That Frequent Visitor: Every Face Has A Darker Side (The Ghost Whisperer Chronicles Book 1)

by John Harker

  ‘Please tell Daddy that I love him.’ She said softly.

  ‘I will. Goodnight, Shiuli.’ She said looking at her niece who had just entered the nineth winter of her life, yet her heart was that of a six year old. Sometimes she worried about Shiuli’s immaturity. Girls her age did not carry a teddy bear everywhere. One day, she’ll grow up be a woman, and a woman had to be bold and wise, not timid and childish. She wil eventually learn.

  ‘Goodnight, Pishi.’

  The girl curled herself in her bed and Pakhi closed the door after switching off the lights. It was time to sleep.

  Chapter 6

  Parosh looked at the dwindling late night traffic on Sohna Road from his apartment’s verandah.

  ‘So, you are doing that again?’ Pakhi startled him. ‘You will not change, right?’ She said pointing at the burning cigarette in his right hand.

  He ignored his sister.

  ‘Just give it to me.’ She snatched the slow killer and placed it in her mouth.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Parosh asked with irritation.

  ‘Why? Smoking is not reserved for dogs, is it?’ Pakhi was back to being her feminist self again. She coughed upon inhaling the smoke.

  Parosh pulled out the cigarette from her mouth and threw it down from the railing. ‘You should do what you are supposed to do, dog or no dog. You have a life ahead. Do not waste it.’

  ‘And what about you, Mr. Writer? Don’t you have a life too?’

  ‘My life…’ he sighed and continued, ‘…she left me last year.’

  ‘She left you her life, have you forgotten that? Your daughter, with great difficulty, is pulling herself out from the agony of losing her mother but all her daddy dear thinks about is ending his life with cigarettes and alcohol. Don’t you love your daughter?’

  ‘I do. But at least she has got you, unlike me. Besides, nobody is going to marry a tramp like you. So, the two of you will be together in each other’s company till she finds her Prince Charming.’ He tried to tease his sister despite all the pain in his heart.

  ‘Ha ha… I hate you, dada.’ She noticed his eyes getting wet at the memories of his deceased wife. She started walking towards him. She hugged him and tried to soothe his grief.

  ‘You write such inspiring stories, you have motivated an entire generation of hopeless idiots and here you are demotivated and depressed yourself!’

  ‘I miss her, Piku.’ The tall man burst into tears and tightly held his sister.

  ‘I know and I miss her too.’

  ‘I have not been myself ever since she left, but I have to act like this strong stone-hearted daddy for Shiuli, hiding my tears and pain away so that she does not fall into the same pit of depression that I have fallen into. I want to cry like a baby. I love her, Piku.’ He confessed like a little boy.

  ‘Okay, You are crying like a baby.’ She said patting his back.

  Parosh detached himself and wiped away the tears that had finally found their way out. ‘I am sorry… I… I…’

  ‘It is okay.’ She smiled, ‘and by the way, I talked to the minister’s PA earlier in the evening about your suggestion.’

  Parosh rubbed off his tears and struggled back into the shoes of an author.

  ‘Yes, what did he say?’ He asked.

  ‘He liked your suggestion. He has approved it and the arrangements for accommodation will be done the moment you wish to go.’ She conveyed.

  ‘Was it so easy to convince him?’

  ‘Apparently, you are a bestselling fiction author who is penning down his first biography and that too about the man who will be the next Prime Minister of our great nation. How can he refuse if you wanted to spend some time in the city where the man spent his growing up years? I told him it’s all part of your research.’

  She paused for a moment to note the acceptance in her brother’s eyes.

  ‘He loved the idea and he has offered you a deal of your dreams.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Well, MC Jagannatha Varma owns a traditional Malayalee palace right in the middle of the royal town of Tripunithura. A palace that dates back to the time of Vasco Da Gama.’ She revealed with glowing eyes.

  Parosh’s face lit up with a fresh zeal of enthusiasm ‘You must be kidding my damned senses!’

  ‘Dear brother, you will get an in-depth dig into the man’s early life and political rise. Hell, you might even crack the code behind that pocketwatch that he carries with himself everywhere.’

  Pakhi gave him a clearer picture ‘You have to let me know whenever you want to go so that I can inform him to make all necessary arrangements.’

