Chapter 3

We thought
we had solved the mystery thus:--The servants only closed the door by
pushing up the upper bolt, at night the wind would shake the door and
the bolt would come down. So this time we took good care to use the
lower bolt. Three of us pushed the door with all our might and one man
thrust the lower bolt into its socket. It hardly went in a quarter of an
inch, but still the door was secure. We then hammered the bolt in with
bricks. In doing this we broke about half a dozen of them. This will
explain to the reader how much strength it required to drive the bolt in
about an inch and a half.

Then we satisfied ourselves that the bolt could not be moved without the
aid of a hammer and a lever. Afterwards we closed the window and the
other door and securely locked the last. Thus no human being could open
the haunted door.

Before retiring to bed after dinner we further examined both the doors
once more. They were all right.

The next morning we did not go out for fishing; so when we got up at
about five in the morning the first thing we did was to go and examine
the haunted door. It flew in at the touch. We then went inside and
examined the other door and the window which communicated with the
court-yard. The window was as secure as we had left it and the door was
chained from outside. We went round into the court-yard and examined the
lock. It did not appear to have been tampered with.

The old man and his wife met us at tea as usual. They had evidently been
told everything. They, however, did not mention the subject, neither did
we.

It was my intention to pass a night in that room but nobody would agree
to bear me company, and I did not quite like the idea of passing a whole
night in that ugly room. Moreover my hosts would not have heard of it.

The mystery of the open door has not yet been solved. It was about 20
years ago that what I have narrated above, happened. I am not sure that
the mystery will ever be solved.

* * * * *

In this connection it will not be out of place to mention another
incident with regard to another family and another house in another part
of Bengal.

Once while coming back from Darjeeling, the summer capital of Bengal, I
had a very garrulous old gentleman for a fellow traveller in the same
compartment. I was reading a copy of the _Occult Review_ and the title
of the magazine interested him very much. He asked me what the magazine
was about, and I told him. He then asked me if I was really interested
in ghosts and their stories. I told him that I was.

"In our village we have a gentleman who has a family ghost" said my
companion.

"What kind of thing is a family ghost?" I asked.

"Oh--the ghost comes and has his dinner with my neighbour every night,"
said my companion. "Really--must be a very funny ghost" I said. "It is a
fact--if you stay for a day in my village you will learn everything."

I at once decided to break my journey in the village. It was about 2 in
the afternoon when I got down at the Railway Station--procured a hackney
carriage and, ascertaining the name and address of the gentleman who had
the family ghost, separated from my old companion.

I reached the house in 20 minutes, and told the gentleman that I was a
stranger in those parts and as such craved leave to pass the rest of the
day and the night under his roof. I was a very unwelcome guest, but he
could not kick me out, as the moral code would not permit it. He,
however, shrewdly guessed why I was anxious to pass the night at his
house.

Of course, my host was very kind to me. He was a tolerably rich man with
a large family. Most of his sons were grown-up young men who were at
College in Calcutta. The younger children were of course at home.

At night when we sat down to dinner I gently broached the subject by
hinting at the rumour I had heard that his house was haunted. I further
explained to him that I had only come to ascertain if what I had heard
was true. He told me (of course it was very kind of him) that the story
about the dinner was false, and what really happened was this:--

"I had a younger brother who died 2 years ago. He was of a religious
turn of mind and passed his time in reading religious books and writing
articles about religion in papers. He died suddenly one night. In fact
he was found dead in his bed in the morning. The doctors said it was
due to failure of heart. Since his death he has come and slept in the
room, which was his when he was alive and is his still. All that he
takes is a glass of water fetched from the sacred river Ganges. We put
the glass of water in the room and make the bed every evening; the next
morning the glass is found empty and the bed appears to have been slept
upon."

"But why did you begin?--" I asked.

"Oh--One night he appeared to me in a dream and asked me to keep the
water and a clean bed in the room--this was about a month after his
death," said my host.

"Has anybody ever passed a night in the room to see what really
happens?" I asked.

"His young wife--or rather widow passed a night in that room--the next
morning we found her on the bed--sleeping--dead--from failure of
heart--so the doctors said."

"Most wonderful and interesting." I remarked.

"Nobody has gone to that part of the house since the death of the poor
young widow" said my host. "I have got all the doors of the room
securely screwed up except one, and that too is kept carefully locked,
and the key is always with me."

