Penguin Book Of Indian Ghost Stories (15 page)

“Among those who lost their lives was Mr Aneurin Edwards, the distinguished engineer who built the bridge. Although the private coach in which he was travelling remained, with six other vehicles, upon the bridge, Mr Edwards went forward to attempt the rescue of those left alive in the forepart of the train. When last seen he was trying to reach some survivors by means of a rope.

“Handicapped by the loss of his right arm, which was mauled by a tiger some years before, he is thought to have fallen, and been trapped by submerged wreckage. The body was recovered seven days later, and buried under a banyan tree on the north bank of the river, where a marble tomb to his memory is being erected at the expense of the Board of Directors.”

“That is an extract from the history of the Company,” said Rutherford, returning the book to its place. “That Edwards seems to have been a real sportsman: I should like to have met him.”

“I rather think I have done so,” said I.’

Satyajit Ray

After having stared at Jayant for about a whole minute, I could not help asking him, ‘Are you well? You appear a little dispirited today.’

Jayant quickly lost his slightly preoccupied air, gave me a boyish smile and said, ‘No. On the contrary, I am feeling a lot better. This place is truly wonderful.’

‘You’ve been here before. Didn’t you know how good it was?’

‘I had nearly forgotten,’ Jayant sighed. ‘Now some of my memories are slowly coming back. The bungalow certainly appears unchanged. I can even recognize some of the old furniture, such as these cane tables and chairs.’

The bearer came in with tea and biscuits on a tray. I poured.

‘When did you come here last?’

‘Thirty-one years ago. I was six then.’

We were sitting in the garden of the circuit house of Bundi. We had arrived only that morning. Jayant and I were old friends. We went to the same school and college. He now worked in the editorial division of a newspaper and I taught in a school. Although we had different jobs, it had not made any difference to our friendship. We had been planning a visit to Rajasthan for a long time. The main difficulty lay in both of us being able to get away together. That had, at last been made possible.

Most people go to Jaipur, Udaipur, Chittor in Rajasthan; but Jayant kept talking about going to Bundi. I had no objection for, having read Tagore’s poem ‘The Fort of Bundi’, I was certainly familiar with the name of the place and felt a pleasurable excitement at the prospect of actually seeing the fort. Not many people came to Bundi. But that did not mean that there was not much to
see there. It could be that, from the point of view of a historian, Udaipur, Jodhpur and Chittor had a lot more to offer; but simply as a beautiful place, Bundi was perfect.

However, Jayant’s insistence on Bundi did puzzle me somewhat. I learnt the reason on the train when we were coming down. Jayant had, apparently, visited Bundi as a child and had always wanted to return after growing up, just to see how far the modern Bundi matched his memories. Jayant’s father, Animesh Das Gupta, had worked in the Archaeological Department. His work sometimes took him to historical places, which is how Jayant had had the chance to come to Bundi.

The circuit house was really rather splendid. Built during the time of the British, it must have been at least a hundred years old. It was a single-storeyed building with a sloping tiled roof. The rooms had high ceilings and the skylights had long, dangling ropes which could be pulled to open and shut them. The veranda faced the east. Right opposite it was a huge garden with a large number of roses in full bloom. Behind these were a lot of trees which obviously housed a vast section of local birds. Parrots could be seen everywhere; and peacocks could be heard, but only outside the compound.

We had already been on a sightseeing tour of the town. The famous fort of Bundi was placed amidst the hills. We saw it from a distance that day but decided to go back to take a closer look. The only things that were reminders of the modern times were the electric poles. Otherwise it seemed as though we were back in old Rajputana.

The streets were cobbled, the houses had balconies hanging from the first floor. The carvings done on these and the wooden doors bore evidence of the work of master craftsmen. It was difficult to believe we were living in the age of machines.

I noticed Jayant had turned rather quiet after arriving in Bundi. Perhaps some of his memories had returned. It is easy enough to feel a little depressed when visiting a place one may have seen as a child. Besides, Jayant was certainly more emotional than most people. Everyone knew that.

He put his cup down on the table and said, ‘You know,
Shankar, it is really quite strange. The first time I came here I used to sit cross-legged on these chairs. It seemed as though I was sitting on a throne. Now the chairs seem both small in size and very ordinary. The drawing-room here used to seem absolutely enormous. If I hadn’t returned, those memories would have remained stuck in my mind for ever.’

