City of Screams

by Neil D'Silva

  It was during one such still and chilly night, while he was reading a book on the occurrences of paranormal activity that he felt drowsy and decided to call it a day. After ensuring that his door was locked, he covered himself with a blanket and switched off the bedside lamp. Soon, he was in deep slumber.

  One cannot be really sure what time it was in the night but while he slept in the pitch darkness of the room, he felt something suddenly jump on his chest with a thud… something strong and heavy… and something that wasn’t willing to let go off him. Jagjit uncle was, thankfully, not a deep sleeper and immediately realized the unnatural presence of someone on his chest. The most perturbing fact was that he was certain that it wasn’t any child who had sat on him, but an extremely fierce and powerful entity that was trying to crush his chest and strangle him to death.

  As he struggled with the entity, the unknown force clearly seemed to have an upper hand in this unevenly matched duel. Such was the pressure and force exerted by the assailant, that uncle began to choke and gasp for breath. It was at this time that his presence of mind came to his rescue and he realized that he would be able to defend himself better if he could see who his attacker was. Struggling, he managed to reach the switch of the bedside lamp.”

  “So, who was it after all?” asked Ranjit, leaving his glass of brandy on the table.

  Mukesh gave Ranjit a silent and pensive look, for he too, despite being the narrator of the story, had started feeling jittery in the eerie setting they sat in. If they wanted, they could have easily gone inside the house but something stopped them, as if by design, and made them sit in the garden.

  “That is the strange and haunting part of the story, dear cousin. When he switched on the light, he saw… he saw… no one! No one was present in the room and it was strange that just as soon as he had switched on the light, uncle felt much lighter… as if some load had been taken off his chest, literally. Though he knew that no one could have escaped from the room in an instant, yet he searched under the bed and in the cupboard to make sure if somebody was hiding there. He found absolutely no one. And the door was still latched from the inside!”

  “My goodness! I never knew father had experienced a paranormal encounter of this magnitude on a personal level,” exclaimed Ranjit, shaken. “But, then what? What happened after that?”

  “A few days after these strange incidents took place; a tantrik was summoned. After examining Ravi, he slowly walked up to uncle and Tiwari ji…

  ‘What happened, Maharaj?’ asked Madan Tiwari, hoping for a positive response and a cure for his son’s ailments.

  ‘There is no doubt that a spirit dwells in the body of your son. After listening to you experiences and analyzing the condition of your son, Ravi, I can only say that it would be extremely difficult to free him from the possession of this omnipotent evil entity. Difficult… but not impossible!’

  Saying that, he took the two men outside the house and using a brick lying nearby, he drew a line on the one side of the road. ‘Tonight, a woman shall come to bathe at the handpump situated in front of your house before sunrise. Only she will be able to cross over this line that I have drawn. Make sure that she doesn’t succeed in bathing here. She is a witch and an embodiment of evil, and the person responsible for the condition of your son. She shall bathe in the nude as a ritual to strengthen her powers. You must stop her. If you are able to prevent her from doing so, your son’s life will be saved… or else,” said the tantrik and left after leaving his implicit statement unfinished.

  “It was still afternoon, so Tiwari and uncle had ample time to prepare. Neither of them was willing to risk Ravi’s life at any cost. As soon as the clock struck six in the evening and the first signs of darkness appeared, both men pulled up a charpoy and seated themselves firmly near the haveli’s gates, close to the water pump.

  “The strange thing was that the handpump, which was used by residents, children and passersby, to quench their thirst or to fill up water from, was completely unused today. As the two men sat there, uncle realized that the tantrik had been right. No living being had yet crossed the line drawn by the tantrik.

  “Conscious of the tantrik’s prediction about nobody crossing the line drawn by him, he kept a close watch. He saw a washer-man cycle to up to that point and then turn around and go away. Also, a dog, which came to that line, stopped, sniffed the ground and then ran away.

