Published in Deccan Herald, Magazine Section, July 12, 1987. Reproduced by Permission.
In the month of March 1975, I was carrying out geological traverses in the Kameng District of NEFA Himalaya.
I had started out from
Delhi with two scientists of the Wadia Institute of Himalayan Geology and the three of us had traversed along the Bholakpong – Bomdila road up to a place called Jamiri Point. At Jamiri Point we parted company and I was left with a Kumaoni called Haiyath Singh, who played the dual role of a cook and field coolie.
We shared a room in a tiny Border Roads rest house constructed mainly from wood and asbestos sheets. The rest house was rather isolated and lonely, being about two km from Jamiri village which was upstream of the
Tenga River.
The village settlement consisted of five or six huts and a Tibetan coffee shop. At Jamiri, the swift flowing
Tenga River executed a very broad meander and flowed southwards in a narrow gorge.
The Bholakpong – Bomdila road bordered the Tenga river on its western side, and at a point where the river took a southerly turn, the road veered off to the left. The rest house was located beside the road just before the point where the road left the river.
The sides of the valley were rather steep but that did not prevent the growth of a dense mixed jungle on either side of the river. There was no electric supply anywhere nearby, and during the night one could see more stars than a city-dweller could imagine. In the stillness of the night one could hear even the beating of one’s heart above the soft murmur of the river.
After a tiresome journey one day, Haiyath Singh and I returned to the rest house around five in the evening and refreshed ourselves with some biscuits and a cup of tea. Later, I suggested that we go and get some cigarettes. The shop was situated downstream and we had to walk two km in a direction opposite the village. When we left the rest-house it was already dusk and one could barely see ten metres ahead. We had walked some distance from the rest-house when our attention was attracted by the sound of a bell. It was ringing intermittently and softly. Ding-Dong… Ding-Dong… it went and rang again after a gap of a few seconds. We could not discern which side of the river it was coming from.
As we stood trying to locate the sound, we noticed a tiny red spark rise up, apparently from the river, on the other bank, become brighter and fall back into the river. This was curious. So we stood still for another half a minute when we saw the spark rise again and fall back. Except for the ringing of the bell intermittently, and the soft gurgle of the flowing river, the silence hung so heavily that one could cut it with a knife.
“Saab, woh Kaali bhooth hai”, said Haiyath Singh in a soft whisper.
When I turned to look at him, I noticed that his eyes were crystallized with fright. I could understand the cause for his fears, as he was from a remote village in the Almora District of Kumaon, where numerous superstitions are rife regarding ghosts and evil spirits. We started walking away from the place towards the cigarette shop, and all the while I busied myself in allaying his fears about ghosts. He persisted in relating various ghost stories of Kumaon and especially of the ‘Kali bhooth’ which was known to chase people, particularly young virgins, and set them ablaze.
We reached the shop, purchased some cheap cigarettes that were available, and on our way back, the sound of the bell and the spark rising and falling were still there.
We reached the rest-house and Haiyath Singh proceeded to cook dinner, which consisted of a few chapathis and dal. All the while he kept insisting that his ghost stories were true. I could see that he was working himself up to a frenzy. We dined around 8 pm, and by nine, having nothing much to do, put out the candle and lay on our beds.
In the silence of the night and in total darkness, still wide awake, I could not help my thoughts racing back to Bangalore – thoughts of Central College, of beautiful young girls, and specially of the pretty girl I had left behind. While I was enjoying my reverie, I began to hear the sound of the same bell faintly but distinctly and it was certainly far off. More than the sound of the bell what had troubled me was the spark of fire rising and falling, for which I had no conceivable explanation.
“Saab!” groaned Haiyath Singh.
“Kya bhai”, I asked
“Aap ko neend aayee?”
I kept silent, and in a while, he rose up and lit the candle. In the feeble glow of the candle light, I could see that his face was contorted with fear. The light cast eerie shadows on the wall, and in the stillness of the cold Himalayan night, the intermittent sound of the bell was disconcerting. The grave expression on Haiyath Singh’s face was not very assuaging either. Then there was that inexplicable spark of fire. And those gruesome ghost stories.
The bell was getting closer and closer and in a few minutes it sounded just outside our rest-house. Haiyath Singh threw up. I was disconcerted. I decided to settle the matter once and for all. Lighting up a torch, I crept out of a door which opened to the rear of the rest house, avoiding the front door, and trudged slowly around the building towards the barbed-wire fence, from which direction the sound was coming. I shone the torch in the direction of the sound, but could not see anything from the distance. I stood still for a while, and when matters seemed pretty safe, I mustered up enough courage to take a few steps in the direction of the bell, the sound of which was now mixed with the rustling of leaves.
In a few steps all was clear. There stood a brown horse munching away merrily. And around its neck was tied a bell. I could not help smiling. I walked back to the room and reported the matter to Haiyath Singh. He still would not believe what I was saying, so I was forced to drag him out the front door to show him the horse. I am still not convinced his mind was set at rest after seeing the horse, for when he woke up the next morning, he was complaining of a headache. I was still troubled about the spark and decided to investigate it the next day.
We left the rest-house early next evening and went and sat down at the spot. A little later, just before dark, we saw a fisherman arrive on the narrow eastern bank of the river. Haiyath Singh told me that it was the practice even in Kumaon, to cast the net in the river after dusk, when the fish cannot see clearly and are easily caught. He squatted hunched beside the river. A little later he lit up a beedi. Then the whole thing became clear. He would cup the lit beedi in his palm and when the hand was dropped beside him, the spark was concealed by his fingers. Whenever he lifted his hands to smoke, the spark became visible, appeared to rise from the river, would glow and fall back.
“Jo bhi hai, Saab! Kaali Bhooth ki kahani sach hai”, insisted Haiyath Singh.
xxx
