At four in the morning, on a foggy winter dawn in the month of Magh, seventy-year-old Mr. Harisadhan, wearing a dhoti and panjabi under a sweater and a woolen cap on his head, opened the gate of his South Kolkata house. The moment he stepped onto the street, he caught that familiar smell and asked, “Why have you come to Kolkata, leaving the village?”
Immediately, a whisper near his ear replied, “Master, this time we must settle things with Jaga once and for all.”
While walking, Mr. Harisadhan sighed irritably, “You all together can’t handle even this much?”
“No matter what, you’re the owner of the house, and we’re just tenants. It’s better if the matter is resolved in your presence.” The sound of wooden slippers followed from behind.
“I’ll see what can be done. Now go.” Mr. Harisadhan walked off briskly.
Though he lived in Kolkata now, Mr. Harisadhan regularly visited his ancestral home in the village of Monoharpur. His wife, son, and daughter-in-law refused to go there. They wrinkled their noses at the thought. His wife said, “Monoharpur doesn’t charm the heart at all! Power cuts all the time, I can’t even watch my TV serials. What will we even do there?”
His son, who worked in a reputed office, complained, “There’s no network, my laptop won’t work, and I can’t even do work-from-home.”
The doctor daughter-in-law said, “Leaving the clinic is impossible. My patients wait for me.”
Mr. Harisadhan muttered under his breath, “As if I never worked! And her clinic isn’t exactly crowded with patients either, yet she pretends to be so busy!”
These days, he said nothing to anyone and quietly went off to the ancestral home by himself. This time, when he was preparing to go, his only granddaughter Jhimli, a bright-faced class six student, said, “Grandpa, it’s my school vacation now. I’ll come with you, it’ll be an adventure!”
Mr. Harisadhan smiled. This brave, curious girl had inherited much of his nature.
In the village house lived ninety-year-old Gobinda, a lifelong bachelor. Mr. Harisadhan had grown up in his care. After getting off the train at the station, changing buses twice, crossing the river by boat, and finally taking an auto, he had to answer Jhimli’s endless stream of questions throughout the journey.
A middle-aged widow named Bela, who had no children, worked as the cook at the house. She had quickly prepared lunch and dinner and gone home.
After eating, Jhimli wandered through the large house, went into the library, picked a book she liked from the cupboard, and went upstairs to her room. Soon the winter evening ended quickly, and darkness fell suddenly.
Mr. Harisadhan was sitting in a reclining chair in the living room with his eyes closed. The power had gone off long ago, and Gobinda had lit a hurricane lamp in the corner.
Upstairs, Jhimli lay on her bed, reading a storybook by lantern light. Gobinda came to her, his frail body stooped. “Jhimli dear, what story are you reading?”
Without looking up from her book, she replied, “Ghost stories.”
“They’re right here in this garden, you know.”
Jhimli turned to him, putting her book down. “Oh, come on! Ghosts aren’t real. They only exist in stories.”
“Who said they don’t? Your grandfather left this house in their care so he can stay peacefully in Kolkata. At my age, what more can I do?”
A shiver ran down Jhimli’s back. “Grandpa Gobinda, are you trying to scare me?”
“Well, if you don’t believe me, see for yourself after dinner. Your grandfather will have a meeting with them tonight. Don’t fall asleep!”
At dinner, Jhimli looked at her grandfather. “Do you really meet ghosts?”
Startled, Mr. Harisadhan asked, “How did you know that?”
“I told her,” said Gobinda.
“Gobinda, why did you tell her? Now she won’t want to come here again. And if she tells them back in Kolkata, they’ll never let me come either.”
By then, Jhimli had finished her meal and washed her hands. “Why do you think I won’t come again just because I know? Do you think I’m scared?”
Mr. Harisadhan looked at her fondly. “Good, I’m glad to hear that. You see, ghosts don’t really have a place to live anymore, so they’ve taken shelter here as tenants. In return for rent, they keep the house clean, tend the garden, pick fruits and leave them in sacks, sweep the fallen leaves, and even catch fish from the pond and keep them in earthen pots of water.”
“What do they look like?” asked Jhimli eagerly.
“They appear as you imagine them to be. You have to feel them rather than see them. Faith reveals what reason can’t.”
