Perceptions

By Shruti Kakkar

“Where should I start from? Rather, what should I start with?” wondered Rina aloud. “Well, how about a horror story?” suggested Meera, her mother. “That’s not my genre, Ma. I don’t believe in ghosts.” 

“Look Rina, this is your second book as an author and if want to take a divergent route this time, then why not traverse the road untraveled? Why not take the plunge into the unknown? You never know, you may emerge with a precious pearl in a shell!” Meera raised her eyebrows at Reena waiting for her reply.

There was complete silence for some time. “Are you even listening to me Rina?” “Yes Ma indeed, I am listening to you and thinking at the same time.” 

“What are you thinking about? I hope you are not thinking about how hopeless your mother is. Honestly Rina, I don’t know about ghosts and monsters and giants, but I do believe in the existence of spirits. Most definitely there is a spirit world; in fact I am sure that some of them coexist with us. There may be one or some right here while we are in conversation about them.”

“Really Ma? How can you be so sure about it? Have you ever seen or felt the presence of unknown energy or an intangible being around you? Have you ever experienced anything that science could not explain?” inquired Rina.

“Well yes, once. No, actually I have felt it on various occasions.”

“”Seriously?!! Why didn’t you ever share it with then?”

 “You see, when something cannot be explained, we tend to blame the entire experience on imagination, delusion, myth etc. In fact in my perception these words came into existence only due to lack of ‘reasonable’ explanation.”

“I couldn’t agree more with you Ma, but for now let’s keep aside the philosophical aspects and concentrate on facts please. I beg you to come straight to the narration part of the incidents.”

“Alright, alright! But only on one condition. You will not laugh at me. For once try to just listen without judging. Ok?”

“Ok. I promise.”

“This episode happened just a month or two after my marriage. You may not remember our old house which was more like an old manor. It was humungous with three floors. Each floor had three to four rooms around an open courtyard. At night it used to look haunted. But this incident happened in broad daylight. Your father and grandmother had gone out for some bank work together and I was all alone.”

“All alone Ma?”

“No. There was one lady house help with me too. Do not interrupt now. I lose my train of thought”

Oh sorry! Go on please.”

“So, it was the siesta time, when staff sleeps too. I was sitting on the bed, in your grandmother’s room, on the first floor. As you know that I have always been an avid reader, that afternoon too, I was totally engrossed in reading a book. Suddenly, I heard the rustling sound of some fabric. I looked up from my book, sure to find my maid standing there, but what I saw sent a chill running down my spine. My hair stood on end and I got glued to the spot. To my horror I saw just a white chiffon sort of fabric flying in the air. It seemed as if someone was wearing it and running across the door of my room, but that someone could not be seen, only the fabric was visible, as if wrapped around a body. 

This entire occurrence took probably less than fraction of a second to pass. My instinct told me that there definitely is an intangible presence around this place but my logical mind deduced that surely I did not see things right. The maid has to be around; it’s just this that the movement was too swift to be discerned correctly. So, a little out of fear and a little in order to prove my instinct wrong, I started shouting out to my maid. After a minute or two she came running upstairs. Catching her breath she asked me if everything was fine. She could hear panic in my voice when I shouted for her. I assured her that all was well and I called her only because I needed tea. Her glance at that instant expressed distinct disgust for my unreasonable behaviour of yelling my lungs out for a mere cup of tea!”

“But why couldn’t you tell her the truth?” inquired Reena.

“She might have run back to her village thinking that our house was haunted. I had no option but to lie.”

“Well you shouted your lungs out and I feel like laughing them out. Till the time the maid was out of the picture, the incident sounded scary but with the entry of the maid, her expression and your explanation, made the end turn out pretty comical!” 

“This is it! I warned you to take me seriously. Forget about your free story session now.” complained Meera pouting.

“Awwww!!! Don’t be angry. I swear my reactions will not disappoint you anymore. Now tell me about your other such experiences too, please. You said there are more. Didn’t you?”

“Yes I did, but these other experiences are not like one off incidents. They happen to me almost every day.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am absolutely serious. Whenever I am engrossed in reading or watching T.V, all of a sudden, I get this eerie feeling that someone is watching me standing at the door. The moment I look up, I find no one and the feeling vanishes too. Earlier I used to be frightened but now I have become quite accustomed to it.”