  “Dogs are known to have a strong sixth sense and as soon as the dog slunk away, uncle realized that there was indeed some supernatural force at work. It was as if by design or a spell that people and animals weren’t approaching the demarcated line. It was like somebody or something was forbidding them from doing so. As Jagjit uncle pondered over this phenomenon, the sun set and darkness settled for the night.

  “In those days people retired their homes rather early and it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that by 8 o’clock, life on the streets used to come to a standstill and the roads became completely deserted, and a not a soul could be found.

  “The clock kept on ticking and the hours passed by without any activity. But the two men did not budge from their observation point. Even dinner was served to them outside.

  “It was around 1 o’clock in the night when the only sounds audible were either the clicking and popping sounds of insects or the howling of stray dogs that Tiwari Seth excused himself for a moment and said, ‘Jagjit, I am just going to the washroom to relieve myself. I shall be back in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Not a problem, Madan. I will be sitting here, keeping a vigil,’ assured uncle.

  “What should have been a couple of minutes became 5 minutes… then 15 minutes… and finally 25 minutes, when uncle became alarmed at Tiwari’s absence. Fearing that something may have happened inside the house to the boy, he rushed inside to ascertain if all was fine. Climbing the stairs two at a time, he barged into Ravi’s room.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, even as perspiration dripped from his brow.

  ‘Nothing, Jagjit. Your bhabhi informed me that Ravi’s condition had deteriorated, so I just came to take a look at him,’ replied Madan, as he got up.

  ‘So, how is he feeling now?’ asked uncle with great concern.

  ‘The same. He has just slept.’

  ‘Thank God! I felt Ravi’s condition must have worsened when you didn’t come back and hence rushed to find out.’

  ‘Thankfully, everything is okay. I was just about to come downstairs as I knew you would be getting worried,’ replied Madan.

  “The two men then went down as quickly as they could and reached the main gate when…” halted Mukesh, almost deliberately, as if wanting his cousin to probe him with a question.

  “When what?” asked Ranjit.

  “When they saw a tall and curvaceous woman… who was stark naked… leaving after having a bath at the handpump. Between the time that uncle went up to the house and came down with Tiwari, this lady had crossed the demarcated line, reached the handpump, and finished having a bath.

  “As she left, her light green eyes, which shone in the dark moonlit night, looked at the two men with contempt and a demonic smile appeared on her dark red lips. She was mocking them. Uncle swore that he hadn’t seen a more vicious or frightening look on anyone’s face in his life, as he did on that woman’s face that fateful night.”

  It was at this moment that Mukesh abruptly ended his tale and got up to leave.

  “What? Is that it? What happened after that?” questioned a shocked and baffled Ranjit.

  “Well, the boy remained extremely ill. His condition deteriorated further and he was left completely bedridden and in acute pain for the next five years after which he started to become stable again,” said Mukesh.

  “So, how come this spirit left the boy’s body suddenly after so many years?” Ranjit wanted to know.

  Mukesh answered as he began to walk back toward the mansion.

  “See, spirits are of two kinds, good and bad, and this one was pure evil. Just like it had
entered the boy’s body without any reason, it exited without a definitive reason. Strange are the tales of some men, but stranger are things that we cannot comprehend or explain. Maybe the spirit had found itself a new host and healthier body to reside in. Or, maybe its purpose had been achieved. Who knows and who can tell?”

  “Hmm, true. But, bhai sahab, where is this boy? And what is he doing now?” asked Ranjit.

  Mukesh smiled and opened the door of his grand mansion. He gestured at Ranjit to come inside and quietly said:

  “That boy was sitting in the garden with you, recounting his tale!”

  ABOUT SUHAIL MATHUR

  Suhail Mathur is an award winning and bestselling author of the historical-mythological fiction, THE BHAIRAV PUTRAS and the mythological-fantasy, THE HUNT FOR RAMA’S BOW, a TedX speaker, and is one of the country’s premier literary agents via his agency, THE BOOK BAKERS, through which he has worked on more than 500 books.

