To Exorcise or Not

 

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The post constitutes a chapter in my novel, "Ivory Imprint". Very soon I'll translate the novel into Hindi and that will appear under the title "चेतना की खोज". I will also post the translated version of this chapter, soon after I am through with this, and its title will be "कौन था वह?" Hope my readers will like my efforts and encourage me.

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To Exorcise or Not

Mayank was fast asleep when he suddenly felt something weighing down his chest, his legs buried beneath a pile of logs. He opened his eyes and discovered that Aarohan had shifted his side of the bed, depositing his legs upon his own—hence the feeling of immobilisation. Additionally, Aarohan was sleeping with his hands clenched, his head moving from side to side. He was breathing fast and appeared to be struggling to talk, his eyeballs rolling incredibly. Then, abruptly, he opened his eyes.

‘What’s with you, Aarohan? You had convulsions. Had a dream or what?’ asked Mayank.

‘Dream, yes, I had one, but what’s with this convulsion business, buddy? I was only wondering what to do with Aibo, the lapdog,’ Aarohan protested, dramatically overcoming his drowsiness.

Mayank smiled knowingly. He was aware of people talking a lot while asleep, walking, making themselves coffees, and even stealing cookies from friends’ lockers—all these actions performed unknowingly!

Aarohan was eager. ‘Lest I should forget it, listen to my dream, bro,’ he insisted. Mayank, the captive listener, agreed, ‘I’m all ears, Aarohan, go ahead.’ Although it was time for them to be asleep, Mayank hoped that Aarohan’s new episode might shed some light on his past. Aarohan then related his dream.

***      ***      ***      ***

Passing through a desolate jungle at midnight can be a genuinely terrifying experience. The mere friction between dried bamboos can produce a sound as blood-curdling as the scream of a churail. Even a tiny wayside bush could resemble someone sinister crouching on their haunches. The sibilant rustles of leaves could give the impression of someone stalking nearby. The droning cicadas, the croaking frogs, the howling predators, and the hooting owls would team up to terrorise a soul daring to intrude on their spooky domain. In such an environment, one would crave the companionship of even a small child or a pet dog to traverse the woods. A jungle at midnight could be as creepy as that!

I just returned from my wild exploration. Ah, come to think of it, what an eerie night!

While heading for Phulbani, the headquarters of Kandhamal district, I stopped for the night in a wayside government rest house in Kalinga. It was in the vicinity of a rainforest known as Kauri Jira.

I had heard much about the sylvan grandeur of Kauri Jira—breathtaking and stunningly magical, as if the very elements of enchantment had converged there. It was where the quiet of dawn blended with the fragrance of spring. Its thickets were not impenetrable; their tidiness mirrored a mackerel sky, unlike the clutter of a beach strewn with flotsam. The forest abounded with sal trees, and the near absence of tangled undergrowth was inviting at first sight. These trees stood as royals of the forest, their towering canopies as well-kept as the ground around their trunks.   

The Scientific Spirit and Tribal Development: I was working on this thesis, intending to publish its findings in instalments. Additionally, it was my idea to produce a documentary. Interviewing a few social workers fighting endemic superstitions and witchcraft was also part of the plan.

It was a calm April evening, and I checked into the government rest house. Aw! There had been no electricity in the building for the last twelve hours. The caretaker informed me that the supply would not resume in the next forty-eight hours, so I braced myself for a night of inconvenience.

But strangely, my pet Aibo, a red Pomeranian of fearless disposition, seemed to be without any quibbles. He was accustomed to his master’s inability to arrange the best. So, he was in a playful mood. His indifference to the unforeseen discomfort said he was planning a grand adventure!

The balmy ambience of the spot bailed me out of the minor worries of the present. Like my jaunty little pet, I, too, began to look on the brighter side. Besides accommodating my wanderlust, the thickets of Kauri Jira might offer inputs for my research, say, an abandoned lair of a witch or her magic wand. A resident readily agreed to guide me, as he knew the terrain well and loved helping people from his experience. So, it promised a memorable jaunt.

The name Kauri Jira had a bit of internal rhyme. Did the alliteration bear any meaning? My guide, too keen to impart information, said it meant a jungle where buffaloes would disappear in the hoary old days. It was a funny and charming clarification, not scary like the Devil’s Den or the Perilous Wilderness!

