Dahanu is a sleepy little town that looks like a Pacific island, with its endless palms and coconut plantations, on the western coast just hundred kilometres above Mumbai on a map. The fresh Neera or coconut toddy, a sweet morning juice that can ferment into an intoxicating drink in the afternoon, is pure nectar.
The brown train on a winter morning, with visible specks of white dust in February sun promised that it would be a fun trip with my cousin and her husband living with the in-laws of the in-laws. It’s slightly complicated, so let’s just call them the others. The others live in a huge apartment in Dahanu.
The first three days were untainted heaven with long walks, nights under rural starry beaches, good vegetarian curries, lentils and pickles. My cousin’s husband, technically my brother-in-law (since in India, we call our first cousins cousin-brother or cousin-sister) is a hilarious comedian. We were staying at his sister’s house thus, the in-laws of the in-laws.
But on that fateful day, we were warned in instalments by the others. “They are coming”, said the stupid one. “We need the bhuwa (exorcist) as lots of bad things are happening in the house.”, said the mother. This was following a shouting match between father (in-law) and the stupid one.
We went for dinner that evening having forgotten the small snippets of talk that day. When we came back the lounge or the hall was filled with strangers. Everyone was drinking and the lights were on full blast inside the house.
“They are from London, they don’t believe all this”, said the father to the exorcist almost as a challenge. My cousin looked thrilled at being called a London-returned. Actually, none of us have been to London. I live in Auckland and my cousin has travelled to Dubai and Nairobi.
We quietly went to our green room with an ancient air-conditioner that worked like a breeze. Indian winters are warmer than Auckland summers. We must have nodded off, when suddenly we heard loud noises. Clangs. Singing. Clapping.
My cousin said, “Looks like they are dancing”. We ran to the door. Ghosts and possessions or divine haunting do happen in India. Divine haunting are more common in Navratri even in Mumbai. During the nine nights, it is said, that mother-deities come out to play garba. When mostly the women dance around a the goddesses and sometimes people get possessed as they are singing garbas.
But belief in possessions is uncommon among the learned folk, drawing an invisible line between the ‘educated fools’ and the God-fearing rural people.
Kneeling, we placed ourselves behind the door and opened it slightly. As a guest in India it would be unwise to jump out of the room and say “Hey! Let me watch!” Protocol had to be followed. That was part and parcel of being born in a country of arrange marriages, five thousand years of civilisation, extended families and the caste system. The caste system did not affect the metros, in a big way anymore.
Coming back to the action through a gap between the door and the wall, my cousin had already joined in and her husband eventually followed. My cousin is a staunch Jain and thus, does not eat non-veg and would never hurt a living thing and did not believe in ‘hocus pocus’.
Hocus Focus can be exciting to life especially if you on all fours with your cousin was bending over you and her upright husband economising the half inch gap between the door and wall.
My cousin said rhetorically, “Are they singing?”.
Suddenly, we saw someone come towards us. We immediately jumped to our nonchalant positions on bed, playing scrabble, reading, staring philosophically into the ceiling etc.
It was lady of the house, who extended a warm and insistent welcome. You can come out and join us.”
“No. We are fine but Suneal, if you want to go it’s alright”, came the approval that is so crucial in times like this. Then, one can run out. They eventually followed.
The group was animated and wearing colourful clothes as they were singing bhajans and garbas – hymns to evoke the goddess mother deity Ambe and Chamunda, essentially. We sat on the thick cotton-jute carpet on the floor.
The other daughter-in-law already looking possessed; swinging her head at a radius of three feet in a circular motion that allowed her leverage of three feet in height. Something like the earth’s rotation and revolution. Sitting next to a possessed individual is a an experience.
The red sindoor, not the small dot on the forhead but a long, blood-red liquid going from between the eyebrows all the way into the hair, was looking ominous. The woman was moving frantically and when prompted by the ordinary looking exorcist, who you would not have given a second glance in the fruit bazaar except for his bulging eyes. He was of medium built and had had a few pegs of whiskey before.
“Show your true self… WHO ARE YOU!” He said to the woman.
She, in turn, stuck her Maori-haka tongue out and looked like a replica of the picture of Mother Chamunda, with her eyes wide open and tongue almost touching her chin. She rotated and revolved at full burst for a good half an hour. Almost everyone instinctively started touching her feet out of reverence, awe and sheer respect for the goddess. Some did not.
Bowing to keep the peace and making sure the unknown does not suck you in is a wise option. The whole thing seemed slightly overdone and aggravated for the benefit of non-believing foreign returned-s. One could bow in submission or be hexed.
My cousin’s attitude of being someone – she is not, came out in full flavour. The wannabe tough, educated feminist ‘from hell’ and the greatest gift to any one who comes in contact with her.
The noise decibels were increasing as people were summoned to ask questions. They later told me that the answers were accurate.
Suddenly everyone got up. Actually, some of them got up as the exorcist led them out. We later learned that they had gone to the family factory and the women had found an article or a lemon that was burried by ‘evil eyed’ as a curse to the family.
The possessed woman found the article and then they destroyed and had gone to the crematorium, the Hindu ‘graveyard‘. Going to bury a lemon or an article that captured all the evil spirits, bad luck and possible family misfortunes, can be avoided. Was.
After an hour or so, the nice other lady was in our room talking about evil things and insisting that she didn’t want to get into these things as it went against her beliefs. She was religious and believed in Shiva.
The ardent father-in-law came in and asked her to get religiously possessed. “It is nothing, don‘t be scared”.
Once again, we found ourselves in the yellow lamp-lit hall with pictures of goddesses and a skull. She was asked to drink some whiskey. She insisted that she did not want to get possessed as the exorcist said, “My child don’t be afraid”.
Even as she was pleading not to get into a trance, suddenly, out of no will of hers, she began rotating. She kept insisting that she did not want to go through this. The roller coaster.
She was fine, educated and graceful one moment and convulsing the next. It was difficult not to believe. My cousin was her cool self. The lady in the meantime, went for gold and in her trance – rotated. Her voice changed. Soon, she was answering questions that onlookers posed. Wanted her spell to be broken would be anybody’s natural wish. My cousin asked a few questions as her non-believing confused, husband looked down at us from the sofa.
It was finally over leaving a huge impression. The exorcist had been in a lineage of exorcists and was an ardent worshipper of mother deities. He insisted that he did not accept money but some money had changed hands. The parents- in-laws were happy and proud of their daughters-in-laws.
The lady insisted that she was fresher than ever and did not remember a thing about her possessed state and it seemed she was telling the truth. Dahanu had left a mark and that evening was like Bengal where goddesses and spirits change people’s lives and the eastern state is believed to be a land of black magic.
The incident remained close to my heart till an opportune moment, when I actually digested my brush with the after life. There was definitely something there. And, even as I tried to send this story across before the d-time, the computer shut on me for no reason thrice and I had to rewrite the story over and over again and actually hand it in, one hour and eighteen minutes late.
