Bhrigu Mahesh, Phd Read online

  He laughed and this time Daisy joined him and together they created such a din that poor Ponalla had to come running into the room, half afraid that the roof had caved in. We had to assure him quite thoroughly to the contrary before he agreed to leave.

  ‘But seriously Daisy’ said Bhrigu after the seizure of laughter had passed ‘Do you not have other reasons for not supporting marriage?’

  ‘I have.’ she said now licking her fingers ‘I don’t want to become like my mother when I reach her age. Marriage has a way of neutralizing your character; the distinguishing colors you were born with. You could have been a wild sports player, a rebellious media executive, a passionate engineer, a delicate painter, a cut-throat business woman, a hippie but after marriage all you become is a good mother, a good wife and a good daughter-in-law whose life rotates around that of her husband. You could have had many colorful feathers in your plumage before marriage but after you become like a mass produced object, made to order, exactly the same and following the same routine, like a pot boiler movie stereotype, over and over again.’

  ‘But there are women who have achieved much even after marriage.’ I observed calmly, almost.

  ‘And what’s the percentage?’ she said now addressing Bhrigu ‘Bhrigu boss, you must be aware of the percentage as regards your research?’

  ‘Yes.’ he replied with a frank grin ‘it’s dismal.’

  ‘See?’

  ‘And you have now a word for our observation, Daisy?’

  ‘What?’ she added quickly ‘Neutralization effect?’

  ‘Bingo.’

  I looked at the two of them and realized how like each other they actually were. Bhrigu’s growing fondness for Daisy was because of her knack to sometimes see things in the same vein as him; a huge accomplishment as far as my opinion goes. Although Daisy belonged as much to the class of thinkers as an orangutan to the class of human beings, she possessed a kind of cynicism that questions everything and arrives at its own unique conclusions. Bhrigu was amused by her what he called “fresh, untainted views” and never tired of stroking a raw nerve in her to get the finest of them. He said and I quote- “Daisy is a girl who looks at the world by using herself as a prism. She first concentrates any issue on herself, as a prism does to a monochromatic white light, and scatters her colorful opinions in every direction.” Quite an interesting description, I might add.

  Daisy left hurriedly after she received a text from her mother and after ten minutes, Ponalla made an entry again and said in a thick accentuated voice- ‘There’s a man at door. Says he came see Bhrigu Mahesh all way from…from…I forget name, sir…’

  ‘Must be Nataraj Bhakti. I was expecting him today.’

  ‘Who’s Nataraj Bhakti?’ I asked

  ‘The man who sent me that e-mail, remember? How can you forget? I showed it to you only a week ago!’

  And he did well to count on my memory so much. ‘I am not able to recall…’ I said, slightly embarrassed and then a light bulb glowed somewhere in the depths of my mind, illuminating, I think, the memory portion of it. ‘Oh! You mean the man who wrote that he is being haunted by his dead wife?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I did not pay any attention to that nonsense. I thought you would delete it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So you believe in ghosts, phantoms, witches et al?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how could you entertain the lunacy of that man?’

  ‘The man isn’t a lunatic. In fact he is among those who don’t have any kind or form of imagination to claim as their own.’

  ‘Why do you say so?’

  ‘Didn’t you look at his credentials mentioned in the mail? He is a retired government clerk.’

  I stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. I think I was falling hard into the habit of repeating this routine. ‘You…you…’ I said wiping the tears off my face. ‘You are something!’

  ‘And that something is “discerning”? Well, yes.’ he replied with a smile.

  ‘So you are implying that if a person such as Nataraj Bhakti who never in his life saw a gay dream suddenly starts seeing the ghost of his dead wife, he is actually seeing his dead wife?’

  ‘According to him, yes.’

  ‘And that’s what we have to investigate?’

  ‘Correct.’ my friend replied ‘At the end of the investigation, we’ll either uncover a foul game or officially prove the existence of ghosts.’

  ‘And the paperwork will be done by Nataraj Bhakti?’ I said and my friend exploded into a cackle of laughter.

