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Wednesday, August 29, 2018

The Edge of Darkness - A Story from Sri Lanka

We are most happy to hear another gripping story from Bernard VanCuylenberg of Sri Lanka
 
Often ghost stories are hard to believe, even if one has an inclination to believe in the supernatural. There are two opposing forces. One is an attitude of total scepticism and the other, one of total acceptance. Whether one disbelieves or believes, there are certain concepts that both schools of thought can accept.

We are born and we die. During that space of time we observe, we communicate, we feel and we think. It is almost axiomatic that there is knowledge beyond our own perception, and history has proved that. Our knowledge has grown over the years. The poet Carl Sandburg once wrote that death is a part of life, and thus a legitimate area to explore, even though a difficult one. Today the means of exploring it are in the hands of philosophers, theologists and parapsychologists. And it is only the parapsychologists who have endeavoured for years to find hard rational evidence which proves there is life beyond the grave.

The following incidents occurred in the beautiful salubrious climes of two of the island’s tea growing districts. The first was recorded on one of the largest tea estates in the Bandarawela district - Poonagalla Group. This large plantation had at the time of this story, an acreage of 1757 acres, and comprised eight divisions namely, Broughton, Upper and Lower Catton, Lunugalla, Udahena, Cabragalla, Poonagalla and Hockworthy. If I were writing a travelogue, I would describe Poonagalla and the surrounding tea estates as ‘Scenic Gold’. It is a place of jaw dropping scenic beauty with mesmerising mountain views, undulating hills - a timeless landscape with desolate valleys, beautiful wild flowers and wild mountain streams reflecting the blue sky. From any vantage point the country opens up to sweeping panoramas, and bathed in the golden glow of a late afternoon, the views are phenomenal and the visitor will never tire of the vistas.... wherever the trails take you, remember to charge your camera!

However, the picture postcard scenery of these regions did not detract from the fact that at night, two plantations were plagued by eerie hauntings and disturbing manifestations.

The Phantom Rider
A Superintendent of times long past was passionately fond of horses, and he rode his horse in the vicinity of his bungalow in his free time, and on the huge lawn all around. There is no record if his death was due to falling off his horse, but sometime after his death the terrifying spectre of his ghost was seen by some staff. This phantom rider and horse chose to make their presence felt inside the bungalow of the superintendent - riding right across the passage of the bungalow. With the passing of time this phenomenon vanished into the ether and the mists of time, and became the lore and legend of Poonagalla.
Tea plantations at Bandarawela
The Lady Vanishes 
The second spine chilling, hair raising incident occurred on a tea plantation in the Maskeliya district many years ago, and the haunting on this estate had its genesis in a tragic incident which befell the wife of a former superintendent. For purposes of this story the Superintendent of this estate is known as 'Mr.Davies'. This was not his real name. His wife Mrs.Davies was a gentle kindly soul whose passion was her garden, walking along the rambling estate trails, and on the bank of the river which flowed not far away. She was a great lover of the outdoors and was fascinated by nature. However, in the local planters club some members found her as one was reported to have said, 'rather odd'. Others seemed to think that 'she was not all there...' Despite this, her gentle manner endeared her to all.

One afternoon she set out on one of her walks, deciding to go along the river bank, but returned to the bungalow shortly after to put on a raincoat and hat due to a prevailing drizzle and some dark clouds which signified rain. Time passed, and as it was nearing late evening and she had not returned, it caused some anxiety among the bungalow staff. One of them rushed to the factory office and informed Mr.Davies, "Sir, Lady went for a walk long time ago and not come back !"

Davies did not seem to take the matter seriously, but organized a search party to locate the missing lady. Soon, not one but three search parties set out in different directions, but to no avail. They returned late at night very distraught that somebody could simply vanish on familiar territory known to everybody on the estate. A restless night passed and the search was resumed the next morning at the first sign of daybreak.

Their worst fears were soon realized when the body of Mrs.Davies was found about a mile downstream. There was not a single witness to testify as to how she met her death, and when the inquiry was held the cause of her death was put down to 'misadventure'.

A pall of gloom and darkness descended on the bungalow and garden staff who had worked with her very closely on a daily basis, and beyond the confines of the bungalow, on the whole estate. Eccentric or not, she was the epitome of kindness and well loved by everybody. Mr.Davies, stoic as ever, got on with managing the estate, and life continued as before although there was a great void in the lives of the bungalow staff. But strange occurrences seemed to signify that Mrs.Davies had not left this earth after all !

