(Note from translator: I do not own the rights to the works of Manabendra Pal. This is my first translated story from Bengali to English. It is purely a creative exercise.
Manabendra Pal (1926-2011) wrote for "Jugantar", a Bengali revolutionary newspaper founded in 1906 and several other newspapers and magazines. He is most famous for his horror and supernatural stories and novellas. He started writing serialized horror novels and short stories for magazines like "Nabakallol" and the children's magazine called "Shuktara". Writing for “Shuktara” made him a household name in horror literature.
A collection of Manabendra Pal’s horror and supernatural novellas and short stories titled 'Bhoutik Omnibus' was published by the Dev Sahitya Kutir publishers based in Kolkata, India in 2014. The stories feature supernatural creatures, ghosts, and spirits in interesting historical backdrops and involve characters like Macbeth and Feroze Shah, the sultan of Gaur region. Pal’s writing evokes the life and culture of Bengal’s various provinces. The Terror on the Red Sea is a horror story that revolves around the modern-day Anglo-Indian community in Calcutta and life during the early 19th-century British colonial rule featuring an adventure with two young boys.)
One
Uncle Harry and his Room
Bappa was surprised to receive the letter. Even though he had planned to go to Calcutta and meet Uncle Harry very soon, he never expected Uncle Harry to write to him.
The thing that surprised him even more was that the letter wasn’t posted from Calcutta but from a distant village called Jagdishpur in the Saontal Paraganas of Chhotanagpur.
The letter was in English. It read:
My dear young friends,
Do not be alarmed to discover that I am not in Calcutta anymore. I’ve left my long-time abode and came here for the rest of my life. My friend, Father Samuel, has been asking me to move here with him for a very long time now. He assured me that if I came here, my paranormal investigations–which, my beloved friends, you both know has long been my life’s sole ambition– will be successful....
I do not know how successful I have been. But after coming here a fear has gripped me. I have this nagging feeling that something is going to happen very soon- and that it will not be good. I never wanted this to happen. Whatever I wanted, you both know about it- to unearth this supernatural mystery. What have I not done to find some clarity? But it boils down to my present state: I am frail and in ill-health.
I want both of you to come here as soon as possible. I am alone here…
When you get off at the station, tell the tongawalla to take you to the old church or Father Samuel's, and he will make sure you arrive safely. I implore you again- I am fearful. Your presence here is crucial. You must come at once.
I hope you both are well,
-Your Uncle Harry
The letters were spidery on the page. Bappa was at a loss after reading it. Why was Uncle Harry scared? He noticed a particular feature in the letter: two crosses etched on the top and bottom of the page.
This didn’t surprise him. He had seen these crosses at Uncle Harry's home in Calcutta. On the wall, on the table, even at this bedside. Even though Bappa was a young boy he understood Uncle Harry’s immense faith in his religion and his devotion to the Almighty. This faith was not superficial, but deeply authentic. It was one of the reasons Bappa and Ranju adored him.
But his deeply personal religious bent wasn’t the only reason for Bappa and Ranju's attraction to Uncle Harry. It was something else.
Here’s what really happened.
Uncle Harry’s name was Harold Evans. He used to live in a dingy lane on Elliot Road in Calcutta.
Bappa used to live in a village in the Bardhaman district. Every now and then he used to come to the city and stayed at Ranju’s place. The family had a huge library in their house. The shelves were stacked with mystery books, most of them featuring English detectives and supernatural phenomena. During his school break, Bappa stayed with Ranju’s family in large part just so he could devour these books.
Over one such summer break Ranju told Bappa about Uncle Harry.
‘I’ll introduce you to him soon. You'll see what a strange person he is!’
Humans have always been drawn the unknown and the inexplicable, and a spirited young boy like Bappa, his imagination fed by all those stories, was always eager for any whiff of an adventure.
One day Ranju accompanied Bappa to the house on Elliot Road. The building was not exactly on Elliot Road. It was hidden away in a narrow alley. A dirty alley. The neighbourhood looked shady and quite frankly uninhabitable.
They stood in front of a three-storey building. The plaster was falling off. The dilapidated structure with its bricks jutting out seemed to leer at them like a bony skeleton.
Bappa and Ranju went inside. The ground floor rooms were storehouses. The smell of fresh limestone paint. They climbed upstairs.
There were few tenants. Bappa gave a cursory look around. While climbing he said, ‘Most of the tenants seem to be men.’
Ranju looked back, ‘How did you know that?’
‘Firstly, there’s trash piling everywhere in front of the doors. Nobody has bothered to clean up. Secondly, the wires on verandahs have pants, shirts, pajamas, but no women’s or children’s clothing. Not even a saree.’
Ranju didn’t reply.
The stairs were dark. It seemed the sunlight from outside had vanished. Bappa didn't know where he was stepping. He was just blindly following Ranju in the darkness.
Finally, they reached Uncle Harry's room on the second floor.
There were two closed doors side by side. Ranju stopped in front of a door with a huge cross painted on it above the knocker and knocked twice. There was no answer. He knocked again.
‘What do you think about this place, huh?’ Ranju chuckled.
‘So, it’s true there are places like these in Calcutta?’ Bappa’s eyes were almost rolling with a faint dislike. ‘Feels like a hidey hole for criminals.’
‘In fact, there are more.’
Bappa was just about to say something when the door opened.
The man standing at the door wore a linen pajama over a thin kurta. He had a mop of grey hair, cut short. He was pale and he had sea-green eyes. He was tall and bony but not weak. His jaws were sunken which made his eyes bulge in their sockets. A silver cross was hanging from his neck.
He glanced at Bappa and said to Ranju, ‘What news, Robinson? Come, come inside.’
He had a deep, gravelly voice, even at this age. When someone you know shows up at your door it’s expected they’ll acknowledge you with a smile. But this man’s lips were hardened in a thin line. Bappa felt the man was without mirth. And a man who does not smile is a complicated character.
Ranju entered the room, ‘Uncle Harry, this is my friend Bappa. He lives in a village in the Bardhaman district.’ Bappa walked behind him. ‘He is staying with me over school break. You know, he recently helped nab some petty thieves at his place like a detective,’ Ranju nodded towards Bappa as they sat down on the camp bed.
