The Murderous Bridge

While travelling to Meerut from Delhi, one may have to travel via Baghpath. Not the liveliest of stretches to pass through. Halfway through the town, the atmosphere transforms itself into a colder and quieter shade. It is here that the Khooni Pull stands.
                                    
The name itself is often enough to make one think that they require a pacemaker to normalize their cardiac rythm. Felt the same, when an acquaintance who was travelling with us and our driver narrated to us remarkably similar accounts of the cursed bridge. It wasnt called by its name for no reason.
                   
What we were told didnt sound new. About twelve years back, a bus met an accident here and toppled into the river. Nobody survived. These people were a wedding party and were on their way back. The bride, the groom, everyone met a tragic end. Although all bodies were retrieved, they could'nt find the bride. And It is said to be the spirit of this lady that haunts the bridge.
                             
If you travel on that bridge after 10pm on certain doomed days, there's a fair chance that you'd see her on the bridge. Crying franatically, pleading you to stop your vehicle and help. If one is unaware and unsuspecting, its unlikely that you won't pay heed. In most cases only the driver sees her. If he stops the car, its certain that he'll meet his end  within the next few minutes. Nobody had ever survived an accident on khooni pull.
                                   
  The testimony is provided by bent pole (TEDHA KHAMBA) on the bridge itself. It has always played a proud role in all the accidents till date including that of the bus. We saw it on our way. And even though I did not believe the driver when he claimed he saw her, the local newspaper clipng that he brought for us to see the next morning was sufficient to drill holes in our guts. "Two surrender to Khooni Pull's whims." I wonder how that makes the murderous bride content... People who simply drive by are never harmed. In any case, it surely makes you rethink your intention to play saviour on dark streets... or bridges to be precise... Bon voyage... :)

It happened one night...

This one was narrated to me by a friend. The man in the story is lady's nana ji. (names changed ofcourse)   .......................................................................................................................................................
Narayan Tiwari was uneasy to say the least. It was well past eleven. The village was engulfed by slumber and darkness. He cursed himself. Had he not rested at Shankar's house, he would have safely reached home before dark. Shanti must be fuming. He prayed that she would'nt burn him alive as soon he reached home. It would still take him half an hour. He decided to take a short cut through Madan Lal's farm. That way, he would find his gharwali's ire in ten minutes.                                                                      
Harvest was still a fortnight away. The crop had grown well, he thought. He was painfully envious of Lal's eleven acres. He was dreaming about being the owner of such a stretch, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere and to his absolute horror appeared a woman. She was decked from head to toe and appeared very distressed. Narayan was about to die of a cardiac arrest when she spoke. "excuse me bhai ji, but can you help me find my way. I had come to that wedding, but lost my way while coming back."

 "Wedding?" asked Narayan surprised, "which wedding behenji? There was no wedding in Ramchowk tonight. What are you talking about?" She pointed behind him, "There, werent you invited? Cant you see the lights?" Narayan turned to look. It was pitch dark. He turned back. "No behenji, what lights are you...." The  words were swallowed back when he saw the smirk on the lady's face. He realized he could see her clearly. Clearly... In the blinding darkness.  "You still dont get it, do you...... Narayan?" she said laughing into the haunted stillness...    

The Terrace

'Almost everything about Delhi is nice Ma. We enjoyed ourselves a lot. Except that my precious afternoon naps had gone for a toss. Children used to play and run on the terrace all afternoon...... Yes ma,I had thought of going and telling them but then when I decided to go one noon, I saw a man running upstairs. I think he was working as a help for the adjoining flat. I saw him going upar a number of times afterwards as well. And as I was alone at that time, I wasnt really comfy going there. Even Anand told me not to. Chalo but, now we are back and I have become Kumbhakaran again. Hehehehe!!!.... .'  When she hung up, she saw Anand staring at her, very white. The first time she saw him that way.  'What happened?' she asked. He sat down on the bed and smiled weakly. Then he motioned her to come and sit next to him. When she did, he held her by the shoulder and said. 'I did'nt want to tell it to you then, but I think I can now.' She was looking blank. He smiled again. ' Vandana, dont get freaked out now. There were never any children playing on the terrace Baba, and no man went upstairs. The terrace has been locked since the past six years after a labourer's daughter who was playing there died mysteriously. Her father in the trauma became mentally unstable and committed suicide. He is the man you saw running upstairs. Everybody in that building has seen him. That is why everyone stayed indoor in the afternoon. Nobody was harmed ever. But it's like, the building has captured a film of that fateful day and replays it every afternoon.' Vandana was hardly breathing. Her mind was also replaying the memory. The man running upstairs, breathless, crying 'Laado, mahri laado, mahri laado...' 