  An alumnus of Delhi Public School, NOIDA and National Law University, Delhi, Suhail, a lit fest regular, has also worked as an English cricket commentator for Star Sports & Airtel’s mobile app.

  His name has also been listed as one of the ‘Top 51 Indian Writers To Follow’ by EBooks India and called ‘India’s JK Rowling’ by Enewsroom.com and ‘India’s Rick Riordan’ by ED Times.

  Currently heading the new content development at Zee Entertainment Network’s channel, BIG MAGIC, he has been creatively involved in the creation and acquisition of fiction, non fiction and animation shows such as Alladin, Paramavtar Shri Krishna, Jhansi Ki Rani, Ninja Panja, Bablu Dablu, Shoorveer Sister, Khazano Ke Khiladi amongst several others.

  KAALA BABA

  Rishi Vohra

  “Kaala Baba?”

  “Yes. You should meet him! He’s amazing!”

  I looked at Mamta incredulously. She had always been the one in our group to scoff at sadhus and babas and the ‘fools’ who swore by them. Maybe her mindset had changed during her seven years as a makeup artiste in the Hindi film industry. Bollywood was known to be superstitious after all.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Mamta went on, tucking a couple of loose strands of hair behind an ear. “Kaala Baba is unlike any other Baba. He was hanging around our film set. He asked me if I had a question. I told him I was fed up with the film line and was seriously considering moving back home to Pune. He did some calculations and then told me to stay put, because in exactly three days my life would turn around. And guess what? I got two assignments to do bridal makeup in Dubai. That’s a new career and a lot of money!”

  “Kaala Baba as in Black Baba?” I asked, amused. “Does this guy do black magic or something?”

  “No,” she said, taking on a serious tone. “It’s because he has a black tongue. Everything he says comes true.”

  “How is that possible? He can’t possibly be right every single time.”

  “Our production controller, Mayank, told me that there are other stories too. He gives accurate readings.”

  The waiter arrived and placed two cappuccinos on the table between us. We were sitting by the poolside at Otters Club in Bandra, having this nonsensical discussion. Despite the slight chill in the air, kids were happily frolicking at the shallow end while dodging serious swimmers taking relentless laps up and down the entire length of the pool.

  The waiter placed his pad in front of me. I signed off the order and handed him my membership card. He tucked both in his pocket and sped off with the empty tray.

  “Brij, you need to meet him.” Mamta emptied a packet of Splenda into her cup as she continued. “Things haven’t been going well for you. He’s like a philosopher. He puts things in perspective. He tells you both the good and the bad. You’ll find him really interesting.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

  In my mind, all these babas were charlatans who built an aura and reputation around themselves to elicit more money by playing on the superstitions of unsuspecting fools. And I was no fool. Every now and then, the press was exposing a self-proclaimed baba. A couple of babas were even in jail.

  “Look at what’s happened to you,” she said, taking on a reprimanding tone. “You don’t come out with the gang anymore. It’s been three months since I’ve seen you!”

  It had also been there months since my fiancée broke off our engagement. Right after, I got laid off from my corporate job and had been unsuccessful in procuring gainful employment since then. To top it off, my father and I weren’t on talking terms. My sister was to blame for that. There was always awkwardness between father and son, but things got worse after my mother died a decade ago. Instead of stepping into my mother’s shoes and bridging the gap between father and son, my conniving sister had turned the situation to her advantage; she had even managed to get my father’s will changed in her favor.

  “Does Kaala Baba charge?” I asked.

  “Of course, you have to pay him. Nothing that is free can be of any value. Whatever he asks for.”

  I knew it. He was a fraud.

  “Just meet him,” Mamta went on. “You never know what could come out of it. Say yes and mean it.”

  I said yes and meant it. Now I was really curious to meet this Kaala Baba who had won the favor of an agnostic and new-age person like Mamta.

