Spooky Stories

by Tanushree Podder

  ‘Baba, this gentleman wants to know something about the zamindar’s mansion,’ the caretaker said in a loud voice.

  At the mention of the mansion, the vaid’s eyes began darting fearfully around the room. ‘Keep away from the mansion,’ he warned. ‘Don’t go near that house.’

  ‘Can you tell me something about the mansion, baba?’ I raised my voice, so he could hear.

  It was several minutes before he responded. ‘She died.’

  ‘Who died?’

  ‘The child, the only daughter of the zamindar,’ he replied after a brief pause.

  ‘How did she die, baba?’

  ‘It was the day of Diwali. The zamindar’s guests had arrived and the mansion was bursting with people. The children were playing hide and seek in the garden, while the adults were busy.’ The old man seemed to go into a trance as he spoke of the past. ‘The daughter, Ratna, was eight years old. She disappeared. They searched everywhere, but the child was nowhere to be found. Soon after her disappearance, the zamindar’s wife also died. Heartbroken, he abandoned the mansion and went away to Kolkata. Since then, the mansion has been haunted.’

  ‘How long has it been vacant?’ I asked.

  ‘A long time now,’ replied the old man. It was obvious that he had lost count of the years.

  ‘Why didn’t the zamindar seek the help of the police?’

  ‘The police searched everywhere. The servants were questioned, local criminals rounded up and detectives were sent all over the town, but they didn’t find Ratna. It was presumed that the child had been kidnapped, but there was no demand for ransom from anyone. Several months passed and then the zamindar gave up all hopes of finding his daughter.’

  ‘What about the children who were playing with Ratna? Didn’t they know where she had hidden?’

  ‘They had no idea where the child had disappeared. Years later, one of them said that she might have hidden in the cellar. By then, the zamindar had left town and the house had been locked up. There were many instances of ghostly happenings, so no one wanted to go to that house.’

  ‘Didn’t they search the cellar?’

  ‘They searched the cellar also, but she was not found. Don’t go near the mansion, son,’ the vaid warned me once again.

  I thanked him and returned to the bungalow to ponder over the information. If the girl had hidden in the cellar, why hadn’t the police found her when they searched the place? Someone must have kidnapped her and then developed cold feet and killed the child.

  The story sounded too silly to be true. Discarding the rumours about the house being haunted as loose talk, I decided to buy the property.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts, so the fact that the house had no buyers was like music to my ears. This was my chance to fulfil my father’s dream. The house had gone to ruins but there were several elements that could be restored. Also, the mansion stood on a large estate, which was very valuable. The more I deliberated, the more I realized that the house would be a good buy. As a builder, I was always on the lookout for bargains and knew that the lack of buyers could compel the owner to settle for a low price. This was surely going to be a great bargain. Thrilled with that knowledge, I contacted the owner.

  As expected, he was keen on sealing the deal. ‘This is your only chance,’ I told the owner. ‘If you don’t sell it to me, you may never find a buyer.’

  After hectic negotiations, I managed to purchase the property for an unimaginably low price. My heart brimmed with happiness. Father would have been proud of me. Not only had I fulfilled his dream, I had paid less than the price it deserved. Once the property was registered in my name, I decided to spend a mini fortune on making the place habitable. ‘I will restore the mansion to its former glory,’ I vowed.

  The locals were aghast. ‘How can you think of living in that house?’ they asked. ‘It’s haunted.’ I shrugged off their fears, saying, ‘Just wait till I am done with the house and you will all be invited for a gala housewarming party.’ They looked at me with fear in their eyes. ‘He’s gone mad,’ said some. ‘He’s sure to die,’ predicted a few.

  I decided to camp in Baunsi and remain there till the project was complete. My business was being handled by capable men, so I only needed to make occasional visits to Mumbai.

  What I had not foreseen was a shortage of labourers. None of the local labourers were willing to work in the haunted house, even though I offered them double the normal rate of wages. ‘Money comes and goes, but life is precious,’ they said.

