Ghaziabad, Uttar Pradesh
Slowly, she sat up. She opened her eyes. Pitch-black darkness all around! Fireflies flickered like stars between the trees. Bubu stood up. Her clothes felt damp, and when she touched the back of her head, it felt sticky and gross, but there was no smell. What could it be?
She couldn’t see anything in the dark. She stared blankly for a while. Bubu was lying here, in this desolate place! Now and then, the sound of birds flapping their wings could be heard, and occasionally, a bird or two flew by. Bubu tried hard to think.
Soon, she remembered everything. Kankali Hill, or rather, a small hillock. Everyone was forbidden to come here. Just hearing the name made one think of a place full of skeletons, with a ghostly vibe that sent chills down the spine. Out of fear, no one dared to come near this area.
Bubu remembered that the three of them had come—Bubu, Bachchu, and Manik. It was Manik who had coaxed them into coming. But they had arrived in the afternoon, and now it was nightfall! Where were Bachchu and Manik? There was no sign of anyone around! Bubu’s memory slowly came back. She had fallen off the hillock. But how did she fall? She felt like someone had pushed her from behind. But who? There were only the three of them. Or maybe---! Did she slip? Could it be a gh---! Who knows!
Bachchu, Manik? Did they fall from the top too? She clearly remembered that Bachchu wasn’t nearby when she fell. He was quite far behind her. He had gone behind a tree, showing his pinky finger, indicating that he had to relieve himself. But what about Manik---! Why would Manik do something like this? They were friends. Manik was a mischievous boy, expelled from two schools, and now he wandered aimlessly all day, roaming the forests, with all sorts of naughty ideas swirling in his head.
Bubu’s mother always warned her, "Bubu, be careful. Manik is very naughty. His old grandparents can’t control him. Don’t fall under his influence. He’s heading for trouble." Then, with a heavy heart, her mother would say, "Poor boy, he never got the love of his parents. I feel bad for Manik. I saw him being born with my own eyes. Poor thing, he's going astray. His parents were such good people. If they were alive, he wouldn’t have turned out this way. The boy became so spoiled without proper care."
Bachchu was in Class Eight, younger than them. Bubu had just moved up to Class Ten, while Manik was three years older than her but had only reached Class Nine after struggling through the years. Despite being friends, Bubu always kept a bit of distance from Manik. He was the one who pulled both of them into his antics. Manik had an unusual hypnotic power; when he called, neither Bubu nor Bachchu could resist answering. They didn’t mind being with Manik. He told them all sorts of adventure stories—not only telling them but also showing them. He would roam the cremation ground at midnight and come back saying, "Look how brave I am!" He would grab a snake by its tail and fling it, or climb to the top of a tree to snatch bird eggs and smash them open.
Manik lived at his grandfather’s house. Behind the house, there was a small, old room. That room was full of Manik’s various tools and gadgets. Bubu and Bachchu often sneaked in there, hung out, and messed around. They would play with paints and kite strings coated with glass powder. Once, Manik had asked Bubu to pull the string to check how sharp it was. As soon as Bubu tugged, her finger got cut, and blood started flowing. Manik laughed out loud, saying, "If you can cut your finger, you should be able to cut a throat!" Bubu had been furious. She had left with Bachchu, swearing never to speak to Manik again. The next day, they found a dead pigeon in front of their house, its throat cut. Who knows, it might have been Manik’s doing! Bubu had strong suspicions that it was his work. He had no sense of compassion or kindness. The boy was reckless and cruel at times.
One day Manik had come over to their house, convinced them somehow, and renewed their friendship. Once again, the trio’s bond became strong.
Kusumpur was a prosperous village, almost like a small town. Manik knew every alleyway like the back of his hand. On one side of this small town was the Torsa River, and on the other was Kankali Hill, covered in dense bushes and shrubs. People didn’t go there because they believed it was haunted by evil spirits and ghosts, and those who ventured in never returned. Something terrible was bound to happen.
People told various stories. Some said that during the Indigo Revolt, indigo farmers were buried alive there in large numbers. No one knew if this was true or false, but it was a common belief. Sometimes, people claimed to hear laughter, at other times humming, and occasionally the sound of sobbing.
Manik had long wanted to go there. Perhaps he had already gone unnoticed by others. Manik brainwashed Bubu and Bachchu, saying there was nothing to fear—no ghosts! He said there were large, ripe guavas and plenty of jujube trees full of fruit. He even brought some home to show them, saying, “These are from the trees there.” Manik had learned that people from the neighboring village would gather the guavas and sell them at the market, and that’s what they ended up eating.
