The three bodies in front of me are not moving at all. Other than the moving fan, which adds to the cold atmosphere, everything else is still. The waste wrappers of eatables lie on the desk, disturbing the sight again and again. The eyes are half open, ready to be hypnotized to the sleep, at the extended night. And at the little washroom there in the left corner, there is no light but darkness. The darkness of the little room spreads to this room and overlaps its light. There is something heavy, something too huge to swallow.
On this occasion, I find my imagination recalling what the previous night contained for me, for all seven of us rather. Those who were unconscious had a great advantage, but those who did not find it worth sleeping on a Saturday night got something valuable. It all started with a moaning sound that was coming from the top. This was told to us by other friends in the PG. So it was interesting for all of us to explore the source of the sound. Shivam took his imagination to a wrong place and was predicting some love making in the direction. Ravinder was assuming it to be crying of a six year old. But we had to be confirmed. So two among us, thrilled and nervous, climbed up the stairs and sneaked through the well lit corridor to announce that the second floor is clear. This was a clear indication that the roof had stores of secrets. They progressed their way upwards in the same fashion. The hearts were beating louder than anything. The steps became shorter and shorter. There was some old broken furniture lying on the left side of the stairs, which was partially visible in the light coming from the gate of the terrace. The leader of the army, Deepak, was trying to have a look in the partial rays of light and finally concluded with a sigh that it was nothing but two cats and their cries.
All of us began to scream realizing the folly and returned to the room with some relief. Since the topic was fresh for the night, the room was locked from inside and the conversation started among the seven. Anyone who had ever heard of the most interesting stories of ghosts and corpses began explaining in the bright room, until he was interrupted by some laughter or another 'claimed' more interesting story. What lay outside the box, full of darkness was something surprising. There was a knock at the wooden door. The expression on all of the faces was of suspicion and dubiosity. All were left clueless. Still for that precise moment. Aashish, who at times claimed to be the strongest was also scared. It was Shivam, the sexologist in the group, who stepped ahead, slowly towards the source of the sound. We all stepped back waiting for the disaster to happen.
As the door opened, there was some darkness which entered the room along with a tall guy. He was Salim, Phew! We were panting as heavens, and welcomed him inside the room. He was a smart guy, blessed with a good height and a pleasing personality. 'What beautiful mehfil you all have organized.' 'And your coming adds to its beauty, Salim.', greeted I suppressing my ghastly emotions. We all sat on the beds and chairs. As the discussion progressed, our obsessed minds made the new comer aware of the fact that the content of today's discussion is nothing merry. Aashish started throwing another story of his village and the witches there. 'Could you please switch off the light?', interrupted Salim and added, 'The light is too radiant'. Some of us agreed and asked to switch off the light. But the bulb of the washroom was turned on, which then made the room dim. After a few minutes, Salim again interrupted, this time the story of Anshul. 'Do you all want to hear a story?'
Most of us nodded in yes, unaware of what he had in his mind. 'Do you really want to hear one? I have a masterpiece.' We agreed waiting for the magic tale to boost the spirit of the night.
So Salim took his seat in the center chair of the room and all of us circled around him. 'The story dates back to thirty years ago. There was a house in Aligarh, in which resided a man, tall and strong. He had left the house twenty-three years ago and migrated to Bombay for business purpose. And now, his son, Ajmal had returned to the long forgotten house. (It is believed in Islamic culture that any place abandoned for forty days is occupied by the Jinhaat.) So, many people in the neighborhood feared that there might be some existence of Jinhaat after such a long period. But the young rationalist man ignored their advice.'
'He was rational', distracted Aashish. 'Who anymore believes in Jinhaat?', Anurag provided stamina to his argument. 'Arre listen for once', continued Salim. 'Don't detract me from the story.', and he continued with his anecdote. 'For the first few days, everything was fine. Ajmal would remain busy with his business and sleep, and sometimes his friends, Shahzad. He also would visit some of the houses in neighborhood and interact with them. They were often seen together, as it was Shahzad who had helped him settle in the new place. But after eight nights, Ajmal felt there was something wrong in the house. One fine day, he felt some tremors in the old wooden cupboard. But he took it too lightly and continued his stay. This took place for some nights but the man, ignoring the little indications.
