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Strange Experiences | |
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Strange Experiences is at once a collection of entertaining stories, an enigmatic treatise on the paranormal, and a rare window into the early life of the author, Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar. The book consists of fourteen mostly first-person accounts of “strange” experiences, preceded by an introductory note by the author. At the end of each story, the author sheds some light on the mysterious events with cryptic, technical explanations.
Bengali literature abounds with stories of the supernatural, that is, ghost stories, and in one sense Strange Experiences can be considered part of the author’s inimitable contribution to this body of literature. Many of the stories published here bear a strong resemblance to those the author narrated in the course of dictating Shabda Cayaniká, an incomplete twenty-six volume encyclopedia of the Bengali language. In Shabda Cayaniká, the paranormal nature of the stories often seems incidental to the lessons contained therein on such topics as history, geography, spirituality or music. However, in the case of Strange Experiences the focus is on the paranormal events themselves.
For general interest, and to facilitate research, a brief appendix has been supplied relating the stories to their historical context in the author’s life. And for the readers’ convenience, and in order to avoid potential misunderstandings, a second appendix has been included which summarizes the author’s complex views on so-called “ghosts” and other paranormal phenomena. There one may also find notes concerning the stories’ explanations given by the author.
The Bengali and Hindi versions of this book, both entitled Vicitra Abhijiṋatá, were almost certainly first published in 1969 and 1970, respectively. Subsequently, at least some of the stories appeared in English translations in the magazine Cosmic Society, under the name Priyadarshii. It is not specified there whether they were translated from the Hindi or the Bengali. The translator remains unknown. Stories four, five, six and seven appeared in Volume 1, Number 2, in the winter of 1963. Stories nine and ten appeared in Vol. 1, No. 3, in the spring of 1964. Story twelve appeared in Vol. 1, No. 1, in the monsoon season of 1963 (that is, some time between June and September).
Herein the Strange Experiences stories appear in English for the first time in book form. Those stories which appeared earlier in Cosmic Society have been retranslated; wherever possible the translator made use of the earlier translations. Thereafter the publisher checked the English translation line by line against the Bengali edition, and made a number of corrections, clarifications and suggestions. Ácárya Acyutánanda Avadhúta also read the text thoroughly, and his many useful suggestions have also been incorporated. The appendices were prepared by the translator.
Square brackets [ ] in the text are used to indicate translations or other insertions by the translator. Round brackets ( ) indicate a word or words originally given by the author.
The author used a certain shorthand for explaining the etymologies of words. Under this system, a minus sign (–) follows a prefix, and a plus sign (+) precedes a suffix. Thus ava – tr + ghaiṋ = avatára can be read, “the root tr prefixed by ava and suffixed by ghaiṋ becomes avatára.”
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Let me state at the very outset that I am not a believer in ghosts and spirits, demons and devils, or heaven and hell, because I have found no logic behind their existence. I know that whether ghosts and spirits or demons and devils, everything which bears the imprint of the supernatural is only the play of the mind. The appearance and disappearance of such things takes place in the various kos’as [layers] of the mind due to variations or possible variations in physical or mental circumstances.
Here I present to the reader accounts of a number of real experiences. For the convenience of those interested in psychology, I have not added an imaginary tinge to the events, and for their convenience I have provided a little introduction prior to every story.
I have of course changed the names of the characters, and to avoid being morbid have also left a few things out. Here I have not personally attempted to give analyses of the stories, for readers might not have liked it had I done so. However, afterwards the desire to do so remained. In the future I may do this. One thing I would like to mention is that this “I” is not the “I” of all the stories.
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Although the field was not that large it wasn’t small either, that is, sound from one end would not reach the other. On the far eastern border of this field lay a row of hills. Though now those hills may not have particularly much overgrowth, at the time I’m speaking of there was quite a jungle, and plenty of wild animals too. At the field’s northern boundary was a military encampment. In winter, various kinds of military training would take place there, while at other times there was nothing at all. At the field’s western boundary was a sports ground, and along the southern side a medium-sized lake. Today’s events pertain to the field and the hills.
It was a long time ago. My age then could not have been more than sixteen or seventeen. I was not exactly what you might call sociable at that time (of course, I’m not sure whether or not I am now either). In those days, my regular routine in the late afternoon was to walk around this field three times, then sit down for a while on one side, walk around it once more and return home.
That was the period of British rule. For ease of travel they had constructed a beautiful road surrounding the field, and alongside the road were plenty of large benches with inclined backs. There was a slight drizzle towards the end of the afternoon that day. Disregarding such scanty rain I went out for a stroll as per my usual habit. As on other days, that day also I sat down on a bench after three rounds of the field. The bench was on the border of the field with the pond just behind it. Just to the right was the base of a hill, and ahead across the field was that abandoned military encampment.
I was sitting down. Right behind me was the road encircling the field, across which was a massive tree. From beyond that could be heard the gentle lapping of the lake’s water. The place was of course a bit frightening. After sunset no one would really come this direction alone, and if so, even the foolhardy would get the shivers. The tree behind was extremely large – a variety of daetya. Some days ago a washerwoman had drowned and died at this place, and after that, I had heard her husband seemed to have strung a noose around a branch of this tree and hanged himself.
I was sitting alone. It had rained a little while ago. A sweet breeze was gently blowing from the direction of the lake. I was feeling quite relaxed… a sleepy daze had crept over my eyes as well. Suddenly I noticed that something largish seemed to be descending from the tree. I figured it must be some kind of monkey. In the trees on that side I had seen lots of monkeys during the day, and so maybe they were swinging about. No, it didn’t seem quite like a monkey – something else. I continued to look back… something heavy and dark was descending. Having climbed some distance towards the bottom, that strange thing leaped down from the tree. I gazed at a strange, dark, long-bodied human-like figure. It was difficult to decide whether to call it human or demon.
Startled and bewildered, I gazed at it transfixed. A moment later I gathered my courage and asked, “Who are you?” No reply. I asked “Who are you” in nearly every language that I knew. I did not get any reply. It was staring at me, standing motionless. I started shivering. Next I saw it slowly start forward in my direction – such a strange gait, such a strange gaze! My transfixed eyes did not blink at all. It was coming close… closer… even closer. What is this? – now he is beckoning me with his finger to follow him! I became really anxious. Slowly, I got up, then walked forward in his direction.
He was walking towards the hill, and I followed behind him. He climbed up the hill, and I also climbed up. The terror of silence pervaded all around. What is this? – someone seemed to be lurking behind each boulder on every side. But where – I could not see anyone at all! From behind the boulders voices seemed to laugh out in unison… Not laughter, a raucous cackle – ha ha ha! Floating on the wind, that sound dispersed everywhere, stirring the lake’s shadowy water and setting leaves trembling. A shiver arose in night’s dark body. Echoing off the adjacent hill, that sound again wafted to my ears – ha ha ha!
He was walking ahead, and I was following right behind. After travelling a great distance we had nearly reached the Kálii temple on top of the hill. Then I saw someone coming from the opposite direction. He was not so fearsome as the earlier strange being. Light-complexioned, calm and peaceful-looking – a sannyásii with matted hair. He said to the fearsome person, “Why did you bring him? Why are you troubling such a little boy so late at night?” Then looking at me he said, “Go, my child, go home.”
I started back. After coming a little ways, it seemed like myriad thoughts were taking on forms and rushing at me from all sides. It was unbearable! I started running. As I ran I hardly noticed when I had climbed down the hill and when I had crossed the field. After running close to a mile, I started up the overbridge near the station. Electric lights shined in my eyes and I came to my senses. Just then I happened into an old friend on the overbridge. He used to be a cashier in the British club. When there was a dance program at night, he would often have to go to the club at exceedingly late hours. That was the case today, and so he was on his way to the club. Seeing me he said, “What? Where are you coming from so late at night?”
I said, “Just taking a walk.”
He said, “But now it’s nearly midnight!”
I said, “Is that so?”
[Author’s explanation:] Pratisáḿvedanika ávesha [Literally, “Psycho-reactive self-hypnotism”]
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This story took place very long ago. I was extremely young then, about four or five years old. I had a Shiva linga, though I did not understand anything else about spirituality or rituals. Every morning at dawn I used to worship the deity with mantras of my own fancy, bathe it, and stand it up on a brass plate from Puri with a wavy raised rim. If the linga did not fall over I would understand that my worship had been accepted. Then I was free to have breakfast or to do anything else.
In those days ordinary people had a rather excessive amount of devotion towards sannyásiis and holy men. A group of sannyásiis would light a fire and sit around it in one of the neighbourhood’s slightly elevated vacant areas. Countless devotees would encircle them singing devotional songs and kiirtana. I used to see this scene all the time.
Stories of Lord Shiva’s white radiance, his magnanimity and detachment had attracted my mind a good deal. But I did not at all like these sannyásiis’ greed for all kinds of delicacies, nor their marijuana pipes and tweezers.(1) And so I would harass them by throwing stones from afar or stealing their sumptuous food and fleeing.
Suddenly one day I dreamt that I was in the midst of a terrible storm. The storm seemed to be whisking me away. Having flown some distance I fell down upon a huge sandbank along the River Gauṋgá. My eyes and mouth got filled with sand. After a little while, I opened my eyes with great difficulty and saw standing before me a trident-bearing [i.e., Shaeva] sannyásii. Looking at me, the sannyásii uttered a mantra and said, “My boy, you repeat the mantra too.”