Uncle Harry's eyes went wide, ‘I see! I see! A young detective! But, son, you won’t find thieves and robbers here. Though, there's one pickpocket on the first floor and a smuggler on the ground floor. Would they satisfy your curiosity?’ Uncle Harry turned to Ranju with a funny look on his face.
Ranju laughed and said, ‘Ah, nothing like that. I brought him here so you could tell him your story. He doesn't believe in ghosts, you see. But the stories which you have told me, especially the one about the Park Street Burial grounds—the one you saw with your own eyes—tell him that one!’ Ranju’s excitement was palpable.
At this point Uncle Harry became very serious. He kept his eyes out the window, out a grave look on his face. It was almost as if he had forgotten the two boys were sitting in front of him.
Bappa thought perhaps Uncle Harry didn't like him and wanted to get rid of them. Feeling dismissed, he didn't want to stay any longer. He was about to get up when suddenly Uncle Harry got up, parted the curtain to the other room and went inside.
Bappa looked at Ranju. He shrugged. They didn't understand what Uncle Harry was up to.
The boys looked around the room now. It was a small, square room. Perfect for one person. This was an old colonial building, and the room had two windows without grilles. Faded blue curtains hung on them. There was a cushioned chair in front of the window where Uncle Harry sat. A very old table was in the centre of the room. It had an inkpot, a dip pen, a fat fountain pen, and a back scratcher made of buffalo tusk arranged on top of it. A few scraps of paper with scribbles on them were bunched under a paperweight. And there was an old but beautifully painted flower vase with a single rose in it. There was a camp bed at one side of the room, covered with a faded magenta bedsheet and two pillows propped on it.
The boys were sitting on that bed, their legs swinging. There was no other place to sit in that room.
Bappa's eyes fell on the wall in front of them. There was a big sheet of white paper stuck on the wall with the words: Be one with Him.
‘What does your Uncle Harry do?’
‘Don't know. But he used to play the piano at the church a long time ago.’
The room, although sparse, looked unkempt. There was a painting of the crucified Jesus on the wall with a wooden cross right beside it. A painting hung on the other wall: a large ship sailing in a tumultuous ocean. Bappa got up and went near the painting. He had seen such a photograph in one of the English magazines in Ranju's library. This was a first-generation steam engine ship. Smoke billowing from the chimneys. The painting must be quite old then, Bappa thought. But what is a moth-eaten old painting doing in a room like this in the first place? Uncle Harry doesn't seem to be a person who is interested in aesthetics.
Then what?
At that moment they heard flip flops from the other room. Bappa quickly came back and sat down. Uncle Harry was carrying two cups of coffee. He placed the cups on the table, ‘Drink up. I have to go out for a bit.’ Having said this, he left the room again.
They drank the coffee wordlessly. Bappa got up after he gulped back the last of his coffee.
‘Come on, let's go.’
‘Wait, let him come back. Jesus.’
But Bappa was restless. He wanted to bolt from this weird place.
Uncle Harry came out of the other room wearing black trousers, a grimy shirt with cuffs folded to his elbows, and a bowler hat. He had a cane in his hand.
‘Are you boys leaving? All right. Do come back again one day.’
The boys were thankful of this odd pronouncement, a small courtesy they didn’t expect. Uncle Harry shut the door behind them as they came out of the house.
When they were out on the road again Ranju grimaced, ‘I feel very bad. Uncle Harry wasn’t himself at all.’ They stepped on the footpath and walked towards home. ‘Would you come back here again? I don’t think so.’
Bappa laughed and slapped Ranju’s back. ‘Why won't I come back? We must. Your Uncle Harry is a very interesting person in my opinion.’
Two
Bappa and his Sleuthing
They were walking on the Elliot Road towards Wellesley Street that day. It was not as broad as Mahatma Gandhi Road or Acharya Jagadish Chandra Road. It was relatively narrow with a tram line running through the middle. Bappa was looking at the houses on both sides. He didn't visit Calcutta often and he had certainly never been here before.
‘These houses look very old; it’s unusual architecture.’
Ranju added, ‘Those who live in this neighbourhood are called 'firingis’; it means they are half Europeans. These buildings were built during the British Raj and people have been living here ever since.’
‘It doesn't feel as if I am in Calcutta,’ Bappa mused as they walked past the huge mansions with their faded walls, plants climbing out from crevices, and electric wires crisscrossing the street above their heads, sporting rows of crows. The road was damp after an afternoon shower, the air, moist and hot. Yellow taxis ran past them and hand-pulled rickshaws tottered on.
Ranju smiled, ‘Nice view, right?’
‘Like I am walking on a century-old road, and the people who lived here were neither Europeans nor Indians. I can tell they had English aristocratic tastes and lifestyles but not the aristocratic means. When I come back next time, we’ll explore Chowringhee. That’ll be fun!’ Bappa was excited.
Suddenly Ranju hissed, ‘Look, there's Uncle Harry!’ He dropped his voice as they stopped in their tracks.
Uncle Harry was on the opposite side of the road with his cane. He was walking towards Wellesley too.
‘Wait, let me call him.’ But Bappa pulled Ranju back, grabbing his sleeve.
‘No, don't call him. Come on, let's follow him. And be quiet.’
‘What? Why?’ Ranju exclaimed.
Bappa smirked with a twinkle in eyes, ‘Why? To surprise him, of course.’
Ranju stopped and looked at his friend suspiciously. ‘What’s going on in that brain of yours? I have known you for a very long time. Do you think there’s some mystery—'
Bappa laughed with his head thrown back, ‘Are you mad? He is an old guy, this is Calcutta, and moreover, we didn’t even talk properly that day. What mystery would I find in him? Now, walk fast. Quick!’ He motioned at Ranju to hasten and stared at the opposite side. ‘Now what? Where did he vanish?’
Ranju pointed his finger,’ Look, there he is. Behind that vendor.’
The boys ran across the road and caught up with the old man. They followed him, keeping some distance between themselves.
