Ghosts
by Ankesh A Kothari

The half moon shone brilliantly. It was not that glaring "head-lamp" shine; it was mellow, somewhat damp, a little soft, a bit dull and, on the whole, soothing. The summer night breeze whistled through the trees of the woods. The rusted Iron Gate of the burial ground creaked and made incongruous noises. This is where it ends. Rich or poor, king or tramp, they all rest here, side by side, dust to dust.

The watchman of the burial ground was fast asleep; the arrack never failed to perform its duty on his old nerves. He slept like a log, snoring in concert with the creaking gate. Next to him on the ground lay a skull. Its teeth rattled and when the breeze passed through its eyes, it whistled. One would be terrorized if one stumbled upon it. The bullfrogs in the pond adjacent to the ground croaked longingly. The crickets' shrill voices converged into the stillness of the night. The atmosphere was deathly and grave.

The night-show crowd used the ground as a short cut to reach Greamspet, especially the crowd from the Venkateswara Talkies. The Venkateswara Talkies was one of the oldest cinemas in Chittoor. The people of Chittoor were passionate about movies, even movies that insulted their intelligence and rationale. Tonight the crowd wasn't big; there were about a dozen of them walking briskly, as if to cross the burial ground in a hurry. At the end of this caravan were three gentlemen in their early thirties. Cigarettes dangled from their lips carelessly, every now and then glowing brightly and slightly illuminating their faces. The brute force of the wind chased away the smoke. One of them stopped.

"What now, Basha?" the fat man growled.

"Nature calls man," the man called Basha replied, stubbing the cigarette and unfastening his fly.

The fat man and the other guy waited restlessly, shifting their feet and mumbling incoherently.

"You guys are scared, isn't it?" Basha asked, his face contented, relieved, titillated. Nature must have been calling for a long time.

"What nonsense! Scared of what?" Phani, the other guy, shouted. "Boys, this is not the stadium, this is the burial ground. The dead stay here; and trust me, my dad has had one too many 'experiences' while passing through this goddamned place."

"Ok, this is it. I am walking," the fat man announced. Phani and Basha laughed, disturbing the serenity of the place.

The crowd had moved ahead. Only the receeding voices could be heard now, and they too died after a few seconds. It was hauntingly silent again. Basha fastened his fly and the threesome started towards the gate. "You see that huge tamarind tree, just outside the gate?" Basha pointed to the huge tree standing monstrously over the gate.

"What about it?" the fat man mumbled, fear accentuating his words.

"Well, this is where people 'inhabited' by ghosts are treated. You know, they cut the ghost-occupied guy's hair and they nail it to the tree. The ghost is nailed to the tree, see my point?"

"If you don't shut up now, I am gonna nail your you know what to the tree," the fat guy warned Basha.

"Relax guys! This is what they say, but I think it is all rubbish. I don't believe in God or ghosts," Basha shrugged.

"I believe in ghosts, I don't know about God. One of them slapped my uncle when he was on his way home after his night shift," Phani announced.

The three of them reached the tamarind tree. They stood in front of it with their feet rooted to the ground. The fat man mumbled some prayer of Lord Hanuman. They could make out the hair clusters nailed all over the trunk of the tree. "Let's get out of here." Phani urged. A cloud moved over and masked the moon. The place was uncomfortably dark now. "Go, go, go!" the fat man hissed. And they turned. They wanted to scream, but their vocal chords were paralyzed. Their feet suddenly felt very heavy. Their mouths went dry. They wanted to run like mad. But they just stood there, as if their feet were cemented to the ground.

Three hooded figures, clad in long and flowing white robes, stood in front of them blocking the road. Their feet weren't visible. Or maybe they don't have any feet, thought the fat man. The fat man slumped to the ground like a swatted fly. Phani's trousers were wet and a shrill, ear-piercing scream emanated from the depths of his guts. Basha ran as fast as his legs could carry him, back into the ground. Phani kicked the fat man out of his unconsciousness and they ran. Surprisingly they couldn't spot the "ghosts". They were there one moment and gone the next.