I shouted, “No!”
The sannyásii spoke again with a sweet, affectionate voice, “Repeat it, my boy, it’ll do you good.”
I said, “No way, I won’t say it!”
Lifting his trident the sannyásii said, “Speak! You must repeat it.”
“No way, I won’t say it!” I repeated.
Again a fierce storm came. The storm carried me away and then cast me down upon my bed. With the impact of falling, I awoke. I realized all this time I had been dreaming. In the morning I found I could recall the story in its entirety. On the second night as well I had the very same dream, and awoke in the same manner. This sequence of events started to repeat itself, and went on for more than twenty days. By repeatedly hearing it, the sannyásii’s mantra got committed to my memory.
Having the same dream for such a long time in one stretch, a feeling of desperate determination arose within me. I thought, every day the sannyásii raises his trident and threatens me. I however don’t seem able to do anything at all. This is quite shameful on my part. I resolved that if I had the dream tonight as well, then this time I would attack the dream-sannyásii. At night I again had the dream. One after another, the same sequence of events started to occur – but as soon as the sannyásii lifted his trident and said, “Speak! You must repeat it,” then I seized the trident from his hands, and taking aim, hurled it at him. Suddenly there was a clanging sound. I looked around… the sannyásii was nowhere to be seen. The trident had bounced off a stone Shiva image and fallen down. The clang was from this. It seemed the Shiva image was looking at me and laughing heartily. Out of shame I started sweating. My sleep broke.
Some days later came Shiva-Caturdashii.(2) At that time most unmarried girls would fast on Shiva-Rátri in hope of getting a good groom. My elder sister would also do so. Hearing the story of my dreams, my household members told me as well to fast on Shiva-Rátri that year. I happily did so. In the evening when we went to the temple for worship, I suddenly recollected the mantra I had heard from the sannyásii, and began reciting it loudly. The priest asked, “My child, where did you learn this? It’s Lord Shiva’s dhyána mantra!”
[Author’s explanation:] Saḿskáraja svapna [Literally, “A dream arising from reactive momenta (saḿskára)”]
Footnotes
(1) For tending the fire in the pipe. –Trans.
(2) A festival to Lord Shiva held on the fourteenth day of the dark fortnight of the lunar month of Mágha (mid-January to mid-February). The period from sunset to sunrise is called Shiva-Rátri (The Night of Shiva). –Trans.
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It was the month of Caetra.(1) In those days my grandmother stayed in our village home in Burdwan District. Suddenly one night she had a dream that my now-deceased sister Kana was saying, “Granny, I’m really thirsty.” Hearing this Grandma took down the water pot she was carrying on her own head, and slowly tried to feed Kana water without her lips touching the pot. The little girl could not drink this way very easily, and water spilled out of her mouth. Grandma’s sleep broke. At dawn the next morning she wrote a letter to my father: “Please quickly inform me how each of you are. I had a bad dream. How is Kana?”
The very night Grandma had her dream, Kana had died of smallpox. In the later stage of the disease, her throat swelled up and she was not able to drink – water was coming back out of her mouth.
[Author’s explanation:] Pratisáḿvedanika tathyánubhútisvapne [Literally, “Psycho-reactive perception of real events in the dream state” Tathyánubhútisvapne = tathya + anubhúti + svapne]
Footnotes
(1) The lunar month extending from mid-March to mid-April. –Trans.
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There was a small town on the banks of the Gauṋgá where my younger brother worked. Evening had set in by the time I reached there with my mother. One feels even more helpless in an unfamiliar place in the evening than in a familiar place in the middle of the night. My brother had been informed we were coming, but I had not let him know when. I had left quite abruptly. After a good deal of searching, we found my brother’s bungalow near the river landing at one end of the European colony. I found myself looking at a massive bungalow which was standing in the darkness like a ghost. No one had even lit a lamp. And who was there to do so! I got news from Rahman, who resided in a servants’ building:
“Sahib had to leave on urgent official work. Because of the possibility of your coming, he left the key with me. Please go inside and rest. I’m sending a neighbour to stay in one of the servants’ buildings. He’ll do whatever chores you need done. If there’s anything you need from the market, please let me know and I’ll go get it now.”(1)
Mother said, “Let me see what’s already there in the house and what’s not, then I’ll let you know what you have to bring.”
We unlocked the house and entered. There were countless rooms. It seemed to me as though our untimely arrival had broken up a long-standing gathering, and that all those assembled had been suddenly forced to bid farewell. I started shivering. Surrounding the house was an orchard with mango, jám and coconut trees. Actually it would be much more accurate to call it a forest than an orchard. Several stray dogs started howling from there.
As one might expect, we were quite tired after our train journey. Mother said, “First let’s have a little tea, then we’ll see what’s where.” I located the oven. I found everything – coal, cow dung fuel-cakes, tea leaves, sugar – I only couldn’t find milk. Hence, I thought I would send Rahman to the bazaar to bring milk and a little fruit.
Exiting from the station I had noticed some clouds gathering in the northeastern corner of the sky. I had not realized that within the hour the whole sky had become covered with clouds. This I realized when I went to call Rahman and saw the sky’s dark clouds, amid which thunder and flashes of lightning had begun… the winds were howling.
I did not call Rahman. Perhaps I could have. But where could I send him on the brink of such a storm? The inevitable decision was taken to have tea without milk, and somehow or another pass the night. I sat down in a reclining chair. The storm’s destructive dance began… crashing sounds came from all around. Doors and windows would periodically open and shut noisily. The storm kept growing. The lamps, our companions in this unfamiliar place, went out. With a flashlight, mother somehow started to go about her tasks. Drowsiness crept over my eyes. Mother said, “One room is locked… I think that’s where the provisions are.” I realized mother’s conjecture was correct. My brother had perhaps mistakenly taken the storeroom key along with him, or left it elsewhere.
I got a strange feeling. Someone it seems had come up and was standing in front of me. At first I did not want to look at the person, but after a few moments I was obliged to when she said, “Could I please tell you something?”
Who is this? I saw a beautiful young woman standing before me… married… not just lovely but flawlessly beautiful: Tanvii shyámá shikharidashaná pakvabimbádharośt́hii(2) [“Dark and slender, with fine teeth and lips the colour of ripened bimba fruit”].
The woman spoke again, “Listen to me!”
Surprised, I looked at her with questioning eyes. I wasn’t really interested to hear what else she had to say – I wanted to know who she was. But what did the young woman understand of my curiosity? She went on with her own soliloquy: “You know, I live here. When someone comes I really love to cook and serve food myself. But you see, now there’s no way I can. You all have arrived so tired, and I certainly should have cooked and fed you. But I’m not able to do so. Now just imagine how painful that is for me.”
I stared at her. Now I really wanted to know why it is she could not feed me. This time she again avoided giving me a straight answer and said, “Look, in that storeroom there’s rice, dal, salt, grains, etc. There are even out-of-season peas brought down from Darjeeling.” Smiling a little she said, “Everything you need for khicuŕi(3) is there. Since mother didn’t eat rice today, I don’t think there’ll be any problem with eating khicuŕi now.”
Now it seemed the young woman would satisfy my curiosity. She said, “Oh, you know I forgot to tell you the most important thing. The key is in a niche at the back of the dressing table.”
Now she went on: “It’s been a long time since I came to this house, but I’ve not seen anyone else fall into your predicament.” This time, beginning to answer my actual question she said, “After marriage we lived in my husband’s house in Kolkata. We had come here just for a short change of scene. One day what happened is that, absorbed in a petty domestic quarrel, I lost my wits and killed myself in this room. The next day everyone in the household returned to Kolkata. Local people thought I’d died of cholera.”
The young woman suddenly seemed to dissolve into the air. A little later when I regained my senses, I found my mother shaking me gently saying, “Oh, so you dozed off? Have some tea.”
I said, “Not just tea, Mom. Arrangements are also under way for khicuŕi.”
I jumped up and reached into the niche behind the dressing table. Sure enough, there was a key there, and it was none other than the key to the storage room.
[Author’s explanation:] Jiṋánaja svapna [Literally, “A dream arising from deep knowledge”]
Footnotes
(1) Shrii Himangshu Sarkar, the younger brother whose house the author visits in this story, in his book Parama Shraddheya Agraja – Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar, clarifies that Abdul Rahman was his cook. Being Muslim, Rahman assumed that Shrii Sarkar and his mother, being from a Hindu family, would not eat food cooked by him, and therefore intended to send a Hindu neighbour for that purpose. In fact Shrii Sarkar was far from subscribing to such dogmas. See pp. 13 and 111 of the Bengali edition of Parama Shraddheya Agraja. –Trans.
(2) A portion of a verse from Kalidasa’s Meghadúta, second canto, verse twenty-two. –Trans.
(3) A soupy, often spicy dish prepared from rice, dal and vegetables cooked together. –Trans.
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Sanat had been suffering from typhoid for nearly twenty-seven days. The location was a tiny suburban town. Trained nurses were not available there. And as a matter of fact Sanat’s father had no inclination to engage one. He had hence left the responsibility of looking after Sanat in Sanat’s friends’ hands.