'That was a fine Sunday morning, Shahzad had enjoyed a good feast at a friend's house last night. The Sunday was to be spent with the new friend in the town, Ajmal. He reached his home and shouted- Ajmal, Where are you, my friend. He entered the room and discovered that he was not in the house. The walls of the house had developed cracks with the span of time. The paint had fainted and the wall was covered with a few paintings and a calender. Not finding his friend, he left the house towards the railway track, at the edge of the city. There was a crowd there surrounding something in the middle. As he struggled through the crowd, Shahzad was shocked to watch his friend's body lay on the railway track.'
There was a momentary pause in his speech. We all were stunned. This was almost impossible. How would a man suddenly reach the railway track? Was it a suicide? Was it a murder? Who would murder such a nice man? Was it really done by the spirits who lived in that house? Many questions were flooding in our mind. The pause was necessary, to digest the story we had learnt. And the narrator was well aware of that. He did not rush through the story. Slowly and steadily, he was uncovering the great story. 'After this, Ajmal's younger sister Sakina came to that house. She was so much attached to her brother that she wanted to spend her rest of the life with the memories of her brother. She knew that would hurt her, but she was ready. She believed that this was the only way she would be the closest to her brother.
'Sakina was friends with a girl in her neighbourhood. This also helped her to maintain a contact with the neighbours. She would often chat with her, sometimes had their meals together. The time was passing and after some days, Sakina too faced the same problem. There were some shakes in the house, that would make the objects in the house tremble. Also while sleeping, she had heard some voices which threatened her to leave the house. But the strong willed lady did not leave the old-abandoned house. One morning, there was a little pungent smell in the street. And some of the folks discovered that the source of the smell was the old house. In the verandah, there were a few trees and bushes. There were the withered leaves, which were piled to form a huge heap. And under the heap was found the decaying body.'
The dominating silence, the strong darkness and the narrator's voice of unknown long lost stories had woven a web of illusion on our minds. A few of us had slept, the lucky ones. Those who would miss the story and the horror, which was trapped in the narrator's eyes. There was complete stillness, no movement whatsoever. There was hunger for more while enough had been taken in to be digested. Salim continued his tale of horrors, 'After a few years, a young man came to live in that house. He would not speak to anyone. He had no friends or no contact he had with the neighbours. There was only one characteristic of his. Whenever he would pass the tea stall at the corner of the street, he would wish the old man Aadaab. The old man, whose mind was an epitome of peace and tranquility, would kindly reply the young man. The same was with the solitary young man. He looked lost in peace, stable, untouched from all the worldly worries and wars. There was a different level of intimacy between the two. They never talked a lot, they might knew each other's name, but none of them would miss wishing the other.
'One fine morning, the young man did not appear. Already been the witness of two suspicious deaths, some worry had coagulated in his mind. And his disappearance consolidated the anxiousness. He sent his grandson to look for the young man. "I'm completely fine, It is some dizziness, nothing else." informed the little boy. The old man was relieved after becoming aware of his well being. The next day also the young man was nowhere to be seen. The little boy this time reported that he was sleeping in the room. That evening, the old man himself visited the old house. He straight away went to the room of the young man.'
'The funeral procession of the young man was the last from the old house. His body was in a terrible state, swollen, half-eaten, decaying and smelling very strongly. The Forensic reports indicated clearly that the young man had died at least a week ago.' He was finished. His long tale had done the job. No one after that dared to enter the sealed house again. Salim left the room and went upstairs, leaving our minds to imagine the most extreme moments of the story. Aashish was left pale, fear reflecting from his eyes. With a false hope that we could sleep after this tale, we closed our eyes and slid in the bed. No one dared to switch off the light, which was turned on after Salim had left.
