws, with occasional visits during the yearly festivities."

Ghoom Railway Station, of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, is the highest railway station in India. Situated at an altitude of more than two thousand meters, the place is home of 'Yi Gha Choling Gompa', popularly known as 'The Ghoom Monastery', and the 'Batasia Loop', a bend of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway.

Krittika turned to look at her sister, whose mouth was left wide open, as she stared at her father with utter disbelief, "Wait, so you had a step-mother !? How come I never knew about this?"

Her shoulders sagged, and she threw a questioning look in the direction of her sister.

"I knew about this. Baba had spoken about his Boro Maa twice before, although she's still quite a mystery to me. She passed away shortly after having given birth to her fourth child, which is why our grandfather decided to remarry another woman," she continued after a short pause, "You've to understand, those were days when the women of the house were expected to take care of the children. It would have been difficult to run such a big family if he hadn't shared his burden."

* A/N: Boro Maa, here, refers to stepmother

Smritirekha scrunched up her face, clearly unhappy with the fact that she had been kept in the dark for so long about her own family history. She drew her knees close to her chest, and then slipped her arms around them.

"Which means, that Baba never got to see his stepmother, correct?" she inquired.

"I was not even born then."

Smritirekha and her sister's ignorance about their own grandparents are not surprising when one understands that for most of their lives, they had stayed away from their paternal aunts and uncle, who never considered them to be someone belonging to their family.

They never knew their father had siblings until they were old enough to question him about it.

She nodded and encouraged her father to continue the rest of the incident.

"So my stepmother stayed away from her husband for most of her life. I've never seen a picture of her. Although, I heard that she also belonged to a wealthy family of landowners, just like my grandparents."

The gray sky restlessly grumbled as it rained in buckets that night. The dark clouds that struggled to withstand the burden of the weight which the rain held, gave in early.

The rain poured down over the hill station with a roaring noise. The ticking noises made by the clock was soon drowned out by the loud gregarious boom of thunder.

Charuchandra was constantly replaying the words of his brother, in his mind. The letter which had arrived a week ago forced him to rethink his future. After all, things might never remain the same after he resigned.

'Think about it, Charu.

We would benefit a lot by opening such a business. The Second World War has broken out and following the bomb last which took place at the Khidirpur dockyard, the numbers of the wounded are increasing by the day and there's been an immense shortage of medical supplies to treat them.

The time is ripe.

Moreover, there is only but one medical store in the whole of Raniganj, 'Popular Pharmacy', where I've been working for more than a decade. I've learned everything on how to run a business on pharmaceuticals which I owe to my training under Hem Da.

So, what are we waiting for, Charu? Your job demands too much of your time away from home.'

* A/N: Da refers to the elder brother

Purnachandra Dutt, his second eldest brother, works as an assistant to the owner of a drugstore, Hem Majumdar, one among the richest merchants in town. Despite having gathered enough knowledge on medicine over the years, his limited capital did not allow him to open and run a new business. Hence, he had decided to seek help from his youngest brother, Charuchandra Dutt, and ask for his aid in the investment.

Charuchandra turned on his side feeling slightly uneasy and stole a glance at the clock which was hung over the opposite wall, from across the room. It read ten minutes past two in the morning. He let out a long sigh as he tried to fall back asleep.

He felt a sudden itching sensation on the soles of his feet and immediately got up to scratch the affected area of his skin. He looked around his room and sat in complete silence for a minute, before getting up from his bed. He was headed towards the door when suddenly his ears perked up to an unusual noise.

He stopped in his tracks.

The faint sound of someone dragging their feet across the hardwood floor outside, became clear when he planted his ears against the door to listen.

He immediately shook this off as his imagination and pulled open the door.

There was no one outside in the darkened hallway.

A short laugh escaped his lips as he realized how stupid he'd been just seconds ago. He held up a lantern and grabbed his staff with his other hand, before setting foot outside his room. The floor beneath creaked as he walked down the passage while his lantern cast an eerie ambiance along the way.

A moment later, he arrived near the door which led to the restroom, located on the far end of the passage, where he placed the lantern on a nearby shelf, before attending to his nature's call.

Why this sudden feeling of growing restlessness?

He seemed to ask himself. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to pinpoint what that was. His skin crawled. A crease formed in his forehead as he was beginning to worry about his own family, back in Sonamukhi. The letter sent by his brother had also informed him about the deteriorating health of his pregnant wife, Sushmitabala, a woman in her early twenties.