It was decided. Saturday was a half-day at school. After school, the three would go, but they wouldn’t tell anyone at home. And so, they ventured forth in the middle of the day, hearts pounding with nervous excitement. Bubu felt a little guilty; she had lied to her mother. Bachchu, the youngest, followed behind them, while Manik led the way, skipping ahead with a large stick, cutting through bushes and shrubs. They headed toward the ominous, mystery-filled Kankali Hill. It was said that cries could be heard there, the sound of earth being dug, and the snap of whips. Would they hear those sounds too? Goosebumps rose on their skin, and a chill ran down their spines. But inside, they felt a rush of excitement. It was going to be a grand adventure! Bubu would tell her mother everything later, maybe even bring her along one day. Half afraid, half curious, they finally reached Kankali Hill. Manik climbed up quickly, overjoyed, saying, “Come up and see how beautiful our village looks from here!” Bachchu stayed behind, but Bubu ran up to the top, breathless from the climb. It was truly beautiful! Like a picture, the Torsa River flowed below. Bubu took it all in with wide eyes. Who would have known Kusumpur was this beautiful? If Manik hadn’t brought them, they would never have known. She turned back to thank Manik, but then—what happened? Before she could grasp what was going on, she was falling, plunging down! Then, only darkness.
Slowly, Bubu’s eyes adjusted to the dark. The trees began to come into view. She could remember everything now. It seemed like someone had pushed her, but from such a height, it was surprising she didn’t feel any pain. Maybe she had landed on soft mud. Her body felt a bit heavy, but nothing too serious. But where were the others? Bachchu? Manik? Had they left her behind? It wasn’t beyond Manik to do such a thing. Or had they fallen too? Mom, dad, grandma—they must all be so worried by now. It was very late.
Bubu began walking, though her body swayed a bit. She had been so scared when they came, but now there was no fear at all. Why be afraid? Of what? Of whom? She kept walking toward the main road, seeing the lights in the distance. She quickened her pace but felt as if the ground beneath her feet was shifting. No need to rush. She didn’t want to fall again. She walked on. There it was—her house! People were gathered outside. What had happened? Were they all okay? Surely, they were worried about her! Or perhaps something had happened to grandma? She wasn’t well. Or dad? Had something happened to him? Bubu hurried home, feeling as if she were floating on air. She entered the gate, but no one even glanced at her. Were they angry? People were scattered around, looking troubled. Something was wrong.
Bubu entered the courtyard. There was her mother, holding someone close and crying uncontrollably. Grandma was being given water to drink. But whom was her mother hugging? Bubu stepped closer and called out, “Mom, mother!” No response—her mother just kept sobbing.
Bubu peered over her mother’s shoulder. That face—it was grotesque! Bubu recoiled in horror. Her mother was clinging to a bloody, mangled body. The back of the head was smashed, brain matter exposed, eyes bulging out—Bubu’s own lifeless body. She stood there, stunned. She realized she had died. She was a ghost now. No one could see her. She was a spirit.
Bubu’s heart ached with grief. Her father sat with his head in his hands. She floated over to her bedroom and stood before the large mirror. She had heard that ghosts have no reflection. She looked—there was no reflection of her in the mirror. Tears streamed down her face. She looked around, seeing everyone.
Suddenly, Bachchu appeared beside her. She hadn’t noticed him before. His eyes met hers, and he came closer, crying. “Manik killed us,” he said.
“But why?”
“Because we saw the dagger, the gunpowder, and the gun in his room. He thought we’d tell someone.”
Bubu was shocked. “You died too, Bachchu?”
“Yes. Look at my feet.”
“What happened?”
“Look, they’re not touching the ground.”
Bubu stared at their feet. They were both floating, their feet not touching the earth. There was no doubt—they were no longer part of the living world. They were spirits now, unseen by everyone, yet still filled with emotions.
Bubu spotted Manik standing in a corner, pretending to be innocent. Rage welled up inside her. She had never felt such anger before. Just then, a gust of wind swirled around, and Manik was swept off his feet, spinning like a top, until he was thrown into the pond. The water rippled violently as if someone was holding Manik underwater, and slowly, his head stopped surfacing. The wind, carrying a faint sound of crying, moved on toward Kankali Hill, though no one heard the cry.
A few days later, the police came to Manik’s house. It was revealed that he had been involved with a militant group, plotting an attack that would have caused mass casualties. But now, everyone was safe.
From Kankali Hill, Bubu gazed longingly toward her home. She knew when her mother would come to the well. At that time, she would float down and sit quietly in the chalta tree—ghosts were known to favour such trees. She would watch her mother. A couple of ripe fruits would fall at her mother’s feet. Her mother would pick them up, frowning in confusion, wondering how they had fallen on their own. “Ah, my Bubu loved chalta pickle,” she would say. “I’ll make some and give it to the children.” Bubu would lightly touch her mother and then return to Kankali Hill.
Every Saturday, her parents and grandma came to Kankali Hill to light a lamp and spend a little time there before leaving. Bubu stayed nearby, watching them, feeling the scent of her mother, brushing the stray hair from her father’s forehead.
The fear of Kankali Hill had faded. People came to stroll there in the evenings. Where accidents used to happen often, now there were hardly any. Some said they had almost slipped but felt someone pull them back, even though no one was there. Everyone believed that if a ghost lived on Kankali Hill, it was a good ghost, a kind one that never harmed anyone and even saved people from danger.
But that ghost wept. It wandered the hill, crying, its sobs echoing in the air, though no one heard its lament, its sorrow.