Manish Roy's ghost

 

Ours is a two-story house, just like the old Hindu houses in movies. In fact, a movie was once shot in our house. I was very young then. I was in class four. That movie was about a Hindu landlord. Even then, I didn't know that our house was really a "Hindu house"! I later learned that my mother used to work as a maid in this house. My father was the caretaker of this house. The year of the Indo-Pak war in 1965 was a turning point for us. My father's boss, Shri Manish Kumar Roy, sent his entire family to India and stayed at the house with his trusted caretaker, Golam Rahman. Golam Rahman and his newly married wife lived in a room on the ground floor. One day, during the uncertain days of that war, Manish Babu suddenly disappeared. Where did Golam Rahman hear from that the master "the ryot has laid down his life"! During that turbulent Pakistan period, Golam Rahman's days began to turn around from then on. Six years later, when the war broke out between the two Pakistans, that was when Golam Rahman's real life began to change. My father was not a Razakar or a member of the Peace Committee. He did business during the war. He occupied Hindu houses.... No, that is also wrong, my father only bought them from the occupiers at the price of water. In doing all this, he paid bribes to everyone from the Razakars to the freedom fighter commanders. He himself never went to loot any house. Someone came and offered to buy a Hindu house, and my father went and took possession of it. He had to go to many places for this. Once, a group of freedom fighters even captured my father and took him away. They released my father in exchange for a few sacks of rice, pulses and grains. My father may have been able to convince me that he was not for Pakistan. He was so good that he was also captured in the Razakar camp in November. He was released there too with a good bribe. Today, when my father is taken as the chief guest at our neighborhood club function on Independence Day, it is to take him to the Razakar camp. Even if the Razakars had won the war, they would have called my father to their Independence Day celebrations for the incident of taking me to the freedom fighter camp. My father's forehead was so good. Whoever won the war, my father could have mixed with them.

The shock I felt as a child when I learned that children are born as a result of the union of parents, and the hatred I felt for my parents, was exactly the same as the first time Swapan had instilled hatred in me about us on a rainy afternoon. Swapan was my stepfather, his laboratory in the attic. With the old broken radios, torch lights, and small toy motors at home, Swapan would research how to make machines. On holidays, Swapan would go to the attic in the afternoon. I was his assistant. It was a cloudy day, it was drizzling rain outside. The rising water was stagnant. Swapan would make a launch, a small motor with a fan attached to its head. When you connect the pencil to the battery, the tin fan attached to the pin of the motor starts spinning. Now, if you can make something like a thin tin boat, and the motor can be mounted on the back of it like a wheel, then you have an engine boat! An old tank was lying in the attic. Inside was an old state-owned junk. The two of us were opening the trunk and rummaging through the things. Swapan suddenly stopped and showed me a brass lamp he was holding and said, “What do you mean by this?” Swapan’s face lit up with a smile. Swapan took out small brass toy plates and bowls from inside the tank.

“Girls play with these,” I said. “Where did these come from?”

“These are toys, not donkeys,” Swapan said. “These are used in Hindu worship.”

“Why are Hindu things in our house?” My eyebrows furrowed.

Even though Swapan is only a year older than me, he knows a lot more than me. He has a lot to say. We are both in class eight, yet he goes to school smoking a cigarette! Why is he so careless about going to a paan shop and asking for a cigarette! I crouched down and moved away. I was just afraid that someone in the house would see him? Swapan doesn't care about any of this. We don't have a mother. His elder brother is busy in college and has his own world. He doesn't care about our discipline. He only managed to avoid my father's eyes. Swapan gets beaten up a lot by his father for being a jerk. One day, my father beat him up like that with a belt! But day by day, Swapan doesn't seem to care about anyone anymore. He showed me a brass bell now and said, "Who told you this is our house?" Swapan laughed like a fool.

"Not ours?" I looked at him in disbelief. I hated Swapan. And I was very scared.

"Have you heard of Manish Roy?" Swapan said as if to tell a secret.

“No.”

“This is Manish Roy’s house. Dad was their doorman.” A smile played on Swapan’s lips.

