The aroma of filter coffee and freshly prepared masala dosa filled the air in Ramu's. Vishwa and I were seated at our usual seats, having a heated discussion. We have discussed and debated over this topic several times, without reaching a conclusion. While Vishwa is a staunch atheist, I have my own set of beliefs. I am not sure if you could call them beliefs, though. I am not sure if God(s & Goddesses) exist(s), but I am too scared to openly admit that they don't. I have formed a convoluted belief about God(s & Goddesses). To anybody who asks me about my beliefs, I always answer "I believe in the existence of a formless, superhuman power". Whether that person considers me an atheist or a believer, I leave it to his/her judgement. To me, it is an easy way to slip out of the situation. However, I cannot lie to myself, can I?
Vishwa believes that the key to our destiny lies in our hands alone. He does not want to believe that he is controlled something beyond his reach. Nor does he believe in religion or rituals done to appease the Almighty. To him, the only important philosophy is to live and let live. He believes that we can build a better society & a better world only by looking after each other, not by any religious propaganda or conversion on the promise of amenities, like it is happening at some places.
We were having the same discussion that day too. "Listen, mate! There exists no God & no Satan. All these are mere literary expressions of the good and evil in us. It is all about which side we choose to act on. Nothing more. Do not go on worshiping idols or appeasing spirits" Vishwa spoke emphatically.
While I was searching for a response, we were joined by another person at our table. He was a middle aged man, around 35-40 years of age. He was dressed in a t-shirt and a pant. He wore goggles that covered his eyes and much of his face. "Namaste! I heard you speak. You speak with a lot of conviction, don't you? So, you do not believe in God or Satan, is it?" he said, extending his hand to us Vishwa shook it, confidently; me, with a bit of apprehension. The other person smiled warmly at us. "I shall tell you a story that shall make you believe in ghosts and spirits" he said.
"Sure you will. But before that, can we order something for you?" Vishwa asked.
The other person shook his head. We ordered two coffees for us.
"The story I shall tell you", the stranger began, "is based some thirty-forty years ago, in a small town nearby. Do not bother about the name, because it hardly matters to the story line." Both of us sat hearing him, with rapt attention.
"There was a police officer, happily married. He lived with his wife, son and mother in the town. He was widely respected and loved by the people in the department as well as outside of it. When his son was about five years of age, he was posted to Bengal. Now, that was a period when Naxal movement was on the rise. There were lot of law-&-order problems, not that they have ceased now. But then, problems were created by non-governmental bodies, not those within it. Coming back, the government felt that this officer could make a difference to the situation and transferred him there. He decided to move there with his wife, while both of them decided that it would be prudent to take their son along only after they were sure of the situation there. For the time being, they left their son in the care of his grandmother and moved to Bengal.
As fate would have it, within three months of shifting to Bengal, the officer and his wife were killed brutally by the Naxals.
Any other woman would have lost her mind on seeing her son being killed, but not this Grandmother. It made her more resolute. She was determined to raise her grandson, let's call him Ramesh, to be a police officer, much like his dad or perhaps, better.
They were from a rich family. For generations, they had been zamindars in their ancestral village. They still had some agricultural land which was cultivated by people who served the family for several generations now. They were still treated like royalty whenever they went to the village. Money was not a problem. So, Grandmother made sure that all needs and luxuries of Ramesh were met much before he asked for it. He was all that she lived for.
Again, fate played its part. As Ramesh came of age, Grandmother told him of how his father was killed and how she wished to see him as a police officer one day. However, Ramesh appeared unaffected by it. This pained Grandmother. She decided to rein him in through discipline and cut off all his perks.
That irked Ramesh. One of his friends put a notion that she might donate all property to charity. That was when Ramesh took the drastic step. He had heard of black magic and witchcraft. He approached a Namboodiri black magician and used him to drive his Grandmother insane. To everybody else, it appeared that old age had taken a toll on Grandmother. They advised Ramesh to send her to a rehabilitation centre.
Using a certificate from the centre, he got all the property transferred into his name. Two or three months later, he received news from the rehab that Grandmother had died peacefully in her sleep. Ramesh, the heartless bastard, didn't even perform her funeral rites. He asked the people in the centre to do it, like for any other orphaned woman and asked them to send him the death certificate.
A few months later, something happened to Ramesh. He started behaving with a slight touch of insanity. People said that they heard from Ramesh of how Grandmother tortured him in the night as a spirit. Some believed that Grandmother had actually returned as a spirit to haunt Ramesh for what he had done. Some believed that it was his guilt that psychologically traumatized him and resulted in his insanity. They decided to take Ramesh to the same Namboodiri black magician and get him treated.
Five months after they returned from him, on a night that marked the first death anniversary of Grandmother, Ramesh was found hanging in his room. There was an expression of shock on his face.
That house is no longer inhabited. People say that they hear Ramesh crying and pleading for forgiveness from Grandmother in the house."
The man ended his story and looked towards us for a reaction. I was visibly shaken. Vishwa looked amused though.