Then Mr. Harisadhan went upstairs to sleep.
Gobinda grinned with his toothless mouth. “So, little queen Jhimli, do you believe now?”
Though she wanted to stay awake, Jhimli fell asleep from the day’s tiredness. Sometime past midnight, she woke up suddenly and noticed that her grandfather wasn’t beside her. She came downstairs calling, “Grandpa, where are you?”
Hearing her voice, Gobinda came out of his room wrapped in a shawl. “He’s by the pond.”
“I’ll go too.”
“You really are a brave girl! But before you go, wear these glasses.”
From his pocket, Gobinda took out a round, black pair of glasses and placed them over her ears. Opening the damp window door quietly, the two crept toward the pond.
Mr. Harisadhan was sitting on the concrete platform under the banyan tree beside the pond. Gobinda held Jhimli’s hand and hid behind a bush. “Don’t make a sound. Stay quiet.”
From the highest, thickest branch of the banyan tree descended a giant Brahmadaitya (a spirit of a learned man). One by one, other ghosts and spirits of various ages appeared from the nearby trees and gathered around.
Even in the middle of the night, Jhimli could clearly see the Brahmadaitya in a white dhoti, with his long legs dangling and wearing wooden sandals. Around her grandfather floated hazy, mist-like shapes of all sizes.
From behind the bush, Gobinda stuffed something soft and jelly-like into her ears. “Now you’ll hear the ghosts clearly.”
Mr. Harisadhan cleared his throat. “Does anyone have anything to say?”
In a deep voice, the Brahmadaitya spoke, “I told you about Jaga when you were in Kolkata.”
Mr. Harisadhan pulled his shawl tightly around himself.
Someone nearby kept coughing continuously “khok khok.” The Brahmadaitya frowned. “There’s a vasak (herbal) plant in the garden. Just sniff it!”
The coughing ghost said between wheezes, “I’ve been sniffing since I died! When I was alive, I used to breathe in all kinds of sweet air, but now nobody, only spirit, what can I do? The air’s so polluted! How hard it is to exist! Back when no cars passed by this road, the air was so pure! Ah! I’ve tasted so many kinds of air, rain-soaked air in monsoon, the wild fragrant air of spring, the chilly breeze of winter, the hot summer air, and the harvest-scented air of autumn, so many kinds! What flavor it had! And now? Only diesel and petrol mixed in the air!”
Everyone present sighed deeply.
The Brahmadaitya said, “When I went to Kolkata, I was suffocating in all that car smoke and I became half-smoke myself.”
Mr. Harisadhan said, “People are becoming far too mechanical these days.”
“Tell me about it. Everyone young or old stays glued to their mobile phones day and night. They don’t even sleep at night anymore. How can ghosts possibly live in the city now? That’s why we came here to settle down,” another ghost said.
Mr. Harisadhan sighed. “Because of mobile phones, people stay awake like ghosts these days. All the ponds and wetlands are being filled up for buildings, and all you see now are apartment blocks. It’s rare to find fresh vegetables or fish, and even what’s sold in the markets is full of pesticides. Now the promoters have their eyes on the open spaces in the village. Who knows, this pond might get filled up too. Jaga has been hanging around every day.”
A fish-ghost’s tearful voice was heard. “Then where will we go? What will we eat? How can a fish-ghost live without fish?”
Just then, panting heavily, the headless ghost appeared. “Master, just now two people have committed suicide in front of the metro rail.”
“You went there again?” asked the Brahmadaitya.
The headless ghost looked embarrassed. “Sir, I once threw myself on the railway track in anger and that’s how I lost my head. Now I wander looking for it. If I don’t have my own head, shouldn’t I at least look for it?”
Everyone burst out laughing. Even Jhimli covered her mouth to hide her giggles.
“The number of ghosts is increasing day by day. And they’re cutting down all the trees and demolishing the old haunted houses. Where will we stay now?” sighed the tree ghost.
“The trees in this garden have survived only because of the boundary wall, otherwise Jaga would have cleared everything long ago. We must deal with him, this daily trouble is unbearable,” said Mr. Harisadhan.
“Master, invite Jaga for dinner one evening. Then let’s see what we can do,” said the Brahmadaitya.
