Chasing her, ghungroo...

Chasing her…the mystery of ghungroo…

In pure panic he woke up; something strange; he was drenched in sweat, throat dry! He was not only sweating but also panting, as if he was just back from a race. Pitch dark, where the hell was the door? Wasn’t it supposed to be…? Where the hell was he? What was that mossy smell? Stale like, …………like what?......

Ok ok, cool down Ken!

From the beginning now! First, where was he, what was he doing there? Outside, there was this wailing of a dog, or was it a wolf? A loud howling and sounds of some scuffle and a scream, eerie, feminine, blood curdling…

Maybe that was what that woke him up. In his tired half sleep world these noises sounded like they were from some far away dream. But why was he sweating? drenched?. Was that scuffle between him and something; and was that why he was panting? As he thought about that, he carefully sat up and tried to put his leg down and hit it hard on the floor, and that hurt. He wasn’t asleep on a bed but on the floor, but as his stretched foot touched floor he found it rough and soft like mud. Then he recognized that mossy smell, cow dung! So what was he doing in that cow dung floored room?

That howling and that eerie scream, again, and running feet… and something new, Ghungroo!!! Then he remembered, he was woken up by some strange sound and when he had opened the low door of the small thatched house he had seen that woman, in a flowing white saari and two persons, tall, muscular and, even in the darkness, intimidating in their looks.

‘What are you doing here?’ he had shouted and suddenly one of them had turned towards him with something glinting in his right hand. As he wondered what evasive action he should take, he had remembered his licensed .32 revolver and had abruptly turned and ran inside that house, totally forgetting the low door, hit it head on, and had collapsed inside.

He might have been out only for a few seconds, and then, as he heard the scream once again, picked up that revolver and ran out towards the sound of receding footsteps and he heard it again,…………..that jingling of the ghungroo, …………very close!.

In total darkness, fumbling and falling he reached them, The howling and screaming continued once more and as his eyes got adjusted to the darkness all he could see was a woman standing, draped in a glowing white saari and……, he was sure, waiting for him. Where were those two goons, he wondered? As he carefully closed the distance he felt her move away, and a shiver ran down his spine. She wasn’t walking, she was just gliding away……., slowly and smoothly. Was she human or… some kind of spirit, or even a ghost?

His curiosity had got the better of him and he followed.

Though she seemed to move slowly he had to run to keep up with her and keep her in sight, his breath shallow and by then definitely panting.

As he ran, he thought what made that ghungroo jingle, she was floating, wasn’t she, then that ghungroo??

Suddenly he saw those two goons again, just crossing her path. Not as human beings, but on all fours, like some animal. What were they, he, wondered, but fearing they may harm her, he took out his revolver. She was moving ahead, but that ghungroo jingled very near, much nearer to him, than her. She was gliding faster now, followed by those galloping goons, and as he followed, he saw her moving into a small thatched house and before she could close the door, the goons reached her, too, and muzzled in, like pet dogs. As he dived head long to stop the door from getting latched within, the doors closed and he hit the door, his head hit the frame, his body crashed on the panel. He felt the door give way and half conscious, his head throbbing in pain, disoriented in the total darkness………… collapsed on to the floor…

In pure panic he woke up, something strange, he was drenched in sweat, throat dry. He was not only sweating but also panting, as if he was just back from a race. Pitch dark, where the hell was the door? Wasn't it supposed to be... ? Where the hell was he? What's that mossy smell?.. What's that jingling in his pocket, How did this ghungroo come into his pocket, what happened to the revolver??

This has been going on for the past 10 months. He never believed in dreams or nightmares. But he shivered at the thought of that night, broke into a sweat every time he recollected that incident. He still woke up in the middle of the night everyday.

Was what happened on that night really a dream, a nightmare, his 'sweat dream'?

A lot had changed since 27th April last year, since he had that encounter Chasing her, ghungroo....