It all began one morning when a workman came to attend to some repairs on the bungalow roof. Bear in mind that this was in broad daylight and this particular day was one when the sun shone brightly, the birds twittered merrily in the trees and the garden was a riot of colour with the flowers in full bloom. Placing a long ladder so that he could get to the roof, the workman climbed up very slowly and cautiously. And this was when the serenity of the morning was pierced by a terrifying shriek let out by the workman who nearly jumped out of his skin ! He hurried down the ladder and was a complete wreck. The garden labourer hearing his screams rushed up and asked him what was wrong.

The workman's reply alarmed him. He said that while climbing the ladder and nearing the top of the roof he was horrified to see - to quote his words - "A white lady wearing a raincoat and hat, standing on the roof looking down!"

When Mr.Davies came home for lunch he was appraised of this incident by the bungalow ‘Appu’ ( Head Cook), but even though he listened to the latter very intently, he discarded the entire incident as 'nonsense', 'panic' ' 'paranoia' ' a vivid and overactive imagination', and did not wish to hear anymore !

Mr.Davies was a pragmatic man. Practical ideas and results were in his makeup. Anything that appeared dubious and 'airy fairy' to his mind, he discarded out of sight! On his brawny shoulders rested the responsibility of managing this plantation which had its daily crop of problems. Supernatural manifestations were the last thing he wanted to deal with! But as suddenly as they had occurred, all signs of supernatural activity ceased and in time these incidents were confined to the realm of memory -although in the minds of the estate folk, the fact that the Superintendent’s bungalow was haunted became firmly entrenched.

After a few months Mr.Davies was transferred and every Superintendent who came after him became acquainted with the strange happenings that had taken place, thanks to the bungalow staff, especially the 'Appu' who prided himself on breaking the news to them. One particular Superintendent who took charge of the estate many years later was a total sceptic in all matters supernatural. When he took charge and the Appu told him that the bungalow had the reputation of being 'haunted', he passed it off as a bad joke!

He had more pressing issues to attend to, specially having to deal with the union leaders on this vast plantation whom he reckoned could be tougher than any ghosts! Compared to them, he reckoned ‘ghosts’ were benign. Until one evening when he entertained a visitor to dinner. At dinner, the second servant entered the dining room and told him, "There is a white lady at the back door asking to come in". The superintendent was engaged in an interesting conversation with his guest, and not paying the servant much attention told the servant almost absent mindedly, “Ask her to come in ".

After some time, remembering what the servant told him, he called the servant and asked him where the visitor was. To his surprise he was told that when he returned to tell the lady to enter, he was astonished to find nobody at the door.

A few weeks later, another lady who played a prominent part in this tale, enters the story. She was the superintendent's mother in law who was on holiday from England. She had no idea that this was going to be a holiday which she would remember for years to come! It did not take very long for the superintendent to realize that all was not what it appeared to be. He noticed that each morning at breakfast, the lady seemed exhausted and distressed - not the typical reaction for one on holiday, after a night’s sleep in a comfortable estate bungalow ready to enjoy a hearty breakfast. On asking her if she was feeling unwell, she replied that every night she heard a shuffling of feet outside her bedroom door which rather disturbed her.

To which the Superintendent replied that it was probably the dog, a nocturnal creature at the best of times! But she had not completed her answer, and added further that almost every night her sleep was interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing emanating from the empty bed in her room! At first she tried to ignore it, but the breathing became more intense as time passed and terrified, she lay awake in fright until dawn! Her answer literally knocked off his socks and froze the blood in his veins! The superintendent, a calm, cool and collected gentleman who did not believe in anything other than what he saw around him now underwent a 360 degree turn, coming to grips with the fact that there are more things in life than a basic human existence.

His mother in law was an honest simple lady with sound integrity. He asked her a simple question and she answered truthfully and was not inclined to exaggerate. It was this matter of fact simplicity which alarmed him. Then something else gave him much food for thought. Prior to her arrival he and his wife had agreed that they would never mention anything about ‘ghosts’ to their visitor. The last thing they intended was to spoil her holiday.