  ‘Why should I delay this opportunity? I am packing right away,’ He jumped up like a kid, ‘Even Shiuli’s school is closed for the winter break. Perfect timing.’

  ‘Yeah! It would be a welcome change.’

  She breathed in deep before making the revelation, ‘By the way your daughter is a reading a lot of K Hari Kumar lately! ’

  For a moment Parosh was dragged back into the lanes of professional jealousy.

  ‘How… I mean why?’ He asked.

  ‘I know it makes you jealous that your daughter reads the stories of your rival. She has no taste for your cheesy love stories.’

  ‘So be it.’ He smiled and accepted the reason, ‘So what about our trip?’

  ‘I think you can start packing, I will inform him in the morning itself.’

  ‘Kerala- I am coming!’ Parosh exclaimed with joy and went inside while his sister chose to stay back in the verandah, resting her back on the railing. She watched her brother behave like an overjoyed little boy once again. She loved him too, just as he loved her, but they were too grown up to accept that. She no more blamed Shiuli for her childishness. She wondered if she was the only grown-up in that family, but then, family was family…

  Chapter 7

  Two days later

  Cochin International Airport, Nedumbassery

  Shiuli held Mr. Clifford tightly as she waited near the conveyor belt with her dad for their luggage. It was always boring to wait. Her father was a writer and patience was his closest buddy while her aunt was a journalist and she hated to be kept waiting. Shiuli was like her aunt. She moved closer to Pakhi and rested her head on her hip. Pakhi looked down at her niece; she sensed the sheepish boredom of a child who was being forced to wait.

  ‘I know you are bored. So am I. Wait till we get out of here, I am going to take you around this beautiful city while daddy dear can stay back in the big old palace and prepare notes on his subject.’ Pakhi tried to cheer up the girl.

  ‘Will the old palace have ghosts?’ Shiuli asked.

  ‘I do not think so, dear. There is not enough place for people in Kerala, I wonder if ghosts can be accommodated. This place is heavily populated, dear.’

  ‘If there is one, I hope it is like Casper.’ Shiuli wished.

  ‘I hope there are none.’ Pakhi prayed.

  ‘You are afraid of ghosts, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, I really do not wish to wake up at midnight to sounds of screechy laughter and howling wolves.’ Pakhi clarified.

  ‘Well, I think you are afraid of the unknown. If I meet a ghost, I will try to know it.’

  ‘I do not know if you should be afraid of ghosts, but you should be surely afraid of mosquitoes in Kochi!’ Pakhi burst into a mild chuckle, ‘I heard there are plenty of mosquitoes in this city. So beware of those little suckers.’

  ‘You are so funny, Pishi!’

  Amidst the laughter, Pakhi noticed her brother struggling with the two huge suitcases that they had packed for their fortnight long stay in the City of Spices.

  ‘I think daddy needs help, wanna help?’

  ‘Of course, Pishi!’

  The aunt and niece made a commendable pair and together they filled the void in the author’s life left by the passing away of his wife. Their lives had changed forever on that fateful day in 2012. Little did they know that their lives were going to change once
again… for better… or for worse, only time would tell.

  Chapter 8

  Tripunithura, Kochi

  The Duttas were received by the caretaker of Varma palace from the airport and as arranged by the prime ministerial candidate, they were taken to his ancestral palace in the town of Tripunithura in a taxi. Shiuli was amused by the beauty of God’s own Country. Never had she seen so much greenery in her life as she had been born and brought up in the dusty cosmopolitan city of Gurgaon.

  ‘Pishi, there are so many coconut trees here that I can start my own oil company.’ Shiuli exclaimed. The last time she had seen so many coconut trees had been in the Pirates of Caribbean that they had watched on her birthday. She was a huge fan of Jack Sparrow… Err… Captain Jack Sparrow.

  ‘Yes, dear and that is why Kerala is called the Land of Coconuts.’ Pakhi explained as she pulled down the luggage from the taxi’s dickey.

  ‘Dear, they are not trees, they are called palms.’ corrected her writer father who could not stand improper lexicography. He went on to add, ‘Coconut palms, date palms…’

  ‘Do you see this?’ Pakhi interrupted showing her left hand’s palm to the writer and said, ‘You can talk to this ‘palm’ of mine.’

