chatterbox

His home: a cremation ground the well-known Nigambodh Ghat on the banks of the Yamuna river that flows through the outskirts of Delhi.

His job: to carry the wood for cremations from the storage area to be weighed, and then transported, usually manually - to the site earmarked for a cremation.

Sometimes, Nandu Din was asked to lay the wood at the site in such a manner that when lit, the flames from the funeral pyre consumed the dead body quickly and efficiently. Nandu Din’s job didn’t end with that. Once he had carried the wood for a particular cremation, he became entitled to clothes and coverings, generally shawls draped over the dead body as a mark of respect and a “last offering” by relatives and friends, and any traditional donations in cash or kind. He then had to wait for the mandatory waiting period - four days in most cases, before relatives and friends returned to collect a small portion of the ashes and partially burnt bones for immersion in the holy Ganges at Haridwar or elsewhere at a time and date specified by a priest. Once this ceremony was complete, Nandu Din too could complete his job of collecting the remainder of the ashes for disposal, usually in the Yamuna river although in recent years pollution related outcries have made him very cautious about admitting this officially or on the record. Having cleared all the ashes from the cremation site, Nandu Din would then sweep and wash the place ready to receive another dead body for cremation.

At times, he handled between five to six cremations in a day and between them, his younger brother Rati Din and Nandu Din handled anywhere between two to fifteen cremations in a day. But the number of cremations to which they contributed their labour had nothing to do with the amount they were paid by the contractor at the cremation ground. They were paid a flat daily wage of Rs 70 per day. This meager amount they supplemented by selling to shopkeepers the coverings and shawls, often very expensive ones - draped over the dead and removed before the pyre was lit. The shopkeepers in turn sold them to customers without of course informing them of the source through which they had come. How did it matter, the shopkeepers reasoned: the shawls or sheets were after all brand new and were placed on a dead body for at the most a few hours. Neither did Nandu Din and Rati Din have any qualms about revealing the truth about the coverings to shopkeepers. They were after all, Doms, entitled since countless generations to anything that came off a dead body or was given as a donation. Many shopkeepers declined to purchase such coverings but Nandu Din and Rati Din though always on the lookout for better rates, had been doing the rounds for so long that they knew by now who would and who would not buy from them.

For grieving relatives and friends accompanying the mortal remains of a departed soul, both the beginning and the end of the cremation were understandably highly emotive. For Nandu Din and Rati Din and other Doms at the cremation grounds, both the beginning and the end of every cremation they “handled” was very important too - but for very different reasons. Their reasons had more to do with living, and never mind if that living was directly associated with the dead and death in general. As explained, the beginning of the creation was important for them because they received the dead body’s coverings and sold them for a good price. The ending of a cremation was often more important. How? Because in the ashes they often found the remains of gold ornaments such as earrings, a nose ring, finger rings, or a necklace that the dead body might have been wearing.

Many families remove such ornaments from a dead body but other families do not have the heart or have other reasons for not removing them from the body of a beloved family member. “When the body is placed on a funeral pyre, we usually keep a look out for ornaments,” disclosed Nandu Din. “If we spot any, we return to the cremation site once the ashes have cooled and if any half or partially melted pieces catch our eye, we pick them up without disturbing the ashes - that would be wrong.

“We don’t like taking the ornaments at this stage before the relatives have returned for the final ash collection ceremony, but if we don’t there’s no guarantee that some relative may not pick them up to give away to some one else or whatever. If we can’t see any ornaments, we wait till the ash collection ceremony is over and then we go through the ashes very carefully, passing them through a sieve and often we find melted pieces. See,” and he pulled out a small pouch from his pocket and emptied it on the palm of his hand. A half melted earring of a very good design was clearly visible. There was a small piece of a chain and the rest were unrecognisable pieces of melted, mis-shapen gold which must have been in the centre of the heat or perhaps the wood at that particular pyre burnt for longer or was of a larger quantity.