That day Sanat’s condition was very critical. Four of his friends decided they would remain awake with him throughout the night in twos. Vimal and Paresh were allotted the first part of the night, Debu and Viman the last part.
It was deep into the night. Vimal’s eyes had grown heavy with drowsiness. His hand fan would now and then slip from his hands. Paresh was snoozing where he sat. Sanat seemed to keep on murmuring something under the spell of delirium.
All of a sudden Vimal sensed someone walking on the veranda right outside the room. Otherwise, Vimal thought, it must be an optical illusion. No, there was no mistake… A gentleman with a wooden cane had been pacing for a good while. Now and then he would come up close to the room and suddenly stop and wait. No, no – it couldn’t possibly be an optical illusion. Vimal woke up Paresh. With sleep-laden eyes, Paresh looked up at the man Vimal had seen, and asked him, “Excuse me, won’t you come inside?” The gentleman did not utter a word. He resumed his pacing. By then the night had progressed, and now it was time for Debu and Viman’s watch. But Vimal and Paresh took no heed of the time. It did not even occur to them to check a clock. That man had come in and was practically standing right in the middle of the room – but why wasn’t he saying anything? A strange fire seemed to smoulder in his eyes, while a dark shadow seemed to descend over Sanat’s. His spell of delirium grew even worse. The gentleman again went out towards the veranda.
Sounds of water came from the adjacent bathroom. Vimal thought, let me go see what’s going on. By the time he went out to have a look it was nearly dawn. Sanat’s father was washing his face. Vimal told him, “You know, since midnight a gentleman has been strolling on the veranda. He even came inside a couple of times, but didn’t speak at all with us. Maybe he is some friend or relative of yours. Would you please come and meet him?”
Sanat’s father went to the veranda. Next, shouting “Sunil! Sunil!” twice, he collapsed unconscious. From inside the room Sanat yelled out, “Who’s that? Sunil, you’re here! I’m coming.” Then he fell into eternal sleep.
A few moments later Sanat’s father regained consciousness. The friends looking after Sanat asked him, “What happened? Tell us.”
Sanat’s father, after partially gaining his composure, said, “Sunil was Sanat’s friend since childhood. Their wives were sisters, so in fact they were also relatives. The two of them were quite intimate. Sunil was really headstrong. He’d always carry a wooden cane. Sunil and Sanat used to take an evening walk together every day. Some time back, one evening Sanat was unable to go due to the pressure of some urgent work. That day Sunil went alone. Evening had set in. Suddenly a poisonous cobra struck Sunil on the leg. He was not one to be easily defeated. Even in that condition he beat the snake to death with his cane, but within a few moments he too died. Under the present circumstances, seeing Sunil I became terrified. I realized that today he wanted to take Sanat along with him.”
[Author’s explanation:] Ekajaner saḿskáraja ávesha, bákider pratisáḿvedanika bhrántidarshana [Literally, “One person’s self-hypnotism arising from reactive momenta (saḿskára), and the remaining peoples’ psycho-reactive hallucination” Ekajaner = eka + janer; bhrántidarshana = bhránti + darshana]
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There had been a rain shower before evening, so I was a bit late leaving home for my walk. In those days, every day in the evening Dhiren and I would meet together in the club’s reading room and around seven o’clock set out towards the field. Being late that day, I just went straight to the field. Of course there was an agreement to this effect between Dhiren and me. If we had not met at the club by seven we would each go alone and meet together in a designated spot in the field. That day I figured perhaps he had gone earlier and was sitting in the field, but reaching there I looked around – where was Dhiren?
In the field that day – well not just the field, the whole vicinity – I was completely alone. In the middle of the field was the grave of an uncommonly brave Englishman. He had died fighting with a tiger. I went and sat on the side of the grave. But because there was not any grass in that spot, after a little while I got up from there and sat down with my back to the grave in a small area amidst three palm trees. Of course I was not really at ease since I would constantly look back to see whether or not Dhiren was coming.
Suddenly I noticed someone dressed in white coming towards me from the grave. I figured perhaps someone I knew wanted to come and sit with me or had something urgent to discuss. At that time since the sky was overcast there was a play of light and shade. Objects were not so clearly distinguishable. Hence, looking at his clothes I could not quite figure out his nationality. Anyhow I figured that whether he was an Englishman or Indian surely I knew him, which was why he was coming towards me. After a little while I looked back again and saw that the gentleman had come quite close. I then motioned towards the ground next to me with my hand and said, “Who’s there? Please come and sit.”
But the man did not sit down. When I looked around there was nobody in sight. Immediately I got up and went up to the grave. I spoke, addressing that man: “Who are you? Please come before me. While I don’t believe in ghosts, even if you do happen to be one, please boldly come to me. I guarantee your safety.”
But Ká kasya parivedaná? [“Who bothers about another’s anguish?”].
The clock struck ten. I got up from the grave. The next day I saw Dhiren. I asked him, “Why didn’t you go yesterday? What happened?”
He said, “I most certainly went! But I won’t go again alone. Yesterday evening because of the rain I became a bit late leaving. I reached the field around eight and saw there was no one around. I started shivering with fear. Next I noticed some man dressed in white was sitting right between three palm trees with his back toward the grave.”
I realized Dhiren had spotted me. I inquired, “What happened next?”
He said, “Then I saw another man dressed in white get up from the grave and stand. I thought that was you, so I started moving quickly in that direction. Gradually the man in white who had gotten up from the grave started towards the man in white sitting at the base of the palm trees. Next, when he had reached within two or three yards of the man sitting down, he seemed to suddenly vanish into thin air. I started shaking in fear, and without a second glance fled the field. Never again will I go to that field after sunset.”
[Author’s explanation:] Eker drśt́ibhrama, anyer pratisáḿvedanika ávesha [Literally, “One person’s optical illusion, and another’s psycho-reactive self-hypnotism” drśt́ibhrama = drśt́i + bhrama]
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At that time my mother’s youngest sister’s husband was in Rajashahi. One night he suddenly had a dream. His mother was standing with a plate in one hand and a glass in the other, saying, “Since you love it, I’ve made you white-flour parot́á(1) – eat, dear.” Uncle sat up to take the plate. Then he noticed that his mother was gradually drawing backwards. After going forward a little ways to take the plate from her hand, he suddenly knocked his head on the wall and fell down. His sleep broke. Hearing the sound of his fall, everyone in the house came running up. He narrated the story to everyone. The next day a telegram came from his village home – that night his mother had died suddenly.
[Author’s explanation:] Pratisáḿvedanika tathyánubhútisvapne [Literally, “Psycho-reactive perception of real events in the dream state” Tathyánubhútisvapne = tathya + anubhúti + svapne]
Footnotes
(1) Flat bread, usually folded into a triangular shape, fried in ghee or oil. –Trans.
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Twilight had set in. I was walking alone. The first hill was not really that high, but since it was covered with rocks of various sizes the going was rather slow. In that mountainous region at that time the sole human being was myself.
Besides the scamper of a couple of hill rabbits and the chirping of crickets I could not detect any signs of life. Beyond this hill was another one – one that was comparatively high. In times of rain a stream flows down flooding one portion of the valley between the two hills. That is, it creates a small lake. The other portion of the valley is relatively high, though it does not have particularly much foliage. Despite not making for so comfortable a stroll, the area is not bad. I was walking towards the valley. Suddenly I saw that I was not alone. Another gentleman had walked up beside me. Turning to look, I saw my childhood friend Paresh. I said, “Hey Paresh, where did you come from?” He said, “I was just sitting here alone. Seeing you after such a long time, I thought let’s both walk together.”
I said, “Then come on, let’s go. In the middle of the valley there’s that overgrown tamarind tree – we’ll sit under it.”
Paresh said, “No, don’t go over there. The air under a tamarind tree isn’t good.”
After listening to what he said, before I could think about anything else I remembered something I had heard some days ago. Hadn’t Paresh gotten a stomach disease, and within just a few hours died? The doctors were not even able to diagnose the disease. So I said to Paresh, “Really, what a ghastly sort of thing rumours are! I’d heard some days ago you were no longer alive.”
Suddenly I felt a strong gust of wind. I put my hand on Paresh’s shoulder – but where had he gone! I started shivering.
I went onward towards the tamarind tree. During the day many people come to picnic under the tree. There’s water quite nearby, and the place is uninhabited. It is fun to come here in a group, raise a clamour and leave. Seeing the branches and shál-leaves(1) scattered about I realized that in the afternoon that day also there had been picnickers. At the base of the tree I saw a medium-sized stone on which vermilion had been applied in various places.(2) I sat on that very stone. Suddenly an owl started to hoot from the treetop.
I knew quite well that no one was around in this area. Nevertheless I started to feel as though someone was present. Suddenly I realized that standing before me was an indistinct shadowy figure. He seemed to be saying, “Don’t sit there!” I looked in another direction. The shadowy figure came around in that direction too. This time he said in an aggrieved, pleading voice, “You’ve got so much room. I have only this little spot. Please, get up and go.”
I went and sat about fifteen yards away from the tree. Afterwards for nearly twenty days at a stretch I would go and sit in that same spot. But on no other day did I see that shadowy figure. Perhaps since I never forcibly occupied that vermilion-smeared stone, he did not find it necessary to come before me.