“Wow! My mother is clairvoyant!!

“Not again Reena!! Have a heart! How can you tease me like this?”

“Okay sorry Ma. But your experiences are not all that scary. Recount something immensely terrifying, something really horrifying!!!”

“Though I am not Stefen King, yet I can relate stories that can shake the wits out of you, and the incidents I would narrate are all true ones.” said Meera, with feigned pride.

“Alright then, open your treasure trove and let me have a look.” 

“Sure, my dear, now, brace yourself for a frightful roller coaster ride of true to life terror tales.”

“This particular incident happened in the year 1970. My mama (mother’s brother), was travelling from Allahabad (a city in UP - India) to Lakhimpur Kheri (a small town in the state of Uttar Pradesh – India). He was working in a factory and so spent his weekdays there and weekends at home, in Allahabad. It used to take him close to seven hours, by motorcycle (that was the conveyance used by him) to reach the destination. It was the monsoon month of July but the sky was clear and the day was sunny so he decided to leave around 11pm, considering that he will reach his journey’s end latest by 6:30 pm. 

All was well and going just as planned till five in the evening. All of a sudden, as mostly is the case with Indian monsoons, the sky became overcast with dark clouds. It seemed as if the entire surrounding was wrapped in a sheath of black. My mama accelerated his vehicle to the top of its speed in order to avoid the expected torrents of rain, but it was too late. While all he could see ahead was only a few yards lighted by the headlight of his bike, it began to drizzle and even before he could work out a plan of action in his mind, rain came lashing down, and it became impossible to see his own hand, let alone the road. To top it off, a ferocious thunderstorm crashed and boomed, making travelling more fearsome than it already was.

My mama had reached Sitapur (a small town en route). Lakhimpur, was now only 45 minutes away, yet, it was out of the question to cover even that much distance in the torrent of beating down rain. He chose to rent a room in small inn nearby, than to risk his life, not knowing at that time, what was in store for him. He parked his motorbike on the small pavement outside the hotel and entered all drenched, dripping rain water on the already damp floor of the small, dimly lit reception. On closer observation he found that the other source of water on the reception floor was the few small holes on the tin roof of the reception area. There was just one man sitting inside the counter reading a Hindi language newspaper of the previous day. 

Mama ji went to him and asked if they had a room available for the night. He was informed that the inn actually had only two rooms, one of which was occupied. When asked for the key to that other room, he was told that it was open and that he could access it from the backside of the hotel as the one inside was already taken. Mama ji, was in two minds now about whether to proceed to his destination or stay in that troublesome place. One look outside, and he knew that he had little choice in the matter. The rain was unrelenting, he had to stay. Picking up his small suitcase, he went out and around the building, in search of his allotted room. Finally he found it, right at the back of the reception. Opening the door took some time and effort, and when it finally opened outside with a severe jerk, my mama fell straight on his back due to the force. He was then not only wet but mushy too. Finally he entered the room and to his utter dismay, there was not a flicker of light inside, there was a power cut due to rain. He immediately backtracked to the reception and found it poorly lit with just two candles. He asked the receptionist if there was a generator at which, the receptionist almost howled with laughter and answered, that it is too much to expect that kind of facility in a poor, small town like Sitapur. He provided my uncle with a match box and told him about two candles available in the room, one for the room and one for the bathroom. As my mama was ready to leave for his room, the man at the reception casually put it in his knowledge that those two candles were the last ones left with them and so they should be used sparingly.

Agitated and helpless my mama reached his room, lighted a match and locked the door from inside. To his relief at least the door latch was in place. Lighting another matchstick, he started looking for the candles. Two half burnt candles were kept on the bed itself; there was only one side table besides the bed and no other piece of furniture at all. Actually there was no space for anything else that could be accommodated; such was the size of the room. He lighted both the candles, glued one on the side table with hot and dripping wax and the other on the cistern of the commode in the bathroom. 