“We do manage to find something or the other almost every day and a collection of four or five pieces is enough to send us to a jeweller. But mind you, this is always at great risk to us.” “If you get caught?” I queried. “No,” he answered. “But first let me go and sell these, then I’ll tell you how we often stake our lives to earn a worthwhile amount.” It took some persuasion for Nandu Din and Rati Din to agree to let me accompany them on their excursion to Chandni Chowk Dariba Kalan - to be precise. Once there, as we wove our way through the crowded street, strange feelings were seeping through me. We stopped and they pointed at a small jewellery shop. “We have been coming to this particular jeweller for many years. He knows, doesn’t ask too many questions every time and gives us a good price in the end,” they confided. “But don’t say you are with us as he may not then deal with us,”

I nodded but entered just a minute after them, in time to see the jeweller pull out a red velvet covered tray and place it on the counter. I sat down on the long bench, a foot or so away from the brothers and pretended to be absorbed in looking around at the pieces on display. Nandu Din pulled out his pouch and emptied the contents on the tray. The jeweller didn’t touch the pieces. Instead, he pulled out a pair of forceps from a drawer and inspected each piece before weighing them together. He then poured something on them from a small bottle, lit a small blow lamp, and proceeded to melt them. This took some doing and some time - the jeweller was obviously not used to keeping his cheeks blown and holding his breath for long periods. After completing the melting process, a liquid was once again poured on the now shapeless metal, it was patted dry with a piece of cotton wool and was then tested on a “kasauti” or touchstone. Obviously satisfied with the results, the jeweller flipped open a small electronic calculator, and handed over Rs 14,000 to Nandu Din. But both the brothers protested at the amount.

“The prices of gold are so high and you’re giving us so little.”. After much haggling, the jeweller added another Rs 400 to the amount and the brothers left, still grumbling. I hastily asked the price of a pendant, shook my head and followed them out. “Now tell me how this is a great risk to you, everything seemed so organised,” I asked.

“We are at great risk, first of all, from the living who, knowing we are Doms, try and give us as little as possible. As you saw, we had to fight for the price and this we have to do each time. More than that, our lives are at risk from the dead. Once, we recovered gold from the ashes at a particular site and in less than an hour, the spirit of the woman who had been cremated caught me by the hair. ‘How dare you take my ornaments,’ she screamed so loudly in my ear that I’m still hard of hearing. ‘Those ornaments were a gift to me from my husband and he refused to take them off my body despite pleas from relatives. The ornaments and his refusal to take them off my body are a mark of his love for me. Let them remain with my ashes and become a part of eternity. It pains me tremendously to see them in your hands and it will pain me to see them in other hands. If you don’t do what I say I will hound you till you do what I say.’ Normally, since we deal with death almost all the time, we are not afraid of the dead. But the spirit of that dead woman was so persistent and so angry that she even tried to drag me to the Yamuna and drown me in it. Every time I would try to set out to sell them she would assault me physically. And then one night, she won: the pouch containing the pieces of ornaments just disappeared and with that her appearances and her constant badgering too stopped so I knew that she had got her way. This is just one amongst several life threatening instances that I’ve experienced.”

The living and the dead fighting over an object important to both, but the values governing the fight are so different.

                   By all appearances, it’s a humble dhaba (makeshift eating place), but the food here is wonderful, great, super - and these are just some of the adjectives that the range and taste of food at this dhaba invites, and indeed, deserves.

Open from nine in the morning till eleven and sometimes even later at night, this dhaba has a remarkably varied clientele, and it seems to keep growing. “Whoever eats here once, comes again and again,” admits the owner proudly. Lunch time particularly witnesses brisk business with a lot of laughter and lively chatter in the air and there is often a long wait for a table.

Invariably, somebody comments, “great food, let’s try this is as well” and most people end up ordering more than they had intended or planned. Who are these people usually? It varies on what time of day it is, with lunch time drawing office goers and students from the many prestigious institutes and offices in the vicinity, all across the road, actually. In fact, even though this very popular dhaba has no name, it is located at a fascinating spot, with a recent addition just behind it lending a whole new dimension, often questionable, to the eating experience. But first, a glimpse of its age-old backdrop, now known as Sanjay Van. For those who missed earlier columns on this distinctive forest, amidst trees and bushes, outcroppings of smoothly chiseled reddish brown rocks are interspersed with man-made wells and an artificial “lake” with wild ducks and other water birds inhabiting it, unmindful of the algae. At one end, a miniature waterfall has been created and its run-off forms a small, shallow stream which runs through the forest and ends near the dhaba, forming a small waterbody here as well. Half submerged tree trunks add a surrealistic look to both these waterbodies, formed, we were informed by a forest guard, with recycled sewage water from the residential areas fringing the forest and others further around. But perhaps the most striking feature of this unusual forest is the number of samadhis (last resting places of sadhus ) and graves. In the ancient temple of Goraknath, for instance, there is the samadhi of a sadhu dated 1876, along with other samadhis.

