It was one of those long and beautiful evenings that one does not want to end – an evening, which even as you are living it, you know will stay in your memories forever. People may call such evenings with their loved ones dates, but Jay would not fall into the trap of such labelling. For labels convert special things into stereotypes. For Jay, this evening with Priyanka, his soulmate (and now his wife), was when they discovered more of each other. It did not matter that they weren’t in plush surroundings, or that there were no tantalising aromas of expensive foods in the air or melodious music in the background; they had each other’s company. And a simple meal – a hearty Delhi street-side meal of chhole bhature – to bond over.
It was when the dinner plates were taken away and desserts were ordered that Priyanka asked, “So, Jay, tell me about the case you told me you’d talk about later.”
“Which one?” Jay asked.
“Don’t brag. I know you have dozens of cases,” Priyanka teased. “You know the one I’m talking about.”
Jay shook his head. “Really, no.”
“All right, let me ask you in a different way. Who is Nishant?”
Jay held Priyanka’s gaze for a moment and then let out a chuckle.
“Don’t do that!”
“Okay, sorry. So, you want to know about Nishant?”
Priyanka nodded. “Yes, I want to know about the person with whom you used to speak till the late hours of the night, even if it meant cutting my calls short.”
As the desserts arrived – bowls of phirni – Jay found himself staring at their succulent delicateness. Aware that Priyanka’s gaze was upon him, he began, “He’s just a kid. He was in a terrible situation, and for a while I did think it was touch and go. But I may have sorted things out for him.”
“Uh-hmm…”
“All right, I’ll have to take it from the top. Or else you won’t believe me.”
“Is there still anything unbelievable about your cases?”
Jay laughed. “This one might be. My dear, this will take a few more bowls of phirni to finish.”
“I’m all ears now!”
“Well, then. Let me tell you about the crazy time of my life when I met Nishant Tiwari, the boy who could bring the dead back to life.”
Three texts from Nishant had gone unnoticed, buried somewhere in private message folders. That was why when Nishant eventually managed to get hold of Jay’s number and call him up, his tone was rushed and his sentences fell over each other. It didn’t help matters any that Jay was stepping out of a talk on the paranormal when he received the call.
“Please slow down,” Jay told the excited youth. “I am at an event. Can’t hear –”
“Sir, I’m Nishant. Nishant Tiwari. I sent you many messages but you might be busy. I hope you can help you. I mean, help me. Sorry, I can’t believe I am talking to you.”
“It’s okay, Nishant. Have we met before?”
“No, but I want to. I am in a big problem.”
“What is that?”
“Actually, I need something. I did it before but I can’t do it again now and I don’t know whom to ask.”
“I don’t get it. What did you do?”
“Call my dead grandmother.”
In that instant, all the chaos that Jay was surrounded by ceased. It was not just the shock of what the boy had said; it was something in his voice – an ignorant earnestness, if you put it that way – that appealed to Jay right away. That was why he said what he said next.
“Look, Nishant, I guess this requires a meeting. Where do you stay?”
Nishant came over to meet Jay the next day itself. Jay, who had booked into a coworking space to work on one of his projects, met him in his private cabin. The first thing that struck him about Nishant was his stark youth. He was the spitting image of what Jay had conjured in his mind after hearing his voice – a rank, eager young man who is in the midst of something lofty that he cannot manage by himself. After finding out cursory details, the chief among which was the fact that he had travelled three hours for the meeting, Jay invited him to sit and pour out the details of his problem.
“Where do I start, sir?” Nishant asked.
“I guess you must first explain to me about calling your dead grandmother.” Jay tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible; he wanted no hint of any kind of judgment, one way or the other, to make its appearance.
“I’m sure you know about such things, sir,” Nishant began. “So, my grandmother, Tarabai, died last year. It was a natural death; she was old. I was very attached to her. In fact, both my parents used to work and it was Dadi who raised me. Then she passed away in her sleep and I could not take it. For a whole month, I could not focus on anything – even eating or sleeping. I fell sick. I had to be hospitalised. But no one understood how badly I missed Dadi. I told Mom and Dad but they thought it was the natural grieving process. But I missed Dadi so much … you know, I could not even say goodbye to her. I had so many things I still wanted to tell her – about my new girlfriend, about how I expected to ace the year’s exams, apologising for stealing money from her purse…so many small and big things. I thought that if I got a chance to speak to her once again, I would be all right. Then I watched a show and wondered – what if I could bring her back? So, I started looking…”
“On the Internet?”