Besides, she did not speak a word of Tamil, and none of the bungalow staff would have dared to even give her a hint about the nocturnal shenanigans. He concluded that his mother in law was experiencing something very eerie which had no rational explanation. He and his wife immediately arranged for the lady to be transferred to the master bedroom so that she would not be alone at night, but this bizarre experience had now impacted negatively on the holiday she was looking forward to, and she decided to return to England.

Epilogue: The German poet, statesman, scientist and playwright, Wolfgang Von Goethe alluding to this very subject once wrote "The thought of death leaves me in perfect peace, for I have a firm conviction that our being is a spirit of indestructible nature. It works on from eternity to eternity. It is like the sun which though it seems to set to our mortal eyes, does not really set but shines on perpetually". The BHAGAWAD GITA , the 700 verse Hindu script in Sanskrit which is part of the Hindu epic THE MAHABHARATA in unequivocal terms emphasizes that life continues as can be seen from the following lines : "There never was a time when I did not exist or you...nor will there be any future in which we shall cease to be...."

Acknowledgements: I wish to record my sincere thanks and deep appreciation to two correspondents who helped me write this article due to their invaluable assistance, so readily forthcoming at all times. Norman Thompson a college mate of mine and friend from childhood has always helped me with information regarding the geography of the tea estates. He is an authority on this subject and an ex planter. Osmund Perera furnished me with the material for these articles, Without his input there would have been no story, leave alone the ghosts ! To both these gentlemen, I owe a debt of gratitude. Their qualities of heart and mind make the world a better place for me.


Meet the writer: Bernard VanCuylenberg

My late Dad was a tea planter...hence memories of the tea plantations are precious to me. My memories of childhood, growing up in the salubrious climate of the tea country are very dear to me, because my brother, sister and I had parents who were angels.

Prior to migrating to Australia my working background was in the field of tourism and hospitality.

In Australia I worked for seventeen years as an Administrative Officer in the Victoria Police Department, and retired in 1999. I played lead and rhythm guitarin two bands ( in Sri Lanka, and in Australia). I loved the Sitar and always hoped I could learn it one day. Ravi Shankar was my idol.    

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
 
Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world!

 
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories

Saturday, August 25, 2018

Back in the Day - VII


by Shipra Castledine
Relatives visiting us in tea experienced a few days or a few weeks of a pampered, colourful time. Over the years that my father was in tea all our family on both sides visited. Now when they read instalments of my story they enjoy it as they relate to it. Like the new city people who came to live and work in tea, our relatives too got familiar with the very tea specific terminology. Like the paniwala, the bawarchi, the malibari. Being woken up in the morning with a ‘chota hazri’.

My Jethu and Jethima with my cousins, my Didi and Mejdi visited us one time at Baintgoorie TE. Jethu was a very humorous man and his relation of incidents was hilarious. He talked of the travails of the spring beds in our bungalows and on top of that, the ‘dunlopillo’ mattresses. It was true that these were really quite uncomfortable as they sagged when you lay on them. But the hilarious bit was Jethu describing that when he turned over on one side - and it happened to be the side to get off the bed - the mattress would flip up behind him and he would be on the floor!!! Not really a laughing matter, given that he could have been injured, but as he wasn’t it became a tale of great hilarity in the family!
Let me bring in the practicality of mosquito nets that we had to have hung around all beds if you didn’t want to get eaten alive by mosquitoes. The master bedroom was very grand in the Baintgoorie burra bungalow. You could probably fit in a current small sized flat into that bedroom! There were twin massive sized single beds joined, sprung with spring! But not dunlopillo mattresses! Over the beds was a ceiling fan (DC – direct current not AC – alternate current as electricity changed to in modern times). Above the ceiling fan was a large iron ring suspended from the ceiling. The ceiling was very high, I could say approximately 20 feet. On to this iron ring was hooked the mosquito net which then draped down all the way to the floor and stayed there as it was weighted down with stones sewn into the bottom of the net. One end folded over another at appropriate junctures of the net so one could just move the net aside to get out. 
mosquito net.jpg
This gives you an idea but it was much grander in the Baintgoorie master bedroom
My bed in comparison had posts and rods around the bed and the mosquito net was tied on to the rods. 
mosquito net 2.jpg
My bed would have looked more like this but the net would be all the way around and tucked under the mattress so you pulled it out and lifted it to get out of bed.
And then there was the sound of big black beetles hitting and bouncing off the walls of the bedroom! Jethu would recreate the sound of these beetles slowly buzzing around the room then hitting the weatherboard walls, so realistically that we would be in splits! Between mum and Jethu we were almost all the time in peals of laughter.
We enjoyed showing our relatives the beautiful parts of the place that we lived in. Picnics on riverbanks with clear water rushing along, white pebbled banks where we put out rugs and laid out a delicious spread. Sometimes it would be a picnic near a ‘jhora’ (a stream) with shady trees around, the water gurgling and as we dipped our feet in the water small fish tickled us as they went about their business. The tea estates were in lush surroundings of rivers, mountains and forests. Trips to forest ranges run by the West Bengal Forest Department were made when we had visitors. In those days you didn’t have to get lucky to see a Bengal tiger, leopards, plenty of deer and elephants. You would see the wildlife. The safari was usually carried out on elephant back. We would have lunch in their guest houses (dak bungalows as they were called) and it was normally a standard lunch of thick, rough rice, a thin daal and aloo bhaja then a fiery chicken curry cooked with free range chickens butchered on the day. It was sheer heaven. These chicken curries have gained fame in Indian recipes as Dak Bungalow Chicken Curry.
jaldapara-elephant-safari-jaldapara-national-park-th-october-west-bengal-india-83140545.jpg
Jaldapara Wildlife Sanctuary, North Bengal


