Spooky Stories

by Tanushree Podder

  This time, I was convinced that a ghost lay trapped within the chest and it was unable to bear my chanting. The knowledge strengthened my resolve. I ignored the pleas and the threats that came from the chest and continued chanting. Instead of weakening with exhaustion, my voice grew stronger with the passing of the hours.

  By morning, all activities inside the chest and the room had ceased as though the ghost was exhausted.

  Determined to end the ordeal forever, I tugged at the latch. To my utter surprise, it no longer resisted the pull. The lid, which had resisted the hammering of a carpenter and the struggles of three men, swung open smoothly. My heart was hammering in my chest as I peeped inside. There were no riches, no gold nor precious stones. All I could see was the pathetic sight of a child’s skeleton.

  It took me a little while to gain control over myself. Shutting the chest gently, I chanted a mantra for the peace of Ratna’s soul and walked out of the room.

  The caretaker and my wife were taken by surprise by my appearance. I smiled and greeted them and asked for breakfast. My appetite at the dining table shocked both of them. I had been hungry too long.

  ‘There’s nothing but Ratna’s skeleton in the box,’ I told my wife.

  She listened attentively as I described the things that had taken place in the night.

  ‘So the story is true. Ratna had hidden in the chest,’ whispered my wife after I ended my narration.

  ‘Don’t open the box,’ she added after a few minutes. ‘Just take it back to the mansion and bury it deep in the cellar. The child must have hidden inside the chest and could not come out. As a result, she must have suffocated and died. Her spirit haunts that house. It must be given a proper cremation.’

  That very morning, the chest was taken back to the cellar and buried. We called a priest who performed the last rites and a proper ritualistic farewell was given to Ratna’s soul.

  We covered up the cellar. It would never be opened again, I decided. Ratna’s ghost had been laid to rest.’

  ‘What did you do with the mansion?’ Anirudh asked. ‘You must have spent a lot of money to buy the mansion.’

  ‘Yes, I had spent a lot of money on the mansion. But, I no longer wanted to live in it.’

  ‘So, what did you do?’

  ‘After much deliberation, my wife suggested that the mansion be renovated and used as a hospital for the poor. We never went back to Baunsi after that.’

  4

  THE WILD BOAR

  ‘That was quite an interesting story,’ said a dapper gentleman seated across from Anirudh. ‘I am sure you will not believe me if I tell you that the spirit of a dead animal killed a human being.’

  ‘That’s impossible, how can it ever be?’ Anirudh was the only one to express his doubt.

  The rest of the gathering seemed to accept the statement.

  ‘At first, when my friend told me, my reaction was the same as yours. The story may sound incredible, but it’s true.’

  ‘Let’s hear the story and then decide if it’s true,’ said the contractor who had narrated the previous story.

  ‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ The jeweller asked impatiently.

  ‘I will narrate my story in the third person, since it’s about a friend,’ began the narrator.

  ‘My friend, Sunil Dhabade, had a roaring construction business. Everyone knew that he got most of the contracts because his mentor was an MLA from the Nagpur constituency. It was a convenient arrangement. The MLA, Marathe, procured government contracts for Dhabade, who returned the favour by providing funds for his friend’s political activities. Their association was more than a decade old and flourishing.

  While Dhabade was based at Mumbai, Marathe had his roots in Nagpur and continued to stay there with his ageing parents. Jovial and glib-tongued, Marathe was a very popular man and knew almost everyone who mattered. He was an ardent follower of a priest at Kamtheswar Mahadev Temple. Baba Shivnath was also an astrologer and palmist, and the MLA didn’t do a thing without consulting the man.

  ‘I don’t believe in astrology and palmistry,’ interrupted Anirudh. ‘It’s all bunkum.’

  ‘You may not believe, but there are many who do,’ replied the gentleman in a gentle manner. ‘May I continue with the story?’

  ‘When the plans for the construction of the Kanha-Pench corridor were announced, there was tremendous competition to bag the lucrative contract. The corridor connecting the Kanha and Pench wildlife sanctuaries, as you all know, is the world’s longest dedicated tiger corridor.