Further up, there are the twin graves known as the “Sayyad ki kabar”. Recently, a small temple of Goddess Durga-Kali has been erected against one of the walls of the Sayyad ki kabar, along with a temple of Hanumanji against an adjoining wall. Closeby, there are other graves. In another part of the forest, under the spreading boughs of a keekar tree is the unostentatious grave of “Pir sahib”. An old wall built by royal rulers runs near this grave. At one corner of this wall now half hidden by bushes and vegetation, there seems to be a guard house with a staircase leading up to another graveyard. It is said that these graves, and another grave at a lower level are those of royal disciples of the ‘Pir’.

Towards the Mehrauli side, is a Dargah popularly known as the Dargah of Ashiq Allah. There are many graves here and an old well whose water is credited with magical qualities. A fakir or Baba who lives at this Dargah is supposed to possess great powers, but he is curt and entertains “requests” only when “in the mood”. People come from long distances to this Dargah and many get lost in the forest because trees and rocks obstruct a clear view - one moment you can’t see anything and in the next few steps you’re suddenly at the Dargah. In any case, from the rooftop of the Dargah, where there are several graves, you can obtain a panoramic view of not just the forest, but also a large part of Delhi. Drawn by the peace and serenity of the envi rons, people who “discovered” the forest, go for a walk in the area and later, sometimes stop at the dhaba for a quick bite. In the evenings and mornings, there are a few joggers and exercise buffs on the fairly wellmaintained, shady pathways in the forest. In the afternoon, there are a few strollers from offices located at the adjacent Qutub Crescent.

And almost throughout the day, at odd spots in the forest, can be spotted DDA (Delhi Development Authority) employees who take care of the forest, a couple of goat herdsman, a handful of village women collecting firewood and some children collecting berries. But once again, coming face to face with them is a matter of chance. What you do encounter frequently are peacocks in gorgeous plumage, squirrels, the seven sisters, hoopoes, occasionally deer, nilgai, beautiful butterflies, parrots and many other birds and smaller animals.

There is also a quila or fort dating, it is said, from the time of the early 11th-12th century Muslim rulers of Delhi. This quila is known as the Kutta-billi ka kila (fort of the dog and the cat) because it is believed that two graves here are those of the beloved pets of a Muslim ruler. It is in the vicinity of this quila that murders seem to take place and just recently, in the first week of December, a decomposed body of a man was found in the bushes.

Certainly, there is something eerie about this quila and you suddenly realise that unseen forms often shadow you in the forest, particularly when you’re close to or passing by any of the graves. Sometimes, you hear the patter of feet right behind you and a discreet cough, but there is no one around. This pattern is repeated after every few yards, even when you’re on a short stretch clear of bushes and trees. Often, you hear the sound of voices close at hand, but again there is no one to be seen. At other times, peacocks and other animals and birds give out alarm calls, but don’t flee from the area, and soon you begin to sense an unseen presence. Naturally, such a forest impats its own aura to the dhaba.

Till some time ago, such supernatural experiences were confined to the forest, the Spirit Forest, as I call it. But now, a cremation ground had been constructed just behind the dhaba. In fact, the dhaba and the cremation ground share the same wall and use the same water taps and this is what initially and sometimes mid-way when you’re eating at the dhaba, raises questions in the mind.