It was twenty days later. I was sitting alone facing the tamarind tree. The time was nearly ten at night. Suddenly I noticed that someone wearing Western clothes was climbing down the large hill. I was rather astonished to see someone climbing down the hill at night like that. I thought, perhaps some English gentleman had gone hunting in the jungle. At that time the English were ruling. Local people did not really wear Western clothes much, or if they did, would wear them only to work. Hence, naturally I assumed the fellow coming was English. He was slowly coming towards me. The situation struck me as a little peculiar.
I saw there was no gun in the gentleman’s hand; that is, he had definitely not gone hunting. When he had come about ten feet away I asked him in English and Hindi, “What do you want? Have you fallen into some difficulty?”
The man replied to me in perfect Bengali: “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, but the right opportunity hadn’t arisen. Today that opportunity has come.”
The man gave me his namaskára and said, “There are a few things I’d like to know about. I’m hoping you’ll be able to give me the right answers.” He posed a few questions to me. Whatever little I knew I told him. He said, “I have an earnest request: please don’t tell anyone else about these questions of mine.”
I said, “Consider that done, but tell me, who are you? Where are you from?”
He replied, “My name is Shyamalendu Lahiri. My home – Jalpaiguri.”
I asked the man to sit down beside me. Suddenly there was a rustling in the tamarind tree’s leaves and a gust of wind. The owl made its presence felt with a hoot, but the gentleman was nowhere to be seen. By then it was quite late. Without further delay I made my way home.
[Author’s explanation:] Saḿskáraja ávesha [Literally, “Self-hypnotism arising from reactive momenta (saḿskára)”]
Footnotes
(1) Used as plates. –Trans.
(2) In India certain natural objects sometimes selected as symbols of a deity are smeared with vermilion in worship. –Trans.
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Dipten, Prashanta and I used to study together at Vidyasagar College. The three of us were extremely close friends. We used to serve proxy for each other.(1) We would play truant together and go to the movies, and sit together in cafes and chat. Despite being so close, we did not even know whose families lived where.
Those happy days came to an end before our very eyes. Prashanta and I both had difficult family circumstances. My difficulties were particularly heavy. On the day of our parting the three of us went to the cinema together, ate to our hearts’ content and noted down each others’ addresses. We promised that whether or not we would write each other under ordinary circumstances, we would definitely let each other know about any major good or bad news.
Nearly four years passed. Those who were such close friends did not even write each other. Well, at least I didn’t write. I kept track though of who was doing what. After being actively engaged for some time in India’s independence movement, considering my difficult family circumstances, I had to take up a government job like a good son. The news drifted my way that Prashanta seemed to have gone to America to take some kind of training, while Dipten was studying at Calcutta Medical College. I felt a little angry and disappointed. I thought, studying in medical school or enlisting in the army might not be such major news. But is Prashanta’s going to America such an everyday event? No, they have surely forgotten me. Then let me forget about them too.
I did not have to stay angry with them for too long. One day, coming home from the office I saw that a huge letter had come from America. Elated with joy, I tore open the envelope. But after reading it I became quite distressed. He had written: “Hey, what’s the news of fifty-eight?” Dipten’s roll number was fifty-eight, so we used to call him by that name. “I’ve probably offended you. I hadn’t informed you before coming to this country. But even after you left Kolkata I’d met up with him a few times. On the day of my departure he’d even seen me off to the ship. But after sending two letters to their home address in Bhawanipur and not getting any response, I gave up writing. But how could I possibly forget! I think about you a lot, and this afternoon it was as though I saw Dipten right before my eyes! In the afternoon I was sitting in the library and going through a few books… I don’t think anyone else was there in that huge room. Something strange suddenly happened. I could sense somebody’s presence. I felt as though someone was trying to drag my mind from my book.
“My gaze suddenly fell towards the window on my right side. Standing near the window I saw Dipten, and in his hand he had a blunt blade. I clearly heard what he said: ‘Hey, can you check and see how sharp the blade is?’ Just as soon as I reached out to take the blade from his hand he drove it right through his own throat. A stream of blood gushed out. Next he seemed to moan as he stood, the black shadow of death descending across his eyes and face. I watched transfixed like a statue. I was powerless to move. When I regained my senses I looked around – where was Dipten? I started to wonder whether what I had seen was true or a dream. Or something not quite real, but not quite a dream either. I decided to write you a letter immediately. Let me know right away, brother – is Dipten all right or not?”
Upon getting the letter, I immediately wrote to my friend Mihir Banerjee asking him to tell me in detail everything he knew regarding Dipten. He wrote, “Dipten was studying quite well in the medical college. But since he had to depend on money from his in-laws, he was extremely ashamed. His wife would torment him about this constantly. Not able to bear the insult, one evening he went to a park in Kolkata and overdosed on opium. Deep into the night he came to the notice of one of the park’s gardeners. Despite desperately trying to save him, he made all the doctors’ efforts futile and passed on to the other side. At that time his fair complexion seemed to have vanished somewhere – it was as though someone had poured ink over his entire body.”
Having read Mihir’s letter, I realized that Dipten died in the last part of the night prior to the afternoon Prashanta had seen him put a blade to his throat.
[Author’s explanation:] Pratisáḿvedanika tathyánubhu’ti – jágradavastáy [Literally, “Psycho-reactive perception of real events in the waking state” tathyánubhúti = tathya + anubhúti]
Footnotes
(1) When one was absent from class, another would answer to the first’s roll-call number. –Trans.
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At that time I was in college. I used to stay at my mother’s cousins’ house in north Kolkata. The house was quite near to the River Gauṋgá. There was also a cremation ghát́ nearby. The house had three levels. One of the two rooms on the top floor housed a child-Krishna image, and I used to stay in the other one. A portion of one corner of the former room was closed off with red curtains, and there the elder of my male relatives used to practice Tantra sádhaná. That section of north Kolkata was extremely densely populated. One could easily reach twenty-five or thirty houses by crossing from roof to roof. In case someone might climb onto the roof and enter the third floor, and from there try to enter the house, after finishing his sádhaná at night my relative would lock from the inside the door to the stairwell which connected the second and third floors. That is to say, at night I was cut off from the remaining members of the household. Day and night corpse bearers would pass by the house as they came and went along the road to the cremation ghát́.
I’ll narrate what happened one day. At that time it was deep into the night. My sleep broke to the eerie shouts of Bol, Hari bol! [“Chant the Lord’s name!”].(1) I forgot to mention that there was no bedside light-switch in my room, that is, I would have to get up and go to another corner of the room to turn on the light. That night, after my sleep broke I became aware that someone had lifted the mosquito net from the outside and was holding my left foot… Paralysed, I lay still and felt the person’s ice-cold touch. After a while I looked up, but there was no one else inside the mosquito net. Then it seemed someone was outside the net pacing in circles around the cot. I remained lying inert. Afterwards I slowly fell asleep.
The next morning I narrated all that happened to everyone in the house. They said, “We don’t like you sleeping in that room. Why is it necessary for you to sleep alone on the third floor?” But I was not willing to give up the room since it was convenient for my studies. The next night they asked our cook to sleep in that room.
Starting halfway through the night the cook would not let me sleep. He started to ask over and over, “Sir, are you sleeping? Are you sleeping, sir?” I realized he was dreadfully frightened. The next morning I saw that the cook and my household members were talking together in hushed tones.
The gist of what I could overhear was that in the middle of the night the cook woke up suddenly to a noise. Then he looked and saw that in the middle of the room, the dead body of a woman was hanging with a noose around her neck. Next, through her strangled throat, that same woman told him to get up and leave the room. Seeing something like this the cook got terrified and immediately woke me up.
After listening to him, one of my mother’s cousins said she had once taken an afternoon nap in that room. Her sleep had broken suddenly. Looking toward the switchboard she had seen a woman standing with a noose around her neck. Out of fear she had immediately fled the room. As she told the cook, it is for this reason that they did not want me to stay alone in that room at night. The cook had been told to stay with me in that room in case I got afraid while alone.
The next night, though extremely unwilling, the cook came to sleep with me, but this time he no longer stayed inside; he slept on the veranda that faced the room. The next morning the cook informed everyone that he had been hearing thudding sounds all night long from inside the room, and would under no circumstances sleep on the third floor again. If because of this he had to give up his job, fine.
My family would not consent to let me stay the night there at all anymore. I said, “At least let me stay tonight, because tomorrow I have my Bengali exam. I’ve not studied Bengali at all. So if I can study alone in that room my reading will go better.” Despite being thoroughly unwilling, they agreed. It was true that I had not studied Bengali at all, so I resolved to study quite well that night.
It was late into the night, and the city of Kolkata was sleeping… There were no sounds of buses or trams, nor the hustle and bustle of pedestrians. I could hear only the sound of my own reading.
What an eerie feeling – as though someone else had come into the room and sat down next to me. Who was it that seemed to be saying, “Oh my, you’re up studying so late – you’ll get sick at this rate! Go to bed.”
I said, “Tomorrow’s my Bengali exam.”