Jaldapara forest bungalow

Gorumara Forest was very close to our tea estates. We would go there often with or without visitors. The Mahindra jeep was the vehicle for rough terrain as was the Land Rover. Both these adequately traversed jhoras and mini rivers, rough forest roads and allowed us to regularly experience the forests and see wildlife.  Other than the government managed forestry there was plenty of natural forest around us to take drives to and spend time in them. There were times when some well meaning local would tell us to go away as a herd of elephants had been sighted and could meander along where we were. But the ultimate danger was from a rogue elephant who would have been kicked out of its herd for one reason or another. These rogue elephants were frustrated, often sick and angry. There have been deaths amongst the planters who have gone on shikar to kill one of these. 
IMG_0171.jpg
Old Land Rover
 One of the best things I remember was driving out of Baintgoorie TE and coming to the cattle trap gate out of the estate and seeing the vista of the mountains in front. Sometimes if we were lucky we could see the snow ranges which is the Himalayas. I must talk about those cattle traps across the road in various parts of the estate. As a child I was mortally afraid of having to cross them. Luckily some of them had a little pedestrian gate on the side so we could walk through. But when there was no option but to step on the cattle trap........it took me 10 times the time it should have as I gingerly put one foot over two bars, stopped, almost shaking, then the other foot would come forward! And then there were the children who would literally run over them! Not fair! Growing up in a tea garden was the perfect playground for a child. Your imagination could run wild, you could be adventurous and you hardly spent time indoors.  
cattle-trap-1.jpg
A catte trap
As there was no other means of entertainment in those days, everyone in the tea estates became pretty proficient with entertaining in their bungalows. The adults’ social life was a round of dinners at various bungalows some as far as a two hour drive, probably 60-70 miles away. Children weren’t always a part of these dinner parties. A reliable ayah would stay the night over to babysit us children. And if we were taken we usually went to bed at a good hour at our host’s bungalow with other children whilst the adults enjoyed a large part of the night away. We would be picked up sleeping when it was time to go home.
I spent only some years growing up in tea so I wasn’t a part of the adult activities till much later when I married and we were a part of tea life again. I do remember the ‘club do’s which us children would be a part of. On special occasions like Christmas parties the club that was in our district, Western Dooars Club for us, would usually hire a live band from Shillong particularly for the New Year’s Eve ‘do’ as there were good musicians there and there would be a rollicking show on, with dancing and fun. We would be allowed there for a while but got sent home with the ayah in reasonable time if it was safe for us to be sent home. By safe I mean how far we’d have to go to our tea garden travelling with the driver and ayah.
A lot of ladies and gents in tea were very good dancers. The jive and the cha cha cha were very in and rock and roll and latin American music was played in our homes whilst the good dancers tried to teach the amateurs!  And as I have mentioned in an earlier instalment, the food was something that should have been documented and photographed, it was of such high standard. All the memsaabs outdid themselves in stoking their bawarchis to shine and be better than the others in the district! For those of us who were natural born foodies the groaning tables of food were the highlights of our existence! And there was no hope ever again that we would get off that food wagon!!
On that hungry note Part VII comes to an end!