After a few minutes, the "ghosts" emerged again on the same spot under the tamarind tree. One of them lifted his hood and lit a smoke. "Suckers!" he squealed. The three figures laughed. They took off their hoods and the robes, bundled them all together and tucked the bundle into a cavity on the tree-trunk. "Vishal, what if they had attacked us?" one of the boys asked.

"They won't, Rahul. Fear is the worst weakness you know. It paralyzes you. But then as Charles says -" he patted the guy called Charles, "- maybe we should be very careful about the number of people we choose."

They walked fast now, past the curving road and into the road leading to Greamspet. They reached Vishal's home, jumped over the compound wall, and were on the terrace within a minute. It was entertainment for them, scaring people out of their wits in the middle of the night.

It all started one night when they were bored from studying for the entrance test. They wanted to do something exciting. Stealing mangos or tender coconuts from the farms was "old style" and they'd had enough of it. Charles came up with the idea of playing ghosts. It was unanimously approved. They chose the burial ground as their stage. They knew the crowd took that route after the night show. They always picked on individuals who fell behind the crowd or small groups of three. Usually, the minute they make their ghost appearance they would either laugh like a ghost or would do a "ghost dance". This time around all they had to do was just appear and stand still and they had the three poor guys scurrying and scrambling for their lives.

The sun was busy scorching the town. You could feel the heat against your face; the beams hurt the earlobes. It was like walking through an invisible curtain of fire. The tar on the road was melting and the tire marks of a bus that had just passed by were imprinted on the liquefied tar. Stray dogs, tormented by the seething heat, were busy lapping up the rapidly disappearing, hot and stagnant water lodged in a puddle close to the municipal tap. Vishal & Co hung out in the relative comfort of the Nair teashop. The thatched roof offered some respite. Mrs. Nair frequently sprinkled water on the walls to stave off the heat. They rested on the wooden benches.

"Nair, what is this about ghosts in the graveyard? Any idea?" Charles called out.

Nair stopped grinding the dough meant for the evening snack, masala vada, wiped the perspiration off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, and said, "People love rumours and I think it is just that. I am from Kerala, a place notorious for evil-worship and black magic. This is nothing. It is a rumour or, at the most, a fantastic hallucination of a guy who had one too many glasses of arrack."

The three boys resumed gulping down the locally made 'cola'. "Guess what guys, Vittal is back. It is going to be a ghost team of four," Vishal whispered, making sure Mr and Mrs. Nair were out of earshot.

"I think we need to give it a break, what if they catch us in the act? Let it cool down first." Rahul told his opinion in a stern voice.

"Boss, don't be chicken okay? There is no heat on this, and you heard what Nair thinks about it, I am sure most people would dismiss it the same way," Charles opined. He didn't want to lose the kicks.

"Guys, we shall do it next Saturday. And tell Vittal about the plan and ask him to get some white robes."

"My grandma is making a hoo-ha over her missing white sari," Rahul announced
quietly. Charles laughed at it.

"Hey I got to run now, so Saturday it is?" Vishal asked. Rahul nodded indifferently.

"I will get that moron Vittal for the show," Charles said, rising to his feet.

"What boys, want buttermilk?" Nair asked them as they were about to get out of the shop.

"You mean white coloured water, Nair?" Charles asked winking at his friends.

Nair's face flushed, "Nair has never cheated anyone in his life, not even a single paisa. I have earned my money the hard way young man." Nair took off.

"Shut up, will you? Don't you see the boys are just kidding?" Mrs. Nair admonished him.

Friday evening. The gang was supposed to meet up at Vishal's home. The meeting was scheduled at 7 p.m. and Charles and Vittal weren't present.

"Are your folks out?" Rahul asked.

"Yes. Go ahead and light a smoke, it is okay," Vishal said, looking over his shoulder and checking if Charles and Vittal were on the street. Rahul lit two smokes and passed one to Vishal.