  It was a huge and prestigious project that involved a lot of money and everyone wanted a chunk of the deal. As usual, Marathe pushed the right buttons to ensure that his friend, Dhabade, was awarded the contract. It was a masterstroke and the two friends made a huge killing.

  Once the project had been completed, Dhabade decided to inspect the corridor and stay at Marathe’s place for a few days. ‘We will celebrate the completion,’ he told his friend over the phone.

  On the very first day of the inspection, Dhabade had a narrow escape. The highway across the corridor has underpasses that are 750 metres wide, so that wild animals can cross from one side to the other. Halting on the highway just above an underpass, the contractor and his team of five engineers and supervisors parked their vehicles and climbed down the steps to the underpass for an inspection.

  All of a sudden, a group of wild boars appeared on the underpass. Pandemonium broke out as they sighted the humans. Threatened by the sight, the piglets began screeching with fright. It was then that a huge boar charged at Dhabade, who was leading his group of men. Wild boars are deadly animals with thick, sharp tusks, and even sharper brains. They are fierce and aggressive, especially if there are piglets among the herd.

  The massive boar lifted him off the ground and tossed him into the air. Dhabade, who was over six feet tall and weighed ninety kilos, fell with a loud thud. Stunned, his men watched him get up and face the boar, which was coming back to charge again. The contractor was an intelligent man. He knew that turning his back on the boar could get him killed. Everyone watched with bated breath as the boar, which had a distinct, cross-shaped white patch on its forehead, returned to attack. The man and the animal stared at each other for a minute and then the boar turned and vanished into the forest. A sigh of relief went up and the men congratulated Dhabade. Save for minor bruises and a wound on his right leg, he was alright.

  Later in the evening, he boasted about the incident to Marathe.

  ‘Do you realize you had a miraculous escape from the jaws of death? The wild boar with the cross on its forehead is a ferocious animal. It’s very protective of its herd. That boar has been reported to have killed several people as well as a full-grown tiger,’ said Marathe. ‘We will visit Baba Shivnath at the Kamtheswar Mahadev Temple. You can offer a puja in thanksgiving, and request the baba to predict your future.’

  ‘I don’t believe in astrology,’ said Dhabade.

  ‘Baba Shivnath is not like other astrologers. I have been going to him for the past twenty years and his predictions have never gone wrong. I never undertake any assignment without his blessing.’

  Although he didn’t believe in astrology or palmistry, Dhabade decided to humour his friend.

  The next day, the two of them set out early. It was a lovely morning and the drive was pleasant. Their first halt was at a friend’s farmhouse in Kamptee. The trip was turning out to be a picnic and Dhabade was happy he had agreed. After a hearty lunch, they proceeded to the temple.

  The priest, an old man of about eighty, was seated on a divan placed in the temple hall. He was running his fingers along a rudraksh-string. His eyes closed, he seemed to be praying. Marathe touched his feet and slipped a wad of 500-rupee notes in the donation box. With great reluctance, Dhabade dropped a hundred-rupee note into the box.

  The priest opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Your friend doesn’t have faith in me,’ he said.

  ‘No, no … I …’ Embarrassed, Dhabade bega
n to explain himself.

  ‘It’s alright! Not everyone is a believer,’ said the old man.

  ‘Baba, please read my palm,’ said Marathe, and extended his hand towards the priest.

  The priest examined the hand in great detail, and after consulting the almanac, said, ‘You are pondering about an offer that has come your way. It will be better for you to reject the offer at hand. A better one is in the offing.’

  Marathe pulled out his phone and spoke for a few minutes. Surprised, his friend heard him calling off the deal. Having done that, he turned to Dhabade, and insisted that he should get his palm read by the priest.

  Dhabade found himself in an embarrassing situation. He couldn’t offend his friend by refusing. At the same time, he didn’t believe in palmistry.

  ‘It’s not necessary for him to have his palm read,’ declared the priest, who had understood the contractor’s dilemma.

  Marathe shook his head with sadness.