The person said, “Don’t worry, you’ll pass,” then added that I should memorize certain lines from Michael Madhusudan’s poem, “Niiladhvajer prati Janá”. I did as the person said, and afterwards fell asleep sitting up.
Much to my surprise, the next day I found that the question paper required me to write down from memory those exact lines from that poem.
[Author’s explanation:] Jiṋánaja ávesha [Literally, “Self-hypnotism arising from deep knowledge”]
Footnotes
(1) A common devotional chant, in this case being repeated in the context of a funeral procession. –Trans.
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It was a long time ago. As far as I can recall, the year was 1940. It was possibly the month of Jyaestha(1). I had gone to a village in Bankura District for a friend’s wedding, and was to take part in the groom’s procession. My friend’s home was also in Bankura District, and the wedding was taking place in a village eight to ten miles from his own.
On account of the train being excessively crowded, I could not find a proper place to sleep the night before. So the day of the wedding I took a long afternoon nap, and in the evening set out with the groom towards the bride’s house. The astrologically ordained time for solemnising the marriage was late into the night. All of us friends had decided together that no matter how late the wedding may be, we will all eat together afterwards.
The feasting began after sunset. In the midst of that crowd and commotion I was getting uneasy. As a result of sleeping in the afternoon I also was not really enjoying myself. I decided to walk a little by myself. Bankura district has open fields everywhere, so even if one goes out alone there is no problem.
“As planned, so done.” With a flashlight in hand I picked out a trail following the ruts of bullock cart wheels. After going about three miles I came to see a vast uneven open stretch of land. There were no signs of habitation anywhere, and scattered throughout the area were small thickets. A few jackals were roaming about here and there. Myrobalan, sheor’a and mahua trees were scattered about, along with a rare palásha tree here and there.(2) I must have an addiction to walking, since otherwise people do not come to this sort of place of their own accord.
From beneath the cover of tree branches the call of owls would now and then come wafting by – the hoot of the bhutum owl. Unbroken darkness… mute darkness. The stars of the sky were unable to light the path… they only augmented the terror. The calls of jackals and owls punctuated the silence, yet only augmented its depth.
It was just this kind of situation that I had landed in. What is this place? Is it a cremation ground? It seems as though it might be… Why yes, it is – on the right there’s a cow’s skull, the flesh divvied up and eaten between the vultures and jackals. Really! Skulls were strewn about here and there in abundance. It was a cremation ground and a dumping ground for animal carcasses too. I thought, very good! Let me see how beautiful the terror is. In these circumstances I will find out just how much I am able to love fear.
It occurred to me once that if another person was with me, I could have captured the scene in language in front of him. Afterwards, with one mind the two of us could have sat together and enjoyed the horrific beauty. Shining the flashlight I located a clear, clean place. In these circumstances who would not become philosophical! I would have become so myself, but another person spoiled the opportunity. Precisely who he was he did not tell me.
I was sitting alone. From a distance I discerned a shadowy figure slowly coming my direction. I inquired, “Who’s there?” No answer. The figure stopped. After a moment he started forward again. Now he was no longer silent. He took up a song:
The play of life has ended,
brother,
the festival of the world
disbanded.
Return, O man of this world,
return.
His voice was quite melodious. I enjoyed listening. I said, “So who are you? Won’t you please come here?” He slowly came forward. When he came close I again asked, “Who are you? Where do you live?”
He said, “Babu, the road is my home:
Traveller I am
Dwelling on the path.
Going is as coming to me
Coming is as going.
“Well though Babu, I don’t want to put on airs, so when I have to introduce myself I tell people I’m from the area under the Candil police station.”
I asked, “What’s your name, friend?”
“Now you want to know my name, too?” he said. “People say my name is Kamalakanta Mahapatra.”
I said, “Please sit, Kamalakanta, sing me a song.” Then Kamalakanta sang five or six songs to me one after another. Beautiful songs. Kamalakanta had the power to draw the sweetness of heaven down into the darkness of the cremation ground – this I felt to the core of my heart. Suddenly Kamalakanta stopped. He asked me, “Babu, where are you coming from?”
I told him I had come from a certain village as part of a groom’s procession. He said, “That’s quite a distance – nearly six miles.”
“Yeah, and because of that my feet are dead tired,” I replied.
He said, “Then Babu, please lie down. I’ll massage your feet a little. After all you’ll have to walk more.”
I said, “No, let it be. You’ve come from even farther away, and surely are much more tired.”
He said, “No Babu, I don’t feel any discomfort. I told you the path is my home. Lie down, you’re just a young boy.”
“However tired I may be,” I said, “I don’t think it is appropriate for an older person to massage my feet.”
Then he said, “Then do something else instead. Put your head on my lap and lie down with your legs outstretched.”
I did just that. Then I do not know when I fell asleep… when my friend’s wedding was over… or whether people there were searching for me or not. Supremely serene, in the heart of the cremation ground with my head in a stranger’s lap, I slept. I woke up towards the end of the night. Feeling intense pain in my feet, I sat up to find that Kamalakanta was clutching my feet with both hands. My head was not in his lap, and he had placed three human skulls under my head.
“Kamalakanta!” I called. “Hey Kamalakanta! Are you listening? You’re sleeping, aren’t you? I told you, I don’t want an older person to serve me. Still you didn’t listen to me.”
Kamalakanta gave no reply. What is this! Why isn’t Kamalakanta speaking? Is he sleeping? Is it possible to sleep sitting up like that? Even if it were possible, then still, would it be possible to hold anyone’s feet so forcefully? Kamalakanta was clutching my feet so forcefully that I had woken up from the pain of having my circulation cut off.
Again I called out, “Hey Kamalakanta, are you listening?” No response. I shoved him. With just a little shove Kamalakanta’s body fell over. Then had he gone unconscious? Whatever little I could think of to test this I did. No… his body had no signs of life. He was ice-cold from head to foot. Kamalakanta was no longer in this world. The one whose home was on the path had gone elsewhere on the path that is this universe. He had gone, moved on. Perhaps the man of this world had left the path altogether, going towards some unknown, unrecognized home.
I got up quickly. I started back along the path. When I reached the place of the wedding it was just barely dawn. My friends were anxious and everyone was worried. They had been waiting for dawn to go out and search for me. I told the whole story and said, “Everyone come on, let’s come back after completing Kamalakanta’s last rites.”
All together we left and reached that place. Those few human skulls which had served as my pillows were fine, but Kamalakanta’s lifeless body was gone. But where had he gone? My friends asked, “Did you drink siddhi-bháuṋ(3) last night?”
What could I possibly say to them!
Footnotes
(1) The lunar month extending from mid-April to mid-May. –Trans.
(2) Mahua: Bassia latifolia. Palásha: Butea frondosa. –Trans.
(3) An intoxicating drink prepared from the marijuana plant, often taken on festive occasions. –Trans.
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In those days my grandfather was practicing medicine in Vaedyavatii. Nowadays it might even be possible to call Vaedyavatii a town, but the Vaedyavatii of those days was a small variety of village. The time I am speaking of was ten years ago.
One of my middle maternal aunt’s sons was terribly sick at that time. The illness was growing really severe. My mother and aunt were taking turns staying up at night to attend on the patient. Every moment was passing in terrible anxiety; it seemed he would not survive. The night had nearly passed, but dawn’s light had not yet shown itself. Heavy at heart, my aunt left the patient and went off towards the roof, wanting either to sit or cry a little while in solitude. The roof there was actually an open balcony adjoining the patient’s room.
Suddenly Auntie returned from there. Arriving she called out to my mother, “Hey come on, come see something strange.” My mother slowly followed my aunt toward the roof. At that time Vaedyavatii was unconscious in deep slumber. There was no sign of anyone at all on the streets and river banks. Pointing with her finger at the wall of an abandoned house across from us she said, “Look!” Mother saw a strange being standing on the wall. In height it was like a five year-old boy, but the head was massive. His head was covered in dreadlocks, and there was a wide gaze to both his big eyes. Whirling his head around he was looking about everywhere. Mother and my aunt were both exceptionally brave. But comparatively speaking Auntie was even more dauntless. Auntie said, “So shall I shoo it away?”
Mother said, “No, don’t look.”
Auntie replied, “No, I’ll shoo it and see what it does.”
Before mother could stop her my aunt tried to drive it away. Mother and auntie both were startled – what had happened to that huge-eyed child? In its place stood a massive wild cat. Well, not a cat, more like a tiger. Auntie again shooed it away. The cat jumped down from the wall. But where had the cat gone! With astonishment they saw a black dog standing, looking vacantly toward the sky. Auntie again shooed it, and afterwards was startled to see that the dog too was gone. In its place was a massive bearded he-goat. The goat did not remain standing there. With slow steps it took to the road and went off towards its own destination. Mother and Auntie returned to the patient’s room. Even before that the boy had died.
[Author’s explanation:] Dhanátmaka abhibhávaná – pratisáḿvedanika tathyánubhúti [Literally, “Positive cellular suggestion and psycho-reactive perception of real events” tathyánubhúti = tathya + anubhúti]
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My mother’s family in Bahrampur was particularly close with them. The gentleman probably worked in the jail department. He was quite given to fine things, and his wife was also a good homemaker. Everyone used to praise not only her cooking and social graces, but the woman’s aesthetic sense as well. She would keep the house decorated like a picture. There was a deep bond of love between the husband and wife. Suddenly, after suffering a short period of illness, the woman passed away. A few months after the first wife’s death the gentleman married a second time. It was not possible to compare the virtues of the second wife with those of the first. Besides, regardless of what she may have been like at heart, there was no sweetness in her behaviour. Even though the man did not express anything verbally, it used to be perfectly apparent that he was experiencing inner turmoil.