"You know what Vishal, I was talking about ghosts to my dad. He says they exist," Rahul said. The topic had been nagging him for quite sometime.

"Come on, Rahul! Remember? We are Computer Science graduates. Don't talk nonsense. They don't exist. Period. And people are stupid. They don't know what to be scared of and what not to be."

"But Vishal, my dad is not a fool!"

"Has he ever met a ghost, face-to-face?"

"Nope, he has had experiences."

"What are you saying? Remember the morgue story? A medico was asked to go into the morgue in the midnight by his seniors. He walks in and a corpse sits up and says 'Hi!' our man runs like mad and swoons. The whole college was agog with the story and finally the seniors burst the bubble. It was one of the seniors, posing as a corpse inside the morgue. I am sure your dad must have had similar experiences."

"So be it Vishal. I only hope nothing untoward happens."

"You are scared aren't you?"

"Yes I am. But I will come along with you. Don't worry.

"Thanks for that! But don't chicken out again. Charles will have you for lunch, and dinner."

Vittal and Charles arrived at half-past-seven.

"Hey! Charles told me guys! Wow! This is going to be fun, man!" Vittal hooted, slapping Rahul's shoulder. "Tell me, tell me! The details guys!" The night was unusually cold. It was cloudy and you could make out the rapid movement of the brewing clouds against the failing moon.

"Is it going to rain? Why not! Rahul hasn't chickened out yet, has he?" Charles enquired.

"Charles, shut up okay?" Rahul fumed.

"Enough guys! Let's fill Vittal in on the plan." Vishal nipped the fight and went on, "We will meet up behind the tamarind tree at 11:40 tomorrow night. We put on the robes and wait behind the bushes."

Charles took it from there. "We would wait till the entire crowd passes by. And catch the one or two people who had fallen behind."

"What if there is no one like that? I mean what if all of them pass by as a single group?" Vittal questioned.

"Trust me, there is always this lone man or a couple of friends who are left behind because they were walking slowly or because they stop to take a leak," Rahul clarified.

"Are you sure?" Vittal didn't seem to be convinced.

"You are talking to pro's, man!" Charles said.

"One more important thing, Vittal. No talking once we assemble under the tree. We have to put on the robes and hide behind the bushes. I repeat: no talking, not even in whispers. The point is about being stealthy. Ghosts, supposedly, come and go smoothly, no noise you know? The element of surprise is crucial to shocking your victim. And always stay at least four feet away from your victim, always," Vishal finished in one breath.

"Done! So tomorrow at 11:40 behind the tree right?"

"Right," the three of them said in chorus.

An owl hooted incessantly. It was pitch dark and the clouds threatened of a heavy down pour. The occasional streak of lightning lit up the surroundings, but only for a quick moment, and then came the rumble from the thunder. It was 11:42. Vishal, Charles and Vittal sat crouched behind the bushes.

"Where is he?" Charles whispered into Vishal's ears. Vishal brought his index finger to his mouth, demanding silence. They sat huddled together waiting. The tension was unbearable. Suddenly, Vittal pointed his finger towards Vishal's left. A hooded figure in robes walked slowly towards them.

"Bastard! Look at him, took his own sweet time and now he is walking as if he is on parade," Charles hissed.

"Shut up or we go home." Vishal was agitated. Charles made a V with his fingers signifying 'peace'.

They sat for the next 10 minutes in absolute silence. It was unusually cold, thought Vittal. It felt like December. The Iron Gate was still today, surprisingly. The old watchman was dead asleep as ever. Suddenly a strange odour hit Vishal's nostrils; the smell of burnt wood. He glanced past his friends; they were masking their noses with their palms, except Rahul. Bugger is too psyched I guess, Vishal thought. Any minute now, the crowd would arrive. He half-stood and moved next to Rahul. He would get a better view of the gate from here. He tapped Rahul on his shoulder and made a sign asking him to move to his left and give him some room. He is cold like ice! Vishal thought. Rahul moved to his left. Maybe he is too scared and jittery. Vishal patted Rahul's back. Rahul turned around. It was too dark to read his face. Vishal gave a thumbs-up sign, hoping Rahul would hold his nerve. He was literally ice-cold. Vishal didn't want Rahul to mess up the whole thing.