  ‘I am just correcting my nine year old.’ He tried to justify in a hushed tone.

  ‘She will learn that in school, okay? Don’t spoil this trip.’ She whispered in reply.

  ‘Yeah, that’s what they do at school.’

  Pakhi gave him a stringent look of a pissed soul.

  ‘Fine! I will not correct my daughter. I am leaving her in your custody.’ he surrendered.

  ‘Good. I will take care of Shiuli while you do your research on the subject, Mr. Varma. Deal?’

  ‘Deal. Just do not be careless.’

  ‘I am not your nineyear old daughter, so stop worrying about everything, brother dear.’

  The caretaker interrupted their argument to request the guests to leave their luggage in the trunk. ‘Pappan will take care of your luggage. You can make your way in; I will show you the rooms. The house had been locked down for renovation; Varmaji’s family has temporarily shifted to an apartment in Vypeen Island.’ He said in a warm baritone. He gestured towards the open front door of the palace and the two started moving, Shiuli was already inside.

  He turned around and yelled ‘Eda Pappa! Saamanam eduthu vekkada… evideda? Vilichaal kelkille ninnakku?’

  ‘He was definitely not saying some good things, was he?’ Pakhi commented upon hearing the caretaker yell in the native language. ‘Did we have to tip him or something?’

  ‘I think he is calling out to the other guy he mentioned, that Pappu guy.’ Parosh deduced.

  ‘I hope so. I was expecting a warm welcome by a bunch of colorfully dressed royal family members, with the usual aarti and coco cracking.’

  ‘Go sue your minister.’ Parosh joked.

  ‘Yeah right!

  A stoutly built man clad in lungi and dirty turban arrived and picked up the guests’ luggage and carried them in. The caretaker guided the man upstairs to the room where the guests were to stay for the fortnight. After doing so he came back to Parosh and Pakhi who were watching the proceedings while standing in the center of the front hall.

  ‘Sir, Varma Thampuraan told me to arrange the best room for you so I have arranged the guest room upstairs for all three of you.’ He said.

  ‘Thank you dear.’ Parosh replied.

  ‘Sir, pardon me, but would you two like a double room for yourself and a separate room for the kid. I mean just in case…’ the caretaker winked assuming the pair to be a married couple.

  ‘Oh dear god no! We … we are not married…’ Parosh stammered to respond, shocked at the caretaker’s assumption.

  ‘No, we are not husband-wife.’ Pakhi added.

  The caretaker got confused and then came forth with another assumption, ‘Aaaah! I got it, I got it. You are not married, you are just living together. It is a fashion in big cities like yours, is not it?’ His pronunciation had all the sweetness of a Malayalee.

  Pakhi hit her forehead with her palm. The caretaker looked at her action.

  ‘Mr….err…’ Parosh tried to recollect the Malayalee caretaker’s name.

  ‘Kizhekkeveetil Suresh Gopinathan… you can call me Suresh Gopi.’ The caretaker grinned shamelessly displaying his thirty three white teeth.

  ‘Mr. Gopi, I am Parosh Chandra Dutta, a writer. I am writing a biography on the life of Shri MC Jagannatha Varma. I am here to learn about Mr. Varma’s growing up days. That there…’ he said pointing towards little Shiuli who was busy inspecting the various mementos displayed on the front shelf, ‘that is my daughter, Shiuli Chandra Dutta. Do you see that thing she is holding in her hand? That is Mr. Clifford, her teddy bear and this,’ He said swooshing his arms in front of the woman next to him, Gopi’s view came back to the couple and Parosh spoke in clear words, ‘this is Pakhi. My one and only… sister!’

  ‘Ayyo! Sho! I am so sorry, Sir, I had no idea. I thought you two were…’ he didn’t complete his sentence and shamefully grinned at the two with embarrassment, ‘I will show you the room then. Please come with me.’

  ‘It is okay.’ Parosh forgave the ignorant man and followed him upstairs. Pakhi chuckled silently as Shiuli joined them.

  ‘Sir…’

  ‘What is it?’ Asked Parosh.

  ‘You look just like my favorite actor- Thala! Very beautiful you are.’ The caretaker displayed his fanatic affection for the most popular Tamil actor after Rajnikant.