Uncle Harry walked for ten minutes and stopped at the corner of Wellesley where a Muslim bookseller sold old books.
The bookseller saw Uncle Harry approach and said, ‘No, Sahib. The book hasn’t arrived.’
Uncle Harry looked dejected. He took off his hat and started wiping his face with a handkerchief. ‘Ismail, tell me honestly: does the book exist?’
Ismail replied, ‘I looked for it in Bombay. They said the book will be in the next lot that arrives at the warehouse.’
‘Did they tell you about the book specifically, or were they just guessing?’ Uncle Harry folded his handkerchief and slipped it inside his back pocket.
Ismail was tying up a stack of old hardbacks in brown paper with twine, ‘I sent the slip you gave me. With the title scrawled on it. They told me it’s difficult to find such an old book printed in Cairo. Still, they managed to dig it up from somewhere.’
Uncle Harry’s face suddenly lit up with a ray of hope. ‘I gave you some advance payment for the book. Shall I give you more?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Uncle Harry continued, ‘I need the book–urgently. See, I’m old. Someday I might fall sick or drop dead without any warning. And I shall regret if such a thing ever happens.’
Ismail now reassured the old man saying, ‘I will bring the book to your place as soon as I get it.’
‘Thank you, Ismail,’ Uncle Harry turned while putting his cap on. Bappa instantly pulled Ranju by his arm and moved away from Uncle Harry’s sight.
Bappa was thrilled, ‘Didn’t I tell you this would happen?’
‘What do you mean?’ Ranju asked while they huddled in a corner.
‘Did you see a single book at his place? But he’s in a tizzy over some old book. What is in that book?’
Bappa’s eyes were gleaming. ‘His house is filled with crosses. Not even a parish abbot has so many crosses lying around. He isn’t remotely interested in arts and yet there is a painting of an old ship on his wall.’ They started walking back now. ‘Didn't you say Uncle Harry was weird? Well, he seems to harbor a mystery too.’
Three
The Timeworn Painting of The Ship
One month later.
It was not dusk yet. The alley was narrow, and the buildings stood confined together which made it even darker. Bappa and Ranju sat on the camp bed and Uncle Harry sat on the chair.
Bappa didn’t want to visit Uncle Harry at this hour. He lived in the suburbs of Bengal and was afraid of getting lost in the city after dusk. Thankfully, Ranju was with him. Still, unease never left his mind. It had been Ranju’s idea. ‘Look, if you want to hear Uncle Harry's ghost stories, we must visit in the evening. Otherwise, what is the point? How can you enjoy ghost tales in glaring sunlight?’ Bappa had given in.
Uncle Harry broke the silence in a thundering voice particularly aimed at Bappa, ‘Tell me, what do you want to know?’
But Ranju replied hastily, sensing the tension in the room, ‘Uh..he doesn't want to know anything Uncle. We just came to listen to you. Will you tell us the ghost stories?’
‘No, Robinson,’ Uncle Harry said severely, ‘He is curious about me.’ Bappa noticed that the old man called Ranju “Robinson.” ‘Yes, he is very interested in my affairs,’ he continued, ‘So, I will satisfy his curiosity. Tell me, young detective, what questions do you have for me?’ The man was almost challenging the boy with the playful disapproval in his tone.
Bappa wondered how Uncle Harry knew what was going on his mind just by meeting him for five minutes the other day.
‘Why is there a painting of that ship on the wall?’ Bappa asked.
‘What kind of a question is that from an intelligent boy like you?’ Uncle Harry was visibly flustered. ‘I found the painting. So, I hung it up instead of throwing it away. What's wrong with that?’
Bappa could see this bothered the old man. ‘That ship is from the time when steamers first started sailing the oceans. This painting, if original, must be from the early 19th-century-‘
Uncle Harry's grey eyebrows came close together. He was astonished, ‘How did you know the ship is old?’
‘I have seen them in some old magazines at Ranju's library.’
‘I see.’
He paused before saying, ‘Yes, it’s an old painting of a steamer from the 1800s.’
Bappa sat upright, ‘How did you get this painting? Do they sell these? And why have you hung it on the wall with such care?’
Uncle Harry had been thinking during Bappa’s litany of queries. ‘I found this in an old wooden trunk. My grandfather kept it, most probably. And I haven’t seen such paintings for sale anywhere.’
‘But why have you hung it?’ The boy was relentless.
‘It’s just a painting! From my grandfather’s time. What should I do?’ Uncle Harry bellowed. ‘Throw it away?!’
Bappa was deflated. Meanwhile, Ranju was flabbergasted by this encounter between them. ‘Anything else?’ Uncle Harry resumed.
Bappa was thoughtful this time. ‘Do you live alone here?’
‘Not anymore. I have the Lord Jesus with me.’
‘How long have you been living in this dilapidated house?’
‘Many years.’
‘Do you like living here?’ Bappa’s eyes wandered around the room as if to make a case for the faded curtains and the tiny space the three of them occupied.
‘It’s a habit now. I don’t have likes or dislikes. And I don’t face any problems here,’ Uncle Harry was mellower by now.
‘But it’s risky here,’ Bappa pleaded. ‘What about an earthquake-‘
‘There’s nothing to be done.’
‘Can’t you move somewhere else?’
‘Impossible!’ Uncle Harry was getting agitated again. ‘Where will I find a house? Where is the money? And anyway, I’m not used to living around so many people.’
‘That's why you have only one chair in this room? Because you don't like people to visit you,’ Bappa concluded.
Ranju was irritated at this line of questioning. He felt like he was sitting in an interrogation room. If he pisses off Uncle Harry, we’ll never be welcomed back here, Ranju thought. He tried to pinch Bappa’s elbow to quiet him down but failed.
‘Uncle Harry, I think you are very distressed. You are also looking for something. Something that has proven elusive, isn’t it?’ Bappa sat back like he had the final word on the matter.
Uncle Harry was subdued. He regained his composure and said, ‘That is my personal matter. And I will not reveal them to anyone—especially not to children.’
Bappa tried to wrap up this line of inquiry and said, ‘It's okay. I don't want to know. I just want to ask another question. Do I have your permission?’
