The Ghost of Patpadganj

 ‘The boy is no more than 10 years old’,  I heard as I stepped on the platform of Patpadganj Station. It was a  chilly night in the small village of Patpadganj in Northern India.  A group of men was sitting on their toes, near the platform, surrounding a fire.  They had shawls over their shoulders and one could only notice their boney orange faces in the light of the fire.  I was the only one to deboard at the station. The platform was nearly empty except for a few dogs, who were roaming here and there, and those men who, for reasons unknown, were spending a chilly night at the platform.

The winter season in North India brings a halt to everything including transport services. The already late trains would run more late and every now and then flights would be canceled.  The Government would blame every delayed train on fogs and bad weather and the public would, just, somehow agree with their reasoning. I was a second-year student of Archaeology and an assignment from the university brought me to this secluded town of Patpadganj. My train was supposed to reach Patpadganj at 5:00 in the evening but it was 6 hours late and I reached Patpadganj at 11:00 clock in the night.

I was chilling in my expensive jacket while I noticed that those men were sitting with only a thin shawl around their shoulders casually talking to each other with their palms facing the fire. Who are these people? Aren’t they feeling cold? I asked myself as I rubbed my shoulders with my hands to produce some warmth. I had no clue where to spend the rest of the night. I didn’t know anyone in the village and the hope of finding a hotel or a place to stay in the village seemed unrealistic. I glanced left and right, up and down for no reason whatsoever, and decided to talk to these men. Maybe they were local people and could arrange a place for me to stay in the village, I thought. With a rucksack on my shoulder,  I walked towards them cupping my hands over my mouth blowing hot air, in an attempt to warm them.

‘It was all over the news.’, said one man to the other.

‘What was all over the news?’, I asked in an attempt to strike a conversation with them.

Those men gave me a chilling stare. They seemed offended, either by my interruption or my lack of knowledge on the subject. I felt goosebumps all over my body. A cold gush of wind hit my face and for some reason, I felt extremely vulnerable in presence of these men.

‘The boy. Haven’t you read the newspaper.’, said one man in a dead tone.

‘ What boy?’ I asked hesitatingly. I was a regular reader of the newspaper but I found it hard to recollect any mention of a boy in it.

‘The tea-boy of Patpadganj. He was no more than 10 years old.’, whispered one man. He adjusted himself, tucked his knees, and hugged them in his arms as he spoke,’ He used to sell tea, right here at this platform until he died. He got hit by a train. His ghost has returned to take revenge. A few people have seen him. Kyu be hariya, toye toh dekhe rahe oo ladke ka. Tell him.’, said the man to the one on his right.

The man on the right, Hariya spoke,’ Jay Bajrang Bali.’ as he folded his hands in a praying gesture. ‘Bajrang Bali saved me that day. I was returning from the Thakur’s field after a hard day’s work. I had earned well, that day, and I was just near the old guest-house when I saw that boy around the corner of the main road. I immediately recognized him and my legs froze in my place. I was terrified and I wanted to turn around and run as fast I could but I couldn’t move my feet. I was looking at him as he sailed and stopped a few inches in front of me. He lifted his glass holder and offered me tea. I was sweating profusely and chanting Hanuman Chalisa the whole time in my mind. I, hesitatingly, took a glass from the stand. He presented his other hand as if he was demanding payment for his tea. I didn’t know what to do so I hurriedly put my whole pagar in his hand. I knew I was going to die so I closed my eyes and waited for him to kill me but nothing happened. When I opened them after some time, the boy was gone;  he was nowhere to be found. There was no glass in my hand either.’

The man’s voice was shivering while narrating the incident. He seemed terrified.  An older man from the lot spoke ‘ maya aat-jaat rhi, jaan jahan hai’ (Money will come and go. Life is precious).

I was a little spooked too. I had always thought of myself as a man of reason, of science and there’s no space for ghosts and witches in science. Village people have a penchant for narrating extraordinary stories and they believe in anything and everything. If they say that they have seen a dragon in the skies blowing fire all over their village, would it become true? Definitely Not.  I should not believe them. I tried to console myself with these thoughts but they seemed to be working vaguely.

While I was immersed in my thoughts, the men put out the fire, stood from their places, and begin to walk towards the village, probably to their homes. I came back to my senses,  and noticing them walking away, shouted,’ Arey Bhaiya, Suno. Can I get any place to stay in the village for the night?’

‘Try the guest house’ one answered and pointed in the north with his hand. They all seemed to be in some kind of hurry. Soon, they disappeared behind the houses in the village and I was left alone at the station with some dogs who were looking at me curiously.