I said, ‘Yes, that’s perfectly natural. As a child, one is small in size, so everything else seems large. One grows bigger with age, but the size of all the other things remains the same, doesn’t it?’

We went for a stroll in the garden after tea. Jayant suddenly stopped walking and said, ‘Deodar.’

I stared at him.

‘A deodar tree. It ought to be here somewhere,’ he said and began striding towards the far end of the compound. Why did he suddenly think of a deodar tree?

A few seconds later I heard his voice exclaiming jubilantly, ‘Yes, it’s here! Exactly where it was before!’

‘Of course it’s where it was before,’ I said. ‘Would a tree go roaming about?’

Jayant shook his head impatiently. ‘No, that is not what I meant. All I meant was that the tree is where I thought it might be.’

‘But why did you suddenly think of a tree?’

Jayant stared at the trunk of the tree, frowning. Then he shook his head slowly and said, ‘I can’t remember that now. Something had brought me near the tree. I had done something here. A European ….’

‘European?’

‘No, I can’t recall anything at all. Memory is a strange business ….’

They had a good cook in the circuit house. Later in the evening, while we sat having dinner at the oval dining table, Jayant said, ‘The cook they had in those days was called Dilawar. He had a scar on his left cheek and his eyes were always red. But he was an excellent cook.’

Jayant’s memories began returning one by one soon after dinner when we went back to the drawing-room. He could recall where his father used to sit and smoke a cheroot; where his mother used to knit, and what magazines lay on the table.

And, slowly, in bits and pieces, he recalled the whole business about his doll.

It was not the usual kind of doll little girls play with. One of Jayant’s uncles had brought for him, from Switzerland, a twelve-inch long figure of an old man, dressed in the traditional Swiss style. Apparently, it was very life-like. Although it was not mechanized, it was possible to bend and twist its limbs. Its face had a smile on it and, on its head, it wore a Swiss cap with a little yellow feather sticking out from it. Its clothes, especially in their little details, were perfect—belt, buttons, pockets, collars, socks. There were even little buckles on the shoes.

His uncle had returned from Europe shortly before Jayant left for Bundi with his parents. The little old man had been bought in a village in Switzerland. The man who sold him had said to Jayant’s uncle jokingly, ‘He’s called Fritz. You must call him by this name. He won’t respond to any other.’

Jayant said, ‘I had a lot of toys when I was small. My parents gave me practically everything I wanted, perhaps because I was their only child. But once I had Fritz, I forgot all my other toys. I played only with him. A time came when I began to spend hours just talking to him. Our conversation had to be one-sided, of course, but Fritz had such a funny smile on his lips and a look in his eyes, that it seemed to me as though he could understand every word. Sometimes, I wondered if he would actually converse with me if I could speak to him in German. Now it seems like a childish fantasy, but at that time the whole thing was very real to me. My parents did warn me not to overdo things, but I listened to no one. I had not yet been put in a school, so I had all the time in the world for Fritz.’

Jayant fell silent. I looked at my watch and realized it was 9.30 p.m. It was very quiet outside. We were sitting in the drawing-room of the circuit house. An oil lamp burnt in the room.

I asked, ‘What happened to the doll?’

Jayant was still deep in thought. His answer to my question came so late that, by that time, I had started to think that he had not heard me at all.

‘I had brought it to Bundi. It was destroyed here.’

‘Destroyed? How?’

Jayant sighed.

‘We were sitting out on the lawn having tea. I had kept the doll by my side on the grass. I was not really old enough to have tea, but I insisted and, in the process, the cup tilted and some of the hot tea fell on my trouser. I ran inside to change and came back to find that Fritz had disappeared. I looked around and found quite soon that a couple of stray dogs were having a nice tug-of-war with Fritz between them. Although he didn’t actually come apart, his face was battered beyond recognition and his clothes were torn. In other words, Fritz did not exist for me any more. He was dead.’

‘And then?’ Jayant’s story intrigued me.

‘What could possibly happen after that? I arranged his funeral, that’s all.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I buried him under that deodar tree. I had wanted to make a coffin. Fritz was, after all, a European. But I could find nothing, not even a little box. So, in the end, I buried him just like that.’

At last, the mystery of the deodar tree was solved.