He had some recollection of that girl in white saari and those two goons who turned into some kind of animals. No one he can put a name to, no one he knew even resembled her in any way. Then why was she coming so vividly in his thoughts, his dreams. He could not even describe the place he was on that night, never ever visited that place, but like a framed photograph he remembered the thatched house with that low door. But that ghungroo he had found in his pocket that night still remained with him, like an unsolved mystery.

All the parapsychologists and counselors he'd consulted were of the opinion that it was but a bad dream only, nothing was real. None could explain how he got that ghungroo. He believed them but he still woke up every night, sometime every hour.

Then, one morning, a news item caught his eye;

The unsolved mystery ; 'One year after Chilanga disappeared, no clues of her whereabouts'.

He read on about her, the budding classical dancer turned Mystique Writer and a brief about the place from where she had posted her last report on 5^th February, she was never heard again after that. Something about an ancient village and an equally ancient ritual of 'talking dead' glared at him. He shivered when he saw an accompanying picture of a village house, something very familiar, that "thatched house". As he wondered, a draft of wind lifted the curtains and something jingled somewhere inside his house, that ghungroo.

In a flash everything became clear. Chilanga; Ghungroo… And a chilling realization. Was she the same girl, was she telling him something. Was she asking his help, was there something about her disappearance and that encounter?

The place from where she had uploaded her last report was Kalkapur. He did some research, contacted the newspaper she was serializing her column. Three weeks later, armed with enough details about her, he decided to make a trip to Kalkapur in the hope that he'll be able to have a good night's sleep again. Lack of sleep during the last ten months was adversely affecting his health. He couldn't go on without proper sleep and for that he had to make this trip, back to where it all began.

He was back in that thatched house again, still mossy smelling cow dung floor. 303 days after his first encounter with her. It was past midnight and, as usual, he couldn't sleep. He wasn't afraid but a shiver ran down his spine. But he knew he had to somehow get over that. He lay there on the floor, wondering whether what he saw then, was her spirit or ghost or was that just a figment of his imagination and now, somehow, got related to a news item?

Suddenly... there it was again, the commotion outside the house and that blood curdling scream, feminine and eerie.

He darted out, now careful about the low door, looked towards the sound and saw her. Clad in white saari she was floating again. Ghost or not, he followed her, undeterred.

Suddenly a thick fog enveloped everything. He peered through it and couldn't see anything beyond a couple of meters. Then that scream again, very near him, and the fog lighted up as if there were flames behind it.

As his eyes followed the scream, he saw her ghostly shadow reflected on the smoke, her hands raised as if defending herself and shouting "no Baddu, no, please don't..."

Shadow of a raised hand that held something that glinted came down in an arc and her shadow disappeared in a bright light. Then as suddenly as the fog had settled over the area, it lifted. He saw the thatched house engulfed in flames and her scream suddenly cut short. Then absolute silence, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and swish of embers flying around in the breeze.

He was sweating. The heat was unbearable and then the acrid smell of scorching hair, his hair. He screamed and screamed and screamed...

In pure panic he woke up, drenched in sweat, wondering who was screaming. He stopped to listen and the screams stopped too, it was his scream. He tried to open his eyes to see and found that they were already open but in the pitch darkness he couldn't see anything. It was eerily quite and he was in that thatched house again.

Epilogue:

On his narration of the whole episode, the police arrested Baddu, the head tantrik of the village, the last of the practitioners of 'talking dead' ritual. His two goons, who had chased Chilanga to the thatched house, where Baddu had killed her with his knife, were also arrested. They showed the police where she was buried, under the cow dung floor of the thatched house. She had inadvertently stumbled on the lie that Baddu had propagated, that he could make the dead talk.

Ken sleeps peacefully now. Every year on 5th February, he remembers her and brings out that Ghungroo she had left behind. Now it forms part of Ken's collection of 'nick-knacks'. But one thing still puzzles Ken... why 303 days???

But in the ancient village of Kalkapur life goes on as sedately as before. They still believe that the dead really talk. After all, she did talk to Ken, didn't she???

…………………………………..Ken Featherlite