After dinner my host took me to the haunted room. All arrangements for
the night were being made; and the bed was neat and clean.

A glass of the Ganges water was kept in a corner with a cover on it. I
looked at the doors, they were all perfectly secure. The only door that
could open was then closed and locked.

My host smiled at me sadly "we won't do all this uselessly" he said
"this is a very costly trick if you think it a trick at all, because I
have to pay to the servants double the amount that others pay in this
village--otherwise they would run away. You can sleep at the door and
see that nobody gets in at night."

I said "I believe you most implicitly and need not take the precaution
suggested." I was then shown into my room and everybody withdrew.

My room was 4 or 5 apartments off and of course these apartments were to
be unoccupied.

As soon as my host and the servants had withdrawn, I took up my candle
and went to the locked door of the ghostly room. With the lighted
candle I covered the back of the lock with a thin coating of soot or
lamp-black. Then I scraped off a little dried-up whitewash from the wall
and sprinkled the powder over the lamp-black.

"If any body disturbs the lock at night I shall know it in the morning"
I thought. Well, the reader could guess that I had not a good sleep that
night. I got up at about 4-30 in the morning and went to the locked
door. _My seal_ was intact, that is, the lamp-black with the powdered
lime was there just as I had left it.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped the lock clean. The whole operation
took me about 5 minutes. Then I waited.

At about 5 my host came and a servant with him. The locked door was
opened in my presence. The glass of water was dry and there was not a
drop of water in it. The bed had been slept upon. There was a distinct
mark on the pillow where the head should have been--and the sheet too
looked as if somebody had been in bed the whole night.

I left the same day by the after-noon train having passed about 23 hours
with the family in the haunted house.

WHAT UNCLE SAW.

This story need not have been written. It is too sad and too mysterious,
but since reference has been made to it in this book, it is only right
that readers should know this sad account.

* * * * *

Uncle was a very strong and powerful man and used to boast a good deal
of his strength. He was employed in a Government Office in Calcutta. He
used to come to his village home during the holidays. He was a widower
with one or two children, who stayed with his brother's family in the
village.

Uncle has had no bed-room of his own since his wife's death. Whenever he
paid us a visit one of us used to place his bed-room at uncle's
disposal. It is a custom in Bengal to sleep with one's wife and children
in the same bed-room. So whenever Uncle turned up I used to give my
bed-room to him as I was the only person without children. On such
occasions I slept in one of the "Baithaks" (drawing-rooms). A Baithak is
a drawing-room and guest-room combined.

In rich Bengal families of the orthodox style the "Baithak" or "Baithak
khana" is a very large room generally devoid of all furniture, having a
thick rich carpet on the floor with a clean sheet upon it and big
_takias_ (pillows) all around the wall. The elderly people would sit on
the ground and lean against the _takias_; while we, the younger lot, sat
upon the takias and leaned against the wall which in the case of the
particular room in our house was covered with some kind of yellow paint
which did not come off on the clothes.

Sometimes a _takia_ would burst and the cotton stuffing inside would
come out; and then the old servant (his status is that of an English
butler, his duty to prepare the hookah for the master) would give us a
chase with a _lathi_ (stick) and the offender would run away, and not
return until all incriminating evidence had been removed and the old
servant's wrath had subsided.

Well, when Uncle used to come I slept in the "Baithak" and my wife slept
somewhere in the zenana, I never inquired where.

On this particular occasion Uncle missed the train by which he usually
came. It was the month of October and he should have arrived at 8 P.M.
My bed had been made in the Baithak. But the 8 P.M. train came and
stopped and passed on and Uncle did not turn up.

So we thought he had been detained for the night. It was the Durgapooja
season and some presents for the children at home had to be purchased
and, we thought, that was what was detaining him. And so at about 10
P.M. we all retired to bed. The bed that had been made for me in the
"Baithak" remained there for Uncle in case he turned up by the 11 P.M.
train. As a matter of fact we did not expect him till the next morning.

But as misfortune would have it Uncle did arrive by the 11 o'clock
train.

All the house-hold had retired, and though the old servant suggested
that I should be waked up, Uncle would not hear of it. He would sleep in
the bed originally made for me, he said.

