I walked back to the railway station and got chatting with a tea vendor. Buying an earthen cup of steaming tea, I asked him if the fort was haunted.
‘Which fort are you asking about?’ he wanted to know.
‘The one that stands on the hill near the lake,’ I said.
‘You must be new to this part of the country. Everyone in and around Talbehat area knows the story of the fort,’ said the vendor. He gave me a curious look as I sipped my tea. ‘It is a haunted fort.’
‘You are right. I am new to this area and have no idea about the fort. Why don’t you tell about it?’
‘The fort is an old one, as you know. Like most ancient forts, the one at Talbehat is said to be haunted. Whether it is true or not, the story behind the belief is quite interesting.’ The vendor paused to add tea leaves and sugar to the boiling water in the large vessel and stirred it for a while. Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth thrown over his shoulder, he resumed the narration. ‘It was the day of Akshay Tritya, one of the most auspicious dates for Hindus. People pray to Goddess Laxmi on this day. It was also the day when kings give money and clothes to their subjects. So, seven young girls went to seek alms from the ruler at the fort. Unfortunately, the Raja was away and only his father, Prahlad Singh, was in the fort. Most of the people were away praying and celebrating the auspicious day. Prahlad Singh was an evil man. He took advantage of the situation, and misbehaved with the girls. Unable to bear the humiliation, the seven girls jumped to their death from the ramparts of the fort. Since then, the fort has been haunted by the ghosts of those girls. No one goes to the fort after sunset.’
‘Didn’t Raja Mardan Singh hear of the terrible incident?’ I asked.
‘When the raja returned, he heard of the monstrous act committed by his father. It was an unforgivable crime, but he couldn’t punish his father. To seek the forgiveness of the seven girls, the raja had their picture painted on the main gate. Since then, no one in this area celebrates Akshay Tritya. However, the local women go to the fort to offer prayers to the girls.’
I thanked the man and paid him for the tea. Seated on a bench on the platform, I waited for a train to take me to another unknown destination. The fort was an ideal hideout, I sighed. I wished it had not been a haunted one.
The experience continued to trouble my mind for a long time. To this day, I have not forgotten the terrible night spent at Talbehat Fort.’
10
THE NOOSE
‘I started believing in ghosts when I was very young,’ said a voice.
From the voice, Anirudh could make out it was a young man. ‘How old are you now?’ he asked.
‘I am twenty-two. But that doesn’t matter. What I am about to relate is something that happened while I was in my tenth class. The incident made me believe in ghosts.’
‘That sounds rather interesting,’ said Dr Basu.‘My story is based on a scary personal experience and the scar around my neck is testimony to the truth,’ continued the young man.
Anirudh swivelled on his chair to take a look at the man, but all he could make out was a gaunt figure in denim jeans and an overcoat.
His voice gravelly, the narrator continued his story – ‘I was nine years old when my mother died. Everything that happened thereafter looks like a blurred picture to my mind. All I remember is that our house turned into a hotel, as grieving relatives continued to arrive from distant places. I had neither met nor heard of the various uncles and aunts, who stayed with us for indefinite periods of time.
It was an ordeal to hear them crying and wailing. I hated their presence in the house as much as I hated listening to their consoling words. How hollow and false they sounded! Thankfully, the stream of relatives stopped after a while and my father and I were left alone to deal with our grief.
A year rolled by. I was getting used to the idea of not having my mother around, and life began moving ahead. There was less laughter and less festivity. There were no special dishes, or pampering. Time did nothing to erase memories of my mother. I continued to miss her fussing and cossetting. Mostly, I missed her cheerful face and optimistic attitude. Her ‘never say die’ spirit had been the most positive thing in the house. Unlike Father, she never rebuked me for my failures. Instead, she motivated me by saying, ‘You will do better next time’. She was the sole cheerleader when I did well.
Father had his own way of dealing with grief. He immersed himself in work and kept away from the house for long hours. Leaving the house early, he would return late in the evening, too tired to speak to anyone. There were many nights when I soaked my pillow with tears and slept without dinner. The house was silent as a tomb. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about my well-being. I think he was just too busy wallowing in his grief.