“Who told you all this?” My throat was choked with an unknown fear.

“Ah-ha, I know everything!” Swapan boasted of himself as if he knew everything.

Yes, now we know everything. Everything is hidden from children until they reach a certain age. Manish Roy was also a name like that. However, we have an explanation for the Manish Roy family. Dad bought this house from Manish Roy…. But our neighbors, the local cynics, say behind the scenes that Dad had occupied a Hindu house….

A month before his death, Swapan had become very restless. And what kind of crazy talk he used to make. One day he told me, “Manish brother is in this house – do you know!”

“In this house?”

“Hmm!”

“Who said that?”

“Manish Jatha walks around on the roof at night in his sandals! I saw it with my own eyes!” Swapan said with a look of horror.

“Who told you about that Manish Jatha?”

“I went up to the roof and saw Jatha with my own eyes!”

I swallowed in fear!

“You saw the ghost of Manish Jathar!” I warned Swapan.

“But why would you say that Manish Jathar’s ghost is roaming around this house? He fell into the riot. The Muslims killed him…”

“Then why is it in this house?” I said in fear.

“That’s it! I have to find out why Manish Jathar is a ghost, why can’t he leave this house…” Swapan’s stubbornness seemed to have been crushed.

Ever since Swapan said that, I too started hearing the sound of footsteps on the roof at certain nights. As if someone was slowly and quietly walking from one end of the roof to the other. I covered my head with my scarf in fear and crouched down. Swapan ran from his room and said, “Are you going to the roof?”

“No!” I said, crouching down in fear.

“Come on, let’s see Manish Jathar from behind.” Swapan forced me.

“No!” I buried my face in the pillow.

We had given our SSC exams then. Buriganga could be seen from our roof. The Tulsi stage that was on the roof a long time ago has now decayed and become our seating area. Swapan showed me a photograph. A yellow and black and white picture. An old man in a dhoti and Punjabi is looking uncomfortably at the camera. Swapan said, “Manish is a brother.”

“Why do you call him a brother?”

“My father used to call him a brother!”

“Swapan, stop worrying about all this. What’s the point?” I warned Swapan. Why did I feel like something bad was going to happen?

“A mystery has entered my head…. I won’t find peace until I figure it out…”

“What mystery?”

“I won’t tell you anything now. Let’s find out everything first, then…”

A week before Swapan died, he came to me with a suppressed excitement and said, “Our corner room on the first floor is always locked, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I was unnecessarily alarmed by the way Swapan spoke.

“Why does Dad sit alone in that room with the door closed?”

“Do I know?”

“Dad, a disciple of Pir Saher, did he remember doing zikir-tiki in that room one day?”

“Hmm.”

“I think Dad also sees Manish Jatha in this house, not just us.”

Swapan knows that I have also started seeing Manish Jatha. I first saw Manish Jatha on a cloudy blue evening in the wild bushes behind our house. It was as if the old man had unintentionally fallen in front of me - such a feeling, he made an embarrassed physical posture and went behind the bushes. I was frozen with fear. When Swapan told the incident, Swapan said, “Why are you afraid of Jatha, he won’t do any harm. I have spoken to him!”

“You are going crazy! Are you talking to a dead person?”

“Manish Jatha told me that he was cut up and buried in that room on the first floor!” Swapan continued to say without thinking.

“I will ask him”, Swapan continued. “Who else was there when my father killed him and buried him on the floor of the corner room on the first floor! Did my mother know about these events? Who is the second witness to this incident?”

“Father killed Manish Jatha in the room and buried him!” I choked up.

“Yes, that’s why Manish Jatha can’t leave the house.”

“Manish Jatha told you all this?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s why you’re suspicious.”

“Who was Dad talking to in the first-floor room with the door closed? I overheard,” Swapan continued.

“Who was he talking to?”