  CHAPTER 2

  A Tale

  Nataraj Bhakti was sitting before us on the oak chair. He appeared much self conscious and kept looking around the room. His darting, restless eyes finally rested on a decoration tortoise displayed on a stool. He looked at it with such intensity that I was afraid my metal tortoise which I had gifted Bhrigu on his last birthday would panic any second and retreat into its shell.

  ‘So, Mr. Bhakti’ said my friend ‘your problem is haunting you or shall we say that your problem is a haunting?’

  He looked at my friend with the same puzzled intensity with which he had graced my tortoise. Nataraj Bhakti was a man nearing sixty. He had very little hair at the back of his dome shaped head. His eyes were good for a man his age; big and brown and were noticeable behind thick, black rimmed spectacles. He had a straight, pencil thin moustache which he had laboriously trimmed at the corners. His lips were thin; almost as thin as his moustache and he had a habit of pursing them that sometimes gave one the impression that he had a slit for a mouth. The man was wearing a grey colored cotton shirt and faded black trousers. On his right wrist was a humble watch that he kept glancing at every five minutes; a habit many a government clerk develop over the course of their job, leaving me to wonder whether it is by sheer boredom or by an urgency to get the work done in time. I would wager a bet on the former, though. On the whole his bohemian style reeked of a clerk and the only thing that offered a relief like a singular dash of bold red across a dull, black and white picture was his shoes. They were pure patented leather, shiny and white.

  ‘My wife,’ he began in a pitch that I was afraid would not vary much during the course of the conversation ‘has returned.’

  ‘So I read.’ said my friend ‘what is the reason for your feeling so?’

  ‘My…my wife has come back from the after life’ he quavered ‘When she died, I performed every ritual prescribed by the scriptures, fed twenty five Brahmins, ten goats and a buffalo by breaking my provident fund…’ His voice reached an indiscernible pitch. ‘My provident fund! Imagine! Only so that her soul could rest in peace but…but still she returned!’

  ‘You should have sued the Brahmins for cheating you’ I said ‘Why did you come to us?’

  He looked at me pitifully and said ‘How can I sue the Brahmins, sir? That would condemn my soul to eternity. I came here on the recommendation of Prasadu. He wrote the mail on my behalf.’

  ‘Prasadu?’ Bhrigu bolted ‘You know him?’

  ‘He is my distant nephew.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Who is Prasadu?’ I asked. Apparently this conversation was getting more personal by the second.

  ‘He was a petty thief serving time in the police station where I worked.’ Bhrigu said ‘The man had the habit of landing in jail as soon as he had been released with some brand new charge. Like a ping pong ball. Until I met him. One interview and he is now working at a cloth shop as a salesman, earning his bread honestly. His family was very happy at him turning a new leaf and sent me baskets of mangoes as a token of their gratitude.’

  ‘Yes sir’ said Nataraj Bhakti ‘When Prasadu learnt of my problem, he told me to go see you. He said that you could do anything.’

  ‘Not everything, for sure.’ said Bhrigu, smiling broadly. ‘But if
your problem falls under my expertise, I’ll surely do my best to help you. Tell me, sir, why do you thing that your wife has returned?’