A short while after the second marriage, disturbances of many types began to occur in the house. Out of constant fear the man and his wife remained extremely tense. The presence of a third individual was perpetually apparent, but it would never appear directly, face to face.
Once the wife awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of him moaning. She found her husband lying flat in an unconscious condition, drooling. When he became well thanks to much nursing and doctors’ assistance, he made known what had happened that night. While he had been lying on his back, much to his dread he suddenly saw his first wife slowly advancing toward him. Due to extreme fear he lost his power of speech. Next his first wife sat on his chest and grabbed him by the throat. What happened afterwards he could describe no further.
A few days after this, the gentleman had a photograph taken with his second wife. In fact it was one of my own relatives who took the photo. In the end though the picture was never given to him. The reason for this was that in the photo, it came to be seen that a third face seemed to have come up and peeped just between the gentleman and his wife. And the face was that of his first wife.
[Author’s explanation:] Dhanátmaka bhránti o cittáńavika srśt́i [Literally, “Positive hallucination and the creation of an ectoplasmic structure”]
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I had never been to Chuchura before. I was on my way home from Kolkata during a holiday. I had brought along a medium-sized suitcase and a bedroll. When I reached Howrah station I decided for once to stop in Chuchura on the way home. My eldest sister had married someone from Chuchura, but they had been living in Howrah. I had received news that for family reasons they had decided to pack up their Howrah residence and shift permanently to their own house in Chuchura, and had already arrived there.
I had never been to Chuchura before this. The train I caught from Howrah to Chuchura was the last local one. By the time the train arrived it was quite late at night. When the time came to disembark I noticed that most of the passengers were doing so through the door on the opposite side, then skipping over the track and practically running towards the platform. I could not quite grasp the reason. Anyhow, when a little while later I reached the main platform, by then almost everyone had gone out the main gate. I went outside the station. Where was the town? The area was completely devoid of people. In those days none of the shops and stalls now visible were there. And of course it goes without saying that the [Bangladeshi] refugee settlement was not yet there.
I realized the town was quite some distance from the station. At that time there was not even a rickshaw at the station. As soon as the bus which goes to town was filled with passengers it had left immediately, and it was in order to catch this bus that people had skipped over the track and run toward the main platform. I was left to travel on foot. In one hand I had the suitcase, and in the other the bedroll. I set off along the half-lit, half-dark road to the town without a single fellow traveller. My body trembled with an unknown fear.
I was a college student. The suitcase was stuffed with textbooks, and their load was a heavy burden. Only a student knows just what a burden books are to carry and what a burden to read. It was late at night. My body grew weary, and my mind somewhat weary as well. The weight of the suitcase had become unbearable. But what could I do? Of whom could I enquire? Where and how far must I go? The road was completely devoid of people, and on both sides were trees, rice fields, and some jungle.
Suddenly I saw a dark-complexioned, lanky person come out of the bushes. I could never have imagined a living person having that kind of eyes and face. Both eyes were sunken deeply into their sockets, and two dark lights glowed forth from within them. First the person came towards me, then started walking right alongside me. By then I was drenched in sweat. I asked the person, “Sir, are you also going towards Chuchura?” With a gesture the person indicated that he was. My mind became more at ease. The man started to walk close beside me. Then he slowly extended his arm toward me. I realized that he had understood I was finding it difficult to carry the suitcase. Placing the suitcase in his hand, I heaved a sigh of relief. After walking a little while longer he again extended his hand. This time he wanted to take the burden of the bedroll as well. By then my body was exhausted, so I did not object.
We walked very far together. Afterwards, when we were just about inside the town, I told the man, “You’ve really taken a lot of trouble for me. It would be a big help now if you could please point out which direction my sister’s house is. I’ll take back my luggage.” The person indicated the road with a gesture. On this long journey he had not said a single word to me, and at the time of taking leave also he did not speak. Silently, he handed back my suitcase and the bedroll. My God, how terribly cold! In the process of taking back the suitcase I felt the person’s hand, which was colder than ice. The warmth of life had taken leave of him long ago. The person went away. I could not figure out where he had disappeared to behind the cover of the trees. Nor did I have the capacity to figure it out! As though mesmerized, I set off on the path pointed out by that person. After a wide road came a tiny lane, and I wandered through many intersections. I walked in a daze. Suddenly I wondered, how much farther should I go? I stopped in front of a house. I thought, let me ask the people living here… I absolutely don’t feel like walking any farther tonight. I knocked loudly and a woman came to the door. It was no longer necessary to ask her anything – she was none other than my sister’s mother-in-law.
[Author’s explanation:] Bhayasrśt́a cittáńavika shakti-sampáta [Literally, “External projection of ectoplasmic force triggered by fear” bhayasrśt́a = bhaya + srśt́a; shaktisampáta = shakti + sampáta]
Footnotes
(1) For tending the fire in the pipe. –Trans.
(2) A festival to Lord Shiva held on the fourteenth day of the dark fortnight of the lunar month of Mágha (mid-January to mid-February). The period from sunset to sunrise is called Shiva-Rátri (The Night of Shiva). –Trans.
(3) The lunar month extending from mid-March to mid-April. –Trans.
(4) Shrii Himangshu Sarkar, the younger brother whose house the author visits in this story, in his book Parama Shraddheya Agraja – Shrii Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar, clarifies that Abdul Rahman was his cook. Being Muslim, Rahman assumed that Shrii Sarkar and his mother, being from a Hindu family, would not eat food cooked by him, and therefore intended to send a Hindu neighbour for that purpose. In fact Shrii Sarkar was far from subscribing to such dogmas. See pp. 13 and 111 of the Bengali edition of Parama Shraddheya Agraja. –Trans.
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APPENDIX ONE: HISTORICAL NOTES ON THE STORIES
Strange Experiences provides some rare first-hand glimpses of the author’s life in the period prior to the founding of Ánanda Márga Pracáraka Saḿgha in 1955. The first story is set in a certain field and hill. From the description we see that this location is on the outskirts of Jamalpur, the nondescript town in the state of Bihar where Shrii Sarkar was born and lived out most of his life until the end of 1966. Named after its temple to the goddess Kálii, the story’s hill is in fact the Kali Pahar frequented by Shrii Sarkar over a period of many years. The story also mentions other geographic landmarks in Jamalpur.
Story two concerns an incident from the author’s childhood. Reference is made to a certain Shiva temple; locals believe this to be identical to a certain temple still in use in Jamalpur. The author’s mother’s reminiscences about this event are quoted in The Life and Teachings of Shrii Shrii Ánandamúrti Vol. 1, by Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta (p. 13). Story three refers to the narrator’s grandmother, described as a resident of Burdwan District, and a sister, “Kana”. The author’s real ancestral home is in fact located in the village Bamunpara (Brahmanpara) in Burdwan District, where his grandmother Binapani Sarkar lived. An elder sister of the author, Kanakprabha, died at the age of two and a half of smallpox, like the little girl in the story.(1)
The fourth story takes place in “a small town on the banks of the Gauṋgá” where the author’s younger brother worked. The town was actually Sahebganj, and the younger brother none other than Himangshu Ranjan Sarkar, who gives his own account of the story in Parama Shraddheya Agraja – Prabhát Raiṋjan Sarkár (“My Respected Elder Brother – Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar”, Hindi and Bengali). The events quite possibly occurred in 1953 or 1954. Interestingly, as long as Himangshu Sarkar lived in his Sahebganj home, his elder brother never narrated to him or published an account of the strange incident that took place there. When later asked about this, Shrii Sarkar said, “Yes, that incident took place in your Sahebganj bungalow. Thinking you’d get scared, I didn’t publish the book [Strange Experiences].”(2)
No information can be confirmed presently regarding the circumstances and location of the fifth story, which is told in the third person with no reference to the author or any of his relatives. Story six however brings us to the familiar tiger’s grave in Jamalpur. This is a site of great spiritual significance to Ananda Margis due to its close association with Shrii Sarkar, who for many years would hold spiritual discussions and demonstrations there with small groups of disciples.
The brief seventh story concerns a maternal uncle of the author’s in Rajashahi whose name is not mentioned. At present the identity of this individual has not been confirmed. Story eight is again a first-person account set apparently in Jamalpur. A certain valley is mentioned that is probably Jamalpur’s Death Valley, now a granite quarry; also mentioned is a tamarind tree in the valley frequented by the author for many years (recently encircled by Ananda Margis with a concrete platform for preservation).
Stories nine and ten take place in Kolkata, where the author attended Vidyasagar College from 1939 to 1941. In those days he lived with his unmarried uncle Sharat Chandra Bose and widowed aunt Durgarani.(3) Story nine mentions two friends, Dipten and Prashanta, who cannot presently be identified. Story ten takes place in his uncle Sharat Chandra’s north Kolkata residence, which is described in some detail. One finds an account of the events of this story retold and explained by the author in the discourse “Disembodied Souls and Microvita”, from Microvita in a Nutshell. There Shrii Sarkar says that the mysterious information he received about his examination was actually from vidyádhara microvita.