Nishant nodded. “You cannot really ask people about such things, isn’t it, sir? I researched on many websites. I came upon some articles and news reports about people who were brought back from the dead. A typical class of highly evolved tantriks could do that. I found the contact of one such tantrik in our city, sir. I went to meet him, alone. I knew no one at home would believe me.”
“What did the tantrik do?”
“He performed a ritual on me. He asked me to bring something that belonged to Dadi. I took her old saree with her – the red one that she wore to all outings when Dada was still alive. The tantrik told me to shut my eyes and made me sit on the floor. He chanted some Sanskrit mantras. He blew some powders on me and put holy ash on my body. Then he told me to open my eyes and I screamed. I saw Dadi in front of me. She was wearing the red saree. The next moment, I realised it was part of the ritual. The tantrik had draped himself in the saree and was holding my hand. He said it was done. I truly experienced a connection with Dadi’s soul through him. He had brought Dadi back to earth. He taught me a mantra and told me to chant it exactly three times before going to bed that night. Well, I did as told. And, that night, Dadi indeed came.”
“Really?” Jay asked.
“It was in a dream, Jay sir. A very vivid dream. She was on her bed in her room. I walked through the house to meet her. And she was there, smiling and not at all sick like how she had been for years. I sat by her feet and she put her hand on my head. I felt that current pass through me again. Then she vanished.”
“All right. Go on.”
“I wanted to see her more. So, the next night, I tried it again, and then once again. I chanted the same mantra as the tantrik taught. Every night I chanted the mantra and slept, I could see a very real and live version of Dadi in these lucid dreams. I was so amazed; I had brought my dead Dadi to life, if even it was only in a dream.”
“That’s very unique, Nishant,” said Jay. “So how was the experience for you? Did you feel good?”
At this question, Nishant’s expression changed. He lowered his head, and when he spoke, there was a shift in his tone.
“Did something go wrong?”
“Yes,” he said. “Well, I knew that I was playing with fire. It’s never good, isn’t it, to change the law of nature? Soon, bad things started happening. I had a motorcycle accident and got a fracture. I was on bed rest for a week. Even then, it didn’t strike me that I was flirting with danger. The stupid, naïve me still wanted Dadi to console me. So, that night, I said the mantra once again.”
“And?”
“And she came. Only, it was not her! It was a huge, black shadow. I was so shocked even in my dream. Whatever it was, it was not Dadi, even though it was wearing her clothes. Jay sir, it was a demon.”
Jay did not react.
“Then I could hear Dadi’s chants even in the daytime. Her soft mumbling of prayers. Her footsteps. But it was not her. Now I knew. It was a demon. I had called a demon. And the demon had taken the form of my dear Dadi.”
“That must have really scared you…”
“Yes, sir, and then it made me guilty. I felt I had done something very wrong. I wanted to talk to Divya about it. My girlfriend. But she would have only laughed. I went to meet the tantrik again, but he had left the city. Everything continued to go wrong. I became sick again. My friends stopped talking to me. Even Divya…Divya…she broke up with me.”
“Why did she break up with you?”
“She said I had become too weird…”
“Well, Nishant, you have really had a bad time. I feel sorry for what’s happening in your life. And you are so young too. It’s difficult to cope with these things. But tell me – when you called me, you said you wanted to call your dead grandmother. Why would you want to do that again?”
“Because I am sure something went wrong the first time, sir. The tantrik fooled me. You see how I look now? This wasn’t how I was a year ago. I was healthy and very fit. This demon is sucking the life out of me. I want to call my grandmother again. Only she will be able to drive away the demon. I am sure of it. But I want to do it right now. That’s why I have come to you, Jay sir. I want you to use your powers to bring my grandmother back to me. And this time, we’ll do it the right way.”
Excerpted with permission from The Haunted Doorway: Stories of a Paranormal Investigator, Jay Alani and Neil D’Silva, HarperCollins India.