We decided to set out for the trek the next day. Our small party would consist of Aibo, our guide, and me. Aibo, the intrepid explorer, was brimming with excitement, while our guide, though knowledgeable, had his mind cluttered with tales of ghosts and their genealogies. I hoped the experience wouldn’t feel as eerie as Midnight’s Children, where Rushdie’s Saleem and his friends get lost in the Sundarbans. Still, my guide boasted that he could find his way merely by sniffing the breeze! Aibo listened attentively to our plan; his wagging tail showed his consent. He seemed so happy he might burst into human speech at any moment: “Listen, master, I’m thrilled! Even if you decide not to go for some reason, I’ll go alone.” Satisfied, Aibo went to rest.

After our evening snacks and a quick smoke break, I chatted with the guide a little longer. Curiously, I kept asking the same question: Could a bear ambush us on the trail? “No chance!” my guide reassured me, adding, “Bears stick to their dens until nightfall.” To be extra cautious, however, we agreed to start late in the morning and plan to be back just in time for a late lunch.

It was a quarter past ten p.m., and my consultations with my guide had ended. So, I darted to the small anteroom where Aibo was staying, waiting for me to take him for a short walk inside the campus. It was his nightly routine. Ordinarily, he would give a restless whine if a change in the regimen ever happened without his consent. But there was none today, even if we were already late.

But where was Aibo? It was an ungodly hour—no time for the pedigree to venture out alone!

‘Aibo, my moody-goody Aibo,’ I frenetically searched around the backyard. There was no response. I went to all possible corners of the garden, including the small bushes that Aibo was fond of, but to no avail.

Straying was not on the list of Aibo’s antics. He had scratched the zinnia beds, torn half a dozen pillows so far for fun, cocked his legs by every flowering jasmine in the courtyard, and mindlessly fought with Shanky, the kitten. But then, stepping out of his master’s premises for wayward wanderings was, according to him, undignified! Then, why did he stray out, forgetting that he was new to the place?

The caretaker came running as I desperately called out to Aibo, but could give no practical tip. ‘There’s none in the rest house, sir, to steal your dog?’ he stated in reply to my unstated charge.

Regardless of whether the pet had foolishly wandered off or fallen prey to a kleptomaniac, we needed to begin a blind search. Destination: Kauri Jira. Luckily, the guide hadn’t left yet, so we set out immediately on our nocturnal hunt. I remembered to bring my flashlight while the guide carried an iron-shod bamboo stick. Ghosts fear bamboo, he often insisted! He also had a small sachet of salt, which he claimed could scare off even the rowdiest spirits.

We soon travelled about a kilometre into the jungle. The trail twisted and turned, strewn with boulders. I called out to Aibo, but there was no response—only my voice echoing at amplified decibels. My flashlight was weak against the thick darkness, and I began to feel as if floundering in a coal pit, my only light at risk of flickering out.

We walked for another twenty minutes and reached a point where the path forked in two directions. Aibo would have taken either of the two—there was hardly a clue. So, we moved in different directions: my guide chose the left, and I the right.

In five short minutes, my guide’s footsteps died away. Now, I was on my own. Though I kept calling Aibo, fear snowballed in me. Neither an iron-shod bamboo nor a pouch of anti-ghost salt was in my possession. The echo of my voice began to sound terrifying, sending a strange, now-hot-and-then-cold sensation along my spine. As a result, my strides began to lose rhythm.

Something ran past me on my right, rustling through the thick cover of dried leaves. It was hardly visible as my flashlight had gone hopelessly dim. ‘It could be a fox or a rabbit,’ I plodded on, trying to overlook my trepidation.

Hearing a beast grunting some hundred steps away, I stopped dead in my tracks. However, nothing came to my attention as I played the torch beam on all four sides. Fear of the sudden emergence of a bear with its claws flexed gripped me, so I shut my eyes to summon up courage.

There was a waterhole nearby—it had no stream merging into or branching out of it. I looked towards the body of water but found nothing. And then a second look—this time, my flashlight emitted a beam remarkably brighter.

And what was there to see?

Hey! There was Aibo, sitting withdrawn on a rock. The poor thing looked distressed, his stomach was empty, and his energy was drained. He seemed exhausted and droopy. Pedigree dogs are always like that—I tried to reason with myself—they are not made for enduring separation from their loved ones. He looked at me as if trying to recall the exact nature of our past bond.

Gently, I cradled Aibo in my arms and began the walk back. He was cold, but he nestled his head under my arm, which tickled me and helped me regain the rhythm of my stride. My fear of the dark, lonely jungle melted away.

