I f I described the house to you, it would seem like an ordinary, run-of-the-mill house. Single storey, with a terrace and a chimney. And yet, if you were standing at the gates, looking at the structure, an involuntary chill would creep down your spine. The broken glass in the windows, the empty fish pond in front of the house, the two trees in the courtyard that have been leafless since anyone can remember…it is all these and more. It is difficult not to feel as though you were being warned to stay away by the very atmosphere.
'Yes, Rs 3 crore for the Bhoot Bangla! Unbelievable!' Ajay responded.
'Modernisation and progress are inimical to ghosts. Commercial prospects have no value for rumours, superstitions and tales of the supernatural,' Rakesh said softly.
Rakesh—of medium height and a thin frame—was philosophical, intelligent and shrewd. He had very sharp eyes—large, fiery, penetrating. He was clean shaven with a thick, untidy mop of hair that was prematurely greying. Ajay was about six-feet-tall; his round face almost always cheerful.
The childhood friends gazed at the Bhoot Bangla. The building and the surrounding land had been acquired recently to construct a residential colony. They were sitting at pathar, a vantage point in the Navbahar forest which offered a panoramic view of Sanjauli. They had come there after a gap of several years, having left Shimla for work soon after college. Now, as they looked at the landscape around them, they realised that Sanjauli had changed for the worse.
'Look at the number of houses, how they have mushroomed. They're like matchboxes precariously placed one on top of the other,' Rakesh said.
Ajay nodded in agreement.
'What are you thinking about?' asked Rakesh.
'How many years ago was that? Ten?'
'No yaar, we were in second year. 1986.'
'My God! Unbelievable.'
'Look, there is someone at the Bhoot Bangla near the bauri,' Ajay said excitedly and then asked, 'Do you think of that night?'
'Many times,' Rakesh murmured.
They had decided to go on a trekking trip to Junga, about thirty kilometres from Sanjauli. There had been five of them: Rakesh, Ajay, Vipul, Chinnu and Hutashan. It was a long trek, and they had prepared well: they were carrying tents, sleeping bags, a stove, cooker, plates, food. They had planned the four-day trek meticulously, but somehow everything went wrong.
The friends set out for the trek in the middle of November. On the second day they reached Junga in high spirits. Everything was going according to plan, and they were having a great time. Tired but excited and not yet worn out they began their return journey on the third day.
Junga, a large village, is at a lower elevation than Shimla, so they knew that the journey back to their homes would involve steep climbs, would be tougher and take them more time. However their progress was slow, and it was quite late when they reached the camping site for the day. Hurriedly they made Maggie noodles and soup which they ate with buttered bread under the moonlight. All of them were tired by now, and no one had the energy to pitch the tents, so they slept under the open star-studded sky.
The next morning, all of them were suffering from cramps, headache and tiredness. Rakesh was the only one who had some energy to cook breakfast. They still had to cover over fifteen kilometres to reach their homes. Of this, two kilometres were a steep ascent.
Vipul was exhausted, and the trek ahead seemed torturous to him. He repeatedly suggested that they spend one more day there resting, but no one listened to him.
'Come on buddy, don't look so pathetic. Where has all the enthusiasm for trekking and adventures disappeared?' Ajay said, laughingly.
With a lot of grumbling from Vipul and determination from the others, they set off. Every fifteen minutes Vipul would have to sit to rest his tired body. His rucksack was being carried in turn by the others, as he was in no position to carry it himself.
At about 3 o' clock in the afternoon they rested for an hour to eat and rejuvenate their energies.
'I don't think I can make it!' Vipul said, dejectedly.
'You can! We all will. We have taken the short cut, which means just about four hours to reach home from here. Except the last 800 metres, the rest is an easy walk,' Rakesh said reassuringly.
'Are you mad? 800 metres! I am not even able to walk, how will I climb? Why did you change the route?' Vipul said indignantly, worry written all over his face.
'Because, Fatso, this is a shortcut and we will reach our houses directly from here,' said Chinnu.
'Really? And how in hell are we going to climb that mountain in the dark?' Vipul returned morosely. There was silence. He was right. It was going to be dark soon and it would be difficult to find their way in unknown territory.
Rakesh broke the uneasy silence, 'Come on! Let's move.'