  ‘Thank you dear, I am very much honored by your complement.’ Parosh said humbly.

  ‘Sir, you can use the library whenever you want and Varma Thampuraan has also requested you to meet all his relatives, who are living in Fort Kochi in the evening today. They are all big fans.’ Gopi said.

  ‘Tambura? Why do you keep calling Mr. Varma a tambura?’ Pakhi asked.

  ‘Not Thambura. We call him Thampuraan. It is the Malayalam word for His Highness. Do you understand madam?’ Gopi said to make sure the Hindi speaking lady understood the Malayalee word. He believed that everyone outside Kerala was a Hindivala. Little did he know that this Hindivali was always known as the Bangalan back at her office in Delhi. She was proud of that, but hated it whenever some idiot called her a Bong, a popularized slang for people from Bengal.

  ‘Oh! I understand.’ She replied imitating the caretaker’s accent.

  Gopi opened the door and showed them the herculean guest room; it was decorated with mural paintings and floriated with a velvet Arabian carpet. An entire generation of cousins could be accommodated in that one room comfortably, leaving enough space for another.

  Royal! That was the first word that came into Parosh’s mind after seeing the room.

  ‘Sir, I will leave you right now. You can freshen up and relax. I will send tea in an hour, after which we shall leave for Vypeen Island to see Thampuraan’s relatives.’

  ‘Sure. Goodbye Mr. Suresh Gopi.’

  ‘Goodbye Sir, Madam… and little Miss.’ Gopi bowed and left the room.

  Chapter 9

  Later that Evening

  Vypeen Island, Kerala

  The smell of ghost stories has not faded in the abandoned old dock of the seaport, the British left sixty years ago. Their feeble accounts of the haunted never left the port or its people. There were legends, little known to the world, soaring endlessly in the ears of the locals who passed it on to their grandchildren who await the arrival of the next generation to pass the baton. Only those who were unaware of the hauntings dared to step on the abandoned old dock. Shiuli Dutta was one of those who could not keep herself away from the call of the unknown. Curiosity was her other name. She was born in Gurgaon to a Bengali father and an Anglo Indian mother. After spending a lifetime in the millennium city, she finally got a chance to visit a tropical land, like the one she had seen in the Pirates of the Caribbean series. She had always loved Casper and Captain Jack Sparrow. However, she cou
ld not keep herself away from the gloominess of her past. The momentary joy of being in a new place gave way to sorrow again. Her father, Parosh Chandra Dutta, was on a mission to pen down the story of India’s next Prime Minister and get it ready right after the elections. This was the deal he had with his publisher. While he was busy having a warm cup of coffee with Varma’s relatives at Vypeen Island, little Shiuli slipped out of the house and ran to the beach with her dearest teddy bear. Even Pakhi did not notice her niece leaving.

  When they had arrived in Cochin, it was just after Christmas and the city was still lingering under Christmas bells and carols. There were talks about a bomb blast in the northern region of Kannur. Over a dozen people had died in the blast, however she could only think of her mother who died a year ago.

  And now, almost a year later, the beautiful girl was walking with Mr. Clifford on the sands of the Island of Vypeen. She stopped. There was just the sea ahead, and the emptiness of the horizon beyond. She felt dizzy for a moment. The smell of the sea punched her on the nose and butterflies hit the walls of her stomach.

  This is the end of the land; maybe my mother is now a mermaid in this sea. Shiuli thought as she closed her eyes and sighed. Suddenly she felt the lingering aroma of a previously unknown scent, which slowly transformed into an orphic Gregorian chant. She was forced to turn left and slowly opened her eyes only to be left mesmerized by what she saw.

  A decaying mansion stood at the edge of the shore, enthroned on the top of a great cliff, with the violent depth of the sea right below. She heard church bells sing to the tune of the hour and breeze from the sea calling her to the mansion. The view itself was a splendid portrait: the sun at the top left of the picture with a bed of clear blue and mildly quivering water under the line of the horizon, while on the left stood the great mansion. A Victorian building coupled with traditional Chera architecture in holy matrimony on the edge of a thick brown cliff. A captivating sight which any artist would love to replicate on her canvas, a frame so enigmatic which every photographer would dream of capturing in her camera. A visual so pompous that it filled the mind with a million words of praise yet left the heart speechless.