"Are you sure you want to do it?" he asked Rahul in a very low voice. Rahul nodded and brought his finger to his mouth, demanding silence. Vishal smiled and left it at that.

Voices emerged, slowly becoming loud and then cacophonous. Kids slept on their mothers' shoulders, unperturbed by the noise. Every now and then beedis and cigarettes glowed at random. The smell of burnt tobacco hit Charles and he fought the temptation to light a smoke with all his strength. Vittal's pulse defied all known physiological laws. The voices thinned and receded slowly. The owl fluttered its wings and took off from the tamarind tree. They waited for their victims. None emerged. Five more minutes, yet no sign of any segregated soul. Maybe tonight is not our night, Vishal thought. The plan was to wait for 10 minutes after the crowd passes, and the time was up. He nudged Charles, and they all stood up and were about to leave the bushes when they heard two voices. They immediately crouched and listened.

"You think the ghosts would get us tonight?" one voice was inquiring.

"Don't make me laugh!" the other replied.

Just the two of them, Vishal thought and smiled. The voices became two men and they were a few feet away from the tree. The four friends positioned themselves behind the trunk of the tree. The two men were preoccupied, gushing over the heroine in wet clothes and her abundant endowments when the four white robed figures floated across the road. The guy who saw them first went, "Wha-what the hell?" and his companion broke into a siren-like scream which would put any safety alarm to shame. The "ghosts" crossed the road and Vittal let out one devilish laugh. By that time the poor guys had hastily retreated back to where they came from.

The friends re-assembled under the tree. They took off their robes and hoods. "Where is Rahul?" Vishal shouted. Charles stopped midway and aborted lighting a smoke.

"There!" Vittal shouted, and they saw a robed figure disappear behind the curved road.

"Moron! He has chickened out and he is running home with the robe on! If someone spots him like this, we all are in a fix guys," Charles said, lighting the smoke.

"He was so cold you know. I shouldn't have encouraged him into this," Vishal said.

"What cold?" Vittal asked.

"He was cold like ice," Vishal exclaimed.

"But listen, Vishal, you are not going to stop me when I sock the lights out of him tomorrow." Charles announced in a firm voice.

"Come now, he is a bit too soft for all this."

"Vishal, his softness might spell disaster for us!"

"Don't worry, it is going to be all right." The three of them walked back slowly. The owl hooted again.

"It is warm now, isn't it?" Vishal asked.

Next morning. The suprabatham from the temple loud speaker floated in the still air of the morning. The east was a riot of colours giving a wonderful preamble to the sunrise. The pungent scent of wet soil, caused by the sprinkling of water mixed with cow dung woke up Vishal. The phone rang. Vishal lazily ambled over to the phone, glancing at the wall clock that said the time was 6:30. Who would call so early? wondered Vishal, picking up the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Vishal?"

"What's wrong? Charles?"

"Rahul is no more man," Charles broke down on the phone.

"Wh-what? What are you saying?" Vishal shouted.

"Rahul met with an accident last night, a truck ran him over while he was on his bicycle."

Tears welled up in Vishal's eyes. Fifteen years! Not one or two, they had been friends for fifteen years. His mind refused to accept it. "He was there yesterday! How is it possible! So from tomorrow Rahul won't be there? Is it as simple as that?"

Charles voice shook him back. "There's more Vishal." Charles sounded grave now.

"What is it?"

"Rahul passed away last night at 9:30 while he was on his way to meet us."

"I see. What? What time did you say?"

"9:30 last night. I confirmed it with the doctor. Hello Vishal? Are you there? Hello! Hello?"

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