‘Speak.’
‘How did you know I was curious about you? We didn’t even speak last time.’
Uncle Harry flashed a grin like a sliver of sunshine after a downpour. ‘Your eyes, boy! I saw it the first day. And you are so nosy you followed me that day. Didn’t you?’ The tables had turned. How did he know this? Bappa thought. Strange! Even at this age he was sharp as a razor.
Uncle Harry now brought his palms together, fingertips touching, almost like he was praying. ‘And now you want to know what book I was looking for?’
Bappa replied, ‘We do. But we won’t mind if you want to keep it a secret. It’s a rare book. It must have some precious information for which you are willing to pay an inordinate sum, mustn’t it?’ Bappa connected his observations. ‘I think it's related to that ship. And perhaps it's about a treasure, perhaps—looking at all these crosses in your house–You are trying to protect yourself from something or someone.’ His eyes wandered to the painting of Jesus on the wall.
Uncle Harry and his lips parted slightly in astonishment. He relaxed in his chair and said, ‘I am impressed! Your intelligence, observation, inference; You are one hundred percent correct!’
Uncle Harry looked more at ease in the presence of the boys. ‘Now the cat’s out of the bag,’ he smiled and continued, ‘The incident which has disturbed me–the mystery which has made me desperate, something I cannot tell anyone—I shall tell you today.’ He looked outside. It was nightfall. ‘I hope it’s okay for you both to stay a bit longer?’
‘Of course!’ The boys exclaimed together.
‘It happened a long time ago. Not in Calcutta, it was abroad. But the incident’s feverish memories linger with me to this day. Maybe I am a fool to carry such a burden.
Wait. Let me bring some coffee first.’
Uncle Harry got up and went to the other room.
Four
The Attack of the Ghostly Spectre
Uncle Harry sipped his coffee and began his story.
‘In 1844, the P&O Company started sending the first steam-powered ships from India to England. During that time, you had to travel from Calcutta to Madras and Sinhala via the Suez in Red Sea to reach England. From the Suez, people crossed the desert and reached Cairo. Then they crossed the Nile using steamboats to reach Alexandria. Then you crossed through Malta, Naples, Rome, Florence, Venice, various German cities, and finally crossed the English Channel to reach London.
A few years later a P&O ship named Bentinck sailed for London. Although the ship was big, the services were botched. It could carry approximately eighty passengers but there were just six cabins. Apart from these cabins, the rest of the ship was uninhabitable. People referred to the spaces below deck as rat holes–filthy and constricted. There was no light or ventilation. So, most of the passengers spent their days and nights on the deck. One night the travellers were sleeping on the deck huddled side by side. The ship was crossing the Indian Ocean and was just approaching the Red Sea. The night was breezy, the air heavy and warm. It was comfortable enough and the people were sleeping peacefully.
Suddenly, with no prediction whatsoever, a storm arose at midnight. The passengers woke with a start and clambered for shelter. They hid in whatever nook and corner they could find.
Soon the storm passed, and people came back on deck. Dawn broke. The crimson sun leapt from the heart of the blue sea. The travellers were relieved, and everyone sat down with their morning tea. Life was abuzz on the deck.
Nobody noticed that a person was missing. When they finally realized, it was way past noon. As people sat for lunch, they realized there was an extra meal which meant someone was gone.
The Captain barked orders to search every nook and cranny of the ship. Maybe somebody was sick and needed medical attention.
But no: he was nowhere to be found. A murmur of increasing fear rippled among the passengers now.’
Uncle Harry stopped here. He seemed distracted. He went to the window and pulled the curtain aside with his fingers and looked at the sky. It was dark outside. There were lights in the tall buildings visible through the windows. The streetlights warmed up the empty road below in a haze of yellow. The air felt humid. He came back to his chair, a flash of worry on his face.
‘What happened after that?’ The boys were fascinated.
Uncle Harry pulled himself together and continued the tale.
‘When the man was nowhere to be found, it was decided that he must have gone overboard during the storm while trying to run. Even though not everyone agreed, most of the passengers thought that must have been the case. The storm was powerful enough to sweep any man off the deck.
The ship cruised along the Red Sea towards Suez. The storm returned the next night. The crowd on the deck skedaddled as soon as the winds hit the ship. The next morning, they discovered yet another person was missing.
How was that possible? Did someone fall in the sea again? Especially when everyone was made wary by the accident that occurred the previous day.
Everyone was terrified. They circled the Captain, worried sick, “What’s happening? Give us some answers!”
What could the Captain do? He was perturbed himself. He tried to placate the travellers, “Look, I am here with you all. I am just as confounded as everyone here. Let me see what I can do.”
There was a very brave young man aboard the Bentinck. His name was Joseph Evans. He came through the crowd and spoke to the Captain in hushed tones. The Captain heard Joseph and his eyes went wide, “But that is impossible, Mr. Evans!”
Joseph reassured him, “No it's not impossible. I read a book published in Cairo. It mentioned an incident just like last night. Moreover, I noticed something unusual during the storm yesterday. But I can't be sure about it at this moment. I might be wrong. But tonight, when the storm strikes again, I shall be ready. You have my word, Captain.”
The Captain was relieved, “Mr. Evans, thank you for your courage. Thank you. I shall give you company tonight.”
People were engulfed in low spirits the next morning. The disappearances were the only topics over morning tea. Everyone was perplexed at the chain of events and clueless about what to do. Joseph Evans was strolling around the deck. The captain walked towards him and asked him, “Mr. Evans, what are you looking at?”
Evans replied, “Looking for any clues that might lead us to an explanation.”
“Did you find any?”
“None. The men seem to have vanished in thin air.”
Night fell.
None of the passengers wanted to sleep on the deck. But there wasn't enough space for everyone inside the cabins. And the heat was stifling inside the belly of the ship. So, everyone flocked on the deck away from the rails, clutching amulets and crosses close to them. Sleep seemed impossible.
Eventually, though, the tired people closed their eyes.