He first decided to take a bath in order to feel a little clean. The dust of the storm along with the rain water and the fateful fall had made him feel mucky and grubby all over. Had he known the frightful consequences of the simple act of bathing, he would not have dared to cross the threshold of that bathroom door. While entering he kept the door slightly ajar so that light from the two candles could make him see slightly better. It was more or less a pigeon hole, with an Indian Style pot and a bathing area adjacent to each other. He filled the bucket from the single tap provided and started pouring water over his tired body. Suddenly the slightly opened door started opening wider and wider with a creaking sound of a rusty old gate. His blood ran cold with fear. Before he could come out of this shock, the door closed in a flash, with a loud thud!! My uncle almost jumped out of his skin and started shaking like a leaf. He finally gathered all his courage, quickly opened the door, and running into the room, he banged the bathroom door shut behind him. The towel was left inside the washroom and so without drying himself he speedily wore his clothes, jumped into the bed and nervously covered himself from head to toe with a sheet. He was shivering and praying under his breath constantly all this while, when suddenly he felt someone tugging at his sheet. His heart skipped several beats. He slightly uncovered one side of his face to steal a look, and what he witnessed sent jitters across his body. By now, he was but a bundle of nerves. He saw the silhouette of a long haired woman pulling at his sheet. With a jerk, he pulled the sheet off and without a backward glance darted from the room, sprinting his way to the reception. 

When he reached the reception, his heart was beating wildly, pounding painfully against his chest. He saw that the man at the counter was blissfully asleep with his head down on the desk. Catching his breath, my uncle shook the man awake. But to his surprise and disgust, when the man finally raised his head and came out of his deep slumber, he gave my uncle a very knowing look, as if he was aware of his terrifying ordeal. The first sentence he spoke put a seal on his knowledge of the haunted room. Very casually he told my mama that though it might be a little disturbing for him, but ‘the woman’ means no harm. My uncle could not believe his ears. So  stupefied was he with the turn of events and the casual manner of that man, that he neither argued nor reprimanded him for almost killing him of a heart attack. He simply lay down on a narrow settee, the only other furniture besides the desk and chair, and closed his eyes trying to draw curtains on the inconceivable drama of the day.”

“Wow!! Now this story was worth an ear. Phew!! Incredible!” exclaimed Rina. But again, why do all your stories begin with an eerie feeling of a horror movie and end in the most comic way possible?”

“It is not a story, it is an incident.” retorted Meera. 

“Alright Ma. Whatever you say.” Rina smiled at Meera affectionately.

Right then the doorbell rang. Both Meera and Rina jumped with a start and then began laughing uncontrollably. Guffawing, Rina opened the door and welcomed her father home.

“Hey you, the two musketeers, how in the world could you allow yourself to have so much fun without the third!? I hold you guilty for enjoying yourselves without me! Hari commented theatrically with a wink and an ear to ear smile.

“Come on tell me what is all this laughing about?” pleaded Hari.

Rina used her expression skills and summarised the one hour odd event in five entertaining minutes.

“Hmmm…interesting. But nothing in comparison to what I have gone through. I can never forget that horrifying evening.”

“You too Brutus?” asked Reena dramatically.

“Yes me too!” replied Hari laughingly.

Continuing in her drama avatar, Rina said “Alright then, I command you to get down to your story without losing a single precious moment here.”

“Your word is my command.” replied Hari, bowing like a gentleman. This made all three of them laugh uncontrollably as he could hardly bend beyond his ever growing pot belly!

“Now quiet please!!! Listen to this.” Saying so, Hari lighted a candle and switched all the lights off. The two pair of questioning eyes got the answer in four simple words: “Just for the effect.”

“This happened some 30-35 years back, when I was about 20 years old.” Suddenly it seemed that Hari was actually transported to that time zone. The look in his eyes was that of a person who was reliving a traumatic past event. He seemed lost in his past.

“It was my best friend’s birthday and I had gone to his place. We spent some time there and then decided to go to the cinemas. My father had always been a stickler for time. All of us, brothers and sisters were strictly instructed to return home, wherever we may be, before dark. The film carried on for longer than expected. When we exited the hall, it was dusk. I was scared out of my wits now. My father would not utter a syllable, but his killer stare was worth a million scornful words.

With a quick good bye, I retrieved my bicycle from the parking stand and started pedalling like a mad man. I had made up my mind to take the shortest route home, though it was the one which passed through a graveyard, yet that was the least of my fears back then.

I reached the gate of the graveyard and without thinking twice entered it. It was eerily unlit and silent. The only illumination was the modest lighting from the street lamp outside and the only sound that could be heard was that of crickets chirping. The surroundings felt ghostly and sinister. My heart had started thumping with fear at the mere look and feel of that place. 

Suddenly I heard something. Something really strange and unsettling. I could hear a woman’s voice singing and humming, like someone trying to calm down a baby, it was a sort of lullaby. I got rooted to the spot and just turned my head around. If my heart was running a marathon till then, it stopped beating completely, or so it felt. The spectacle before me was not only etherial but incomprehensible too. I was insane with fright. I saw a woman covered from head to toe in a white Burka (lose black garment worn by Moslem women, from head to toe, just revealing their eyes.) She was holding a baby in her arms, who was also covered in white. This woman was humming a lullaby and walking to and fro, trying to put the baby to sleep. She looked like death itself, with graves all around her.

 I was standing and watching as if bewitched, unable to run or shout, both of which I desperately wanted to do. All of a sudden, I felt her gaze on me. She had stopped moving and was looking directly at me. It was an unearthly look that was spine chilling to say the least. All of a sudden I was jerked and shaken out of my trance; I gripped hold of the reality and started cycling at the speed of my heart. I was out of the graveyard in less than a minute after that, but that out worldly experience and those ghastly eyes have left an ever lasting impact on my mind. Even today when I am walking alone I can still feel the piercing of those eyes on my back.

The story was over but all three of them were quiet, Hari appeared to be in a Trans again, after all these years. The candle was at its last lap, melted and hardened wax all around. The air was heavy and so were the hearts. Radha switched on the light and Rina broke the silence.

“Well, this was intense. I am going out for a walk to clear my mind while the two of you may take that time to get earthbound.” smiling at her parents, Rina opened the door and made her way out of the house.

It was a bright moonlit night. Rina thanked her stars for the location of her house. It was at the outskirts of the city with a lot of walking area, fresh air and no traffic. Her most favourite walking path was the expanse of grassland in front of a dilapidated cathedral. It reminded her of the country side description of her best-loved novelist, Jane Austen. She kept walking while those frightening stories or incidents shared by her parents kept haunting her mind. The more she tried to brush them aside the more they clamoured and crowded her imagination.

Rina did not believe in the supernatural but the experiences and occurrences of paranormal activities in her parents’ life had left her pretty uneasy and restless. She began looking around for company. At that moment even a passerby would have sufficed to make her continue with her walk, but the path ahead and back was completely isolated. She realised and finally accepted to herself that she was totally unnerved and frightened. Angry with her parents and upset with her own fears, she decided to retrace her steps back to the safety of her house. 

Though she was already about a kilometre away from her place, she preferred back tracking than going ahead with her solitary stroll. She was pacing ahead, anxious to reach home, when suddenly she had an uncanny feeling of being followed. 

She doubled her speed, confident of being watched by an invisible eye and followed by an evil force. Her trepidation drove her to create dreadful metaphors of recent tales from the projector of her mind. Her imagination ran wild with phantom figures. Her ears started playing tricks with her, startling her every now and then with eerie sounds of swishing fabric, weeping and moaning, sighing and groaning and crunching dry leaves as if by footsteps.

 In the quiet of the night her own walking feet sounded like thudding and the occasional rustling of grass and trees made her jump out of her skin. All she could feel were the thumping of her heart and the heat of those unseen eyes, burning holes on her back. The faster she walked the faster it followed. She looked around desperately for help but there was not a soul to help her out of this predicament.

She started running, it started running after her. She started crying, and shouting and shrieking and speeding, all at once. The force seemed to mimic each and every act of hers. Now she could take no more. She was left with no choice but to turn around and look into the face of her fate, eye to eye. She suddenly stopped in her track, obviously it stopped too. Gathering all her courage she turned around.  Astounded and stunned, she muttered to herself; “Oh, my own shadow!!??”

 Just as it was Reena’s self created, unfounded panic and fright, which she was blaming without doubt, on an unseen force, we too have our own fears, our own insecurities and our own failures. But we mostly end up blaming others (parents, siblings, friends, and spouses) for our weaknesses and take the credit for all our strengths. Mostly we blame the environment for our deeds, while our own reaction to the current environ is the real culprit. Rustling of leaves can be taken as rustling of leaves or as following footsteps. If we opt for the second alternative what can the poor leaves do? 

Sincere effort at self introspection leads us to see the other four fingers that point at us when we are busy pointing one at someone else

By Shruti Kakkar