CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNEBLIEVABLE KIND--MY CHAPERONE

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE UNBELIEVABLE KIND

A.V. DHANUSHKODI

Hamlet: “There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”.  HAMLET, ACT  I , SCENE V

EPISODE EIGHT---MY CHAPERONE

I think I must have been nearing ten at the time this episode took place.  I was living with my parents in Kovilpatti, a taluk in Thirunelveli district in Madras Presidency. 

It was summer vacation.  My mother, my brother, and I had gone to my maternal grandparents’ house in Madras to spend a few weeks.   During the daytime, I would be with my friend Arunachalam, who was the son of a tenant living in one of the two portions behind the main house, which belonged to my grandparents.  Another small family, related to them, was living in the other portion.   After dark, I would be at home doing nothing but chatting and playing with my cousins and listening to the conversations of the elders.  Usually, we children went to bed early, after dinner.

Arunachalam’s mother tongue was Telugu, but his command over  Tamil  was excellent, his ancestors having settled down in Madras many generations before, like thousands of Telugu families, which gave them the lung-power to vociferously claim “Madaras Manathe!” when the 1956 reorganization of the states was implemented. His command over Tamil was so good that, years later, when we picked up our friendship again, while staying with my grandparents again during my  college  days,  he  wrote  stories,  which  were selected for publication in some of the popular Tamil magazines then.  Coupled with his proficiency in Tamil, was his rich imagination.  I used to wonder at the speed of his writing, and he rarely revised what he wrote. 

He was two years older than I was at the time this episode took place, and had not yet started writing stories, but was already adept at telling stories.  Unfortunately, I do not remember any of them, except one. However, I do remember that they were extremely fascinating, especially the spooky stories. 

The one I remember was about “Sangili Karuppan”, a spirit, which, according to him, was haunting the first and the second floors of the main house; as those floors remained unoccupied at the time, the wandering spirit of Sangili Karuppan found a permanent abode there.  To my probing question why the spirit was called Sangili Karuppan, he told me that, when he was convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment for having murdered his wife, he turned violent and had to be chained to a pillar.  He, in turn, was murdered by a gang of other convicts, who were set upon him by his wife’s younger brother, in revenge.  My friend further added that the chain, fastened to the legs of the his ghost, was, in truth, the gold thaali he stole from his wife, after murdering her.  At twelve every night, according to my friend, one could hear the chain being dragged on the floor, as Sangili Karuppan roamed restlessly from room to room on the first and the second floors. I, of course, would not believe a word of what he said, would laugh heartily---which seemed to distress him deeply---and try to dismiss the “incident” as a product of his wild imagination.  I said try, because there still would lurk, in the remote recesses of my mind, a formless fear, morphing sometimes into monstrous forms in my dreams.

One night, after dinner, we were all assembled in the courtyard for a light chat before retiring to bed.  The night being unusually warm, everyone seemed reluctant to leave the courtyard, which was sucking in cool air from above, like quicksand.  The courtyard was sandwiched between the old and the new constructions of the house, the new construction rising up to the second and the third floors.  Sitting in the courtyard, one could see the parapet wall of the terrace on the second floor, which had but one huge hall, besides the terrace.  Access to the second floor hall was through the steps from the courtyard leading to the first floor and, from there, through the wrought iron winding steps, coming up from a stairwell, next to the front door of the house, but not visible from the courtyard. 

In the midst of our harmless chatting, someone---I think it was one of my uncles---hit upon an awful idea for testing the courage of the boys.   Each one of us, he said, should go up alone to the second floor, lean over the parapet wall, shout his name, and come down.  Everyone was enthusiastic, except I.  I was the youngest of the lot and, by nature, withdrawn and timid.  However, I had no choice.

First was my brother, whom we saw going up the steps from the courtyard.  As we waited with tensed expectation, I whispered to my mother, who was sitting next to me, hugging me, that I was too nervous and that I could not do it.  She whispered back, “Don’t be silly.  You are a boy, not a girl.”  How I wished I was a girl!  “No, ma, I can’t.  I’ll die, if I go up alone!”  I whispered again.  “No, you won’t,” she said in a very reassuring soft voice.  “Yes, I will,” I asserted, “I’ll die and haunt the first and the second floors, along with Sangili Karuppan.”  I had told her about Sangili Karuppan.  She laughed aloud, attracting the attention of the others but, before she could concoct a convincing reason for her laughter, we heard my brother shout his name, leaning and waving from the second floor parapet wall.  Everyone cheered heartily and loudly and asked him to come down. 