  Unwilling to offend his friend, Dhabade offered his hand to the old man, saying, ‘Baba, please read my palm.’

  The priest asked for his date, time and place of birth, and then did some calculations on a piece of paper. After that, he took a magnifying glass from a bag and concentrated on the lines on Dhabade’s palm.

  He shook his head and said, ‘You had a very narrow escape recently.’

  ‘Yes, baba,’ Marathe replied eagerly, before Dhabade could say anything. ‘It happened just yesterday’.

  Dhabade was surprised at the priest’s statement, but he held his tongue. The old man continued to study the lines of the palm.

  ‘You were attacked by a huge beast with a cross on its forehead,’ he said. Shaking his head with sadness, he spoke again after a few minutes. ‘Although you have escaped, the danger has not passed.’

  ‘What …’ Dhabade started protesting, but the priest cut him off.

  ‘Grave danger lurks around you. You will have to be very careful. The same beast could be the cause of your death.’

  Dhabade remained quiet. He didn’t think it possible.

  ‘How can he cause my friend’s death? Can you please elaborate?’ Marathe asked the priest.

  ‘It’s very strange. I have never seen anything like this,’ the priest replied softly. He picked up the magnifying glass and examined the lines closely. ‘You will encounter the beast again.’ He looked at Dhabade with great sadness.

  Although he was shaken, Dhabade decided not to believe the prediction. He declared, ‘I don’t believe in such things. Anyway, I will get that creature before it gets me. I will kill that damn wild boar.’

  Marathe was surprised at his friend’s outburst. He apologized to the priest.

  ‘I take no offence. It’s up to you to believe or disbelieve. I have predicted whatever is written in the lines of your palm,’ said the priest calmly. ‘In fact, I checked and confirmed the calculations before warning you of the danger. Even if you don’t believe my prediction, please be very careful.’

  Dhabade got up and stomped out of the temple. After seeking the old man’s blessing, Marathe rushed after his friend.

  The priest’s prediction hanging between them, they drove back to Nagpur in silence.

  ‘You shouldn’t disregard baba’s prediction,’ said Marathe as they parted. ‘He’s never been wrong.’

  Not wanting to upset his friend, Dhabade remained silent. ‘Marathe is an idiot to believe everything said by that man. I must prove the prediction wrong, so he realizes that the priest is not always right,’ he resolved.

  That night, Dhabade could not sleep. He had resolved to kill the wild boar that had charged at him. Through the night, he tossed and turned, thinking of ways to kill the boar. The engineer who had worked on the bridge near the corridor would be the right person to have the details, he decided. In the morning, he summoned the engineer to his office, and tried to find out more about the boar with the white cross on its forehead.

  ‘Pakia could be of help,’ the engineer suggested.

  ‘Who is Pakia?’ asked Dhabade.

  ‘Pakia is a local man who works for us on the project. He knows a lot about this area.’

  ‘I will speak to him,’ said Dhabade. ‘Send him here as soon as possible.’

  Within an hour Pakia entered the contractor’s office. The man, who had once been chased by the same boar, was able to provide Dhabade with some information. ‘It’s a female, which has just had a litter and stays around that area. It has been seen quite frequently to the north of the bridge, usually in the early hours of the morning. In fact, a tiger was seen in the same area, not too long ago,’ he said.

  Digging out the newspaper in which the killing of a tiger had been reported, Dhabade read it carefully.

  Hunting wild boar is very tough, but Dhabade was determined to kill the animal. A plan began taking shape in his mind. He had a rifle and had been out hunting illegally on several occasions. His close friendship with Marathe made the forest officials look the other way whenever Dhabade ventured into the forests.

  ‘What you are doing is wrong,’ Marathe cautioned him as he set out in the early morning, a couple of days later. ‘I am not happy about your plan.’

  Disregarding his advice, Dhabade set out in an open jeep with a couple of trusted men, including Pakia. He took along his telescopic rifle, which had often proved itself useful. He was a good shot, but a wild boar is not an easy target. Pakia knew its dwelling area.