It was one-forty according to Joseph Evans’s watch. He was sitting in his cabin. The storm usually rose around two. His eyes were glued to the cabin window, watching the night sky. Cloudless dark expanse above and still blue-black water below. The ship was silently bobbing on the waves. He could hear the mechanical hum of the steam engine. There were stars in the clear sky. Maybe nothing will happen tonight, he thought to himself.
Ten minutes later he saw stars disappearing from the darkness. He stood up. Grey wisps of clouds floated across. Strange! The same storm three nights in a row?
His thoughts were interrupted by a deafening moan as the thunderstorm hit the ship and rocked it. Evans lurched in his room. Huge waves crashed on the deck. People onboard were screaming and running frantically for their lives. Some of them crawled towards the cabins, most falling like matchsticks in their frenzy.
Without wasting a second Joseph Evans ran towards the deck from his room, a torch in one hand, a loaded pistol in the other.
When he reached above, he was met with a bone-chilling scene. He slid two steps back on the slippery deck. There was a huge human-like figure, as tall as the ship itself, draped in a white sheet climbing up the deck, his huge legs, ice white, stepping aboard. The white demon leapt towards a man left on deck, trying to grab him with his snowy cold fists. He was shrouded in a snowstorm. It was so cold; Evans could not feel his face anymore.
Evans at once fired his gun at this malevolent giant. He fired again! But the bullets whizzed past the demon like they were nothing. The demon had grabbed the man by this time. At once, Evans threw his torch and gun, skidded forward, and threw himself at the giant. Something extraordinary happened. The ghostly demon lashed out and wailed in a piercing scream. He threw his prey away, jumped from the rails, and vanished in the dark sea.”
.... Uncle Harry was flailing his hands while he was speaking. He looked as if he was transported back on the Bentinck some one hundred and twenty-five years ago on that night.
At that very moment there was a strange noise outside the room, a crack and a boom. A thunderstorm was racing towards them....
The storm lashed the city within seconds. Uncle Harry looked outside. His voice was quivering in fear, ‘Storm!’
Bappa and Ranju were confused. What was so unusual about a storm? Evening showers were common in this part of the country. The howling wind entered the room, curtains flapping. The painting on the wall started rattling. As if it will crash on the floor any minute.
Uncle Harry staggered up from his chair.
‘The window in the other room!’ He rushed to the other room behind the curtains.
There was no light in the other room. Hardly two minutes had gone by when the boys heard a loud shattering noise. Uncle Harry cried out, ‘H-e-l-p!’
The boys rushed into the far room. It was dark. Where was the damn light switch? No torch either. Where was he? Nothing was visible in the dark, no sign of Uncle Harry.
Bappa shouted, ‘Uncle Harry---U-n-c-l-e!’
They saw something in the darkness. An elongated billowing white fog was rising up from the floor and dragging something with it outside the window.
‘Ranju, give me a torch! Quick!’ Bappa yelled over the howling wind.
But where was the torch?
Lightening cracked just then, illuminating the room for a few seconds. Ranju glanced at the switch plate and ran to flip the switches. They saw Uncle Harry hanging outside from his waist above on the windowsill. Unconscious.
It took an hour for Uncle Harry to recover after which the boys came out of the house. There was no sign of any storm outside. No wet leaves or rainwater. Trams were running. Buses were whooshing past, cabs whizzed by. It seemed impossible. Only an hour ago they were trapped in that house, surrounded by maniacal winds and here it seemed nobody had noticed anything.
They did not tell anyone at home. Nobody would believe them. Secondly, Ranju's father disapproved of reckless trips in the city.
Bappa went back to his home in the village the very next day. Before he left, he took Ranju aside. ‘I am worried. I will return as soon as possible. Then we will see Uncle Harry again. There are mysteries and we need to get to the bottom of this.’
He took two steps and then looked back, ‘And yes, don't tell anyone about this. And never go there alone.’
Five
A Story from the Past
Three months later the boys were sitting in Uncle Harry's room at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning. Uncle Harry looked well. He had lit a cigar and was puffing away. He was blithe about the incident that evening months before and said, ‘Honestly, I don't know what happened. Storms are so common here. But I was never so scared before. When I rushed to close the window, I saw that swirling fog entering the room. And before I could switch on the lights, I felt my throat closing. After that I don't remember anything. What did you boys see in the room?’ He seemed genuinely interested.
Ranju was about to say something excitedly when Bappa stopped him and replied instead, ‘We saw you lying against the windowsill when we switched on the light.’
‘Against the windowsill?’ Uncle Harry was shocked.
‘Yes.’
‘But I never went in that direction. I told you I was trying to find the switch.’ He went quiet. The color from his face drained. Bappa kept the fact to himself that Uncle Harry had been hanging halfway out the window headfirst.
‘And did you see anything else?’ Uncle Harry asked again.
Ranju wanted to tell him the truth. He glanced at Bappa. ‘No, nothing else,’ denied Bappa.
‘But I think I saw something. Something white like a figure-‘, Uncle Harry said.
‘Must be your eyes deceiving you.’
Uncle Harry was distracted now and mumbled, ‘Perhaps.’
‘Has anything like this happened before, Uncle Harry?’
‘No, never.’
‘Try to remember.’
The old man shook his head in denial.
‘Have you forgotten, or don't you want to tell us? We came to listen to you with open minds. We can help.’
‘No, absolutely not. Nothing like this has happened before.’
‘No ghostly apparition? No foggy figures in storms?’
‘No-no-no!’ He was frightened and his voice was strained.
‘Then why are so many crosses around this house? Nobody decorates their house in this manner.’ Bappa pressed on.
Uncle Harry deflated at this. He sighed, ‘Yes, you are right. Small incidents have happened over the years.’
‘Then tell us. We are here for you.’
‘When I am sitting alone, I feel someone is standing behind me. I can even feel a warm breath. Or if I am going into the bathroom- there’s a sensation of someone just coming out of the bathroom. If I am climbing up the stairs-I feel as if someone is climbing the stairs in front of me. Big, naked feet. White as cotton. Things like that.’
‘Do you think this is a haunted house? Or are you being targeted?’
‘It’s me. It’s trying to scare me.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just know.’
‘But why?’ Ranju asked.
