Look North Look South
Look East Look West
But never look at Midnight on a New Moon's Day
That is the time the undead have
To make their merry dance and play.
- Anon
The existence or otherwise of supernatural beings has been the subject of countless debates. The reader can decide for himself at the end of the following story whether they exist or not.
House No. XV/173 facing the third railway overbridge from the Pettah Railway Station in Thiruvananthapuram has a sad story to tell. Three of its occupants had untimely deaths and two of them went insane.
The house is situated in a corner plot with the Vanchiyoor Road on one side and a narrow deserted lane in front. The last lamppost of the lane was at the corner of the house. Sometimes a mad man or a vagabond standing on the overbridge and staring in the direction of the house used to add a surrealistic touch to the scene. The occasional passing train used to break the silence.
It was into this house that we moved in, in December 1948, when my father retired from government service at Mavelikkara in central Travancore, now part of state of Kerala.
The house itself was old and double-storeyed. The staircase, leading up from the front verandah which was covered with green painted bamboo curtains, was made of polished teak wood and the wooden railings extended all the way connecting the balustrade on the floor above. There were only two rooms upstairs - a huge hall with violet-coloured clear glass doors and windows and an adjoining study. These were kept locked by the owner for some unknown reason.
Downstairs there was a large hall, two large bedrooms, a storeroom, kitchen, utility area and a bathroom opening on the backyard. At the far corner of the backyard, separated from the main building, was the toilet. There was also a well for drawing water somewhere in the middle. Tap water was available and the well was largely unused.
The owner of the house was an acquaintance and he was glad to rent out this unoccupied house to us. There were whispers behind our backs from neighbours when we moved in. On making some enquiries, we were able to understand the meaning behind these whispers.
The plot where the house is now resting belonged to an ancient Nair family and was lying vacant for decades. An ascetic named Bhairavan Namboodiri built a small thatched hut there and lived in it. He belonged to a middle class Brahmin family and his mother used to dream of making him the head-priest in some famous temple. He chose the life of an ascetic instead. By and by he built a small temple for his chosen deity, Shiva, in this plot for his daily worship and came to be known as "Shiva Yogi."
It was during the late thirties of the last century that the owners reoccupied the plot after evicting the Shiva Yogi, who was very old by then. They razed the temple to the ground and built the house over it. It is rumoured that he died of a broken heart and his restless soul haunts the house during the nights. It is due to his curse that the occupants of the house had to face untold calamities.
-II-
Soon after we occupied the house, there were some bad omens. Our cat fell into the well and died. One of the kittens was bitten and maimed by a dog. Father was not in good health most of the time especially because he had to travel to different towns for arguing cases. He was a government lawyer before retirement and now practised law privately.
It was quite late one night when Father returned from Quilon. As he usually did, he went to collect water from the bathroom tap before going to the toilet when he saw an old man with a flowing white beard cupping his hands below the tap gesturing for water. When Father opened the tap, the old man drank some of it, folded his hands in gratitude and vanished into thin air. He was indeed the Shiva Yogi. Father almost fainted out of fright. He called out for Mother and regained his composure in a few minutes after her arrival.
In a similar situation about a month later, my father called out for my elder brother who was very bold and had occupied the study on the first floor after breaking open the lock. When he peeped from the upstairs window, Father saw that the Shiva Yogi was visibly frightened and quickly did the vanishing act. It was strange equation - the Shiva Yogi could see my father and brother, Father could see the other two but my brother could see only my father and not the Shiva Yogi. However, on finding that the latter was afraid of my brother, my father would take him along whenever he had to go to the backyard at night.
The above incident has confirmed my understanding that all people cannot see supernatural beings. Modern research has shown that there are different planes and different beings in each one of these, all around us, but we can see only those things which are necessary for our safety and sustenance. If we could see everything, our attention would be diverted from say, an approaching truck and we could be run over. Our sense organs are therefore not exactly windows but shields or filters intended for our protection. Lower life, e.g. frogs, can sense only three things - prey, mate or danger. For man, the list may be longer but does not cover the different planes of existence or the beings who dwell in them.
True to prophecy, my father passed away from a stroke, barely three months after we occupied the house. About a week later, when we were all sleeping in the hall, my mother heard footsteps and a voice at the window saying, "Let everything be destroyed. Swaha." Needless to say, we vacated the house hastily and subsequently migrated to Calcutta where my eldest brother was working.
In 1985, thirty-six years after we left that house, I had occasion to visit Thiruvananthapuram. I was curious to go and see what had happened to House No. XV/173, but did not as my wife was afraid the Shiva Yogi would follow me. However, when the train passed under the overbridge, I could see that the house was now a government office and was teeming with people. What happened to poor Shiva Yogi, I wondered.