I was ten years old when Father decided to send me away to a hostel. ‘It is lonely for you here,’ he said. ‘I am away for work and there is no one to look after you. You will be better off in a hostel, living with boys your age.’
‘I won’t go to the hostel,’ I cried. ‘I am happy here. The school is good and I have many friends. Besides, Chandu is there to look after me.’
Chandu was my dad’s Man Friday. He cooked, cleaned and carried out all the chores required to run the house. More importantly, he allowed me to have my way. I could bully him into doing anything I wanted.
‘No! My mind is made up. You are going to St. Patrick’s,’ Father said, raising his voice. Then, in a softer tone, he continued, ‘It’s a good school. Believe me when I tell you that you will be happy there.’
That is how I ended up in the hostel. To be honest, I soon adjusted to the routine, made new friends and began enjoying hostel life. The school was an expensive one with all kinds of facilities. Money does make life comfortable! Father had spared no expense in finding the best possible school. In return, he expected me to do well.
Three years after Mother’s death, he remarried. Unlike the fables, my stepmother was neither cruel nor ugly. In fact, she was a kind and understanding lady, who tried too hard to win my heart. I had nothing against her. Yet, without Mom, home no longer felt like one. I avoided going there during the vacations. I would spend the holidays with friends, some of whom were kind enough to extend an invitation.
It was my sixth year in St. Patrick’s School, and my sixteenth birthday was a few days away when the headmaster made the announcement.
‘A camp is being arranged for boys of the 10th standard. Those who wish to attend the camp must submit their parents’ consent. Further instructions will be issued by the respective class teachers.’
We had been on camps from time to time, but this was different. This time, we were heading farther from school and most of us were sixteen years old. Excited at the thought of fun and adventure, the boys in my dormitory began planning for the trip.
‘Imagine spending three thrilling days away from school,’ said Chetan, who was the biggest bully of all. ‘We have to make full use of the freedom.’ He rubbed his hands with glee.
‘I think it’s most exciting for Aarav,’ said Sid. ‘He will be celebrating his birthday during the camp.’
Not many boys remembered my birthday and I didn’t want to remind them. Ever since Mother’s death, I had no interest in celebrating my birthdays. That was not to be. Sid never forgot anyone’s birthday. Every year, Sid or someone else would remember the day and I would have to go through the trouble of throwing a midnight party in the dorm.
This time too, everyone wanted to know how I was planning to spend the special day.
‘I have made no plan.’ I spread out my hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t think we can do much during a camp.’
‘Are you crazy?’ shouted Chetan. ‘A camp offers a better opportunity to have fun.’
‘Have you forgotten the eagle-eyed teachers, who would be watching over us?’ I snapped.
‘Don’t worry about them. I have a foolproof plan to keep them away.’
The parents having consented, the requisite f
orms filled and all procedures completed, we set out for the camp. More than anything, it was the thought of remaining out of the clutches of the hostel warden that made the camp more exciting. Our warden, Mr D’Cruz, was a terror, who believed in capital punishment to discipline the boys. No offence, even the slightest one, escaped his wrath.
Finally, our enthusiastic bunch of teenagers set out for the trip. There were twenty-five boys and three teachers, who had been assigned to keep us from mischief. As a matter of principle, the school avoided taking too many students on a trip. Considering our penchant for getting into trouble, it made sense to keep the numbers manageable.
After an early breakfast, we rushed into the bus that was to carry us to the camping site. It was a four-hour journey to the camping area, the first of which was passed singing songs and ribbing each other. After a while, our voices hoarse and energy flagging, we stopped singing. Some of us napped or stared out of the window, while others played games on their phones. The bus swayed and bumped as we entered the rough patch of road that led up to the camping area.