  Once they reached the corridor, the group dismounted from the Jeep. With Pakia in the lead, they moved into the forest to the east of the road. His rifle cocked, Dhabade followed the worker. They moved cautiously, careful not to make any noise. They had walked about four hundred metres away from the road when Pakia raised his right hand. It was a signal to halt. Dhabade looked in the direction towards which Pakia was pointing.

  A small herd of wild boars was gazing merrily in a small patch. Dhabade took out his pair of binoculars and searched the herd for the boar with the white cross on its forehead, but it was missing. He decided to lie in wait in the cover of the bushes, and signalled for the men to settle down.

  It was a long wait. Minutes seemed like hours. In the meantime, a herd of deer went by, a peacock danced behind them, and a few monkeys were spotted plucking some fruit on a big tree. The wild boars remained busy grazing.

  Their wait was finally rewarded. Pakia pointed to a bush on the mound away from the open patch where the wild boars were grazing. A moment later, seven piglets ran into the open, followed by two adult boars. Dhabade focused the telescope of his rifle and studied the adult boars.

  Wild boars have the habit of standing still and looking around at regular intervals to make sure that there are no predators around. Dhabade was following the two adult boars with his telescope. The bigger one, dark and hairy, had huge tusks. It also had a white cross on the forehead.

  A second later, a shot rang out and the big boar fell to the ground on its side with a thud, kicking the air. It raised a cloud of dust as it struck the ground with loud, tormented shrieks. When the dust cleared, the smaller ones were nowhere to be seen, but the big one lay still.

  Shouting with joy, Pakia ran forward, followed by the others. A victorious Dhabade took out his phone to tell his friend that the boar had been killed and he had proved the priest wrong. Not just that, it was a feat worth boasting about, because he had killed the boar with his very first shot. Unfortunately, he was out of coverage area and there was no connectivity. Nevertheless, he posed with the dead boar for a few photographs.

  Carrying the boar to the jeep proved to be a tough task. It weighed about a hundred kilos, and the men struggled with the load. Dhabade was keen on reaching his friend’s house quickly.

  It was lunchtime, so the group halted at a dhaba. Over a celebratory meal, he finally made his call to Marathe and gave him the news.

  Not satisfied with killing the boar, Dhabade ordered that the head be sent to a taxidermist, so it could be displayed in his living room. ‘
It will make an interesting conversation starter,’ he told his friend.

  ‘I don’t think you should do it,’ was Marathe’s response.

  ‘We will see. Before that, I want to meet the priest again.’

  ‘… So you can tell him that his predictions were all wrong?’

  ‘Yes, it has to be done. Do you realize the mental torture I had to go through because of his silly prediction?’

  ‘I think it’s a childish idea.’

  ‘You don’t have to accompany me. I can go on my own,’ retorted Dhabade, who was bent upon ticking off the priest.

  ‘I will go with you, because I don’t want you to be rude to the old man.’

  The following morning, Dhabade and Marathe set out for the temple. This time, when Marathe touched the old priest’s feet, his friend refused to do so.

  ‘How are you, beta?’ the priest asked Dhabade. ‘You must be careful. Don’t forget what I told you.’

  ‘What danger? How danger? I have killed the beast, which according to you was the danger,’ snapped the contractor.

  The priest threw an amused look at the bragging man.

  ‘I killed it with a single shot,’ added Dhabade.

  The old man was confident of his prediction. He had never been wrong in the past thirty years. ‘Are you sure it is the same one that charged at you the other day?’ he asked.

  ‘I am absolutely sure. It had a white cross on the forehead.’

  From a bag, the old priest took out the notebook where he had done the calculations and rechecked them. Then, he asked to see Dhabade’s palm again.

  ‘Why? You predicted something and it was wrong. I don’t want to repeat the mistake I made by having my palm read by you,’ Dhabade retorted rather rudely.

  ‘Please humour this old man. I just want to know where I went wrong.’

  On Marathe’s prodding, Dhabade stuck out his hand with a sullen expression on his face.

  The priest took out his magnifying glass and studied the palm once again. A few minutes later, he released Dhabade’s hand and slowly removed his spectacles.