Radhika's place

Radhika and Rohini became the best of buddies in the 10th standard. They were both uncertain, insecure, a little crack and utterly devoid of common sense. In any case Radhika was a wee bit more mature perhaps owing to the fact that she came from a family of an eminent freedom fighter and a very respected politician who was unfortunately consumed by Tuberculosis. Not that it made any sense but thats the way Rohini liked to think. Radhika would often talk about her family and ancestral home where she lived. And Rohini would listen in awe. She had a strange inclination towards things that belonged to the past and Radhika had a treasure back at home.

After Pre Boards Radhe (as she was called) invited Rohu over for lunch. Nothing could be more delightful. But Rohini's mother was very skeptical. The purohits kept reiterating the same thing. She had a "pret badha yog" and this could itself turn out to be fatal. It had already happened in the family once, or at least everybody said so. Radhika had often mentioned a strange presence in her house. It was more than a hundred years old now and had witnessed a lot. Rohini did not really believe in para-normal. Although she had herself seen too much not to, but then it never really convinced her. She tried to think logically and was almost always successful in finding a valid reasons. This time she was determined to visit Radhika. At any cost. She fought, cried, fought, cried, fought, cried until mother surrendered.

The first look at the house took her breath away. It was gigantic and hauntingly majestic. Though the century had marred the beauty of the building, but there still was an odd charm about it. In a trance, she walked towards the gate, where Radhika was standing with a welcoming warm smile.

Together they went inside. The architecture was typically twentieth century Indian. With rooms built around a central courtyard. Rohini, who was completely hypnotized by now was introduced to the amiable family. Radhika showed her around the house. Rohini then inquired about the room that Radhika had told her about. Her Great grandparent's room and the legendary library. Radhika hesitated. She said she wasnt really comfortable going there, but then she lightened up and agreed. She'll have to take the key to those rooms from the study. After almost half and hour of searching they were found in her father's desk drawer. While Rohini was visibly excited, something troubled Radhika. That drawer was almost invariably always locked. She wondered why her father had left it open.

The library and the room were adjacent to each other. They decided to visit the library first. The doors were intimidatingly huge and at the same time they strangely beckoned one towards them. The rooms was laden with dust. Not typically with spider webs and stuff but still there was a strange eerie feeling. It soon disappeared when she came to realize the treasure that lay in front of her. Books and letters, all of them almost a century old. There was a letter from the English Queen, one from Sardar Patel, some bits of correspondence with Mountbatten and a marvelous collection of books. Rohini was driven mad with joy. Even Radhika was delighted. She took out a very old book and handed it over to Rohini. "This was one of bade dada's favourites.' It was Antony and Cleopatra. "No wonder", Rohini thought. "Its a masterpiece". As she carefully sifted through the pages, she found a picture.
"Is this him?" she asked Radhika.
Radhika was visibly surprised but nodded. "yes, its him. Where did you find it? In the book? Thats funny.I have seen it so many times, how did this skip me. I am seeing it for the first time."

Suddenly, there heard a door open and then a man coughed. Clearly. Both of them heard it.
They stared at each other almost frozen . Rohini looked questioningly at her friend.
Then Radhika tried appearing calm and said, 'It must be Tauji, he must have come to visit Dadi'. But it was more like she was trying to convince herself.

"Lets go" she said after a little while and they left in silence. When they came out, the air was different. Warmer, calmer and easy. Rohini felt a strange throbbing in her temples. There was a slight tremor in her right hand but she ignored it in the excitement. "Can we just once see Bade Dada's room? Bas ek baar?"
Radhika looked at her in surprise. "Moron" she thought. But then she was equally curious. She thought for a moment and then hesitantly agreed.

When the door was opened, Rohini felt as if she had entered another age. It was as if the clock had reversed itself back into a bygone era. She now belonged to a different world and there was an overwhelming sense of Deja vu. The tremor in her hand and the throbbing in her head intensified. For a few moments she was completely oblivious to Radhika's presence in the room.
Her voice jolted her back. "I've come here after years you know.This is Bade dada" she said pointing at his portrait. Rohini felt her breath had been snatched away and her heart had been shut. He was there in the portrait but alive. He looked straight into her with a strange light in his eyes and a ghost of a smile on his lips. She shut her eyes and turned away.

Suddenly she heard Radhika calling her name in what sounded like absolute horror.
"Whats this?!"she said pointing shakily on the floor.

All over the floor which must be having fifty layers of dust, were footprints. Wet footprints. They began from nowhere and ended nowhere.