Uncle Harry didn’t reply. Suddenly his lips, hands, and whole body started trembling. ‘Uncle, are you feeling unwell?’ The boys got up.
‘No, I am fine.’ He told them to be seated. ‘You asked me if something like this had happened before. I remember now. But nothing of this scale.’
‘Will you tell us?’
The old man looked away as if he was collecting his thoughts. He said, ‘This was a long time ago. I was living in a house in Rawdon Street. A distant relative of mine told me that he wanted to sell some antiques at meagre prices. I refused at first. But then he told me the items belonged to my ancestors. Naturally I was curious to see them.
I went to his place. There were many things inside this huge wooden crate. Utensils, vases, a table lamp, a sewing machine.
I took some of them. Most of them were trash. The thing that captured my attention was this painting. And there was another object in that trunk, a diary. It belonged to my great-grandfather. The story about the ship I told you the other day was from the same diary. And it mentions this painting too. The ship in the painting is the Bentinck on which my great-grandfather travelled that fateful night.’
‘Joseph Evans?’ Bappa asked.
‘Yes, him. Anyway, I framed that painting and brought it home.’
Uncle Harry paused. ‘You were asking about the painting last time. It was obtrusive. I was annoyed. So, I avoided the topic altogether.’
The cigar had stopped burning. Uncle Harry butchered a few matches and finally lit it again.
‘But Uncle, what did you see? Ranju was impatient.
‘Don't worry my boy! Patience. I will tell you. Let me start from the beginning.’
‘So, I hung the painting here in this room. One day a strange lady came here for some work. She was intrigued by the painting. She offered a large sum to buy it.
I asked her, “Why do you want to buy this ordinary painting of a ship?”
“It looks like a collectible. Must be worth a lot. I want to collect it,” She smiled, hoping to sway me.
That day I told her the story of the ship. The woman went white as a sheet after listening to it.
I said, “Ah, are you worried about this? If I had the money, I would have sailed that ship to investigate the ghostly demon incidents.”
“Investigate? Why” The lady balked.
“Yes, why not? I would tell the world if I found out the truth about this supernatural occurrence. People need to know. People died on that ship.”
“But how would you look for the demon sitting here in Calcutta?” She seemed to dissuade me.
“Many in India still dabble in the supernatural. I know a fakir who engages in out-of-body experiences. The diary mentions a book published in Cairo that describes this sea-demon, ghostly apparition, whatever you call it. And I have been looking for that book ever since.”
I explained to the woman that since I had no domestic ties here, I was a free agent and could indulge myself in supernatural mysteries.
‘Then what happened?’ asked Bappa.
The woman was spooked at this point. She warned me about the dangers of such a quest.
At this juncture I wanted to show her the human skull I possess with hieroglyphs etched on the bones. But she grimaced in fear and disgust, saying she was not remotely interested.
But she asked where I found the artifact.
“I went to Nepal looking for sources on spirits and ghosts. I met a Tibetan lama there. He taught me how to proceed with the mystery I intended to solve. He showed me tricks and methods and gave me this skull wrapped in a scrap of red cloth and sawdust.”
The woman enquired if I had made any progress.
“Maybe. The lama had told me that the sea-demon still exists. And that I should be able to "equalize with him" very soon. But there was danger in such a task. To my body and soul.”
“Equalize with him?” The woman enquired.
“No idea. Perhaps he wanted me to focus all my energies on finding of the malevolent spirit. But these things are not possible in Calcutta. Too many people. Distraction. I can’t study here. Or meditate.”
The woman’s attitude shifted, and she smirked, “Then why don't you go somewhere far away, if you are so interested in leaving this world before your time?”
“I don't have money or a place to stay. But I have a friend in Chhotanagpur-Samuel. I have told him everything. He keeps asking me to come and stay with him. He says the place is quiet and apt for meditation and studies.”
The lady left without saying a word. But she warned me again before she left that I must not involve myself in this mess.
The moment she stepped outside thunder cracked. It was dark outside. Wind started howling. The door on the ground floor was banging. I came out of the house to close that door when suddenly I saw a tall human-like shape wrapped in a shawl slowly climbing the stairs. I never saw his face.
At that moment I took the torch from this table and rushed to see outside but I couldn't see him anywhere. He had vanished.
‘And where was that woman?’ Bappa asked.
‘I didn't see her either. She had vanished too. God knows why she was in such a hurry to leave.’ Uncle Harry was pacing in the room with his hands clasped behind him.
After some time, Bappa spoke, ‘So, Uncle, as far as we know you saw the same thing on both occasions. A human-like figure wrapped in a white sheet. And before you witnessed it there were storms.’
Uncle Harry stopped in his tracks and looked at them, ‘Yes, that's about right.’
‘And we know that the storms are related to the gigantic figure. He appears through the storm.’
‘Sure, you can say that.’
Ranju was quiet all this time. Now he said, ‘Notice the fact that on both these occasions Uncle was telling someone the story about the ship. He was telling us the other day and that lady.’
‘Correct, Ranju!’ Bappa exclaimed.
‘That would be the case,’ Uncle Harry looked at Ranju.
Bappa begged Uncle Harry not to tell the story about Bentinck and the Red Sea to anyone anymore. ‘Do you know what the lama meant by “equalize with him”?’ Bappa asked.
‘No. It means-be one with him. But who is he talking about, I have no idea.’
Uncle Harry sat down holding his head between his palms.
Ranju brought them back to the central point of the story. ‘So, what happened to Joseph Evans?’
But Uncle Harry was tired and miserable. ‘Later, boys. Please come back later. I don't feel quite well today.’
Six
The Diary of Joseph Evans
The boys returned four months later.
Uncle Harry looked haggard and weary. His skin was sallow, the veins on his neck bulging under paper-thin wrinkled skin.
The old man welcomed them, made them coffee. He said, ‘You wouldn’t have found me after a few days.’
‘Why?’ The boys asked in unison.
‘Samuel wants me to visit him. I am thinking of moving there.’
Bappa noticed around him. The room looked tidier than before. But he was surprised to see that the red rose in the vase was replaced with a white rose this time.
‘A white rose, Uncle? Where’s the red one?’
