Fiction
Midnight's Wraiths and the Caretaker
The story seemed so outlandish that I could be forgiven for being incredulous even though I got it from the proverbial horse's mouth. That mouth belonged to a sixty-something man who was missing three upper and two lower incisors which lent an endearing quality to his disarming smile. His eyes, from under bushy eyebrows, had a delightful twinkle as they darted across my face. I was sitting across from him at an acquaintance's living room in a Bogra suburb. My friend, sitting next to me, interjected when I could not quite follow some of the words that were garbled and spoken in unfamiliar Bogra dialect (almost all of which, I hasten to add, I understand), as well as when he needed some explanation. The man was smallish, of spare frame, which was accentuated by a tight short-sleeve shirt and a lungi, and had a gaunt face covered with a salt-and-pepper full beard. He still proudly sported a full head of hair, also grizzled, marking a uniformity with his beard. He was sitting across from us because I had requested a meeting with him.
My good acquaintance had first told me the story, which aroused my curiosity, but also left a lot of unanswered questions and large gaps that could only be satisfied by the sprightly man sitting opposite us. He used to work as a guard at my acquaintance's parental home for a considerable length of time before finally landing the job of caretaker at a local socio-cultural organization's premises, which is situated within a short walking distance from my friend's place. He has continued at his job, and lives on the premises. And thereby hangs a tale.
The socio-cultural organization is housed in a very old building, dating back to the early twentieth century, which for a long time was a residence of a succession of Hindu families. It then fell deserted until the socio-cultural organization moved in. The caretaker lives in a small room all by himself as his family lives in their village home several kilometers away. He visits them at irregular intervals, but never fails to send them money each month. During daytime, including on weekends, at least one or the other of the organization's executives would spend time on the premises, if, for nothing else, than to delight in adda over cups of tea accompanying a variety of snacks bought from one of the several seedy eating houses in the vicinity. But, most days, the place would be full of activities, whether through organizing singing classes, or holding rehearsals for stage plays, or arranging other cultural programmes. Often they lasted well into the evening, but, inevitably, almost always before the onset of midnight, the last of the cultural activists and hangers-on left for his/her respective homes. Leaving the caretaker to savour the solitude, and look forward to a good night's rest.
Usually he would go to bed before midnight, after having dinner that he had cooked, or had shared the food that one or the other of the organization's executives/activists/hangers-on had bought. And then he would drift off into a peaceful night's sleep, to get up bright and early to begin the cycle of a day-in-the-life-of-a-socio-cultural organization's caretaker all over. One night, though, his sleep was interrupted. Or, rather, he just woke up and sat up on his bed, feeling a presence around him. He could not see it, but, all the same, he sensed that there was someone or something in the room. He sat absolutely still for a while, apprehending that a burglar had broken into the house and had come into his room.
"That fool! He'll only get some musical instruments. I just have a few pieces of clothing. Couldn't he find a rich house to burgle? He must be desperate!" He made up his mind to catch him, and then give him a hell of a beating. Just as he was about to shift his position, he heard a voice: "Look this way." He looked towards where the voice had come from, and gradually made out a shadowy figure. He was standing at the side of his bed. Eventually he got a clearer view without getting a definitive vision. With horror and amazement he realized that he could make out the hazy figure only because it was emanating some kind of a very faint light all around itself. It seemed that the figure was willing to show itself as a hazy outline, but not to reveal itself in full clarity. The caretaker's astonishment and fear grew as he saw another figure, equally indistinct, materialize as if from nowhere to stand next to the first. The second form spoke: "This is our place"
The caretaker finally found his voice: "Who are you? Where have you come from?"
"We are from this place. And don't talk so much. Otherwise, we'll break your neck."
At this point I interrupted the caretaker: "Did you believe them?"
"Yes, I did. They had such a cold hollow voice. By that time I was certain that they were not human. And I was afraid. They could be demons and could really do as they said."
"Please continue."
"Well, I said I was sorry. I was not going to anger them again. They seemed to be pacified. And then, why I don't know, I did a strange thing!"
"What?"
"I clasped my hands together and uttered 'Namashkar'."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Instinctively. I have heard that the house had been occupied by many Hindu families, and maybe these were two of their ghosts. I believe that the gesture saved me."
"How?"
"Well, they seemed to be pleased, and left soon after, vanishing into the air right in front of my eyes. And every time they come, I always greet them with a 'Namashkar'."
"There have been other occasions?"
"Oh yes! Many."
"When do they come?"
"Between midnight and two o'clock at night."
"How do you know?"
"I look at my clock when they come and go. You see, I was no longer afraid of them as I could see they would not harm me. I believe they come just to make their presence felt and have fun with me. You know, they even said that they would wring the neck of anyone who would do me harm. I just have to tell them."
"Are they male or female?"
"Don't know. They have exactly the same hollow voice."
"What do they look like?"
"Don't know. They always come late in the night, and just show enough of themselves for me to make out their forms. Both seem to have dark robes covering them. And that hair!"
"Hair?"
"You can't imagine such hair. Thick, long, dark, flowing down from their heads to the bottom of their robes. To me, from what I have been able to make out, that hair even covers up their faces. Oh, that hair! You've never seen anything like it!"
He repeated his observation about the hair on several occasions.
"Did you ever ask who they are?"
Yes. Once. They warned me never to repeat that question. And I haven't!"
He went silent for some time, lost in thought.
He resumed: "I told you that they are having fun at my expense. You know, they often just scatter the rice and potatoes that I keep in that room. Once I went to see my family. One night I was outside my house, walking about, as I could not sleep. It was dark. Then I saw them materialize in front of me."
"Came to see you. When will you return? You must return. You can't stay here forever. This is a warning."
"So you returned?"
"I don't know if I can ever go back for good to my village. But, you know, I'm coming to the end of my life. I want to spend my last years with my family in my own house. If they come and wring my neck, so be it."
After he left, I just sat, incredulous. The caretaker must have been hallucinating about the whole affair! It was only a story. I have only related the story as he told me. I have tried to faithfully recount the tale as I had heard it. But it has got my curiosity going. I plan on going back to my good acquaintance's place in the near future, and spend a couple of nights at the caretaker's place from midnight till the break of day.
Shahid Alam is an educationist, actor and former diplomat.
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