  Mamta picked up her phone and leafed through her address book. “He was hanging out on set today. He’s probably still there. Let me call Mayank. Kaala Baba doesn’t carry a phone.”

  She hit a few keys and held her phone to her ear. As she started talking to Mayank, an old squash partner waved me over from three tables away. When I returned ten minutes later, Mamta was still on the phone, listening. She held up a finger apologetically and soon after, ended the call.

  “All done!” she said, with a triumphant smile. “Kaala Baba will meet you tomorrow at 5 p.m. on Juhu Beach. You have to go in through the Greenfields Estate entrance. It’s just opposite Juhu Post Office. You’ll find Kaala Baba as soon as you hit the beach. And you can ask him only one question. He switches off after that.”

  “Thanks, Mamta,” I said warmly. I appreciated that she was concerned about my wellbeing. And I wasn’t going to disappoint her. I would meet Kaala Baba just for the heck of it. After all, what did I have to lose?

  “How will I recognize him?” I asked.

  “You can’t miss him. Trust me.”

  ***

  Next evening, I alighted from the cab at the sharply curving street outside Juhu Post Office and had to wait for a break in the cars whizzing past, appearing around the blind bend from both sides. Once I crossed, I headed through the gates of Greenfields Estate and walked down the cobbled lane that snaked toward Juhu Beach. On either side were plush bungalows and apartment buildings, interspersed with swaying palm trees.

  Two hundred meters later, I was in a public park dotted with benches and early evening walkers. A few seconds later, I was pushing the heavy metal gate that opened out to the beach. I had descended just one of the three steps when I spotted him.

  Dressed in a loose orange kurta and pajamas splattered with Om signs, Kaala Baba had his hands outstretched and was twirling rhythmically, going round and round, like a planet orbiting the sun. He had a free-flowing beard and long hair, characteristic of your stereotypical baba. People looked at him in amusement and walked by, some even stopping briefly to take a picture. But Kaala Baba’s head was turned to one side, concentrating on one upstretched hand as he continued his graceful dance.

  I stood a couple of feet away gazing at this revolving mystic, wondering if he was actually on drugs. Such free-spirited activities happen on the beaches of Goa, rarely Mumbai.

  Kaala Baba suddenly fell down on his knees. A spray of sand splashed upward as his face and outstretched hands hit the beach. He remained in that prostrate position for a few minutes and then sprung upward to his full frame, which was lean and bony. He was in his late forties, but his serene expression took a decade off his face.

&n
bsp; “Kaala Baba?” I asked at my politest best.

  He turned to look at me. His eyes bore a piercing gaze that looked through you, rather than at you.

  He sat down cross-legged on the sand and patted the space next to him. I followed suit and waited patiently as Kaala Baba stared into the murky waters.

  “I’m Brij, Mamta’s friend.”

  He nodded and adjusted himself to face me. I did the same. From a distance, we probably looked like yoga partners.

  He looked through me for a couple of seconds more before he spoke. His voice was gentle yet firm.

  “What is your question?”

  “Is it true that you call yourself Kaala Baba because you have a black tongue? Does everything you say really come true?” I blurted out.

  He smiled. “You have to understand it is not a name I have given myself. I do not know because I do not always know what happens to all the people I speak to. I am never in one place long enough and there is no way for anyone to get in touch with me… I am sure that is not your question. Is something troubling you?”

  He said it with so much concern that I found myself instantly opening up to him. I told him about the dysfunctional atmosphere at home after my mother passed away, about my breakup with my fiancée, my career troubles, and the other things going wrong in my life. He listened patiently, not averting his intense gaze even once.

  “I want to know why things are always going wrong in my life. Will I ever get a break?” I asked at the end of it all.

  He nodded thoughtfully and pulled a backpack out from behind him. He sifted through it and quickly produced a notebook, a pen, and another book full of numbers and columns.

  “Tell me your full name, date, time, and place of birth,” he said.