  The man clasped his fingers tightly on his lap, pursed and unpursed his lips and began ‘There has been no end to my troubles since I retired from my job as a senior clerk in the Public works department and came to lead a retired, peaceful life in my village. I was very much enjoying the natural air and the simple pleasures of a retired life when my wife passed away. She was a strong woman who had always stood with me through thick and thin. I owed her a lot. When she died I organized a grand funeral to pay my final respects to my dear wife and did everything for the peace of her soul but…’ He wiped a bead of sweat that had stealthily formed on his forehead, gulped visibly and resumed ‘but after six months I swear I heard her voice at about midnight when I woke up to attend to Nature’s call. Our lavatory is situated at the back of our house and I have to cross my backyard to get there. I always carry my torch when I have to go to the lavatory at night. So I got up, took my torch and made my way through the backyard to the lavatory, my torch illuminating a small area ahead of me. I reached the door and pulled it open. I latched it from the inside and was about to squat comfortably when I heard a noise. It was more of a disturbance, really, and I accorded it to one of the cats which had developed an irksome habit of loitering outside, looking for an opportunity to enter into the kitchen in search of milk. The noise subsided after a few seconds. But when I got up and was about to open the door to go outside, my hand froze on the latch and blood in my veins when I heard the shrill cry of a woman renting the air outside. It pierced the heart of the peaceful night like a sharp edged knife. The cry echoed in the fields and slowly died in the arms of the night. My heart was beating fast inside my chest. I couldn’t muster up the courage to open the door and venture out. I kept muttering verses from the Hanuman Chalisa and stayed locked up in my crammed confinement.’ He gulped again, pursed and unpursed his lips and resumed ‘I never knew fear such as I felt that night, behind the weakly latched door of my lavatory. I could clearly hear my heart going like a ticking time bomb and my blood pounding in my ear. I stayed motionless; hand numb with clasping the latch and head sore with naked fear for about half an hour and kept repeating the name of Shree Hanuman in a desperate effort to avoid a panic induced heart attack. I don’t know how but I somehow mustered enough guts to open the door with a trembling hand. I got out into the night sky and nervously scanned my surroundings in the dim light from the torch. Everything was dark, silent and peaceful again. For a moment it appeared as if the cry was just the manifestation of my overwrought nerves when I heard the noise of shuffling feet coming from the lavatory that I had just vacated!’

  We were listening to his account of horror in absolute silence but the nature of our silence was vastly different. Whereas my silence was the product of sheer fright, Bhrigu’s was more out of a natural curiosity. He looked like a vigilant reporter, listening to a most incredulous account and simultaneously thinking about how much of it was worth his time and patience.

  ‘At that moment, several things happened all at once.’ The man continued ‘Adrenaline overpowered my senses and before I knew anything I was inside my bedroom, panting hard. I don’t know how I got there so fast but I had a numb sensation in my feet and I guess taking orders from the adrenaline which was now in charge of my body, they had carried me safely to my room. I bolted the door from the inside and tried to sleep but the shock of fright gave rise to a dreadful paranoia and all through the long night, I half imagined, half heard terrible, ghoulish noises drifting towards me from behind the curtained windows. That was the worst night of my life.’

  ‘For a month I went about my work in a daze; frightened to death at the prospect of the approaching night. I was relieved somewhat when the noises did not repeat themselves and within a month of careful watchfulness, my panic gradually subsided. I was starting to feel myself again when the phantom calls began again.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Bhrigu ‘Why do you think that the ghost was silent for a month?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ he replied with visible heat ‘How am I to know the timetable of a ghost? Pardon me sir, but I am a retired clerk and not a tantrik.’

  ‘Please continue.’

  ‘Well’ he began ‘I started suspecting the ghost to be my recently deceased wife when it endeavored to scare me for the second time.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘I am coming to that, sir.’ he replied, glancing at his watch again. ‘The second time around the ghost started to spook me in a manner very like my wife.’

  ‘Your wife used to spook you? Strange.’ I observed.

  ‘No, not spook.’ he said with a touch of guilt in his voice. ‘She, as I said, was a strong, supporting woman but sometimes that kind of strength and support comes at a cost. Of all the qualities that she possessed, tenderness was not one of them. She was an able worker but not an elegant one at that. When she cleaned the house, for example, I had to run for sanctuary because she would make such a racket moving pots and pans, beds, furniture to get to the dirt hiding in obscure corners that had we lived in a city, where people are prone to privacy and peace, I would have received complaints depending on the time my wife decided to clean the house. She was that thorough and that ruthless. Do you understand?’

  We nodded our heads in agreement. She was a ninja cleaner.