It was a beautiful place. Wooded and green, with undulating hills rising up from the flat stretch of land where the tents were pitched. A sprawling colonial structure stood at the far end of the vast ground. The double-storied house had once been the residence of an Englishman who had owned several tea gardens in the area. Known to be a terror, his name still evoked fear and hatred in the old residents. When Frederick Bradley died of malaria, the locals heaved a sigh of relief. All this had taken place more than a century and a half ago. The property was now owned by a trust.
The house, Bradley Hall, had been renamed as Anand Niketan. The history and details were narrated to us by a teacher on the very first day of our arrival at the camping site. Our school had an old association with the trust. It was said that Bradley had made a generous donation towards the construction of the school building. Two of his sons had attended the school during the early 1900s, which explained the generosity.
The relationship sustained, and the trust continued to allow the school to set up camps every year. They charged a reasonable fee for the facilities and food.
We were in a boisterous mood as we pitched our tents. There were seven tents in all, four for the boys and three for the teachers. Six boys were to be allotted one tent. Since there were twenty-five boys, the largest of the tents was to be given to seven. The choice of tents rested on the teachers.
Everyone wanted to stay in the last tent, which lay near the border of the woods. It was a distance away from the teachers’ tents and that meant a lot of freedom. Since everyone was eyeing that tent, the teachers decided to hold a draw of lots for the allotment of tents.
Thankfully, the teachers allowed us to choose our tent-mates. I chose to share a tent with my gang, which included Chetan, Sid, Abhinav, Shankar and Vedant.
Luck was with us that morning. The coveted tent was allotted to the six of us.
A few of the boys tried to bribe us to swap places, but we didn’t agree. We had drawn the best of the lot and had no intention of parting with the prime spot. What we didn’t realize at that time was the location of the washrooms. A row of them stood at the opposite end of the camping site. The distance wasn’t too much, but the prospect of walking down those few metres alone, at night, turned out to be a challenge. Although none of us would admit it, it was kind of scary going alone to the washroom at night. We decided to visit the washroom in pairs, if required. Those were minor discomforts compared to the benefits that our tent offered.
Our meals had been arranged at Anand Niketan. It was past lunchtime and we were ravenous. The snacks were depleting fast and we waited to be summoned to the dining room. At last, a gong was sounded and we hurried into the huge dining hall in the house. Despite our initial fears, the meal turned out to be a simple but delicious one. We wolfed down everything in a few minutes.
The activities till now had been on the lighter side. We knew that the tougher ones like hiking, rock climbing, and other outdoor activities would follow. Those would keep us busy through the day. The routine had been designed to tire the boys. The aim was to ensure that we fell into exhausted heaps by the end of the day. To keep us out of mischief.
‘Let’s explore the woods,’ suggested Chetan, as we walked towards our tent after lunch.
Peer pressure is the worst kind of pressure. The boys in my tent agreed with his proposal. Although I was dying for a nap after the heavy meal, it was impossible to refuse. I agreed.
It turned out to be a pleasant walk. Tall trees crowded together, their shadows creating a cool atmosphere. Hundreds of birds chirped from the branches, creating a pleasing din around us. The mountains rose in the distance, their peaks snowy and iridescent. The air was rich with the fragrance of leaves. Our exhaustion disappeared as we trudged along in companionable silence.
After walking for a while, we reached a stream that was gurgling down the mountains. Removing our shoes, we sat with our feet dangling in the cool water of the stream.
‘Tomorrow is an important day, don’t forget,’ Sid reminded everyone.
Why couldn’t the idiot forget my birthday? I struck my forehead with my palm and glared at him. Ignoring me, he continued, ‘What are you planning to do, Aarav?’
‘I haven’t planned anything,’ I replied irritably. ‘Why don’t we drop the idea of celebrating it here?’
‘That’s not acceptable,’ said Chetan. ‘It is your sixteenth birthday. You have to think of something unusual this time.’
‘What kind of unusual thing can one do in a place like this?’ I snapped. Every birthday, whether twelfth or sixteenth, seemed the same to me, but the boys were making a big thing out of it. ‘Neither the opportunity nor the resources are available for a party. Let’s get back to the school and then you can have your treat. It’s just a matter of two days.’