He drew out a breath. He decided it was nearly impossible for him to go back to sleep now.

He turned open the doorknob. As he was about to leave, with the door to the restroom closed behind him, his ears filled with a loud, thunderous voice, which made him stop in his tracks,

"I am the ghost of your father!"

He sucked in a breath. 

The voice reverberated across the length of the passage. 

The hairs in his neck stood on their ends, and he felt the lingering presence of someone nearby.

Not having recovered from the shock, his unblinking eyes fell over a thick black smoke which hung in the air, lingering before his eyes, before it dissolved into thin air.

The presence he had felt earlier, was now gone.

Minutes passed.

He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, blinking heavily.

His knees were still weak, and he flexed the muscles of his limbs, in an attempt to steady himself.

Two or three days had passed.

Early in the morning, while Charuchandra was seated near the fireplace with his local daily, the Nepali doorman of his house sauntered inside the living space. Charuchandra looked up from his newspaper, and gave a single jerk of his head as he looked at the man.

"Babu Saheb, there's someone at your doorstep. Says he's your cousin brother from some village in Bankura."

"Did he give his name?," Charuchandra inquired.

"Yes. Prasad Dutt, he said."

Charuchandra's eyes went wide with surprise.

"Please ask him to come inside."

"Sure," the doorman gave a slight nod and marched out.

Prasad was escorted inside the house, where he found his brother leaning against the doorframe with a cigarette roll pressed between his lips.

"How have you been my brother?," he spoke, as he straightened and invited Prasad to come inside the room and make himself comfortable.

"It's been a long time since you paid me any visit."

"We're doing great. I came to inquire about your health," his smile never reached his eyes.

"Oh! I'm doing quite well," he nodded.

"However, I was feeling a little distraught about our family. Things seem fine now that you are here to give me some news," he continued, "Speaking of which, how is everyone doing back at home?"

He turned to look at Prasad who was now wearing a long face.

Charuchandra cleared his throat.

"I apologize. I should've known you've come a long way to reach here."

Saying this, he called upon the house cook.

The stout old man arrived shortly inside the room, and addressed his young Master with questioning eyes, "Yes?"

"Meet my brother here, Prasad," he said as he pointed towards his brother, "You must remember him from when he visited us last time. It'll be wonderful if you made haste with some immediate arrangements for his early meal."

"Sure."

"Also, please don't forget to include chicken curry for today's main course, as it's one of Prasad's most favorite dishes."

Prasad swallowed down a hard gulp.

"I'll get these dishes prepared in no time. Saheb, would you also like me to arrange some tea and snacks for your guest?"

"Yes, of course. Go ahead and avoid any delay, alright?"

The cook nodded as he politely took his leave.

Prasad Dutt belonged to a poor family of farmers, who owned a small piece of land. For someone who hardly earned his living, rice and chicken curry were mouth-watering delicacies, meant only for well-off families in his village.

Charuchandra took notice of the horror which colored Prasad's eyes as he sank down in the armchair beside him.

"Look, I know something has definitely happened," he paused for a moment and then continued, "Just be honest with me. Tell me, what's wrong?"

Charuchandra's voice was laced with concern.

"I-I don't feel so well today," Prasad mumbled.

His thin undernourished frame spoke volumes about his family's financial situation, and Charuchandra wondered for a moment on whether his brother was simply being embarrassed or was there something else that made him uncomfortable.

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Please, ask your cook to prepare something simple as rice and lentils. Chicken curry won't suit my health right now," he replied with a smile plastered over his tanned face.

"I asked you to be honest," this time, Charuchandra's voice carried a note of annoyance.

Prasad kept silent.

"Baba passed away. Didn't he?"

Prasad felt his chest drop. He stared at his brother, Charuchandra, as sadness slowly clouded his features.

Prasad's voice trembled as he asked, "You know?"

Charuchandra nodded in silence. He kept his gaze at the floor, his arms propped on his knees as he leaned forward.

"How do you know about uncle's passing away?" he asked, as he stole a quick glance at his brother and then went back to staring at the carpeted floor beneath his feet.

Charuchandra cleared his throat before he spoke, "I'll tell you about it. But prior to that, I have a question to ask."

He rose from his chair and brushed off a piece of lint from his sleeve.

"Was it around two or half-past two in the morning when Baba departed this life?"