I had no other option so I decided to walk in the direction of the guest-house. After walking a mile, I guess, I saw a light coming from a small house. It must be the guest-house, I said to myself. I brisked my pace and reached there. There was no one present at the guest-house. I called Hello several times but to no avail. The Watchman or the caretaker would have gone somewhere, I thought. The door to the house was open and I decided to make myself comfortable inside. I decided that I would explain everything as soon as the guard would return. The room had a decent space. On one side was a properly made bed with quilts and pillows and the other side had a table with a jug of water and glass over it. The rest of the room was nearly empty.

I put my bag on the table and took off my shoes. I closed the door make the room warm. I was feeling cold so I decided to tuck myself in the quilt on the bed.  The warmth inside the quilt felt heavenly and since I was tired I didn’t know when I dozed off.

Suddenly, I was startled by the loud knock on the door. I, immediately, stood up and gazed at my wristwatch. It was 2:30 in the night.  ‘Who’s there at this hour? Must be the watchmen’ I thought and put on my shoes lazily and walked towards the door.

As I opened the door, I was shocked to my core to see the person who stood at my door. It was that tea-boy.  He was a frail boy, probably 8-9 years old and not more than 5 feet. He was wearing a thin white shirt and a half-pants. He did not lift his head to see me in the eyes but rather moved his eyeballs up to make contact with me. He had a tea-holder in his right hand. His face had a liitle dirt over it and he was shivering.  I was dumbstruck to see the ghost of the tea-boy. All my nightmares came true in one moment and all the science and scientific thoughts were thrown out of the window in another. I could not move.  I wanted to shut the door but instead,  I  froze at my place. The cold beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. The chilly breeze hit right on my face and I felt a lump in my stomach. I felt hollow. My mind was blank and I didn’t know what to do.

The boy lifts his right hand and offered me tea. I was too scared to make any movement. I feared that if I made any movement the boy would pounce upon me and probably kill me. The boy waited for a while but seeing no reaction moved his right hand a little bit more in my direction.  I had no option but to take the tea. With trembling hands, I took the tea glass. It was hot. The boy moved his left hand towards me as if he was demanding money. I immediately got hold off my wallet and took out whatever money I could get my hands on and put it in the boy’s hand. The expressionless boy turned and started moving away. In a flash, I closed the door and sunk down on the floor with hands over my head.  I couldn’t believe what just happened to me. I just sat there for a few minutes trying to grasp the situation. My heart was pounding inside my chest. I decided not to stay at this godforsaken place for any moment longer. I properly put on my shoes, took my bag, and left the guest house.

I was pacing myself towards the station. The temperature must have been 2 or 3 degrees but I wasn’t feeling it. My body was warm, my heartbeat was high and I was running towards the station. To hell with science and scientific studies; to hell with archaeology, I was cursing myself out of desperation. I had no control over what I was saying. I was blurting all sorts of stupid things. I just wanted to reach the station as fast I could.

As I turned right on the main road to continue my journey to the station  I noticed the boy again. The hollow feeling came back and the lump reappeared. The boy was on the far end of the road walking away from me. I decided to let the boy disappear and then continue my journey. To my surprise, the boy turned towards the left on the far end of the road, and in doing so he jumped in the puddle and splashed water all over himself.

The science and scientific thoughts came crashing back into my mind and logic took over. I decided to follow the boy and I ran towards the far end of the road. I followed the boy in several narrow lanes of the village until he reached its outskirts. There was a small hut nearby. The boy paced towards the hut and went inside. Through the narrow straws of the hut, I saw a woman embracing the boy with the palloo of her saree.

‘Mera raja beta’ she said lovingly. ‘He is so cold’ and she immediately put him inside a quilt and brought some fire near him.

‘You will kill home someday. He is freezing’ she said angrily to a man who was busy smoking a hookah.

‘ Nah, he is a tough kid.’ He said blowing a large puff in the air. The man was Hariya from the station.

He finished his hookah and went outside the hut. He came back in and said,

It’s almost 3. The passenger train comes at 3. I am going to the station.

He took his shawl and some money and paced towards the station. I followed him. He reached the station and moved to the spot where his group was waiting for him around a small fire. He distributed the money, he brought, among them. They silently put the money in their pockets.

I was noticing them from a distance. Soon, the passenger train arrived and a couple deboarded at the station.

The men adjusted themselves around the fire. Hariya in a loud voice started talking, ‘The boy is no more than 10 years old’.