Nobody could have entered before them. They had the keys and there was only one to each room. By this time Radhika was crying and Rohini felt she was sinking into cold waters. She was barely able to breath. She did not remember how and when Radhika dragged her out of the room. Radhika's father was furious. The desk drawer was locked as it had always been. It had not been touched since years. The sight of the keys made every face sickly and pale.
Tauji had not come, and when they had heard the man while in the library, there was no man in the house.
Bade dada had not died of consumption. He was poisoned by his servant.

Bhoot Badha

My Kundli suggests i have a "pret badha yog".. which implies that i have a special affinity to GHOSTS and that they find me alluring and intriguing as well. Which of course does not come as a surprise. Most of the living creatures whose light cones i have entered have gone mad. I am that sort of a specimen which the museum of Human Wonders would like to keep in its "Fatal to mankind" sections.
Coming back to the para normal activity, I accept there is no dearth of it. If I start recalling incidents since my childhood, the next 200 posts or so will be exclusively haunted. Though there are a few that I would like to share, its a pity that I will not be able to tell it to in person because the real essence of telling ghost stories lies in switched off lights, changing pitch, variety of noises, moving furniture, screams of the dear terrified lady and then ofcourse the Expression. But still in the next few post whatever I share, I'll try my best to make you feel at home, as in, my home. which parents and pandits have declared to be haunted. Yet again.
The posts will essentially be a mix of the amusing and the terrifying. Sometimes, the not so terrifying. Things which have happened in my presence and those lovely ones, all mirch masala added from the preceeding generations. Bhoots love the Singh Parivar I tell ya.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Slap me if you can

My Bua had been married to a businessman in Mysore. When she had newly arrived in the city, their family, which consisted of the benevolent (honestly!) mother-in-law, the always amused brother-in-law, the more or less surprise resistant husband and herself, moved into an apartment in some lesser known locality. Since the husband would often be away on business trips and the bro-in-law amused himself at the seas (he was in merchant navy), so the ladies in law would generally be alone in the house. They got along well since gossip was available in plenty. Rather it was so much in excess that they had to borrow hours from their nap time to finish the daily quota.

On one such moony loony night, Bua and sasu ma gossiped their way into slumber. She was comfortably snoring when something surprisingly louder than her snores woke her up. Her partial consciousness evolved into complete horror when she realized that the sound is coming from the kitchen and felt like somebody was throwing all the utensils around. She glanced at the clock "hey prabhu!! Its three in the morning!". The Devil's hour!!

Of whatever sense she could gather, she woke up the mother-in-law. When they both sneaked out slowly and silently and peeped into the kitchen. They could both not believe what they saw as much as I cant still believe what they said. The utensils were flying about in the kitchen. SUO MOTO.

-------------------------

It will take another decade to go through the details of that night. Just that everyone was alive and well and that the coverage was better than that of Al Jazeera. Calls and visitors kept them busy that day. Sasu Ma, though visibly traumatized, soaked all the attention. Remedies were suggeted, Jyotshis were called. Flat was declared contaminated and unfit for residence until the twenty grand bhoot bhagao pooja was done.
By the time, the final agreements were reached, the moon was up again.

So then saas bahu yet again talked their way into snores. Bua who is famous as the "Tabela bech ke soti hai" sleeper, perhaps did not wake up to the routine endeavors of the ghost. Poor Fellow! I am positive he must have tried. But then when nothing else seemed to work, there was only one option left.

Phattaaackkk!!! Bua sitting on the bed wide awake, open mouthed, hand on her cheek. Clock declared 'ten minutes past' three (I told you he must have tried).
Next morning the not so amused Brother in law called to relate a frightful incidence of being slapped hard by no one around ten past three in the morning.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Drama repeated. The now vindictive Bua and Sasu ma refused to sleep that night. They furiously chatted through it.
At three in the morning they heard a painful howl.
Shhhh.... Its nothing... okay ya... So as I was saying...................................................................
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thousand miles away....

                                    ___________________________________________

The Ghost

The question she never asked

Hovers in the dark with me

While she sleeps on our bed

Beside a crease less left

I play with velvet curtains

Before the hours of morning

She wakes up to grey dreams

Stares at the bewildered hour

Lies back into the void

I play the chimes for her

Beseech the winds to sing

Blinded by salty sorrow

She calls my name again

I touch her lonely breath

Kiss her bruises away

Weave myself into her quilt

Seep into her pillow

Spread onto the sheets

Cradle her tired soul

Brush every pain away

And gently on her lips

Crawl back the pieces of her smile

"You're here" she whispers "with me"

The silence whispers back

"Always".