The three bodies in front of me are not moving at all. Other than the moving fan, which adds to the cold atmosphere, everything else is still. The waste wrappers of eatables lie on the desk, disturbing the sight again and again. The eyes are half open, ready to be hypnotized to the sleep, at the extended night. And at the little washroom there in the left corner, there is no light but darkness. The darkness of the little room spreads to this room and overlaps its light. There is something heavy, something too huge to swallow.
On this occasion, I find my imagination recalling what the previous night contained for me, for all seven of us rather. Those who were unconscious had a great advantage, but those who did not find it worth sleeping on a Saturday night got something valuable. It all started with a moaning sound that was coming from the top. This was told to us by other friends in the PG. So it was interesting for all of us to explore the source of the sound. Shivam took his imagination to a wrong place and was predicting some love making in the direction. Ravinder was assuming it to be crying of a six year old. But we had to be confirmed. So two among us, thrilled and nervous, climbed up the stairs and sneaked through the well lit corridor to announce that the second floor is clear. This was a clear indication that the roof had stores of secrets. They progressed their way upwards in the same fashion. The hearts were beating louder than anything. The steps became shorter and shorter. There was some old broken furniture lying on the left side of the stairs, which was partially visible in the light coming from the gate of the terrace. The leader of the army, Deepak, was trying to have a look in the partial rays of light and finally concluded with a sigh that it was nothing but two cats and their cries.
All of us began to scream realizing the folly and returned to the room with some relief. Since the topic was fresh for the night, the room was locked from inside and the conversation started among the seven. Anyone who had ever heard of the most interesting stories of ghosts and corpses began explaining in the bright room, until he was interrupted by some laughter or another 'claimed' more interesting story. What lay outside the box, full of darkness was something surprising. There was a knock at the wooden door. The expression on all of the faces was of suspicion and dubiosity. All were left clueless. Still for that precise moment. Aashish, who at times claimed to be the strongest was also scared. It was Shivam, the sexologist in the group, who stepped ahead, slowly towards the source of the sound. We all stepped back waiting for the disaster to happen.
As the door opened, there was some darkness which entered the room along with a tall guy. He was Salim, Phew! We were panting as heavens, and welcomed him inside the room. He was a smart guy, blessed with a good height and a pleasing personality. 'What beautiful mehfil you all have organized.' 'And your coming adds to its beauty, Salim.', greeted I suppressing my ghastly emotions. We all sat on the beds and chairs. As the discussion progressed, our obsessed minds made the new comer aware of the fact that the content of today's discussion is nothing merry. Aashish started throwing another story of his village and the witches there. 'Could you please switch off the light?', interrupted Salim and added, 'The light is too radiant'. Some of us agreed and asked to switch off the light. But the bulb of the washroom was turned on, which then made the room dim. After a few minutes, Salim again interrupted, this time the story of Anshul. 'Do you all want to hear a story?'
Most of us nodded in yes, unaware of what he had in his mind. 'Do you really want to hear one? I have a masterpiece.' We agreed waiting for the magic tale to boost the spirit of the night.
So Salim took his seat in the center chair of the room and all of us circled around him. 'The story dates back to thirty years ago. There was a house in Aligarh, in which resided a man, tall and strong. He had left the house twenty-three years ago and migrated to Bombay for business purpose. And now, his son, Ajmal had returned to the long forgotten house. (It is believed in Islamic culture that any place abandoned for forty days is occupied by the Jinhaat.) So, many people in the neighborhood feared that there might be some existence of Jinhaat after such a long period. But the young rationalist man ignored their advice.'
'He was rational', distracted Aashish. 'Who anymore believes in Jinhaat?', Anurag provided stamina to his argument. 'Arre listen for once', continued Salim. 'Don't detract me from the story.', and he continued with his anecdote. 'For the first few days, everything was fine. Ajmal would remain busy with his business and sleep, and sometimes his friends, Shahzad. He also would visit some of the houses in neighborhood and interact with them. They were often seen together, as it was Shahzad who had helped him settle in the new place. But after eight nights, Ajmal felt there was something wrong in the house. One fine day, he felt some tremors in the old wooden cupboard. But he took it too lightly and continued his stay. This took place for some nights but the man, ignoring the little indications.