  Frustrated after several attempts, I decided to bring in labourers from the adjoining state of Jharkhand and set up a colony for them. Apart from the wages, they would be provided with food and shelter, I told the contractor. This would give me a chance to do some charity while getting my work done. The lure of free food and good wages brought many poor labourers to the colony that was set up at the back of the mansion.

  The hardworking chaps were offered one and a half times their normal wages, provided they completed the task within a given time. Enthusiastically, they went to work. Of the fifty-odd workers brought to Baunsi, only thirty decided to remain after hearing that the house was haunted. To stop the others from leaving, I promised double wages along with a bonus at the end of the reconstruction work.

  Rebuilding the massive mansion required a lot of work. Walls had to be broken down, rubble removed, and whatever could be reused had to be pulled out and stored in a huge shack. All this had to be done before we began reconstructing. Like a man possessed, I spent the entire day taking charge, although there was a supervisor.

  On the very second morning, when I was inspecting the huge hall in the front of the house, the supervisor came running to me.

  ‘There is a huge cellar at the end of the passage that leads towards the kitchen,’ he informed me. ‘But, we are not able to enter the cellar. The stairs are broken and the walls are caving in.’

  Excited, I followed him. A heavy trap door covered the entrance to the cellar. It had been pushed aside to reveal a gaping, dark hole that slanted to the ground beneath the mansion. A dank and foul smell was emanating from the black hole that was covered with cobwebs. I noticed a flight of cracked and uneven steps that disappeared into the darkness. A huge spider emerged and crept towards us as I peeped into the hole and a sense of fear gripped my throat.

  ‘Send someone down,’ I ordered in a hoarse voice, but no one was willing to risk his neck on the broken steps. ‘I will give one thousand rupees.’

  The labourers were walking away with horrified looks on their faces. ‘Two thousand,’ I said, doubling the reward.

  Still, no one volunteered to climb down the steps. ‘Three …’ I offered rashly.

  ‘I will go, if you give me four thousand rupees,’ offered a hefty young man.

  ‘His name is Bahadur,’ whispered the supervisor. ‘If anyone can do the job, it is Bahadur.’

  I mused over the man’s demand for a couple of minutes. What if there was some kind of treasure buried inside the cellar? Treasures had often been found in ancient havelis belonging to zamindars and they were generally buried in the basement. My mind began conjuring images of chests filled with gold and precious stones. Four thousand was a pittance compared to what one could find.

  ‘Agreed!’ I said. ‘You will have to go down and report your findings. Then, help to clear up the entrance so we can go down.’

  Bahadur nodded in agreement and, carrying a sturdy stick and a flashlight, he crept into the entrance. We watched as he removed the cobwebs blocking the way and descended into the hole.

  ‘It’s very deep.’ His voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the darkness.

  ‘I am his brother,’ said one of the labourers. ‘I am willing to go down and help him, if you pay me the same amount.’

  ‘That’s Raka,’ said the supervisor, as another young and dark fellow stepped into the hole.

  ‘More hands mean quicker work,’ I muttered. The habit of bargaining doesn’t die, so I began hagg
ling. ‘I can’t pay four thousand to each of you, so how about seven thousand for both,’ I said.

  Raka agreed.

  An hour later, having surveyed the scene, the two brothers emerged from the cellar. They reported that the cellar was filled with broken furniture, carpets, crockery and chandeliers.

  After having their meal, they went to the supervisor and informed him that a big, carved chest was found near the southern wall of the cellar. It wasn’t locked, but they had not been able to open the chest. Later, I would wonder why they hadn’t shared that information right in the beginning.

  When the supervisor reported the matter to me, I told him not to share the news with the other labourers.

  There was excitement in the supervisor’s eyes as he nodded his head. ‘Babu, I am sure that the chest contains riches beyond our wildest dreams,’ he said.

  ‘Control yourself!’ I warned. ‘Let’s not get excited before we have seen the contents of the chest. It may be empty for all we know.’