We went to bed at around ten. Our room was a large one, and our beds had been neatly made. Not being used to doing a lot of walking, I was feeling rather tired after the day’s activities. Besides, the bed was very comfortable. I fell asleep barely ten minutes after hitting the pillow.

A slight noise woke me a little later. I turned on my side and found Jayant sitting up on his bed. The table lamp by his bed was on and, in its light, it was easy to see the look of anxiety on his face.

I asked, ‘What is it? Are you not feeling well?’

Instead of answering my question, Jayant asked me one himself.

‘Do you think this circuit house has got small animals? I mean, things like cats or mice?’

‘I shouldn’t be surprised if it does. Why?’

‘Something walked over my chest. That’s what woke me.’

‘Rats and mice usually come in through drains. But I’ve never known them to climb on the bed.’

‘This is the second time I’ve woken up actually. The first time I heard a shuffling noise near the window.’

‘Oh, if it was near the window, it is more likely to be a cat.’

‘Yes, but ….’

Jayant still sounded doubtful. I said, ‘Didn’t you see anything after you switched the light on?

‘Nothing. But then, I didn’t switch it on immediately after opening my eyes. To tell you the truth, I felt rather scared at first. But when I did switch it on, there was nothing to be seen.’

‘That means whatever came in is still in the room.’

‘Well … since both the doors are bolted from inside ….’

I rose quickly and searched under the bed, behind our suitcases and everywhere else in the room. I could not find anything. The door to the bathroom was closed. I opened it and was about to start another search when Jayant called out to me softly, ‘Shankar!’

I came back to the room. Jayant was staring hard at the cover of his quilt. Upon seeing me, he pulled a portion of it near the lamp and said, ‘Look at this!’

I bent over the cloth and saw tiny, brown circular marks on it.

I said, ‘Well, these
could
have been made by a cat.’

Jayant did not say anything. It was obvious that something had deeply disturbed him. But it was 2.30 in the morning. I simply had to get a little more sleep, or I knew I would not stop feeling tired. And we had plans of doing a lot of sightseeing the following day.

So, after murmuring a few soothing words—such as, don’t worry, I am here with you and who knows, those marks may have been on your quilt already when you went to bed—I switched off the light once more and lay down. I had no doubt that Jayant had
only had a bad dream. All those memories of his childhood had upset him, obviously, and that was what had led to his dreaming of a cat walking on his chest.

I slept soundly for the rest of the night. If there were further disturbances, Jayant did not tell me about them. But I could see in the morning that he had not slept well.

‘Tonight I must give him one of the tranquillizers I brought with me,’ I thought.

We finished our breakfast by nine, as we had planned, and left for the fort. A car had already been arranged. It was almost nine-thirty by the time we reached it.

Some of Jayant’s old forgotten memories began coming back again, though—fortunately—they had nothing to do with his doll. In fact, his youthful exuberance made me think he had forgotten all about it.

‘There—there’s that elephant on top of the gate!’ he exclaimed, ‘and the turrets! And here is the bed made of silver and the throne. Look at that picture on the wall—I saw it the last time!’

But within an hour, his enthusiasm began to wane. I was so engrossed myself that I did not notice it at first. But, while walking through a hall and looking at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, I suddenly realized Jayant was no longer walking by my side. Where was he?

We had a guide with us. ‘Babu has gone out on the terrace,’ he told me.

I came out of the hall and found Jayant standing absent-mindedly near a wall on the other side of the terrace. He did not seem to notice my presence even when I went and stood beside him. He started when I called him by his name.

‘What on earth is the matter with you?’ I asked. ‘Why are you standing here looking morose even in a beautiful place like this? I can’t stand it.’ Jayant simply said. ‘Have you finished seeing everything? If so, let’s ….’

Had I been alone, I would definitely have spent a little more time at the fort. But one look at Jayant made me decide in favour of returning to the circuit house.

A road through the hills took us back to town. Jayant and I
were both sitting in the back of the car. I offered him a cigarette, but he refused. I noticed a veiled excitement in the movement of his hands. One moment he placed them near the window, then on his lap and, immediately afterwards, began biting his nails. Jayant was generally quiet by nature. This odd restlessness in him worried me.

After about ten minutes, I could not take it any more.

‘It might help if you told me about your problem,’ I said. Jayant shook his head.

‘It’s no use telling you for you’re not going to believe me.’

‘OK, even if I don’t believe you, I can at least discuss the matter with you, can’t I?’