It is indeed a strange experience to be concentrating on your food when less than a stone’s throw away, a dead body is being cre mated. But as the owner says, “We are helpless in this matter. Fortunately, cremations take place rarely here and they’re soon over in any case”. Even more fortunately, the dhaba’s regular clients have taken the cremation ground in their stride - a testimony to the taste and quality of the food at the dhaba. Obviously, losing clients is not not a cause of worry for the dhaba owner. But what had been worrying him lately was the disappearance of food from the dbaba, and it usually happened late at night, making it even more baffling. For quite a bit of its storage, the dhaba uses a large old deep freeze, using ice to keep it cool in the absence of electricity. It was from this deep freeze that the food started vanishing. At first, the dhaba owner suspected one of his half a dozen or so employees who slept on the premises, cooks, waiters and utensil cleaners of stealing the food. But that puzzled him, because they were all old hands and in any case he left them free to eat and drink what they wanted and as much as they wanted.

Nevertheless, he gave all of them a warning, but still the food continued to vanish, at which point the dhaba owner decided to keep a secret vigil at night. At around one o clock at night, he heard somebody lift the lid of the deep freeze and immediately shone his powerful torch. There was no one near the deep freeze, yet the lid was open. He checked on his employees, they were all fast asleep and too far from the deep freeze to have made a dash back to their bedding. And when he looked in the deep freeze, several one-serving packets of butter had disappeared. The next night, the same eerie sequence was repeated, with three packets of Frooti, a fruit drink, vanishing this time.

It was clear that an unseen agency was at work, and thinking back, the dhaba owner co-related the construction of the cremation ground with the mysterious disappearance of the food. Was a hungry ghost or a ghost who loved food haunting the dhaba? The employees too confirmed that they often felt uneasy, as if somebody unseen was present, before they turned in for the night. The dhaba owner is a very practical man. A hungry ghost or a ghost who loved food, he had an answer for both.

The cremation ground was now there to stay, he reasoned, and so was the ghost till as long as it chose to. Therefore, instructions were given to the cook to prepare a special plate of assorted food last thing at night and leave it on the deep freeze.

The hungry or food loving ghost is obviously pleased, because no more food is stolen and the employees have reported that ever since the special plate is left on the deep freeze, an unseen form can be heard humming happily in the dead of night. The dhaba’s food is obviously wonderful, great, super for the living as well as the dead.

Bangalore - any place that has been known for any appearance of any kind of spirits or any kind of abnormal activities which is believed to be ghosts/spirits

Bombay Supreme Court - for over 30 years whenever a murder trial is conducted here a vengeful bilingual ghost makes itself known by cursing and terrorizing anyone brave (or foolish) enough to enter.

Delhi cantonment- Most of the times, people see a lady standing in white dress asking for lift. if you go thru she will run as fast as the car runs & people reported her sitting there.

Gujarat - Surat - Dumas - If you walk towards the ocean at night in Dumas then u will hear noises that will tell you go home don’t go forward and all scary things happen. Dogs will even start chasing you sometimes but they say that the dogs run because they are trying to get away from that place as well. This all happens because Hindus burn their bodies after they die over there and the ghosts in there body stay in the air.

Hyderabad - Ramoji Film City - It is a big film city in Hyderabad,(like universal studios) the hotels in Ramoji film city are haunted. They say that the film city is built on war grounds of the Nizam sultans. Witnesses report the lights kept on top keep falling off, the light men- who sit with the lights on top have been pushed so many times and many have had grievous injuries. The food left in rooms also gets scattered around the room and strange marks are left on the mirror, some script…. resembling Urdu…the language spoken by the sultans. Girls are the ghosts’ favorite to haunt. They trouble the girls so much, they tear their clothes, knock on the bathroom doors while the outside doors are locked. They create havoc. Many preventive measures have been taken to prevent hauntings……but of no use…they keep coming back after sometime.

Maharashtra - Raj Kiran hotel - Reports of bedsheets being pulled off and continue to be pulled even after the guest is woken up. This room is in the corner and at the backside of the reception on the ground floor itself.

Meerut - GP block - It has been always seen that 4 guys are sitting inside the house with a single candle lighted and drinking beers. It happens to be most common sight for people passing through that area but few person also added that even they have seen girls in red dress coming out of the house. The house is double stored and people have seen the scene happening on the roof top. People have left moving through that place now.