"Yes. Half-past two, to be exact."

Prasad shook his head.

"Nonetheless, how do you know about his expiration?"

Prasad listened eagerly as Charuchandra narrated the whole incident to his brother.

"Is that the only paranormal incident encountered by Dadu during his life," Smritirekha couldn't contain her excitement when she got the opportunity to listen to paranormal incidents being narrated by anyone. She crawled up to where her father was seated and stood straight on her knees, her eyes beaming with excitement.

"No. There's another one he told us about," replied her father.

"Was that really the spirit of Thakur Da who appeared himself to inform Dadu about his departure into the next world?," Krittika interrupted, unable to wrap her head around the supernatural element of ghosts and spirits being narrated with the incident.

* A/N: Thakur Da refers to great grandfather

"Baba was not someone who was afraid of the dark or even creatures that go about bumping in the night. However, he was confirmed about the experience which he had, when Prasad Kaka arrived to give him the news."

* A/N: Kaka refers to an uncle

"Doesn't that answer your question, dear?," her father raised an eyebrow.

"That's alright I guess. But, if this incident is absolutely true as you speak, then it means supernatural entities exist !," she exclaimed, "Which I think is not true."

She narrowed her eyes as she held up upturned palms in accusation.

"It's really unfortunate that Baba is no more living in this world. Otherwise, I'm sure he would've confirmed the truth about this whole incident which he told us himself."

Krittika rolled her eyes.

"What was the other incident which occurred with Dadu?" Smritirekha seemed to grow impatient by each passing second.

After an eight-hour-long train ride, Charuchandra Dutt finally arrived at the Railway Junction of Gaya, Bihar. He had come to perform the last funeral rites of his deceased father, Sashibhusan Dutt, and pray for his departed soul in the scared Vishnupada Temple.

He was being accompanied by a priest, usually referred to as a 'panda', whom he had met near the crowded temple threshold, and asked for his aid in performing the rituals of 'Pind Daan' as per the directions laid out by the Hindu tradition. During the process of Aasthi Visarjan, he was asked to offer the ashes collected from the funeral pyre of the Antyeshti ceremony into the flowing water of the Holy Ganges.

He picked up the copper vessel from where it was placed over the concrete. With arms stretched out before him, he slowly tilted the vessel and let its contents fall into the river. The priest chanted out a series of hymns while the rites were being performed, his fingers curled around the edges of an old leaflet.

Charuchandra had his eyes closed as he gazed at the darkness which loomed before his eyes, and felt the cold metallic surface of the vessel against his skin. His grip tightened around the vessel as he was beginning to hear strange whispering noises, coming from all directions. They grew louder until he was forced to open his eyes and look at the sight that his eyes beheld.

Give me.

Give me!

Give me...

There were voices that seemed to whisper the same set of words. All of them demanded of him to give them something. The air seemed to shift before his eyes.

What do they want?

Afterward, came the phase of the ritual, where he was required to offer 'pind'(s) into the Hands of Gayasur, the arms of a demon carved out of stone, situated on the banks of the famous Falgu river.

*A/N: It's said that these pind(s), made out of five traditional elements, serve as a temporary dwelling for the disembodied being, meant to quench their thirst and aid them in severing worldly attachments.

As he was offering the pind(s), his ears filled with a flurry of voices, whispering the same set of words as before, as his hands paused midway and then withdrew themselves to look up at the priest.

The priest seemed to be the least bothered, with clear conveyance that the voices Charuchandra had been hearing all this while, were not audible to his ears.

"I want to offer these to my ancestors," he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The priest's eyebrows went up to his forehead.

"Well, I've to make more arrangements for that purpose. You should have told me about this earlier."

Charuchandra shook his head as he looked at the priest.

"Please take your time to make those necessary arrangements."

He sat back as he tried to remember each of his forefathers, as best as possible, including his great grandparents, and their children, whom he remembered had died unnatural deaths.

They were all waiting for him.

"Really? This feels like a story, an insane one at that! I mean, there were so many of his ancestors roaming around like spirits and all of them were praying for release."

Krittika let out an exasperated sigh, a hint of disbelief coloring her eyes.

"To imagine my own Dadu was a psychic, who could hear and sometimes even see disembodied beings, is surreal," Smritirekha spoke, clearly pleased to learn that her intense curiosity to know more about beings of the other world does not come unexplained.