"A very nice story indeed. What is your name, Sir?" Vishwa asked, seemingly impressed with the narrative.
"I am Ramesh - the unfaithful grandson" he said.
Vishwa and I froze in our seats. Words failed both of us. We looked at each other in fear and shock.
We turned towards him as "What the..." escaped our mouths.
He was no longer there!!!
Vishwa believes that the key to our destiny lies in our hands alone. He does not want to believe that he is controlled something beyond his reach. Nor does he believe in religion or rituals done to appease the Almighty. To him, the only important philosophy is to live and let live. He believes that we can build a better society & a better world only by looking after each other, not by any religious propaganda or conversion on the promise of amenities, like it is happening at some places.
We were having the same discussion that day too. "Listen, mate! There exists no God & no Satan. All these are mere literary expressions of the good and evil in us. It is all about which side we choose to act on. Nothing more. Do not go on worshiping idols or appeasing spirits" Vishwa spoke emphatically.
While I was searching for a response, we were joined by another person at our table. He was a middle aged man, around 35-40 years of age. He was dressed in a t-shirt and a pant. He wore goggles that covered his eyes and much of his face. "Namaste! I heard you speak. You speak with a lot of conviction, don't you? So, you do not believe in God or Satan, is it?" he said, extending his hand to us Vishwa shook it, confidently; me, with a bit of apprehension. The other person smiled warmly at us. "I shall tell you a story that shall make you believe in ghosts and spirits" he said.
"Sure you will. But before that, can we order something for you?" Vishwa asked.
The other person shook his head. We ordered two coffees for us.
"The story I shall tell you", the stranger began, "is based some thirty-forty years ago, in a small town nearby. Do not bother about the name, because it hardly matters to the story line." Both of us sat hearing him, with rapt attention.
"There was a police officer, happily married. He lived with his wife, son and mother in the town. He was widely respected and loved by the people in the department as well as outside of it. When his son was about five years of age, he was posted to Bengal. Now, that was a period when Naxal movement was on the rise. There were lot of law-&-order problems, not that they have ceased now. But then, problems were created by non-governmental bodies, not those within it. Coming back, the government felt that this officer could make a difference to the situation and transferred him there. He decided to move there with his wife, while both of them decided that it would be prudent to take their son along only after they were sure of the situation there. For the time being, they left their son in the care of his grandmother and moved to Bengal.
As fate would have it, within three months of shifting to Bengal, the officer and his wife were killed brutally by the Naxals.
Any other woman would have lost her mind on seeing her son being killed, but not this Grandmother. It made her more resolute. She was determined to raise her grandson, let's call him Ramesh, to be a police officer, much like his dad or perhaps, better.
They were from a rich family. For generations, they had been zamindars in their ancestral village. They still had some agricultural land which was cultivated by people who served the family for several generations now. They were still treated like royalty whenever they went to the village. Money was not a problem. So, Grandmother made sure that all needs and luxuries of Ramesh were met much before he asked for it. He was all that she lived for.
Again, fate played its part. As Ramesh came of age, Grandmother told him of how his father was killed and how she wished to see him as a police officer one day. However, Ramesh appeared unaffected by it. This pained Grandmother. She decided to rein him in through discipline and cut off all his perks.
That irked Ramesh. One of his friends put a notion that she might donate all property to charity. That was when Ramesh took the drastic step. He had heard of black magic and witchcraft. He approached a Namboodiri black magician and used him to drive his Grandmother insane. To everybody else, it appeared that old age had taken a toll on Grandmother. They advised Ramesh to send her to a rehabilitation centre.
Using a certificate from the centre, he got all the property transferred into his name. Two or three months later, he received news from the rehab that Grandmother had died peacefully in her sleep. Ramesh, the heartless bastard, didn't even perform her funeral rites. He asked the people in the centre to do it, like for any other orphaned woman and asked them to send him the death certificate.
A few months later, something happened to Ramesh. He started behaving with a slight touch of insanity. People said that they heard from Ramesh of how Grandmother tortured him in the night as a spirit. Some believed that Grandmother had actually returned as a spirit to haunt Ramesh for what he had done. Some believed that it was his guilt that psychologically traumatized him and resulted in his insanity. They decided to take Ramesh to the same Namboodiri black magician and get him treated.
Five months after they returned from him, on a night that marked the first death anniversary of Grandmother, Ramesh was found hanging in his room. There was an expression of shock on his face.
That house is no longer inhabited. People say that they hear Ramesh crying and pleading for forgiveness from Grandmother in the house."
The man ended his story and looked towards us for a reaction. I was visibly shaken. Vishwa looked amused though.
"A very nice story indeed. What is your name, Sir?" Vishwa asked, seemingly impressed with the narrative.
"I am Ramesh - the unfaithful grandson" he said.
Vishwa and I froze in our seats. Words failed both of us. We looked at each other in fear and shock.
We turned towards him as "What the..." escaped our mouths.
He was no longer there!!!
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