Editor's Note: 
Jethu and Jethima: uncle and aunt, specifically, father's older brother and his wife
Didi, Di : An older sister (or cousin)
Mejdi : literally, 'middle di', so neither the youngest nor the oldest
Aloo Bhaja : crisp potato fritters, a favourite in Bengal
(All pix in this post sourced from the internet by Shipra )

 
MEET THE WRITER:


'My name is Shipra Castledine nee Shipra Bose (Bunty). My parents were Sudhin and Gouri Bose. I am a tea 'baba' of the 1950-s era. I spent a part of my life growing up in the Dooars and another large part of my life married to a tea planter's son the Late KK Roy son of PK and Geeta Roy of Rungamuttee TE in the Dooars. I continued to be in the tea industry for many years as KK was a tea broker till he passed away in 1998.' Read more stories by Shipra here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Shipra%20Castledine

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 

 
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Azaadi ka Din : An Independence Day Story

by Ipsita Sengupta

Well I just can't let Independence Day pass by without writing about Jimma.

Jimma, the hero of the day. He loved his snazzy glittery dazzling green shirts which were always missing a few buttons, and his huge combat boots. I always wondered whose hand me downs those boots were. Now couple that attire with shiny dark brown skin, a prominent hunch and an ever grinning face displaying a row of betel stained teeth and you can almost see him. His primary job was to look after the cows. I vividly remember him carrying two steel buckets brimming with milk in the mornings headed towards the house, cutting through the flowers beds, intent on his mission. He made sure he got the milk in the house, freshly delivered courtesy of Hope and Lalee, our jersey cows. Yes, they had names and no, they weren't named by us. We didn't have the pleasure of picking names but we did have them for a number of years, serving us more milk than we would ever consume. 

Now back to my original story. Independence Day started like it  always did every year in the gardens. I tagged along with Bapi for the flag hoisting, far more excited about the snacks which would follow the event. It was a bright sunny day with one dark cloud hovering. Jimma had decided not to show up for work! Not surprising at all, as he often decided to disappear. 

The rumour was he’d gone on a bender, indulging in a little too much of the coveted country liquor called Hariya.  Hariya was an integral part of everyone's lives in the garden - the workers, as they frequently imbibed and continued to come to work, and the others who had to wait and watch them swaying and wondering how long they would hold up. Well, Jimma did not show up all morning, drunk or sober. Mamma fretted all morning about her poor cows but he still didn't show.

Just as the sun was setting on the horizon and the sky turned a lovely shade of orangey pink I looked up. I saw a man with a glittering green shirt flying in the wind walking up towards the verandah. I wasn’t sure whether the wind made him sway or whether it was his head spinning. His combat boots did not help steady him one bit while he zigzagged his way to the verandah. 

Mamma looked on in astonishment while Jimma stood in front of us, swaying and stinking up a storm.  

Jimma saluted smartly and said, ‘Jai Hind!’

 Mamma squeaked, ‘But why are you here in the evening?’

Jimma grinned, speaking a little too loudly, ‘Memsahib aaj azaadi ka din hai, isliye meh sab gai log ko azaadi dey diya!’ ( Memsahib, it is Independence Day! So  I have set all the cows free! )

Mamma and I ran past him to the opening where we could clearly see the cows running free and wild in the evening sun.  I turned around to see Jimma curled up in the verandah, fast asleep, having set his world free.

Meet the writer:
Ipsita Sengupta introduces herself: 'I was born to AJOY and DOLA in the gardens of North Bengal, and lived there till I was 18. Working in finance in New York city for the past decade. Sister to a kickass writer, SANCHITA and married to my soul mate and best friend ARIJIT. Love books,movies, dogs, travelling and food in no particular order.'
This Cha ka baby wrote us two stories with slightly scary twists in them: 'Bhaaku the Barber' here -- https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/2018/03/bhaaku-barber.html
and 'The Wrong Car' here --
https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/2018/03/the-wrong-car.html


 Is this your first visit here?  Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
If you've ever visited a tea garden or lived in one, or if you have a good friend who did, you would have heard some absolutely improbable stories!
You will meet many storytellers here at Indian Chai Stories, and they are almost all from the world of tea gardens: planters, memsaabs, baby and baba log. Each of our contributors has a really good story to tell - don't lose any time before you start reading them!

Do you have a chai story of your own to share?
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com.

My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true( always ), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull.