Nanigopal Majumdar
We knew that May and June were the hottest months in Ranchi, but for some reason, my Dada [elder brother], my sister Habu, and I decided to visit the place in that scorching heat.
I have heard that the street in Ranchi where we lived that summer is now a proper road, fully paved. Back then it was just a bunch of white pebbles. I used to love that street. If you left the house and walked a little along the road, you would see several small and large hills; the tallest of them, Cave Hill, was said to have a lot of hidden caves. The thought of walking those hills on moonlit nights and soaking in the calm made me sigh with longing. Little did I know that the day I would get a chance to do so, my sighs would be filled with sadness instead.
The afternoons were for me to write fiction, and for Habu to play the children’s game “daughter’s wedding” with Auntie’s daughter Bina. But Dada would always disappear at this hour. He would eat his lunch quickly and then rush out of the house. There was no deviation possible from this set routine. When Habu and Bina used to bother him every evening about why he wouldn’t stay for their pretend wedding feast, Dada would laugh and say, “I will, I will, just wait. Someone has already invited me to feast with them in the afternoons, so I won’t be able to return in time for yours.” Endlessly curious about his whereabouts, I’d ask, “Dada, where do you spend all your afternoons? If you stay at home, you can give me feedback on the plots of my new stories.”
He’d respond by laughing. The laugh had only one meaning: “New authors are always interested in making others read their stuff.” He’d say, his voice serious: “I spend my afternoons judging the worth of something far bigger than your stories. That work is almost finished, and hopefully soon it will be a lucky day for all of Bengal. It could be a fantastic day for the entire world, not just Bengal. As you know, I have a friend in these parts . . .” He’d abruptly cut his sentence short.
But one day Habu and Bina succeeded in blocking him from leaving. That day, they had a special wedding feast, and the two bridal parties had made a pact that the feast would be done by three in the afternoon. So Dada was stuck, but I noticed his extreme discomfort in staying put, as if his heart was in some other place in Ranchi.
Dada and I were sitting together that afternoon, when suddenly a terrifying noise shook the doors of the room, as if someone had just struck it with a large hammer. We were startled, and all of us stared at the door with trepidation. Why would anyone be pounding on our door? A minute passed, and then, again, the same terrifying bang! We heard a grotesque wailing sound, and the sound of shattering glass. Dada leaped to his feet and dashed towards the door.
The Odia gardener stood there, shivering and blue, as he said: “Babu, this is a calamity! I saw a spirit just now! He was as tall as two men, with a deformed face and a body covered in glass shards. He was completely naked except for a small loincloth. His body was totally white—he must be the spirit of a foreigner!”
I heard Dada, who was out of sight, say loudly: “Is that you? You?”
We heard a crashing sound, as if someone had silenced a roaring laugh with a single slap. So, did Dada recognize this “spirit”? How terrible! Was he practicing occult arts in secret all these afternoons? I had heard that if Yogis call upon spirits and demons but find no way to send them back to their realm, then evil will haunt them forever! Could it really be so?
I heard Dada’s screams the next instant, and then heard something like a giant running away along the road. I followed the sound at once, but there was nothing to be seen, and no sign of Dada. My heart sank from fear, and I shouted out for him at the top of my lungs. But it was absolutely still. I ran down the street, straight towards the hills. In the distance, I saw a large dust cloud shaped like a human, maybe 10–12 feet high, appear and disappear on the hill.
Was it a human? Can there even be people who are this tall? Was this like those genies one reads about in the Arabian Nights? Did they kidnap Dada? And if so, why?
I returned home dejected and narrated the whole incident to my uncle. None of us could have imagined that we would face such a tragedy. My uncle was shocked: “This doesn’t sound possible! Giants, demons, spirits, ghosts—such things do not exist in our day and age!” He asked for the gardener, who corroborated my account, swearing on Jagannath: “Yes indeed, Babu, it must be a spirit! He was twice as tall as you, and completely white! Some white sahib must have passed away in the madhouse, and this is his spirit.”
Uncle replied: “So it’s a madman?”
I interjected: “Madman? He is not even human! No human can be that tall!”
My uncle passed his fingers through his hair, and said, “Hmm, yes, and the most surprising thing are the last words you heard from your Dada. It makes me think that the two knew each other from before. But you think . . .”
By this time, Auntie, Habu, and Bina had heard the news and started crying, and neighbors had gathered as well. The story of the giant quickly spread through all of Ranchi. The police and the scientists heard our tale, but no one believed it. I sent a telegram to my father, who arrived the next day.
A search party was organized, and an investigation was launched into Dada’s disappearance. Photos were published in newspapers, a reward was offered, yet nothing came of it at all. If only we had known where he used to spend his afternoons! But he had shared nothing with us, given no clues as to his activities. The sole development in the case only added to the mystery. It turned out that the same day Dada was kidnapped, another neighbor, Bangeshwar Talapatra, had also disappeared. We had little doubt that Bangeshwar babu had also fallen victim to the same giant. Bangeshwar babu was a renowned scholar who had devoted himself to scientific pursuits for the benefit of the nation. What could have prompted such a vicious attack on an innocent man? This was all a mystery!
Three days later. Our neighborhood had become the terror of Ranchi. Locals had seen a giant running in the hills in the dark, and they had also spotted a tiny figure with him. A few had even heard Sanskrit chants emanating from the hills late in the night. While the educated class tried to dismiss it all as mere superstition, the fear of the unknown gripped the entire town. We were convinced we would find Dada in those hills, but it was impossible to get there, since no one in town was brave enough to serve as our guide.
In the meantime, the mystery only kept deepening. Strange sounds had been heard at Bangeshwar babu’s house at night, things had been moved around, strange whispers filled the air, footsteps that would chill the bone were heard. When the rumors grew, a policeman was dispatched to observe the place at night, but whatever he saw there made him faint—he was found unconscious on the street the next morning. He has suffered from a brain fever since then. However, whatever it was that he had encountered had not tried to hurt him; instead, one could tell from his wet clothes and other signs that whatever it was had tried to revive and minister to him. The same thing happened to the Santal woman two days ago, when she fainted close to the hills.
So who was it that was chanting in Sanskrit at night? Who lives in Bangeshwar babu’s house? Could it be some benign, saintly spirit? Do spirits show such kindness towards humans? How did Dada come across such a spirit? And where did he and Bangeshwar babu disappear to?
Growing desperate, I decided that I would trek the hills myself, since that was the only way we would learn about Dada’s fate. I slipped out of the house on a full-moon night. In the distance, the hill looked like a demon laughing with its teeth bare. It sent a shiver down my spine; I felt as if I could hear some deep breathing on my neck too. As I walked along, I sensed that I was being followed. I was too afraid to look behind me, so I picked up pace. A sad song from two voices floated in my ears, and it remains lodged in my brain to this day:
“A spirit am I not, nor a monster am I,
Listen to my tale, we are brothers, you and I!”
The voices came close to me, scaring me out of my wits. I looked up, fearfully, and oh what a sight! There loomed above me a gigantic creature, covered in fur, but its whole body was ghostly white. Next to it was another shadowy creature. Unable to comprehend what was happening, I ran like crazy back home and didn’t stop till I was safely back inside. I still felt the song floating behind me: “Listen to my tale, we are brothers, you and I!”
I lay awake in bed next morning, wondering if the things I remembered from the night before were real or a nightmare. I could still hear the sad tune that had chased me through the dark. Just the memory of the giant and his shadowy companion made me shudder. When my father said that the police were no longer treating the incident as superstition, but were ready to go into the mountain that night to solve the mystery, my heart crumpled inside. “Listen to my tale, we are brothers, you and I!” But no one would have believed me, so I kept quiet.
Night fell again, and the moon was still just as bright. All of Ranchi seemed to have come alive, yet I could perceive its hidden grief. There were six of us: Dad, me, and four policemen. As we climbed, a sense of unease, as if something were missing, kept nagging at me. We had been on the path for a little while when a loud voice spoke in Hindi and startled all of us: “Come this way!” We saw a Sadhu sitting on a rock, quite able-bodied, with his face covered in a mass of hair. He said with a laugh: “I have been waiting for all of you!” He handed my dad an envelope, and then disappeared into a cave. We saw my brother’s handwriting on the envelope. We opened it at once:
Dear Father,
I wanted to meet you once more, but it looks like it will no longer be possible. I left for the Himalayas today with the ‘spirit.’ I hope I will be able to help it.
I met Bangeshwar Talapatra during my MSc studies at science college. He was the Zamindar of Shibrampur, with vast wealth and resources, and no family to speak of. He was extremely short, a little over four feet tall, and quite fair in complexion. But he had no peace of mind. He would often complain, woefully, “Manu, what is the point of having a body like mine? I will develop something that will not just improve me but all Bengali people.”
“How so?”
“I will create a potion that will once again transform us into the Aryans1 of old: healthy, fit, and powerful.”
This was his heart’s desire. He came to Ranchi to conduct his experiments in peace. He did indeed succeed in creating a chemical potion that could transform birds and animals back to their giant, prehistoric shapes. The formula seemed to work on all kinds of animals: rats, frogs, cats and rabbits.
Talapatra then decided to experiment on himself. I said I would also try the potion. He refused to let me have any, saying that he had no idea what its effect on people might be, so he needed to test it first. He must have been a bit afraid of the experiment.
He took a dose, and immediately began to scream: “Manu, hold me, my head is bursting!” His face and eyes turned blood-red, and he slumped to the floor holding his head. I put him to bed and left for home. The next day when I visited him, I saw that his whole body had swollen quite a bit, and he had also grown a bit taller. He could not speak at all; he would open his mouth and something glass-like would come out of it; if he threw it out with his hand, his mouth would fill up once again with the same substance. I returned home wondering whether I should find him a doctor or leave it up to nature to heal him. The next day I was stuck at home when all of a sudden we heard a loud knock. It was Talapatra—or rather something that looked like him. He was three times as tall as he used to be, and his mouth and body were covered in shards of glass. I was shocked. He tried to say something, then hoisted me up and began running off instead. Uff, it was insane! No, Talapatra was insane!
He stopped in front of a cave in the hill. I realized that although he had not gone completely crazy, his brain power had definitely decreased. Even so, he must have realized that he was now an exile from civilization. Humans would no longer accept him in their midst, so he wanted to find a space where he would no longer be seen by human eyes. He had abducted me because I was the only one who knew of his pain. After about three days, he began to recover his voice, and his mouth no longer spit glass. He explained that his potion had mixed with the chemicals of his body and transformed into a new chemical, one that affected his glands and turned him into a giant. This new chemical also oozed out of his body, in sweat and saliva, turning into a glass-like substance upon exposure to the air. This was why he had been unable to speak for the first few days.
I could not help but cry at his plight. It was tragic to see that this man, who had wanted to help all of humanity, had turned into a monstrous creature. For a few nights, we searched his home laboratory in search of a cure, and everyone thought we were spirits. He was afraid of being seen by humans, hence we had to work in secret. If the hills had not been full of ripe fruit we would not be alive to share this tale.
Soon I sensed a new danger. Talapatra’s body had grown with the potion indeed, but his brain had not grown with it. He had great difficulty comprehending things, and soon I realized that he was losing his mind entirely. There was not much semblance left of a human brain anymore in that shell. I was wondering what to do with him when God sent me a solution to the problem. I met a Sadhu, who heard my tale and revealed that there was a type of root to be found in the Himalayan mountains whose juice would surely heal Talapatra and return him to normal. I noted down all the details of this medicine, entrusted this letter to the Sadhu, and we departed for the Himalayas. I feel honor-bound to help Talapatra, as I feel responsible for his fate. My respects to you, dear father.
Yours affectionately,
Manu
Our eyes welled up in tears reading this account. In the distance, we saw a giant leaping from slope to slope, carrying an ordinary-sized man on his shoulders.