The eleventh story of Strange Experiences takes place in Bankura District, West Bengal, in 1940, as the author mentions. Ácárya Vijayánanda Avadhúta provides a somewhat different account of this story in The Life and Teachings of Shrii Shrii Ánandamúrti Vol. 1, p. 37-39, perhaps shedding some light on its spiritual mystery. The home of the author’s maternal grandparents in Vaidyavatii is the setting for the twelfth story, which he describes. His mother and an aunt are mentioned. Story thirteen concerns a presently unidentified family in Barhampur who, he says, were close to his maternal relatives. The final, fourteenth story narrates a trip by the author from Kolkata to visit his elder sister in Chuchura. Hiraprabha Sarkar, his elder sister, had indeed married and settled in Chuchura. Since he mentions that he was a college student at that time, this must have taken place between 1939 and 1941.
APPENDIX TWO: A SURVEY OF THE AUTHOR’S IDEAS ON THE PARANORMAL
Shrii Sarkar’s writing on the subject of ghosts and the so-called supernatural seems to have had the twin objectives of creating a scientific framework for the categorization of subtle psychological and paranormal phenomena, and on the other hand, encouraging people to overcome fear complexes and move bravely on the path of spiritual attainment. The following constitutes a synopsis of his writing on these subjects included for the convenience of the reader. Those wishing to delve more deeply into the subject are referred to the works cited.
Dispelling common superstitions about ghosts, spirits and the afterlife, Shrii Sarkar clarifies that Videhiimánase na kartrtvaḿ na sukháni na duhkháni: “In a bodiless mind there is neither the capacity for ‘doership’, nor the experience of pleasure and pain” (Ánanda Sútram, 3-5). After death, a mind detached from its erstwhile physical structure is incapable of activity and feeling as it lacks the requisite nervous system.
However, he does not discount that under certain conditions people see what appear to be, in common parlance, ghosts. He describes this in Ánanda Sútram, 3-6:
When in a frightened or indignant or hypnotic state a person attains temporary concentration of the mind, his or her mind-stuff(4) takes the form of the object imagined. In such a state one sees the vision of one’s thought without [i.e. externally] as well. Thinking about ghosts and spirits in solitude, he or she sees them also in the open. The external vision of the internal thought may be termed as positive hallucination… Those that say that they have seen a ghost do not lie. Only the delusion of the mind appears to them as visual perception.
Hence, in the case of positive hallucination, the external projection of one’s own mind-stuff or ectoplasm takes on the form of the mind’s imagined object, and is perceived as a ghost. Ghosts hence have appearances consistent with the person’s preconceived notions of what they should look like.(5)
However, elsewhere he clarifies that under special conditions it is in fact possible to perceive a disembodied mind. This is a special case of positive hallucination occurring due to temporary mental concentration, which the author says may occur in five circumstances – kśipta, mud́ha, vikśipta, ekágra and nirodha:
Kśipta is when the mind is very perturbed, full of worries and anxieties. At that time, due to short, sudden concentration, such a thing may happen. Mud́ha is when your brain fails to decide what to do or what not to do – you are at a loss, not knowing what to do… Vikśipta – you are not concentrating on a particular point, but finally your mind becomes tired and, in that state, you see these things… Ekágra is when your mind gets pointed. And the fifth is nirodha, which is when you suspend all the expressions of your propensities. In these five conditions you may see those things and you may, knowingly or unknowingly, transfer certain portions of your ectoplasmic body to a detached mind and create a positive hallucination of this kind.(6)
He terms the temporary ectoplasmic structure or mental body created in the manner just described preśita mánas, “recreated mind”.(7) And regarding its tangibility, he says, “when that ectoplasmic structure is a bit solidified it becomes visible, and due to its vibrational frequency it may also become audible, but only for a short span of time”.(8)
While hallucinations usually take place unconsciously in extreme mental states, they may also, as the author has suggested, be induced intentionally. An individual with developed psychic power may cause others to see positive hallucinations composed of his or her own ectoplasm, or even suspend others’ power of vision and cause them to see what one likes. These processes are termed rákśasii vidyá and rákśasii máyá respectively.(9) Similarly, a person may also consciously associate his or her ectoplasmic structure with a disembodied mind, activating it temporarily as a preśita mánas. In such circumstances,
[A person] can get that particular disembodied mind or soul to do many things. If people such as this happen to be wicked by nature, they can cause the disembodied entity to hurl pieces of bone, brick, etc., into someone else’s house. Sometimes the cots on which people recline are also found to be tilting. All these actions are done by the ectoplasmic structure of a powerful person, not by that of the dead person.(10)
These practices are all part of avidyá tantra – the branch of intuitional science (Tantra) in which the goals are mundane rather than spiritual. People who engage in this are called avidyá tántrikas, regarding whom the author says:
The purpose of their spiritual practice is to make the mind increasingly subtle, in order to be able to exercise further control, not only over the physical world, but over the crude minds of other microcosms as well. Their goal is not noble, and will result in their ultimately being converted into inert matter. So the final result of Avidyá Tantra is extreme crudity. I have attempted to explain this in some of my ghost stories. Try to find time to read them.(11)
Because of the date of publication of the article quoted above, it can be safely assumed that the “ghost stories” referred to are those of Strange Experiences, and not those from Shabda Cayaniká, which the author wrote later.
Besides hallucinations and recreated minds, Shrii Sarkar makes reference to various other phenomena and classes of beings that might be construed as ghosts. Amongst these, he perhaps devoted the most attention to devayonis – “luminous beings”. Devayoni means “an entity which has a number of divine qualities”. They are mainly of seven types, classified according to their natures: yakśa, gandharva, kinnara, vidyádhara, prakrtiliina, videhaliina, and siddha.(12) A devayoni is actually a human spiritual aspirant who after death, due to his or her saḿskáras, undergoes a transformation in which “… he gives up his physical structure, that is, the solid body, and gives up his aquatic structure, that is, apatattva, also, but the other three factors – tejas (luminous), marut (aerial) and vyoma (ethereal) remain with him, with his detached mind.”(13) At the same time, devayonis are also the “singular or collective structures” of subtle positive microvita – beings forming the boundary between the physical and psychic worlds, and between the animate and inanimate creation.(14) They exert a profound influence upon the mind, and under certain circumstances, may become visible or otherwise perceivable. For a proper understanding of the subject of microvita, please consult the author’s Microvita in a Nutshell.
Corresponding to the devayonis are the seven main types of pretayoni, the singular or collective structures of negative microvita. Note for example the description of kabandha pretayoni:
People who commit suicide due to humiliation, psychic distortion, frustration or the overpowering influence of excessive attachment, anger, greed, vanity, jealousy, etc.[,] get the status of kabandha after death. Wherever these entities happen to see other human beings under the spell of psychic derangement, they incite them to commit suicide.(15)
Both devayoni and pretayoni are temporary conditions experienced after death. After the saḿskáras (mental reactive momenta) that precipitated attaining that condition are exhausted, the individual is again reborn in a physical body.
Other phenomena are also relevant to Strange Experiences, amongst which supramental vision, telepathy, and telepathic clairvoyance are notable. As the author describes:
Even when a person is in deep slumber, a premonition of a major calamity or some good or bad news may arise in the subconscious mind through a dream. The all-knowing causal or unconscious mind cannot give expression to its omniscience due to the fickleness of the conscious and subconscious minds, and due to its own expressional inability. But it can awaken in the calm conscious and subconscious minds of a person in deep slumber those visions and premonitions of past, present or future events which may deeply involve or overwhelm the person… This may be called “supramental vision”.(16)
The “cognitive waves” creating supramental visions manifest in the mind in accordance with the samskáras (mental reactive momenta) of the concerned individual, and may hence take symbolic form. The frequency of such dreams and one’s ability to comprehend them depend upon the degree of control one has achieved over the conscious and subconscious minds through intuitional practices.(17)
Even in the waking state “the cognitive flow of the unconscious mind” may manifest to one who has control over his or her conscious and subconscious minds. When this occurs, “one can grasp and comprehend the events concerning one’s near and dear ones who are far away.” This is termed “telepathic vision”. Concentrated telepathic vision results in increased clarity of perception, and is termed “telepathic clairvoyance”. In this case “… one can visualize the external events concerning one’s distant loved ones enacted before one’s very eyes, or one can feel as if one is seeing them”.(18) These phenomena all occur purely within the kośas [layers] of the mind, and bear no relation to so-called ghosts or spirits.
In addition to hallucination, preśita mánas, devayoni and pretayoni, supramental vision, telepathic vision and telepathic clairvoyance, Shrii Sarkar discusses many more phenomena which are to some degree relevant, but impossible to include in this discussion. These include possession, hypnotism, clairvoyance, telepathy, conversion, planchette, exorcism, shadow images (cháyámúrti), yakśiniis and so forth. For information on these the reader is directed mainly to Yoga Psychology and Microvita in a Nutshell.