For more than three hours they trudged on. Energy was low. Two of them—Hutashan and Ajay—had hurt themselves while groping in the dark. Three torch batteries had been exhausted. On top of all this, it had started drizzling.
'Hey, is that a house?' Ajay asked. Rakesh looked in the direction Ajay was pointing at and saw the silhouette of a house. The moon too had disappeared into the clouds and there was darkness all around. Suddenly the slight drizzle changed to a heavy downpour and the boys helplessly stood where they were, the rain soaking them.
'Why did this have to happen with us?' moaned Chinnu.
'Look, I am sure there is a house. There is no light though. The people who live there must have gone out somewhere. But there must be a veranda or some other shelter. Let's go,' Ajay said.
'How much more time will it take?' asked Vipul.
'At least twenty minutes… Somehow, I don't feel comfortable going there. It's so lonely,' Rakesh said slowly.
'I am very much liking the idea! Come on, we will freeze to death if we don't decide soon!' moaned Chinnu.
'Chinnu is right. We've come across a shelter, we can't ignore it. Only a fool would do that. Let's move guys,' Hutashan said, giving a push to Vipul who was in front of him.
'Ouch! What's that?' Vipul screamed. Something sharp was poking him below his knees.
'There's a wire here, the place is fenced. I hope there are no dogs here,' muttered Chinnu.
'I know where we are,' Ajay said loudly.
'Good. I have been racking my brain to figure that out. Where are we?' asked Rakesh.
'At Bhoot Bangla,' Ajay said dramatically.
The statement was met with an ominous silence. The rain was pelting down heavily on them. Their rucksacks had become heavy as lead, and their fingers and toes were numb with cold.
Though just a forty-five minute walk from their locality, they had never visited the place. Without a word to each other they moved towards the house. They were too tired to think about ghosts.
It took them another ten minutes after crossing the fence to reach the house. Rakesh had a narrow escape: he slipped and, had it not been for Ajay who managed to catch hold of him in time, he would have fallen into the gorge below, seriously injuring himself, if not worse.
When the group shone their torch around, the place looked more eerie than comfortable. After prowling around for some time they found a window latch open.
'Let's not investigate further but settle down in the room,' Rakesh said.
'This is the last torch we have got. At least let us find some logs first, dry ones. I'm shivering,' Vipul said.
'You should thank your stars that we have found shelter. We won't get any dry wood here. Let's all huddle together in a corner,' Chinnu said. And that is what they did.
'Why is this house called Bhoot Bangla?' Vipul asked after some time.
'God knows. I have heard it being called Bhoot Bangla for so long that I never took the trouble of asking anyone why it got that name,' said Ajay.
'It looks quite normal to me,' said Chinnu tentatively. No one replied.
'What's wrong? Are you people scared?' he spoke again.
'Shut up! Let's change the topic,' Hutashan said a little aggressively.
'Are there any biscuits left?' asked Vipul.
Ajay silently passed the last biscuit packet. For the next three hours the boys talked about everything except ghosts. Slowly, they all fell asleep.
Rakesh opened his eyes. Bright sunlight hit him hard and he closed his eyes again instantly. There was something wrong. A few seconds later he opened them again and looked around.
'What the hell…' he said aloud. How could this be? The other four were also sprawled around on the ground near the red pond! Their rucksacks, which they had been using in the room as pillows, were strewn in the veranda and their belongings were littered all over the compound. The wrapper of the last biscuit packet was fluttering on top of one of the rucksacks.
Despite the hot sun he felt a chill. He got up quickly, shouting at the other four to wake up.
The rest was a blur. It was only when they were some distance away from the house that they stopped to catch their breath to try and figure out what had happened.
Later, they came to know the story behind the Bhoot Bangla. The current owner, Mr Sinha, had bought the property from a Muslim family in 1947 at the time of Partition. Their eldest daughter was of a religious disposition and used to recite her prayers at a place that happened to be near the grave of a pir in the compound of the house. Apparently this must have angered the pir. No one knew what happened exactly, but the girl went mad. Her family kept her locked in a closed room in the house, where she eventually died. After her death her family moved out of the house.
Thereafter, many people had heard screams, howls and high-pitched laughter from the house at night. And it came to be called Bhoot Bangla.
The boys were also told that whoever slept in the house found themselves thrown out into the compound!