Mumbai - Mahim - Near Canossa primary there is a chawl named d’souza chawl, there is a local well from whwere people used to fill water and even wash clothes.This well did not have any boundary walls around it and once when a lady was filling water the whole thing collapsed.The lady too fell in that well and died.After this incident she is said to appear everyday near that well and many of the locals have even seen her. She does not harm anyone just strolls around the place and before morning hours she dissappears.

New Delhi - Sanjay Van (near Qutab Institutional Area) - Sanjay Van is a huge forest area spread over around 10 kms. There is a cremation ground also there, many people have reported having seen a lady dressed in a white saree appearing and disappearing suddenly.

Pune - Shaniwarwada Fort - When Peshwas ruled the western Indian province, Narayan the heir of the kingdom was assassinated on his uncle Madhavrao’s wife’s orders. Narayan was chased by his assassins across the entire fort. It was said that while running for his life he called “Uncle save me”, and even today locals say that they hear his cries for help at midnights on new moon day.

Rajasthan - Alwar / Bhangarh-Ajabgarh - Bhangarh ruins - Bhangarh is a place on way from Jaipur to Alwar city in Rajasthan state of India. Today Bhangarh is known for it’s ruins where nobody dares to stay after sunset. Going to history we find that this town was established by Madho Singh, younger brother of King Akbar’s General Man Singh, in 1631. But the city seems to have been abandoned in a hurry some centuries later. As per local folks, due to some curse the whole town was vacated overnight. According to this curse It was also said that if the town was ever rediscovered, the township would not be found, but only temples would show up. True to the story, only temples dot the landscape and even far up on the mountains only shrines can be seen. People say that nobody returned from there who stayed there after dark. The biggest thing is that as per Govt. of India rules there has to be an office of Archaeology Survey of India (ASI) beside every historical structure in India. But even Government authorities couldn’t dare to open an office there and they opened their office about one kilometer away from the ruins of Bhangarh. Also ASI has put a signboard at Bhangarh saying, “Staying after sunset is strictly prohibited in this area.” People who visit this place out of tourist interest say that there is a strange feeling in the atmosphere of Bhangarh, which causes sort of anxiety and restlessness.

Thane - Vrindavan Society - Its said a Man had committed suicide in one of the Buildings in Vrindavan Society(Bldg. No.66 B).The security guard’s patrolling the area around have come across weird happenings. Once a guard was slapped so hardly that he got up from his chair and hit the other guard who was near by him thinking he was the one who hit him.

West Bengal - Kurseong - Dow-Hill - The forests have an uncanny feeling. Its damp, cold and sometimes dark. People up here tend to be depressed and countless murders have taken place. On the stretch between Dow-Hill road and the Forest Office, wood cutters returning in the evenings have sited a young boy walking head-less for several yards and then walk away from the road into the woods. Other than this, footsteps are heard in the corridors of the Victoria Boys School when the school is closed for long holidays from December to March.

                       She didn’t die instantaneously, but she died quickly, her soul leaving her injured body before it reached the hospital. Benazir Bhutto didn’t want to die, and there fore, even when her soul was rushing out of her body, she tried to restrain it from leaving, struggled to live, but in vain.

The nature and the force of her injury forced her soul out of her body and she realised, with a sense of helpless and anger that there was nothing she could do about it. Her helplessness and anger were compounded because she tried to communicate with people, with her aides, and tell them what had happened, whom to pursue, what to do but found that nobody could hear her or feel her presence. She wanted to shake them, tell them “I’m here and this is what I can see, but every where there was a block.” She tried to tell the doctors at the hospital that it was pointless to try and revive her because she had already left but once again encountered the life- death divide. Space and time hold no barriers for spirits, and she tried to touch, reach out and speak to her hus- band, children, sister, to reassure them, but couldn’t. She wanted to speak, she said to Nawaz Sharif, to Musharraf and tell them quite a few things. To so many, many, others to discuss the enormity of what had happened and provide infor- mation and vital answers but once again to no avail. Coming to terms with the fact you have lost your body and died for all those around you but are not actually dead is not easy and can often be very frustrating, especially in the case of a strong personality like Benazir who has a lot to say and share, but has been evicted suddenly, unexpectedly and forcefully from the body. All this while, some beings of whom she had become vaguely conscious while near her body at the hospital were urging her to move on, away from earth and world- ly concerns and allow her spirit to be at peace because there was a fairly long journey ahead of them.

Her sojourn on earth was over and a more important life for her soul was about to begin. Even though she was calmed by the loving and healing touch of these gentle beings of whom she was becoming more aware because they were constantly accompanying her, Benazir was too keyed up, too much in turmoil - there was so much she wanted to do and say, including how the truth about her death could come out, to really respond.

And she stayed on till some time after her burial, where incidentally, apart from the sadness of watching her family, her soul melted at being laid to rest near the remains of her father, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, and a bit more on this later, at the rose petals being showered, at the fervour of the feelings of so many people who had never met, but who had so much faith in her. In fact, she felt a deep satisfaction at being laid to rest at Garhi Khuda Bakhsh near Larkana, the place so closely associated with the Bhuttos.

Had she be been buried elsewhere or had she died in a foreign land she would probably have been deeply unhappy or restless after death, she felt. Her soul grew stronger too she said, from the huge outpouring of support for her. At this point, her soul had begun to mellow considerably, and she was more concerned about her family, about the fact that she wouldn’t be with them any longer, and the strongest heart tugs came from her youngest daughter, Asifa. Slowly, she has begun to realise that she may not be with them physically any longer, but she can still envelop them with her love in unseen ways and God willing, help them later on as well.

All this and more we were able to obtain over four sessions with Benazir and a spirit guide after she was buried, but before she had set out on her jour ney to the other world. Obviously, till this point, she had not entered her spirit body, which was under preparation. In any case, once she started on her journey, we wouldn’t be able to communicate with her till she had “reached” and undergone the purification and settling in process, which could take a bit longer than normal because Benazir’s was an unnatural and sudden death. The journey itself usually takes about forty days in earthly calculations. The second session with her found her more at peace. What about the issue of her body being exhumed ? Her initial reply was that she didn’t want her body disturbed, but then amended it and left the decision to her family - it didn’t actually, she said, bother her because how she died was not important. Who got her killed, and this, she said, would get pieced together - the real killers were not those who had actually killed her, and she gave five names. Several people knew who were involved. There had been lapses in her own security, she revealed, as well as overall, but this was all part of a design and even though she would now be moving away from earth, her greatest satisfaction would now come not so much from the real killers being brought to book but if her death served a larger purpose and her family, the people of her country and those in particular who had espoused her causes lived in peace and honour for the rest of their lives. Of course, she clarified, she would be more at peace if the actual killers met with justice, but there were deeper issues involved.

Significantly, she had no major regrets over the way she had lived her life. There was a high degree of satisfaction that she that had been martyred and did not die an ordinary death but certainly there was a regret that her life had ended at this juncture. In fact, she was proud of the path she had chosen to tread and couldn’t at the point the ses sion was on think of any major action that she would like to undo but just wished she hadn’t trusted certain people and she named three in particular. This was gleaned from the second session we had with her.

In the third session, Benazir had almost come to terms with the transition from life to death but not completely, because she was still trying, seeking for some way to get through to her son, Bilawal. Though satisfied with what was happening within her immediate family there were some warnings she wanted to pass on to her son in particu lar. She was very concerned too about her sister, Sanam. And she wanted to get through to two people she named from her own party. She was now dis tinctly sad, grieving at the parting from loved ones and all the things that were dear to her - she had loved life she said, but was now reconciled that it was over.

The fourth session was very brief, and Benazir’s replies were in contrast to the intense, sometimes fiery, replies of session one and two. Now she seemed distant and pre-occupied, but at peace, her attachments and bonds a bit diluted, and even a query about meeting her father didn’t evoke a very animated response. Gone was the anger, spirited replies and resistance to moving on of the first session and the initial part of the second session. She now seemed ready to move away to higher realms.

And what then, I asked my spirit guide. Because Benazir’s, to make an understatement, was not a normal, peaceful death where the soul leaves in the prescribed manner. Her passing away could therefore could not come under the normal post death “procedures”.