  Although I tried to appear calm, I was truly excited. My heart thumped painfully inside my ribcage and there was an upsurge of adrenaline in my body.

  Another hour later, after the cobwebs and debris on the stairs had been cleared, I descended into the cellar.

  The boys had done a fairly good job in the short time they had taken to clear the entrance. Bahadur, who was holding a flashlight, led the way. The dim light lit up the steep flight of stairs. Followed by the supervisor, we went into the cellar. I carried a stick to support me on the uneven steps.

  The air grew cold and clammy as I went down the steep steps and I shivered. A musty, mildewed odour filled the cellar. A dark space opened up at the end of the stairs. Dust tickled our nostrils and I sneezed several times, my dust allergy playing up. Tying a handkerchief over the lower half of my face, I followed Bahadur into a low-ceilinged basement.

  The supervisor swept his flashlight from one end of the room to the other and all I could see was old, broken furniture. There were huge canopied bedsteads, the kind that were used in olden days. There were several dusty and broken wooden boxes and cupboards with unhinged doors. Carved chairs and tables with tattered upholstery, elegant but broken couches, marble busts, an expensive dining set in bone china, most of it cracked or broken, crystals and other crockery items, and a whole lot of other stuff had been dumped in the room. A few moth-eaten carpets had been rolled and placed in a corner of the room.

  Most of the furniture was made of expensive teakwood and much of it could be restored by a good carpenter. The crockery would have to be thrown away, of course.

  My eyes darted around, taking stock of various items while my mind toted up a list. A businessman always looks for value and I realized that the items in the cellar were worth some money. But, it was the chest that held my interest.

  ‘Where’s the chest?’ I asked, my eyes sweeping across the junk.

  ‘It’s hidden behind the rolls of carpets, on the other side of the room,’ replied Bahadur, leading us to a corner on the opposite side of the cellar.

  The chest was so well hidden behind the carpets that I wasn’t surprised the police hadn’t found it. Surprisingly, the area around the chest was quite clean and cobweb-free. It seemed as though someone had taken pains to clean the area. The chest was crafted out of dark coloured mahogany. It was the kind of treasure chest one sees in pirate movies, ornate and fitted with heavy brass studs, latches and handles.

  My eyes narrowed suspiciously as I wondered if Bahadur and his brother had dipped their hands in the coffers.

  Rushing to the chest, I tugged at the two latches on either side. They refused to budge.

  ‘Give me a hand,’ I ordered.

  The supervisor as well as Bahadur were instantly galvanized into action. Taking turns, the four of us pulled at the latches, but failed to open it by even a fraction of a millimetre. It must be jammed, I concluded.

  Although I didn’t want the labourers to crowd around and gossip, there didn’t seem to be any other option than to carry the chest upstairs.

  ‘Ramsharan!’ I called the supervisor to one side and instructed him, ‘Let the labourers go home for a few hours. Tell them whatever you want, but pack them off right now.’

  The chap was sharp. He understood my intention and scurried up the stairs. In the meantime, the two brothers continued to wrestle with the latch.

  Ten minutes later, Ramsharan was back in the cellar. ‘Babu, I have sent everyone away. There’s no one around,’ he said.

  Hauling the heavy chest upstairs took immense effort. The brothers as well as the supervisor were huffing and puffing as they struggled up the steps with the chest.

  Once it had been placed on the broken floor of the hall, we began our efforts afresh. Soon, all four of us were sweating but the lid remained tightly shut.

  ‘We’ll have to call the carpenter,’ said Ramsharan. ‘He will be able to open the lid with his tools.’

  Realizing that the task would have to be carried out in secrecy, I instructed the brothers to put the chest in the boot of my car.

  Fifteen minutes later, ordering the supervisor to call back the labourers after an hour, I drove back to the bungalow where I was staying. I took along the two brothers so they could haul the chest to my room.

  Once that had been done, I sent them to summon a carpenter. To cut the story short, neither the carpenter nor anyone else could open the chest. I grew more and more agitated and could not sleep that night. Work continued at the mansion, but I stopped taking interest.