It was time I updated my guide. It took me roughly half an hour to reach where we had parted, but the guide had yet to return.

‘Aibo is here,’ it was incontestably an ear-splitting call on my part, but there was no response. At well past midnight, the jungle felt unbearably damp by the second, driving Aibo restless.

He jumped out of my lap and began to walk without looking back. A pet could be so homesick!

Reaching the rest house, I followed Aibo closely into the cubbyhole. Oh my God! There was Aibo, sleeping contentedly on his bed. Then what about the one I picked up from the waterhole? Is this not my goody-moody Aibo? My shock knew no bounds.  

I looked back and forth between the two creatures. They were identical—the same height, colour, coat density, and shiny muzzles—so it was impossible to tell Aibo from Aibo. My old fear of the unknown returned with a vengeance. I was shivering from scalp to toe, goosebumps covering every inch of my skin. Crying out was impossible; my throat was dry. All I could manage was a feeble whimper, barely audible.

Aibo from Kauri Jira looked at me, snarling with spite. His eyes conveyed unmistakable villainy. Then he broke eye contact and glanced toward the old Aibo. Slowly, he inched toward his counterpart, showing complete control and making no attempt to slink away. A dog was approaching another of his species, boldly violating personal space—yet, strangely enough, there was no fight! Perhaps it was a new social norm in the canine fraternity.

Suddenly, he began spinning around himself at an incredible speed. Then, he levitated and morphed into the real Aibo, creating an illusion like a ring of smoke hovering above a smoker’s head. It was like a small bubble merging seamlessly into a larger one, losing its identity entirely! In no time, Aibo drifted into an addict’s sleep as if nothing unusual had ever happened.

Presently, the excited caretaker came running. ‘I’m sorry, sir, you had to venture out needlessly. Aibo was very much here. I found him lying on his bed soon after you left.’

Just in time, my guide arrived. He was happy to see me back and even happier to see Aibo on his bed, snoring in homely comfort.

‘Where did you find him, sir?’ the guide enquired.

I was about to tell him the weird story of double Aibos, but the caretaker chipped in. ‘He was very much here, Uncle, and I discovered him resting on his bed just after you people left.’

Thus, I could neither tell anyone the story nor find a reasonable explanation for the incident. If I had opened my mouth, people would have taken me for a moron affected by witchery. They would have seen in me a two-faced rationalist, a cocksure hypocrite forever blabbering about the scientific temper.

Now, I badly needed assurance. Who could deny that the dog was not the transfiguration of a ghost or a werewolf? But the delicate question remained: should I go ahead and arrange an exorcist?

***      ***      ***      ***

‘That was all I was wondering as I woke up,’ said Aarohan, giving a crisp concluding remark.

Mayank enjoyed the episode, but then the old question surfaced—how could he reconcile his friend’s dream with reality? The idea of a dog entering another was too funny, but, more than its superficial import, it held a vital clue. Did it suggest that Aarohan had acquired the ability to know what was happening in his friend’s mind, translocating himself at a diaphanous mental level?

It was already six a.m., and Aarohan had returned to his sleep. Mayank could feel the rhythm of his breath. Last evening, a hotel chap briefed him about an excellent walkers’ track across the road, the Race Course, where health freaks assembled in droves. Mayank’s flight was at 11 o’clock, so he could easily take a short morning walk.

While strolling along the 2.5-kilometre-long circular track, Mayank took out the paper roll he had picked up in Aarohan’s room at Valparai. He unrolled it and discovered a railway ticket issued by the Nilgiri Mountain Railway, authorising a trip from Ooty to Mettupalayam on 26 January 2012. This indicated that Aarohan was fine that day. Alternatively, someone else might have purchased the ticket for him. But for what reason? It seemed like a benevolent gesture from a patriotic Indian on the sixty-third Republic Day of India! Mayank could not recall if Aarohan had been to Nilgiris earlier, and he was confused about how Aarohan managed to get to Ooty, especially if he was mentally unwell. Everyone knew he had strayed from the group of uncles and aunts when they went to Tirupati. Who had helped Aarohan reach Ooty and board the Nilgiri Mountain Rail from Udagmandalam to Mettupalayam?

When Mayank reached Visakhapatnam, he would seek more facts from Aarohan’s uncles. The clue he had chanced upon should help him solve the mystery.    

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By

Ananta Narayan Nanda

Bhubaneswar

1-2-2026

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