Uncle Harry explained in dulcet tones, ‘I don't like red roses anymore. Too much hubris. Too much exhibition.’
Bappa thought to himself, Strange! Uncle Harry has become austere.
Afterwards the old man told them the rest of the story while they sipped coffee.
‘Joseph Evans reached London and caused an uproar about the incident on Bentinck. He held meetings and called newspaper reporters. Many fellow passengers were involved in these gatherings. Joseph demanded the government put its resources into finding out the truth about the ghost-haunted ship.
He began talking to famous theosophists. What was the nature of this apparition? Devoid of bones and sinew but no illusion either. He found eyewitnesses who saw the same terrifying spirit.
But his questions remained unanswered. In the same way nobody knew why Evans was saved that night and why the sea demon shrieked and vanished back into the waters. Supernatural experts from England and Germany scratched their heads on this conundrum. They concluded that Evans possessed some godly attribute that made the spirit flee. He was famous now. People thought he possessed spiritual powers.
After this tempest, passengers on every ship crossing the Red Sea huddled in cabins at night. Nobody slept on the deck. People clung to religious relics as the ship sailed through the night. This continued for years until the stories faded from memories.
Joseph wrote everything in his diary, probably for his sons and grandsons to find it someday. He also mentioned that he never knew if he had some holy power or not. But he believed it was nothing more than courage and his penchant to help people. He wrote, “If I didn't throw myself at the monster, we would have lost another person that night. I do not know what came over me. After all, I am an ordinary man.”
Finally, Evans wrote, “I will try to unearth the mystery of the sea-demon while I live on this earth. I shall travel around the world if need be. To date I have discovered a single fact- a group of men were smuggling a stolen thousand-year-old mummy from Egypt on a ship. On the way the ship sank in the Red Sea along with the mummy. Since then, these ghastly events began. I have nothing more. I need more proof.”
The diary ends there. He did not live long though. One evening he died when a huge branch fell on him during a thunderstorm. He died instantly.
The diary was passed down to my grandfather. He spent years looking for proof regarding the spirit, but he died in a massive fire in his forties.
Then my father. He started collecting information regarding that mummy. But sadly, he died struck by lightning when I was a child.’
Uncle Harry paused catching his breath. Then he began, ‘Untimely deaths of three generations after Joseph Evans. Why? You could say coincidence. I wonder if the malevolent spirit has been taking revenge all this time just because Evans stopped him on the Bentinck and wanted to disclose its mystery scientifically in front of the whole world. So, he wiped out the heirs. If that be the case, boys, it must be my turn.’
‘Why don't you stop now since you have come so far?’ Ranju asked this time.
‘No, that's not possible. My ancestors gave their lives for this. And I am ready for whatever comes. See, I still have a stack of books on the paranormal to read. There's still so much to do.’ Uncle Harry pointed at a stack of books on the table.
Suddenly the man cracked a smile. He was grinning at them, baring his white teeth. It made the boys uncomfortable. Were his teeth so white before? Bappa thought and shivered.
Uncle Harry concluded, ‘I am not the person I was before. There has been a change-a strange transformation. Though I do not know where this will take me.’
Seven
Uncle Harry's Transformation
On a rainy afternoon in August the boys went to Uncle Harry's place. They just wanted to check up on him-the mysterious Harold Evans.
The large cross on the door was summoning them. Although the paint was peeling off now. Uncle Harry opened the door. To their utter surprise the man standing before them had shrunken. His grey hair was in clumps, his face covered in a thick, white beard. His eyes unfocused and misty.
They entered the house. There was the white rose on the table which was now covered with a white tablecloth. The door and windows had white curtains instead of the faded blue. The bedsheet and pillow covers were white too. Uncle Harry wore a white pajama and kurta.
He could not speak much that day. He teetered back to his bed after welcoming the boys. ‘How are you uncle?’
‘Don't know really,’ he said lying down.
‘Why is everything so white?’ Ranju asked him.
His booming confident voice had disappeared. He replied faintly, ‘Everything is white. White is the purest of pure.’
Then he moved his bony shrunken hand towards them.
Eight
The Terror on the Red Sea
A few months later Bappa received that letter.
After all this time, he really left for Chhotanagpur, Bappa thought. But why is he so scared? Is he being haunted again?
Anyway, they ought to go to Jagdishpur immediately. Bappa left for Calcutta the next day. Uncle Harry sent Ranju the same letter.
‘When shall we leave?’ Ranju asked Bappa as soon as he entered his home.
‘Today.’
‘But-‘
‘What now?’ Bappa
‘What am I going to tell Ma and Baba? They won't allow us to leave if we tell them the real reason. I will tell them we are going on a short trip. They won't mind especially when you are accompanying me,’ Ranju explained.
Ranju's father did not object, but his mother was not pleased. ‘Why are you both going so far in that remote jungle area? Is it even safe?’
Before they left, they wrote Uncle Harry's address on a slip of paper and left it on the table, just in case.
That night they boarded the Mughalsarai Passenger train. They talked about Uncle Harry because neither of them could sleep.
Bappa said, ‘I wonder what has scared him this time?’
‘Guess something must have happened again.’
Bappa continued, ‘But he has Father Samuel with him.’
Bappa looked outside the speeding train. ‘Did you notice how Uncle was changing so fast? The first day we saw him wearing a hat and a cane, but then on our last visit he couldn't even leave the bed. His whole attitude changed over a few months. He was meek the last time we saw him. His lips quivered when he spoke.’
Ranju nodded in agreement.
‘And then his obsession with white. The rose, the pillows. Suddenly he behaved like a philosopher.’ Ranju added, ‘And then that weird smile! It creeped me out.’
‘Did we ever see him smile before?’ Bappa sat up straight now. ‘Never saw those teeth I tell you.’
Bappa changed the topic. ‘So, did the person we saw last time write those letters?’ He looked at Ranju quizzically.
‘Maybe Father Samuel wrote on his behalf. He must be too old to write properly,’ Ranju replied.
‘But why didn't he telegram us if this was an emergency? Why bother with post? He knows letters take time to reach their destinations,’ Bappa felt a nagging worm in his mind now. ‘When was this written? Check the date.’