  Each night, just as I fell asleep, a series of unsettling incidents would begin to unfold. First, the closed doors and windows would begin to rattle and fly open and then things would start flying all over the place. No matter how securely I latched the doors and windows, they would manage to fly open.

  Sounds of heavy rapping and thrashing emerged from within the chest, as though someone was trying to get out. This was followed by the horrific sound of weeping. High-pitched, loud keening filled the room. No matter how tightly I closed my ears, the sounds wouldn’t go away. Come morning and everything would return to normal.

  Night after night, the eerie happenings continued and I could not sleep a wink. The strangest part was that the temperature in the room dropped to an unimaginable low. I shivered and covered myself with several blankets, but the cold wouldn’t leave. My teeth chattered, my body numbed and my blood froze into ice. I thought I would be dead by morning. The unending series of ghastly ordeals continued to sap my strength.

  Hollow-eyed, I would spend my days staring at the chest, unable to do anything. I no longer felt hungry. Soon, I stopped eating. The worried caretaker summoned a doctor.

  The doctor examined me and carried out several tests, but he found no justification for my condition. Within a week, I took to bed. Work had all but stopped at the mansion. I refused to see the contractor and supervisor. Gradually, the labourers began leaving. Word was sent to Mumbai and my wife rushed to my bedside.

  She was aghast at my condition. ‘It’s that cursed box,’ she announced after hearing the entire story. ‘You have to get rid of it.’

  ‘No!’ I protested, feebly. ‘The chest will remain here. I want to know what’s in it.’

  ‘Haven’t you had enough? It’s several days since you found the chest and despite all efforts, you have failed to get it opened. Please, let it go.’

  I didn’t agree. The eerie happenings and the weeping continued to torment me through the night. Strangely, none of it disturbed my wife. She heard nothing, sensed nothing, and continued to sleep peacefully. As a result, she thought I was hallucinating.

  ‘I saw nothing, heard nothing,’ she said, after I complained of the strange happenings in the morning.

  Convinced that I was now in the grip of some supernatural phenomenon, she sent for Ramsharan.

  ‘It is clear that the box contains a ghost. Babu has been unwell ever since it was brought to the bungalow,’ said Ramsharan. ‘There’s only one per
son who can cure Babu.’

  ‘Who is that person?’ my wife asked doubtfully. Having lived her life in a big city, she found it difficult to deal with ghostly stuff.

  ‘The local exorcist is known to be a capable man. Shall I bring him here?’ Ghost stories are common in most villages, where anything out of the ordinary is attributed to the supernatural. As a result, people have tremendous faith in the local exorcist who would use a broom to beat the ghost out of the possessed. ‘He has cured several men and women who were possessed by ghosts.’

  ‘No!’ I shouted, averse to the idea of being beaten with a broom and having my hair pulled by the exorcist. ‘I forbid you to bring an exorcist to this place.’

  ‘Don’t you want to be cured?’ my wife asked. ‘You have to cooperate.’

  ‘You are saying this because you have no idea about these exorcists. They are sadists who inflict pain on people. Please give me one more day,’ I pleaded. ‘If I fail to find a solution tonight, you may summon the exorcist. One more request, please sleep in the other bedroom tonight.’

  She threw a strange look at me, but agreed to comply with my request.

  I was determined to brave another night of the tormenting sounds and weird happenings. A fail-safe plan was brewing in my mind and I wanted to give it a try.

  That night, I went to bed as usual. This time, I left all the doors and windows open. I lit a bundle of incense sticks and placing them on the chest, I began chanting ghost-busting mantras that had been taught to us by my mother. It was past midnight, but I didn’t stop chanting. There was total stillness all around. Even the owls were not hooting that night. The only sound was that of my voice.

  Then I saw the chest heave. It shuddered and moved as though it had a life of its own. Undeterred, I continued chanting, although I was terrified. What would the spirit do, I wondered. Would I be dead by morning?

  ‘Let me out,’ whined a voice from the chest. ‘Release me from this agony.’