'That was a fine Sunday morning, Shahzad had enjoyed a good feast at a friend's house last night. The Sunday was to be spent with the new friend in the town, Ajmal. He reached his home and shouted- Ajmal, Where are you, my friend. He entered the room and discovered that he was not in the house. The walls of the house had developed cracks with the span of time. The paint had fainted and the wall was covered with a few paintings and a calender. Not finding his friend, he left the house towards the railway track, at the edge of the city. There was a crowd there surrounding something in the middle. As he struggled through the crowd, Shahzad was shocked to watch his friend's body lay on the railway track.'
There was a momentary pause in his speech. We all were stunned. This was almost impossible. How would a man suddenly reach the railway track? Was it a suicide? Was it a murder? Who would murder such a nice man? Was it really done by the spirits who lived in that house? Many questions were flooding in our mind. The pause was necessary, to digest the story we had learnt. And the narrator was well aware of that. He did not rush through the story. Slowly and steadily, he was uncovering the great story. 'After this, Ajmal's younger sister Sakina came to that house. She was so much attached to her brother that she wanted to spend her rest of the life with the memories of her brother. She knew that would hurt her, but she was ready. She believed that this was the only way she would be the closest to her brother.
'Sakina was friends with a girl in her neighbourhood. This also helped her to maintain a contact with the neighbours. She would often chat with her, sometimes had their meals together. The time was passing and after some days, Sakina too faced the same problem. There were some shakes in the house, that would make the objects in the house tremble. Also while sleeping, she had heard some voices which threatened her to leave the house. But the strong willed lady did not leave the old-abandoned house. One morning, there was a little pungent smell in the street. And some of the folks discovered that the source of the smell was the old house. In the verandah, there were a few trees and bushes. There were the withered leaves, which were piled to form a huge heap. And under the heap was found the decaying body.'
The dominating silence, the strong darkness and the narrator's voice of unknown long lost stories had woven a web of illusion on our minds. A few of us had slept, the lucky ones. Those who would miss the story and the horror, which was trapped in the narrator's eyes. There was complete stillness, no movement whatsoever. There was hunger for more while enough had been taken in to be digested. Salim continued his tale of horrors, 'After a few years, a young man came to live in that house. He would not speak to anyone. He had no friends or no contact he had with the neighbours. There was only one characteristic of his. Whenever he would pass the tea stall at the corner of the street, he would wish the old man Aadaab. The old man, whose mind was an epitome of peace and tranquility, would kindly reply the young man. The same was with the solitary young man. He looked lost in peace, stable, untouched from all the worldly worries and wars. There was a different level of intimacy between the two. They never talked a lot, they might knew each other's name, but none of them would miss wishing the other.
'One fine morning, the young man did not appear. Already been the witness of two suspicious deaths, some worry had coagulated in his mind. And his disappearance consolidated the anxiousness. He sent his grandson to look for the young man. "I'm completely fine, It is some dizziness, nothing else." informed the little boy. The old man was relieved after becoming aware of his well being. The next day also the young man was nowhere to be seen. The little boy this time reported that he was sleeping in the room. That evening, the old man himself visited the old house. He straight away went to the room of the young man.'
'The funeral procession of the young man was the last from the old house. His body was in a terrible state, swollen, half-eaten, decaying and smelling very strongly. The Forensic reports indicated clearly that the young man had died at least a week ago.' He was finished. His long tale had done the job. No one after that dared to enter the sealed house again. Salim left the room and went upstairs, leaving our minds to imagine the most extreme moments of the story. Aashish was left pale, fear reflecting from his eyes. With a false hope that we could sleep after this tale, we closed our eyes and slid in the bed. No one dared to switch off the light, which was turned on after Salim had left.
You write really well, Keshav. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks :)
ReplyDeleteGreat writing skills :-)
ReplyDelete:)
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