Ranju pulled out the paper from his pocket. ‘There's no date on this!’ And looked at Bappa in astonishment. What does this mean? They both were in a fix now.
They reached Madhupur the next morning and boarded another train to Giridih. They were entering the interior parts of the state of Bihar now.
They bought tea and cupcakes from the station food stall and took seats near the window. But sleeplessness hovered over them now. And truth be told, the boys were worried. This was beyond their mettle. Cavorting around with vengeful spirits was not a game. They were scared.
The train was speeding on its. This was the Chhotanagpur plateau. A dry plain land stretched on both sides, dotted with deciduous trees. Vegetation was sparse. Hillocks were scattered in the hot rocky land. A dry, hot wind was surging inside the compartment. Ranju was dozing. Suddenly he woke up and saw Bappa staring out of the window. ‘What's happening?’
Bappa just pointed his finger towards the sky.
A pitch-black devil of a cloud was swirling in the south-eastern sky.
Bappa was quiet.
When they got down at Jagdishpur the sky was rumbling already. It was a small station. A handful of passengers got down. They hailed a tonga. They told the tongawalla to take them to Father Samuel's, but he did not recognize the name at first. When they said 'purana girja' (old church) the driver stared at them with his mouth open. Nevertheless, he waved them to get on the tonga.
The storm was brewing out there. The horse driving the tonga seemed flustered. The road was narrow and dusty, scattered with stones. There were guava and custard apple trees on both sides. Brambles of gum arabic crowded together like thick thorny blankets in the dusk.
‘Hello, Uncleji, how far is the church? Ketna duur hai?’ Ranju hollered.
The driver did not reply. He cracked a whip, and the carriage sped up. Meanwhile, the wind came at them in gusts. They covered their faces as the carriage wheels disappeared in clouds of dust.
Finally, they came to a halt. The horse clobbered and neighed. There was a dense forest around them. The dusty road had ended there.
‘Girja? Where is it?’ Bappa asked the man.
The driver pointed towards the south.
Ranju paid him and got down from the tonga. They started walking towards the south and saw the church spire rising from behind the dense gum arabic trees. They came near the building. It was an old church. The walls were crumbling. The plaster peeling off. The windows were broken and some of them boarded up with planks. Not your usual spot for Sunday prayers. A lock was hanging at the door.
‘Why would any priest live in such a church?’ Ranju asked mopping his face to remove dust.
Bappa assured him, ‘I’m sure he lives nearby. Otherwise, Uncle Harry would never have given us the address. Let’s go.’
But there was nothing else around them except the mad rustle of trees and shadows.
Bappa was going to say something when they noticed an old woman ambling towards the church. She noticed the boys but paid no attention. Instead, she went to the church door, set her bag on the ground, and pulled out keys.
Bappa went near her, ‘Madam, where does Father Samuel live? Can you show us his quarter?’
The lady turned her murky eyes towards them, ‘Where have you boys come from?’
‘Calcutta.’
‘Have you come to meet Father?’
‘Yes, but actually we came to see Harold Evans,’ Ranju replied.
The woman flinched at Uncle Harry's name.
‘But Father Samuel isn't here right now.’
‘What?’ The boys exclaimed.
‘Yes, he left suddenly.’
‘He never said where he was going?’ Bappa asked her.
The old lady replied, ‘No. It was so strange. Last Sunday. Father came running to my place at two in the night. He was out of breath. He handed me the church keys and said- I am leaving. Do NOT ask me anything. Then he left in the middle of the night. He was scared to death.’
The boys listened quietly. Ranju asked, ‘Then what happened? Did you go to his quarters?’
‘Don't ask me anything else. I will not answer,’ she replied hastily and took out candles from her bag and went inside the church.
But Bappa pleaded, ‘One last question! Where is Mr. Evans now? Is he well?’
She dropped the candles. Something froze her on the spot. Her voice quivered with fear, ‘He died last Sunday night.’
‘Died?’ The boys were aghast.
‘Yes, please. I just came here to light these candles.’ Then she looked at the sky. The storm had died down for the moment. The sky was pitch-black.
Ranju requested, ‘Please show us the quarters. Mr. Evans called us to meet him.’
The old lady grabbed his hand and hissed, ‘Don't go there! But if you really want to, take the road behind this eucalyptus tree.’
When they turned to leave the woman insisted, ‘Please don't go there, boys.’
‘We have to. We promised Uncle Harry.’
‘Then take this cross.’ She stuck a wooden cross in Bappa’s palm and disappeared inside the church.
It was an old house. There was a broken fence around it. Gorse bushes on both sides. A small wooden gate. They pushed the gate and entered. There was a small patio and then the door.
As if the storm was waiting for them, immediately the winds swirled the dried leaves and banged the door open.
It was dark inside. They lit a match and crept ahead. Dry leaves were whirling on the floor. Bappa picked up some leaves.
‘What are those?’ Ranju was behind Bappa.
‘It seems these are pages from Joseph Evan's diary,’ Bappa looked at the torn sheets against the light. ‘Who did this?’ he mumbled to himself.
Ranju took out his torch and flashed a light around the room. ‘Be one with Him’ gleamed on the wall in front of them.
Suddenly Ranju said, ‘I feel hot here. I am going outside.’
‘I don't feel well either,’ Bappa agreed. ‘Let's pray for five minutes for Uncle Harry. Then we leave.’
Two minutes of silence was shattered when a moaning gust of wind entered the room. They saw someone standing at the door wrapped in a white sheet. Knotted white hair and white beard. His eyes were dead like a fish. His teeth were jutting out from his lower jaw like a fleshless skull.
‘Uncle Harry!’
‘Yes, Uncle Harry came!’ The figure bellowed at them.
Ranju was screaming now. ‘Uncle Harry!! We came! Are you okay?!’
A hand appeared from under the white sheet. White as snow. His fingers were meatless bones. He offered his hand to the boys as if a handshake was due.
Acknowledgement: Thank you, Elisabeth Plumlee-Watson for reading, editing, and encouraging me to translate the story. You opened a new world for me.