“With Manish Jatha. Dad was swearing.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“Dad was gritting his teeth and saying, I’ll bury you again…why did you leave this room…what do you want…”

Swapan committed suicide the day Dad didn’t shed a single tear. But from that day on, he became completely old! He completely withdrew from everything. He stopped talking to anyone unless necessary. I could tell that Swapan was going to do something. I could see his eyes moving restlessly all the time. A wild, crazy look had come into his eyes. But I never thought he would commit suicide. After Swapan left like this, a big change came to my life. I became completely lonely. Swapan was not my brother, he was like a friend. His unusual death, the connection to our family past - which only I know - took me to a different reality. I am not afraid of Manish Jattha at all since that day. I wake up at dawn listening to the sound of his hooves on many sleepless nights. Even today, Manish Jattha's embarrassed appearance is still in the bushes behind the house, disappearing is no longer a scary thing. On the contrary, as I climb the stairs, I can almost hear my father shouting, "You pig! I will bury you a hundred cubits under the ground! You will never be able to come out again!..."

My father died one day and remained in the chair. One day, his head was seen leaning on the chair's shoulder, foaming at the mouth.... My elder brother made a very big arrangement to cremate my father. Our elder brother runs the Dalda and the oil factory. My sister-in-law bought a flat in Uttara because my sister-in-law didn't want us to live here, so my brother-in-law lives there. I am alone in this house now. I don't feel lonely at all being alone in a whole house. I don't know why. The room where Swapan had hanged himself is locked. Sometimes I open it and go inside. I try to feel any existence of Swapan. Today, Swapan has been gone for 22 years! Just as Manish Jathar's age is stuck in the frame of Mahakal, Swapan is also stuck in the album with the face of a young man. How strange, Manish Jathar could not break the illusion of this house even today, but I have been waiting for Swapan for so long, just to see him once…. But Swapan was like someone from a distant land. Swapan left and never came back….

One holiday afternoon, my elder brother came to meet me. His red taxi was honking outside the gate. The servant opened the gate. I saw him coming, leaning on the railing of the two-story balcony. The two of us sat on the veranda. He asked about my health. He knew that I had just returned from the hospital last month. We talked about this and that. We had tea. Then we both started yawning. Before leaving, the elder brother suddenly remembered something and said, “You see, I gave the house to a company. They will turn it into apartments.”

“Which house?” I said in surprise.

“This one. We have an agreement with them that we will get two flats each and…”

“Will you demolish this house?” I looked into my elder brother’s eyes.

“Yes, it will be demolished and a brand new modern flat will be built!”

“No…” I said in a calm voice.

“What, no?” As if the elder brother didn’t understand.

“This house can’t be demolished.”

“You’re talking like an old man!”

“Let it stay as it is.”

“You just say it!... Do you know how much profit we will make?”

“Will they demolish the entire house?”

“I don’t understand anything you’re saying!”

Someone in my head seemed to be walking around restlessly on stilts. I pressed both sides of my head.

“Do you feel sick? Should I call a doctor?”

“No, I’m fine. You go.”

“You will get a flat. And…”

“Okay, fine. You go.” He seemed unbearable.

“I forgot to tell the truth…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I know what you say will happen.” I smiled sarcastically, looking at him.

“Hey, are you blaming me? What do you think, am I cheating you? I’ll get a flat and cash…”

“Please, brother, you go.”

“Okay, I’m going, listen, they’ll start work next month. Until then, you’ll stay with me in Uttara. If you don’t want to go, I’ll rent a house somewhere nearby. You’ll stay there until the flat is ready…”

The greedy one is thinking only of these things…. I know that I won’t be able to hold any objections. I’m half-crazy, addicted to drugs…. Everyone will listen to him.

The elder brother has left. Afternoon is approaching. Everything is quiet again. Sitting on the veranda, I’m thinking, this might be the last time in this house like this….

On nights when I can't sleep, the sound of Manish Jathar's footsteps can be heard on the roof. But what happened today? Manish Jathar didn't respond! My back ached as I lay in bed. I slipped off my sandals and climbed the stairs to the roof. The world was floating in a white light. Now Buriganga could no longer be seen from the roof. But Manish Jathar was lying dangerously on the railing of the roof over there, looking up at the sky. His feet were dancing. The old man was very happy today.…

Author: Sushupta Pathak