My uncle pointed to me and said, “You next!”

My heart was pumping two hundred beats per second.  My mother could feel it.  She said urgently in a low voice, “Don’t be scared.  I’ll follow you all the way.”  “How can you?  They won’t let you.”  “I can.  Look, after you start, I’ll tell them I am going to the bathroom next to the winding stairwell, but will climb up the stairwell and join you on the first floor.”  The winding stairwell and the bathroom next to it were out of sight from the courtyard.   Her assurance calmed down my agitated mind to some extent, but I had a vague feeling that something was wrong with her assurance; at the time, my feverish mind was unhinged, therefore unable to detect the flaw in her plan.

“You next!  Get going!” whipped my uncle’s voice

I looked at my mother pathetically.  She nodded and smiled at me reassuringly.

Hercules pulled me up and pushed me toward the stairs going up from the courtyard.  As I climbed up step by step with extraordinary mental effort and disappeared from their sight, I could hear my mother saying, “I have to go to the bathroom”.  That gave me the much-needed mental courage to quicken my pace.  I reached the first floor, which was in total darkness---we were not allowed to switch on the lights in any of the rooms---passed through the room next to the landing, and reached the winding stairs coming up from the ground floor, next to the bathroom.   I opened the door of the stairwell, stepped on to the landing of the wrought-iron steps, and looked down. I could not see anything down there.  “Maa!” I called out softly, in a trembling voice.  “Yes, yes, I am here.  I am coming up.  Go up, I will follow you,” I heard my mother saying in a suppressed voice.  That gave me the energy, which had drained out of me by then. 

As I started climbing the winding stairs going up to the second floor, I heard footsteps behind me, climbing up.  I quickened my pace, reached the second floor, stepped out of the stairwell, and waited for her to catch up with me.        

I didn’t have to wait for more than a few seconds, when I saw her dimly    in the semi darkness, reaching the landing.  She was smiling at me, nodding her head. For an instant, I saw her gold thaali chain catch the light from the street lamp and bounce it into a sharp gleam of lemon-yellow.   I stretched my hand out to touch her, saying, “Come with me ma.”

She stepped back quickly and said in a reproachful tone, “Don’t waste time.  I can’t go with you to the parapet wall.  They’ll see me.  I’ll wait for you here.”

Reluctantly I left her there at the landing, went to the parapet wall and peeped over it, to see them all sitting in the courtyard, looking up expectantly.  I waved to them and shouted my name.  They responded instantly with thunderous applause and a variety of verbal approbations.  Greatly relieved, I turned around and rushed back to the stairwell, to give my mother a warm hug, but I saw her turn around and hasten down the steps.  “Ma, wait for me,” I cried and rushed after her.  Laughing gently, she shot past the first floor and descended down into the darkness of the bottom of the stairwell.  I understood her haste, as she had to get to her place before I got back to the courtyard, lest the others should suspect some foul play. 

When I reached the courtyard through the main flight of stairs, they all cheered me once again, hugged me, and kissed me as I ploughed past them to my mother, who was sitting in her place with open arms.  Never before, or after, did I get such a warm and loving embrace from my mother.  Kissing me profusely, she cooed, “You did it, you did it.”   “Thank you ma,” I said, basking in the warmth of her bear hug.

That night, snuggling close to my mother, I slept like a newborn baby.

***

When I woke up the next morning, she had already got up to attend to the chores of the day.  I brushed my teeth and went straight into the kitchen to receive a tumbler of hot coffee from her with a smile.  I could see in her eyes how proud she was of me. With coffee in my hand, I walked past the bottom of the winding stairwell, sat at the front door, started sipping the coffee, watching the traffic on the street as usual.

It was then that the thunderbolt struck me.  I jerked my head back to my left and saw, to my horror, that the bottom of the winding stairwell was filled with old broken wooden chairs, stools, and tables up to a height of about five feet. From the bolt of the securely closed grill door to the stairwell, there hung a very old rusted padlock.

A.V. Dhanushkodi

January, 2010