Her death was sudden and violent and was also followed by violence - in other words violence surrounded her at the time of her death and was around, linked to her death, even on the day of her burial. Such a death is never desirable, my spirit guide informed me and special care has to be taken of such souls and it often takes them longer to rest at peace. But in Benazir’s case, though special care will still be necessary, she seemed to have come to terms unexpectedly quickly with the ending of her life, partly because she had reason to be satisfied on a number of counts that were important for her. Her spirit too was strong and she had grasped that the inevitable had to be accepted, thus removing a major possible block in the upward movement of a soul. There were people, he said, who couldn’t accept that they were dead, or refused to free themselves from the attachments and bonding on earth, or refused to acknowledge any wrongs that they may have committed or repent for them, or cleanse themselves of vindictiveness and thus retarded their own progress.

But in Benazir’s case there was, even when her soul was still bound fairly strongly to earth and all that was happening in the days after her death, a readiness to accept and understand. My spirit guide, an evolved soul who frequents the fourth and fifth astral levels, most human beings go to the third astral level or world after death, feels that in Benazir’s case, despite the violence, when the final balance sheet is drawn up, though there will certainly be things that will call for rectification and purification, there will be many more on the plus side to help her advance, strengthen her soul and find a fulfilling place for herself in her life after death.
For a photo of Bhutto..

                For his parents, he was more precious than most children are to most parents and others in the family. The reason: Raja had been born nine years after Kamal and Kailash got married. They had been nine very difficult years for both Kamal and Kailash. In many villages, being childless - banj or barren as they call it, is a stigma even today. Amongst other forms of discrimination, most families don’t want you around on auspicious occasions, as they fear your saya (shadow) will bring them bad luck and affect the barkat (abundance) in the home. Along with this public perception, Komal and Kailash had to cope with their own unfulfilled hopes, anxieties, longings. Doctors, vaids, hakims in the neighbouring areas and finally in far off New Delhi, the capital of India, all were consulted, often at a heavy financial cost that sent the couple into debt. All the medical reports were the same: both wife and husband were normal in every way and there was no medical reason for conception not taking place.

Then followed endless rounds of temples, dargahs, holy places and holy men. The couple observed all the fasts and rituals recommended, followed prescribed diets, undertook works of charity, performed remedies suggested by astrologers, palmists, mystics to no avail. After about six long years of trying, they finally gave up and reconciled themselves to an existence without a child or children of their own. Of course, they also explored the possibility of adopting a child but decided against it for various reasons.

The years moved on and though the sadness of not having a child and the yearning for one refused to go away, they learnt to cope with the disadvantages of not having a child and that included the hushed whispers about their childlessness whispers which persisted despite the passage of time. And then suddenly, something or someone smiled at them, perhaps one of the countless remedies they had tried worked, perhaps their prayers were finally heard, perhaps the time had come: a little more than nine years after marriage, Komal found herself pregnant. New whispers began doing the rounds: the child was conceived through black magic, the child wouldn’t be normal, the father of the child was unknown, the birth of the child after so many years of marriage would bring ill luck. But Komal and Kailash were unfazed by all the talk. The joy of knowing they would soon have a child of their own was so intense, so profound that it made them impervious to gossip or snide remarks or aspersions of any kind.

When the child was born, there was a great deal of curiosity and a certain amount of disappointment when people learnt that the child was a normal, healthy, very cute baby. For both Komal and Kailash, it was an event that affected the very core of their beings. It brought them indescribable happiness, but it also made them humble after all, the gods had finally heeded their prayers and blessed them with what they wanted the most in their life.

As the days and weeks passed, Raja or King, as the child was named, showed a clear resemblance to Kailash, scotching rumours of an unknown father. The very people who had avoided Komal and Kailash because they were childless now wanted to be on visiting terms because they felt the couple was being showered with divine blessings and perhaps they would benefit as well. Komal and Kailash, with hearts full of joy and pride at having a child of their own, magnanimously chose to push aside the hurt caused by cruel comments on their childlessness, and welcomed everybody to their home. Once Raja was six months old, the proud parents decided, they would go an a thanksgiving tour to all the shrines and places where they had prayed for a child and made a promise that if their wish was fulfilled they would return and perform a particular ceremony or offer a garland, or clothes or prasad (sweets) and so on.