The bed was in the central Baithak or hall. My Uncle was very fond of
sleeping in side-rooms. I do not know why. Anyhow he ordered the servant
to remove his bed to one of the side-rooms. Accordingly the bed was
taken to one of them. One side of that room had two windows opening on
the garden. The garden was more a park-like place, rather neglected, but
still well wooded abounding in jack fruit trees. It used to be quite
shady and dark during the day there. On this particular night it must
have been very dark. I do not remember now whether there was a moon or
not.

Well, Uncle went to sleep and so did the servants. It was about 8
o'clock the next morning, when we thought that Uncle had slept long
enough, that we went to wake him up.

The door connecting the side-room with the main Baithak was closed, but
not bolted from inside; so we pushed the door open and went in.

Uncle lay in bed panting. He stared at us with eyes that saw but did not
perceive. We at once knew that something was wrong. On touching his body
we found that he had high fever. We opened the windows, and it was then
that Uncle spoke "Don't open or it would come in--"

"What would come in Uncle--what?" we asked.

But uncle had fainted.

The doctor was called in. He arrived at about ten in the morning. He
said it was high fever--due to what he could not say. All the same he
prescribed a medicine.

The medicine had the effect of reducing the temperature, and at about 6
in the evening consciousness returned. Still he was in a very weak
condition. Some medicine was given to induce sleep and he passed the
night well. We nursed him by turns at night. The next morning we had all
the satisfaction of seeing him all right. He walked from the bed-room,
though still very weak and came to the Central Baithak where he had tea
with us. It was then that we asked what he had seen and what he had
meant by "It would come in."

Oh how we wish, we had never asked him the question, at least then.

This was what he said:--

"After I had gone to bed I found that there were a few mosquitoes and so
I could not sleep well. It was about midnight when they gradually
disappeared and then I began to fall asleep. But just as I was dozing
off I heard somebody strike the bars of the windows thrice. It was like
three distinct strokes with a cane on the gratings outside. 'Who is
there?' I asked; but no reply. The striking stopped. Again I closed my
eyes and again the same strokes were repeated. This time I nearly lost
my temper; I thought it was some urchin of the neighbourhood in a
mischievous mood. 'Who is there?' I again shouted--again no reply. The
striking however stopped. But after a time it commenced afresh. This
time I lost my temper completely and opened the window, determined to
thrash anybody whom I found there--forgetting that the windows were
barred and fully 6 feet above the ground. Well in the darkness I saw, I
saw--."

Here uncle had a fit of shivering and panting, and within a minute he
lost all consciousness. The fever was again high. The doctor was
summoned but this time his medicines did no good. Uncle never regained
consciousness. In fact after 24 hours he died of heart failure the next
morning, leaving his story unfinished and without in any way giving us
an idea of what that terrible thing was which he had seen beyond the
window. The whole thing remains a deep mystery and unfortunately the
mystery will never be solved.

Nobody has ventured to pass a night in the side-room since then. If I
had not been a married man with a very young wife I might have tried.

One thing however remains and it is this that though uncle got all the
fright in the world in that room, he neither came out of that room nor
called for help.

One cry for help and the whole house-hold would have been awake. In fact
there was a servant within 30 yards of the window which uncle had
opened; and this man says he heard uncle open the window and close and
bolt it again, though he had not heard uncle's shouts of "Who is there?"

Only this morning I read this funny advertisement in the Morning Post.

"_Haunted Houses._--Man and wife, cultured and travelled, gentle
people--having lost fortune ready to act as care-takers and to
investigate in view of removing trouble--."

Well--in a haunted house these gentle people expect to see something.
Let us hope they will not see what our Uncle saw or what the Major saw.

This advertisement clearly shows that even in countries like England
haunted houses do exist, or at least houses exist which are believed to
be haunted.

If what we see really depends on what we think or what we believe, no
wonder that there are so many more haunted houses in India than in
England. This reminds me of a very old incident of my early school days.
A boy was really caught by a Ghost and then there was trouble. We shall
not forget the thrashing we received from our teacher in the school; and
the fellow who was actually caught by the Ghost--if Ghost it was, will
never say in future that Ghosts don't exist.

In this connection it may not be out of place to narrate another
incident, though it does not fall within the same category with the main
story that heads this chapter. The only reason why I do so is that the
facts tally in one respect, though in one respect only, and that is that
the person who knew would tell nothing.