“What will you do? Twist his neck and drink his blood? None of that violence will do,” said Mr. Harisadhan.
The Brahmadaitya protested immediately, “Oh no sir, you’ve known us all this time and still think that? Whatever people write in ghost stories, in reality ghosts don’t whimper or drink blood. We live and feed on air alone.”
“Then we’ll have to talk to Jaga gently. The boy loves rasgulla and sandesh, so I’ve brought some for him. Now I must go, my granddaughter is alone,” said Mr. Harisadhan, heading toward his house.
Before he could enter, Govinda quietly led Jhimli inside. Mr. Harisadhan locked the side door, and in the meantime, Jhimli and Govinda lay down on their beds.
That evening, Jaga, a thirty-five-year-old man with red-dyed hair, jeans, a sweater over his T-shirt, and a scarf around his neck, arrived. Greeting Mr. Harisadhan respectfully, he said, “There’s no honor in real estate brokering sir, but one must eat to live.”
“If you want, I can help you find another job,” said Mr. Harisadhan.
Sitting on the cushioned chair in the drawing room, Jaga smiled broadly. “That would be a great help sir. But if you want to sell this house, I can get the papers ready through my boss. Good work should never be delayed. Once the pond is filled and a shiny shopping mall comes up, this whole village will change. You’ll be able to live the rest of your life in comfort.”
“Grandpa already spends his life in comfort,” said Jhimli.
Jaga frowned. “Children shouldn’t interrupt when elders are speaking.”
“But Grandpa is older than you, and you still talk about selling his house against his wishes. This house is mine too, Jaga Uncle,” said Jhimli, standing with her hands on her hips. “Our Kolkata house doesn’t have gardens like this, or flowers, or birds, or them.”
“Them? Who’s them?” asked Jaga.
Jhimli grinned. “The tenants of this house.”
Jaga looked puzzled. Jhimli continued, “Grandpa’s brought rasgulla and sandesh for you. Want some?”
“They’re nicely arranged on a plate. Someone please bring it here, it’s too cold for me to move,” said Govinda.
At once, the plate floated through the air and landed on the table. Jaga’s eyes nearly popped out. “What on earth is this?”
Jhimli giggled. “The tenants can’t pay rent, so they help around the house instead.”
“How long do I have to stand here holding the plate?” came a disembodied voice, the tree ghost again.
Jhimli placed the plate on the table before Jaga.
“I’m not scared of this nonsense,” said Jaga, trying to sound brave though his face had gone pale. “I’ll bring an exorcist and get rid of all of you. A few days of burning dry chillies and mustard seeds and you’ll all be gone. Trying to mess with me.”
Just then, a large guava flew out of nowhere and struck him on the forehead with a thud.
“Oh dear, who treats a guest like this? You invite me for dinner and then start throwing things at me?” said Jaga, clutching his forehead.
Mr. Harisadhan scolded the empty air. “Is this how you behave? You want to become like Jaga too?”
A deep voice, the Brahmadaitya’s, rumbled, “It was Mamdo. He threw it because Jaga insulted his name.”
“Jaga, I’m warning you for the last time, give up your hopes for this house. Otherwise, these tenants won’t let you live in peace. So far, I’ve kept them calm, but after this, I won’t take any responsibility. If anything bad happens to you or your boss, day or night, anywhere, don’t blame me. Besides, you’ve heard, my granddaughter wants to stay here too.”
Jhimli opened the medicine box, dabbed some calendula on Jaga’s forehead, popped a rasgulla into his mouth, and said gently, “Jaga Uncle, stay here tonight. Tomorrow, find another job just like Grandpa said.”
Mr. Harisadhan patted Jaga on the back. “Go home in the morning.”
That night, in the biggest upstairs room, the three of them, Mr. Harisadhan in the middle, Jhimli and Jaga on either side, lay down to sleep. Govinda slept downstairs in his own room.
Late into the night, loud thumping noises came from the roof. Everyone woke up.
Annoyed, Mr. Harisadhan called out, “Stop all that dancing and stomping in the middle of the night. If you don’t let us sleep peacefully, I’ll drive you all away myself. If you ignore humans, humans will ignore ghosts too.”
Jaga chuckled quietly. Jhimli smiled and turned over in bed.