People who fear ghosts warn others never to look at a Siamese rough bush, the favoured haunt of several ghosts and, in particular, never to utter the word “ghost” aloud. Failure to heed this latter piece of advice, they say, will cause great trepidation. They attempt to placate ghosts by calling them demigods.

In general people hesitate to utter the name of anything that frightens them. This applies not only to ghosts, but to snakes and smallpox. Snakes are often called “creepers”, especially at night when they hide under a veil of darkness. And whenever smallpox claims lives it is said, “The divine goddess has shown mercy on us.”

In 1940 there was a severe outbreak of beriberi in Calcutta and its suburbs. At that time, beriberi didn’t have its own goddess, unlike cholera, whose goddess was Olácandi. Perhaps a goddess has since been nominated for that position, but I am not aware of it. Some people were frightened to say “beriberi” because they thought that utterance alone would give them the disease.

I remember during my childhood there was a severe outbreak of beriberi in Monghyr district. Instead of calling it by its real name the common people would refer to it as that disease. They used to touch their forehead with both hands to show their respect for the disease. This, they hoped, would keep that disease away.

Mr. Ganguli lived alone with his wife in our neighbourhood. He, too, trembled in fear whenever anyone said “beriberi”. One day he called the doctor and asked him to do something to prevent the disease from entering his house. Mr. Ganguli sat with the doctor in the living room while Mrs. Ganguli stood behind a screen in the adjoining room. “First ask the doctor what the symptoms of that disease are, my dear,” she shouted at the top of her voice.

“Mr. Ganguli, please ask your wife what she means by that disease,” shouted the doctor, also at the top of his voice.

“Oh, that disease means beriberi,” said Mr. Ganguli inadvertently.

“Have you gone mad?” yelled his wife from behind the screen. “Haven’t I told you at least 700 times not to say that word? At least you should have the sense to modify it a little. Call it ‘rebirebi’.”

“Oh I see,” said the doctor. “Well the symptoms of that disease are a swelling of the legs, poor digestion, weakness, loss of vision, and heart trouble.”

“My dear,” shouted Mrs. Ganguli from behind the screen, “ask the doctor if tobacco contains vitamins. I’ve noticed you’re smoking rather a lot these days. So ask him about the vitamins… and ask him if tobacco’s bad for the health.”

The doctor raised his voice a little more and said, “Yes, tobacco’s rich in vitamins. But you have to inhale the smoke deep into the lungs to absorb them properly. It’s the only way.”

“Well said! Well said!” said Mr. Ganguli. “I read somewhere in the scriptures that tobacco is a precious substance. If one offers tobacco to a deity it brings as much virtue as a horse sacrifice.”

“My dear,” shouted Mrs. Ganguli from behind the screen, “ask the doctor which vegetables contain vitamins. You’d better start eating them tomorrow.”

“Spinach and tomatoes,” replied the doctor. “Spinach is also good for the heart.”

Pálaḿkyá madhurá sváduh shleśmaláhitakárińii,
Viśt́ambhinii madashvásapittaraktabiśápaha.

[Spinach is tasty and sweet. It kills phlegm and has other beneficial effects. It cures constipation and asthma, purifies the blood and bile, and cleanses the blood of poison.]

“I also advise you to eat boiled eggs,” added the doctor.

Unfortunately the doctor forgot to raise his voice. Mrs. Ganguli completely misunderstood what he said and flew into a mad rage. After all, it is a cardinal sin for a Hindu to eat bullocks.

“Bullocks!” screamed Mrs. Ganguli. “Bullocks! Kick this wretch out of the house, dear! He expects you, the son of a Brahman, to eat bullocks. We’ll be ruined forever! Ruined forever! Drive him out of my house. I’ll purify the ground he touches with diluted cow dung.”

That evening the neighbourhood youth organized a special worship of the goddess Rakśákáli to entreat her to protect them from the dreaded beriberi. They also staged a variety show to entertain the worshippers. A few female singers showed up with lips painted with bright vermilion, but the male singers didn’t pay much attention to them. The stage was decorated with graveyard scenes, as befitted the worship of Rakśákáli. Almost everyone from the locality participated out of fear of the disease, including Mr. Ganguli. Some people were advising the participants to eat husked rice, coarse flour and home-pressed oil. They had heard that the disease spreads through oil made in automated mills.

It was time for Mr. Ganguly’s evening meal so he decided to return home. When he was putting on his shoes he suddenly shrieked, “Rebirebi” and fainted. Several worshippers helped him regain consciousness. “Mr. Ganguli, why were you so frightened?” they asked.

“I had an attack of rebirebi,” he stammered.

“How do you know that, grandad?” asked the neighbourhood teenagers who had rushed up to see that the fuss was about.

“When I came here my shoes fit me perfectly, but now they’re too small.” he wailed. “Oh my god! My feet have swollen due to rebirebi.”

A young footballer said jokingly, “If you played football you’d stay slim and the beriberi would never get you.”

“It looks like my next game will be in heaven,” said a terrified Mr. Ganguli. He thought the humour was in extremely bad taste.

Another boy asked, “Let’s see if your shoes fit you now.” A pindrop silence descended on the neighbourhood. “Mr. Ganguli,” said the boy, “it’s quite simple really. You tried to put on Mr. Ghosh’s shoes by mistake.”