Many terms the author uses at the end of each story to explain this book’s events are rather technical; some are even virtually unique to Strange Experiences. Except three and seven, no two stories have identical explanations. This fact, the technical nature of the explanations themselves, and their logical sequence reveal that Strange Experiences is the result of systematic psychological investigation.
The mysterious events in five of the stories are explained as occurring due to different types of ávesha. Elsewhere, in the course of distinguishing between this term and samádhi, the author has defined ávesha as “self-hypnotism”:
There is a belief that samádhi is self-hypnotism. This is not correct. Self-hypnotism is called ávesha. In self-hypnotism all the indriyas [sensory and motor organs] come under the control of the mind and act according to the dictates of mind. But samádhi cannot be attained without mind being dissolved.(19)
Self-hypnotism is induced by what the author terms “auto-suggestion” and is not the same as mesmerism, which is induced by “outer-suggestion”, that is, by external factors.(20)
Tathya-anubhúti is another term the author uses repeatedly to explain the events of Strange Experiences. This means literally “the perception of accurate information”, and here refers to a sort of remote or telepathic perception. Stories three and seven illustrate tathya-anubhúti as occurring in dream, while nine and twelve offer examples of tathyánubhúti in the waking state.
Story twelve is explained as dhanátmaka abhibhávaná – pratisáḿvedanika tathya-anubhúti, literally, “Positive cellular suggestion and psycho-reactive perception of real events”. The term abibhávaná (cellular suggestion) occurs in Ánanda Sútram, Su’tra 3-6: Abhibhávanát cittáńusrśt́apretadarshanam – “Ectoplasmic formation produced by cellular suggestion is what is called a ‘ghost’.” Cellular suggestion is “… that which affects not only the mind but also the nerve cells, so that due to the defective functioning of the nerve cells one sees something which is not present, or does not see something which is actually present.”(21) The cellular suggestion is in this case positive (dhanátmaka), that is, it involves seeing something which is not actually present (as is the case with positive hallucination).
A number of adjectives are used to describe the types of self-hypnotism, dreams, hallucination and telepathic perception, etc., occurring in Strange Experiences. Two terms particularly warrant discussion here – saḿskáraja, “arising from reactive momenta”, and pratisáḿvedanika, “psycho-reactive”. Story number two gives an example of saḿskáraja svapna (a dream arising from reactive momenta), while five and eight contain examples of saḿskáraja ávesha (self-hypnosis arising from reactive momenta). Pratisaḿvedanika or “psycho-reactive” is used to qualify both ávesha and tathya-anubhúti. This technical term is an adjective from the noun pratisaḿvedana, “psychic reaction”, the counterpart of saḿvedana, “psychic action”. Saḿskáras or reactive momenta are the root cause (múla kárańa) of saḿvedana or psychic action, which in turn manifests as physical action or kriyá. And,
It is said that every action or kriyá has a reaction or pratikriyá. This reaction is physico-psychic and gives rise to a prati-saḿvedana, or psychic reaction. That is psychic reaction to every psychic action. These psychic reactions or prati-saḿvedana give rise to the saḿskáras of a person.(22)
That is to say: saḿskára (reactive momenta) → saḿvedana (psychic action) → kriyá (action) → pratikriyá (reaction) → pratisaḿvedana (psychic reaction) → saḿskára →…
Turning to the explanations of the stories, we hence see that self-hypnosis (ávesha) may either be psycho-reactive (pratisaḿvedanika), that is, a product of psycho-physical reactions capable of producing new saḿskáras, or it may be saḿskáraja, arising from existing saḿskáras. In another case it is instead jiṋánaja, arising from deep knowledge or intuition.
The events of Strange Experiences and their explanations constitute a subject for further research, and it is hoped that this article makes this process possible for interested English-language readers.
Footnotes
(1) See Ác. Vijayánanda Avt., Life and Teachings Vol. 1, p. 7-8, 10, and H. Sarkar, Prabhát Raiṋjan Sarkár, p. 10 (Bengali edition).
(2) H. Sarkar, Prabhát Raiṋjan Sarkár, p. 13.
(3) See H. Sarkar, Prabhát Raiṋjan Sarkár, p. 45-6, and Ác. Vijayánanda Avt., Life and Teachings, p. 31.
(4) Cittáńu, or ectoplasm, sometimes referred to as “mind-stuff”, denotes the objective portion of the mind, or done “I” – that which takes on the form of thoughts and perception. When one “sees” a book, light waves reflected off the book strike the eyes, and the optical nerves convey this signal to the brain; it is the ectoplasm then that takes on the form of a book, resulting in visual perception.
(5) See “Select Your Object Very Carefully”, from Ánanda Vacanámrtam Part 12.
(6) “Ghosts and Evil Spirits”, Yoga Psychology, p. 19-20.
(7) “Are Ghosts Hallucinations?”, Yoga Psychology, p. 63.
(8) “Ghosts and Evil Spirits”, Yoga Psychology, p. 15.
(9) See “Avidyá”, from Discourses on Tantra Vol. 2.
(10) “The Real Culprit”, in Discourses on Tantra, vol. 2.
(11) “Vashiikára – 2”, in Ananda Marga Philosophy in a Nutshell, Part 6.
(12) The quote is from “Disembodied Souls and Microvita,” in Microvita in a Nutshell, 3rd edition, p. 109. For more information, see the discourses “Microvitum: the Mysterious Emanation of the Cosmic Factor”, “Crude and Subtle Microvita”, “Microvita and Spiritual Attainment”, and “Disembodied Souls and Microvita”, in Microvita in a Nutshell. See also “Ghosts and Evil Spirits” in Yoga Psychology.
(13) “Ghosts and Evil Spirits”, in Yoga Psychology, p. 15-6.
(14) “Microvitum: the Mysterious Emanation of the Cosmic Factor”, in Microvita in a Nutshell, p. 5. See also p. 105.
(15) See “Disembodied Souls and Microvita”, Microvita in a Nutshell, p. 100-105.
(16) “Dream, Telepathic Vision and Clairvoyance”, in Yoga Psychology, p. 10-11.
(17) Ibid., 12.
(18) Ibid., p. 11.
(19) “Miscellaneous”, from Táttvika Praveshiká.
(20) See “Under the Shelter of the Guru”, in Yoga Psychology.
(21) The English translation of the shloka here is Shrii Sarkar’s own from “Are Ghosts Hallucinations?”, in Yoga Psychology, p. 60, from where the subsequent quote is also taken.
(22) “Some Questions and Answers on Ananda Marga Philosophy”, from Táttvika Praveshiká.
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ANANDA MARGA. Path of divine bliss; ÁNANDA MÁRGA PRACÁRAKA SAḾGHA.
ÁNANDA MÁRGA PRACÁRAKA SAḾGHA. The socio-spiritual organization founded by Prabhat Ranjan Sarkar to spread the ideology and spiritual practices of the path of bliss.
AVIDYÁ. Ignorance; centrifugal, or extroversial, force; force of repulsion from the Nucleus Consciousness; aspect of the Cosmic Operative Principle which guides movements from the subtle to the crude. See also VIDYÁ.
BÁBU. A respectful title (cf. “mister”) or affectionate term of address.
DHYÁNA MANTRA. A Sanskrit verse listing the attributes of a deity, to be used for visualizing that deity in meditation.
GHÁT́. Concrete or stone steps leading into a river or pond; such a place, as used for cremation.
KIIRTANA. Collective singing of the name of the Lord, sometimes combined with a dance that expresses the spirit of surrender.
LIUṊGA (LINGA). A cylindrical, aniconic image of Lord SHIVA tracing its origins to phallus worship.
MARGI. A follower of the path of bliss; a member of ÁNANDA MÁRGA PRACÁRAKA SAḾGHA.
NAMASKÁRA. A greeting in which the palms are held together and the thumbs touch first between the eyebrows (indicating the concentration of thoughts or goodwill) and then the mid-point of the chest (indicating the sweetness of sentiment). “I pay respect to the Supreme Entity residing within you.”
SÁDHANÁ. Literally, “sustained effort”; spiritual practice; meditation.
SÁHEB (SAHIB). Roughly equivalent to “sir”.
SAḾSKÁRA. Mental reactive momentum, potential mental reaction – the latent potential reactions to past actions stored in the mind and awaiting requital.
SANNYÁSII m. or SANNYÁSINII f. Literally, “one who has surrendered one’s everything to the Cosmic will” or “one who ensconces oneself in Sat, the unchangeable entity”; a renunciant, a monk or nun; one who has renounced family ties and pursues only spiritual life and service.
SHAEVA adj. Following or pertaining to Lord SHIVA and his teachings.
SHAEVA n. A follower of Lord SHIVA.
SHIVA. A great Tantric guru of 5000 BCE who guided society while His mind was absorbed in Consciousness; hence, Infinite Consciousness, Puruśa.
TANTRA. A spiritual tradition which originated in India in prehistoric times and was first systematized by SHIVA. It emphasizes the development of human vigour, both through meditation and through confrontation of difficult external situations, to overcome all fears and weaknesses. Also, a scripture expounding that tradition.
VIDYÁ. Centripetal, or introversial, force; force of attraction to the Nucleus Consciousness; aspect of the Cosmic Operative Principle which guides movements from the crude to the subtle. See also AVIDYÁ.