This was a friend of mine who was a widower. We were in the same office
together and he occupied a chair and a table next but one to mine. This
gentleman was in our office for only six months after narrating the
story. If he had stayed longer we might have got out his secret, but
unfortunately he went away; he has gone so far from us that probably we
shall not meet again for the next 10 years.

It was in connection with the "Smith's dead wife's photograph"
controversy that one day one of my fellow clerks told me that a visit
from a dead wife was nothing very wonderful, as our friend Haralal could
testify.

I always took of a lot of interest in ghosts and their stories. So I was
generally at Haralal's desk cross-examining him about this affair; at
first the gentleman was very uncommunicative but when he saw I would
give him no rest he made a statement which I have every reason to
believe is true. This is more or less what he says.

"It was about ten years ago that I joined this office. I have been a
widower ever since I left college--in fact I married the daughter of a
neighbour when I was at college and she died about 3 years afterwards,
when I was just thinking of beginning life in right earnest. She has
been dead these 10 years and I shall never marry again, (a young widower
in good circumstances, in Bengal, is as rare as a blue rose).

"I have a suite of bachelor rooms in Calcutta, but I go to my suburban
home on every Saturday afternoon and stay there till Monday morning,
that is, I pass my Saturday night and the whole of Sunday in my village
home every week.

"On this particular occasion nearly eight years ago, that is, about a
year and a half after the death of my young wife I went home by an
evening train. There is any number of trains in the evening and there is
no certainty by which train I go, so if I am late, generally everybody
goes to bed with the exception of my mother.

"On this particular night I reached home rather late. It was the month
of September and there had been a heavy shower in the town and all
tram-car services had been suspended.

"When I reached the Railway Station I found that the trains were not
running to time either. I was given to understand that a tree had been
blown down against the telegraph wire, and so the signals were not going
through; and as it was rather dark the trains were only running on the
report of _a motor trolly_ that the line was clear. Thus I reached home
at about eleven instead of eight in the evening.

"I found my father also sitting up for me though he had had his dinner.
He wanted to learn the particulars of the storm at Calcutta.

"Within ten minutes of my arrival he went to bed and within an hour I
finished my dinner and retired for the night.

"It was rather stuffy and the bed was damp as I was perspiring freely;
and consequently I was not feeling inclined to sleep.

"A little after midnight I felt that there was somebody else in the
room.

"I looked at the closed door--yes there was no mistake about it, it was
my wife, my wife who had been dead these eighteen months.

"At first I was--well you can guess my feeling--then she spoke:

"'There is a cool bed-mat under the bedstead; it is rather dusty, but it
will make you comfortable.

"I got up and looked under the bedstead--yes the cool bed-mat was there
right enough and it was dusty too. I took it outside and I cleaned it by
giving it a few jerks. Yes, I had to pass through the door at which she
was standing within six inches of her,--don't put any questions; Let me
tell you as much as I like; you will get nothing out of me if you
interrupt--yes, I passed a comfortable night. She was in that room for a
long time, telling me lots of things. The next morning my mother
enquired with whom I was talking and I told her a lie. I said I was
reading my novel aloud. They all know it at home now. She comes and
passes two nights with me in the week when I am at home. She does not
come to Calcutta. She talks about various matters and she is
happy--don't ask me how I know that. I shall not tell you whether I have
touched her body because that will give rise to further questions.

"Everybody at home has seen her, and they all know what I have told you,
but nobody has spoken to her. They all respect and love her--nobody is
afraid. In fact she never comes except on Saturday and Sunday evenings
and that when I am at home."

No amount of cross-examination, coaxing or inducement made my friend
Haralal say anything further.

This story in itself would not probably have been believed; but after
the incident of "His dead wife's picture" nobody disbelieved it, and
there is no reason why anybody should. Haralal is not a man who would
tell yarns, and then I have made enquiries at Haralal's village where
several persons know this much; that his dead wife pays him a visit
twice every week.

Now that Haralal is 500 miles from his village home I do not know how
things stand; but I am told that this story reached the ears of the
_Bara Saheb_ and he asked Haralal if he would object to a transfer and
Haralal told him that he would not.

I shall leave the reader to draw his own conclusions.

THE BOY WHO WAS CAUGHT.