Meanwhile, Raja became the centre of their life and he was indeed a lovable baby with a cherubic smile. He seldom cried and was ever ready to smile and kick his tiny legs at the sound of jingle bells or a toy trumpet. When not listening to sounds, he would be making plenty of his own gurgling baby talk. At the start of the fifth month of his birth, Komal and Kailash began drawing up plans and making preparations and arrangements to leave on their thanksgiving tour. For the first time since he had been born, some of the attention shifted away from Raja and perhaps because of that he developed a slight cold. The cold hadn’t yet gone away when a cough came up and the worried parents decided to take the unusually, but understandably listless Raja to a wellknown doctor in a town a few hours away from their village. But Raja didn’t reach the doctor alive. An hour or so out of the village, he began gasping, struggling for breath and and going blue in the face and then suddenly he went limp in Komal’s lap.

Though they had their misgivings, other passengers in the bus advised them, firstly, to keep the baby warm just in case he was just unconscious, and secondly instead of aiming to reach the town doctor and losing valuable time, to get off at the first large vil lage and take their child to the primary health center doctor. Komal and Kailash, on whose heart a weight had already begun to settle, heeded the advice and alighting from the bus at the first big village, hurried to find the primary health center. The doctor confirmed their worst fears: Raja showed no signs of life. When they narrated the sequence of events - the cold, the cough and so on, the doctor opined that a bronchial infection had probably been the cause of death. In a state of shock, Komal and Kailash returned to their village with the lifeless Raja still bundled up in his fancy baby blankets. People were surprised to see them returning so early, and when they went up to enquire, the stony looks on the faces of Komal and Kailash and their unseeing eyes, halted them in their tracks. By the time Komal and Kailash walked to their home at least a dozen people were following them, wishing to know but not daring to ask. When Kailash pulled out a cot from the dwelling into the verandah and Komal placed the motionless bundle that was Raja on it, watching villagers knew what it signified but couldn’t believe it. How could it have happened ? Raja had not been that ill or ill for that long. The entire village was shocked. The intervention of a wizened village elder jerked everyone but Komal and Kailash back to reality. “A tragedy beyond words has befallen Komal and Kailash, they were blessed with a child after nine long years and now he is gone at just five months of age. Let us inform the priest and make arrangements for the last rites and attend to Komal and Kailash who will need very, very special care. No tears or cries are coming from them, and that is not good.”

Indeed, Komal and Kailash had become like zombies. They watched in stony silence and carried out the priest’s instruc tions as if in a trance as Raja was lowered into a grave dug by villagers. For the next few hours and then the next few days, rel atives, neighbours and other villagers tried in vain to get them to speak, but Komal and Kailash just gazed into space. Not even the cries and wails of people who had gathered at heir home seemed to affect them in any way. Then, on the sixth day, a strange thing happened. Komal and Kailash, who had been sitting in the verandah with a few relatives surrounding them, suddenly looked up, smiled and rushed into the house together, almost as if they had heard something. Inside, the relatives found them standing by a cot, looking down at it and crying softy and hugging each other.

“The Gods be thanked, Raja has returned”, they informed the amazed relatives who thought for a while that the couple had lost their mental balance. But over the next few days it was obvious that there was a baby in the house. An occasional baby crying could be heard - Raja never cried much in life in any case - and so could the happy gurgling sounds of a happy baby. While others could only hear, Komal and Kailash averred that they could actually see Raja.

When the village elders and the priest told them gently that it was not wise to allow a ghost, never mind if it was the ghost of a much loved baby to take permanent residence in their home, they replied that it was better to have Raja as a ghost than have no Raja at all. “Ghosts don’t grow, he’ll always remain a baby ghost”, villagers told them. “So what”, was the parents reply, “he’ll be our baby forever”.

The village elders, the priest, the village as a whole, is now silent on the matter, knowing it shouldn’t be happening and yet loathe to shatter the dream of Komal and Kailash for a second time. Grappling, interfering or trying to understand supernatural phenomena is obviously never simple.