‘No way!’ protested Shankar. ‘The treat has to be given on your birthday. That’s the hostellers’ rule. Campsite or school, the venue doesn’t matter.’
‘Your birthday will be celebrated tomorrow and that’s final,’ added Chetan, the bully.
‘I am sure the teachers are aware of my birthday and would have arranged something,’ I came up with an excuse. ‘They might be planning a surprise party, for all we know.’
‘Wishful thinking,’ Sid snorted. ‘If I know anything about them, they will be partying individually in their tents.’
‘Let’s plan a fun party. We can play music on our phones, dance, have some drinks, smoke and have fun,’ suggested Abhinav.
His words worked like magic on the gang. Everyone had an idea. One by one, they lobbed those ideas at me.
‘Aren’t you guys going overboard? You are forgetting that we are in the wilderness and the teachers are keeping an eye on us. How will I find booze in a place like this?’
‘Don’t be a damper,’ Sid scolded. ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way.’
‘Leave it to me, buddy,’ Chetan thumped his chest. The guy was cocky beyond belief. ‘I will supply the drinks, cigarettes as well as snacks. You can pay me after returning to school.’
He was sure to land us in trouble and I had no wish to get involved. ‘Look, why don’t we do it all after getting back to the hostel? I will do whatever you guys want.’
Nothing I said seemed to deter the chaps. They were determined to have their party.
In the end, it was decided that Chetan would take care of the supplies. We would sneak out of the tent at midnight and make our way to the woods. Once we had covered a suitable distance from the tents, we could begin partying. On our way back to the camp, he spotted a clearing under a massive banyan tree. It was midway between the camp and the stream.
‘This is an ideal spot for the party,’ Chetan announced, and the others agreed.
The guy was good at keeping his word. Not only did he manage to buy four bottles of beer, but he also got some snacks and cigarettes. All he had to do was bribe one of the servants at Anand Nike
tan. The stuff cost us one and a half times its usual price. But, that was not a big issue. We had rich parents, who could afford to pay for our little extravagances. Besides, one doesn’t celebrate their sixteenth birthday in a miserly manner.
The teachers kept us busy through the next day. Morning saw us trekking through the mountainous trails. We returned just in time for lunch. A couple of hours’ rest and then we were out again on a nature trail. The sun was preparing to set when we returned. No one had the energy for another adventure after we ended our dinner. Suggestions of games and entertainment around the campfire were promptly turned down by the boys. There were sounds of snoring soon after dinner, as almost all the boys hit the sack.
Despite every effort, the six of us were soon asleep.
Sid shook me awake at the stroke of midnight. Unfortunately, he had set the alarm. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep. I had to abandon the idea as Abhinav pulled me out of bed. The others were donning their jackets and footwear, I noticed. Groaning, I joined them.
‘Come on, birthday boy!’ said Shankar. ‘It’s time to ring in your special day.’
Pushing the tent flap aside, we peeped out. Not a soul was to be seen. There was no sound, save the chirping of crickets and cicadas.
Cautiously, the six of us slipped out into the night. Carrying our bounties in backpacks, we stole towards the woods. Unmindful of darkness and brambles, we stumbled towards the clearing under a large banyan tree that we had marked during our afternoon visit to the forest.
Several wrong turns later, we reached the clearing. A crescent moon had begun peeping through the clouds. Its weak light filtering through the dense foliage was barely enough to illuminate the area. It did little to eliminate the shadows around us.
‘Where are the beer bottles?’ asked Sid, rummaging through Chetan’s backpack.
‘They are cooling in the stream,’ Shankar grinned mischievously.
‘When and how did they reach the stream?’ I was impressed by their ingenuity.
‘It’s all Chetan’s doing,’ Vedant replied. He was a person of few words and the quietest amongst us. ‘While we caught a short nap after lunch, he trekked up to the stream and lowered the beer bottles into the water.’
Spooky Stories Page 10