Nothing is more common in India than seeing a ghost. Every one of us has
seen ghost at some period of his existence; and if we have not actually
seen one, some other person has, and has given us such a vivid
description that we cannot but believe to be true what we hear.

This is, however, my own experience. I am told others have observed the
phenomenon before.

* * * * *

When we were boys at school we used, among other things, to discuss
ghosts. Most of my fellow students asserted that they did not believe in
ghosts, but I was one of those who not only believed in their existence
but also in their power to do harm to human beings if they liked. Of
course, I was in the minority. As a matter of fact I knew that all those
who said that they did not believe in ghosts told a lie. They believed
in ghosts as much as I did, only they had not the courage to admit their
weakness and differ boldly from the sceptics. Among the lot of
unbelievers was one Ram Lal, a student of the Fifth Standard, who swore
that he did not believe in ghosts and further that he would do anything
to convince us that they did not exist.

It was, therefore, at my suggestion that he decided to go one moon-light
night and hammer down a wooden peg into the soft sandy soil of the
Hindoo Burning Ghat, it being well known that the ghosts generally put
in a visible appearance at a burning ghat on a moon-light night. (A
burning ghat is the place where dead bodies of Hindoos are cremated).

It was the warm month of April and the river had shrunk into the size of
a nullah or drain. The real pukka ghat (the bathing place, built of
bricks and lime) was about 200 yards from the water of the main stream,
with a stretch of sand between.

The ghats are only used in the morning when people come to bathe, and in
the evening they are all deserted. After a game of football on the
school grounds we sometimes used to come and sit on the pukka ghat for
an hour and return home after nightfall.

Now, it was the 23rd of April and a bright moon-light night, every one
of us (there were about a dozen) had told the people at home that there
was a function at the school and he might be late. On this night, it
was arranged that the ghost test should take place.

The boy who had challenged the ghost, Ram Lal, was to join us at the
pukka ghat at 8 P.M.; and then while we waited there he would walk
across the sand and drive the peg into the ground at the place where a
dead body had been cremated that very morning. We were to supply the peg
and the hammer. (I had to pay the school gardener two annas for the loan
of a peg and a hammer).

Well, we procured the peg and the hammer and proceeded to the pukka
ghat. If the gardener had known what we required the peg and the hammer
for, I am sure he would not have lent these to us.

Though I was a firm believer in ghosts yet I did not expect that Ram Lal
would be caught. What I hoped for was that he would not turn up at the
trysting place. But to my disappointment Ram Lal did turn up and at the
appointed hour too. He came boasting as usual, took the peg and the
hammer and started across the sand saying that he would break the head
of any ghost who might venture within the reach of the hammerhead. Well,
he went along and we waited for his return at the pukka ghat. It was a
glorious night, the whole expanse of sand was shining in the bright
moon-light.

On and on went Ram Lal with the peg in his left hand and the hammer in
his right. He was dressed in the usual upcountry Indian style, in a long
coat or Achkan which reached well below his knees and fluttered in the
breeze.

As he went on his pace slackened. When he had gone about half the
distance he stopped and looked back. We hoped he would return. He put
down the hammer and the peg, sat down on the sand facing us, took off
his shoes. Only some sand had got in. He took up the peg and hammer and
walked on.

But then we felt that his courage was oozing away. Another fifty yards
and he again stopped, and looked back at us.

Another fifty yards remained. Will he return? No! he again proceeded,
but we could clearly see that his steps were less jaunty than when he
had started. We knew that he was trembling, we knew that he would have
blessed us to call him back. But we would not yield, neither would he.
Looking in our direction at every step he proceeded and reached the
burning ghat. He reached the identical spot where the pyre had been
erected in the morning.

There was very little breeze,--not a mouse stirring. Not a soul was
within 200 yards of him and he could not expect much help from us. How
poor Ram Lal's heart must have palpitated! When we see Ram Lal now how
we feel that we should burst.

Well, Ram Lal knelt down, fixed the peg in the wet sandy soil and began
hammering. After each stroke he looked at us and at the river and in all
directions. He struck blow after blow and we counted about thirty. That
his hands had become nerveless we would understand, for otherwise a
dozen strokes should have been enough to make the peg vanish in the soft
sandy soil.

The peg went in and only about a couple of inches remained visible above
the surface; and then Ram Lal thought of coming back.