  ‘The ghost started to do just the same. It would move pots and pans and other items in the kitchen to an imperceptible degree at first, as if nervous at its first attempt and afterwards, getting bolder, it started creating a pandemonium in exactly the same manner as my wife. Only this time the objects moved but the dust remained there as before. So, you see, I did not even have the advantage of tolerating the infernal noise in the hope of seeing a clean house.’

  ‘That’s a tragedy.’ I observed.

  ‘And how long did it last?’ Bhrigu asked

  A look of torture and pain convulsed the face of the poor man. Apparently, the second time the efforts of the ghost were of a persisting kind.

  ‘Three months this time.’ he replied, suddenly aging by twenty odd years. ‘It was a relentless process; inexorable. I thought it would only stop now after my heart had stopped.’

  He took a sharp, painful breath, wiped another bead of sweat from his forehead and continued ‘Alas after three months when I had reached a condition of getting hospitalized, the moving stopped. Hardly had I recovered when the ghost which was most definitely of my wife’s got bored of inactivity and planned another round of attack. I must admit here that my dear wife, while living, was a very practical, no-nonsense person who had nothing even remotely resembling a sense of humor. She lacked it thoroughly but I don’t know what food she consumed in the afterlife that once returning from it, she could suddenly play practical jokes!’

  My friend and I exchanged a glance here but did refrain from making any comment.

  ‘The third time was the worst and established beyond all doubt that my wife had definitely returned.’

  ‘And that was?’ I asked ‘Let me guess! It started flirting with you?’

  Bhrigu gave me a sharp look which I ignored. Nataraj Bhakti looked at me, confused and embarrassed. He opened his mouth to answer but closed it awkwardly, pursed his lips in his signature manner and then finally said ‘Sir, why are you joking with a poor, stricken man? My wife could develop a sense of humor in the afterlife but she could never, ever, develop one romantic bone in her body. That is completely out of the question.’

  ‘Then?’ said Bhrigu bestowing the man a look that said ‘I have had enough’

  Mr. Bhakti sat there like a statue, blankly staring at the metal tortoise and then resumed dully ‘My wife had a strange obsession. Although she was a woman sound in the body and mind, there was this one peculiarity about her that I sometimes found amusing and at other times irritating. You see, she was ob
sessed with her comb.’

  ‘Her comb?’ I asked, naturally surprised.

  ‘Yes, her comb.’ he replied. ‘She had a steel comb, grey in color, with her name engraved in small, flowery letters along the edge. She said that she had got it as a present from her maternal uncle when she was just a kid. I don’t know why but she wasn’t particularly fond of that uncle of hers and never mentioned him once when she was in the mood to chat about her family but the comb that he had gifted her was the one thing that she loved like her own child. She would never let a spot of dust settle on its shiny, polished surface and would always keep it on the dressing table in a special holder that she had purchased only for the use of her dear, little comb. She had it with her for the last thirty five years and her hair had never been touched by any other comb. It was as if she was committed to the thing or something. It was beyond idiocy.’

  ‘So did that comb disappear?’ Bhrigu asked.

  ‘No, no sir!’ said the man breathlessly ‘The comb did not disappear. I should tell you that after my wife died, the comb was left neglected in its holder. I never touched it and a thick layer of dust soon consumed it. But one week after the second phase of the haunting ended, I came into the room and what did I see?’ His voice struck a note that could well compete with a woman’s pitch. ‘What did I see?! I saw that the comb was laying dead centre of the dressing table, shining in the sunlight as if my wife had scrubbed it anew.’

  ‘I see’ I observed.

  ‘This continued for a fortnight or so and then stopped. You could imagine the horror I had to face for those fifteen days! I always used to pick the comb up and replace it in its holder and the comb would start to collect dust but after a few days, I would miraculously find it lying at the centre of the dressing table, shining in the sunlight…’

  ‘As if your wife had scrubbed it anew.’ I completed the sentence for him.

  ‘Yes sir, exactly.’ he said ‘You just read my mind.’

  ‘Did the haunting finally stop after fifteen days?’ Bhrigu asked politely.