The Haunting of Devrukh Branch - True story

The Haunting of Devrukh Branch

By

Sharad Bailur

This is a true story.

I was the Head of Public Relations for the Bombay Circle of the State Bank of India between 1985 and 1991 when I retired from its service. In 1986, the Bank, in its wisdom, decided that a special team should undertake tours of branches throughout the States of Maharashtra and Goa to assess the level of customer service and to suggest improvements.

The people who were to be part of the team that would tour would be the Development Manager (Personal and Services Banking), the Development Manager (Systems and Information), the Manager (Planning) and the Public Relations Manager (yours truly). Much, if not all, of the touring had to be done by road, because branches in the villages were often not near any railhead. And even if they were, since it would most likely be a branch line with slow trains running, it was quicker to do it by car. This meant the venerable old Ambassador, a sturdy car that took the roads with panache even if it was not too comfortable.

The Development Manager for Personal and Services Banking was a Mr. P. Gupta, also known as Guptaji. He wore shaded glasses and combed, all the time, a head full of salt and pepper hair, slicked down with pomade. He was a good man, fond of old Hindi film music, a hobby I shared, and who firmly believed that he knew everything that there was to know; and what he did not know was not worth knowing. His self-importance was fed by the other three, including myself, for two reasons. One, he gave us immense pleasure merely by being asinine. Two, the rules of the State Bank were clear: juniors did not contradict or make fun of seniors. And Guptaji was the senior-most amongst us.

Mr Y. Apte was the Development Manager (Systems). A tall man with a receding forehead and a mouth full of plank-like teeth, he was the observant one. He had a Cheshire Cat smile and he kept just as quiet. Often the cat disappeared leaving behind just the smile. Mr. Apte's great quality was his knowledge of banking systems, outside of which he knew nothing. His greater quality was that he knew he did not know; hence the smile. And the silence. Mr. Apte believed in making the best of any situation. He would use the bath towels in his hotel room to clean his shoes, on the principle that the shoes never had that privilege in his own home.

Mr. R. Mangaonkar was easily the smartest of the lot. A brilliant banker, he was so quick on the uptake that he could sweep the lot of us off our feet when he had a mind to. When he got down to a session of drinking he could drink the lot of us under the table.

And then, of course, there was yours truly. The pip-squeak. The junior-most of them all and considered by them to be a pain in the neck because I always had a contrary opinion on every subject under the sun and there were many subjects discussed during those long journeys in the stately old Ambassador.

Guptaji would always insist on sitting on the left by the door. Mr. Apte would likewise sit to the right by the door and behind the driver. Mr. Mangaonkar, being a big man, took his seat by the driver in front. And I was invariably squashed between Guptaji and Mr. Apte.

Maharashtra is a big state. The journeys were long and tiring. On one of our many tours we were to go to Goa, always a pleasure, via two obscure branches in the hills south of Ratnagiri. One of them was Devrukh. And thereby hangs this tale.

Devrukh is a village set right in the midst of the jungles of the Western Ghats. Giant, brooding banyan trees block off the sunlight, and the road, even within the village, meanders amidst this heavy forest growth on both sides. Devrukh Branch of the State Bank of India is set right in the middle of what therefore appears to be tropical jungle. It is a two-story building with the branch on the ground floor and the branch manager's residence on the first. The building has a small yard in front in which the branch tries fitfully to grow some roses by the hedge but which its customers end up destroying with their bicycles parked all over the yard. At the back is a large lawn with a couple of trees. The whole area is surrounded by the hedge, on the other side of which are the inevitable trees, again, on all sides. The rear of the branch manager's home on the second floor is flush with the building wall. On the left side as you face the building is a staircase leading from the back of the ground floor to the veranda above, which surrounds the other three sides of his house.

Devrukh Branch is a treasury branch. This means that the ground floor sports a "strong room" in which are kept large amounts of cash, often running into millions of rupees. It also means that it is entitled to a 24-hour armed guard; the guards rotating eight-hour shifts.

The guards are, without exception, retired soldiers of the Army. The idea is that the armed guard should be someone who knows one end of a gun from the other. It is a different matter that all they carry is a twelve-bore double-barreled shotgun, and that the gun is never loaded. The instructions to the guards are very clear and precise. If they see an intruder who they believe is trying to make off with the bank's property they are first to challenge him — thrice. They then are to load just one cartridge into the gun, challenge the intruder a fourth time and only if he does not respond or gets belligerent are they to fire. The cartridge is not an LG or SG ball cartridge. It is always only a No. 6 or No. 4. These are used at pigeon shoots and cannot even kill a cat, but they make a big bang. Nevertheless, the deterrence seems to be sufficient. Devrukh has never suffered the indignity of a robbery.

Or is the deterrence elsewhere?

We were received by Mr. Suresh Kale the branch manager and his senior staff at the gate itself as we got out of the car. This was fairly usual. Since this was not a surprise audit, the branch had been told in advance when to expect us.

Mr. Kale then did something unusual.

He took us to an inner courtyard, at one end of which was a small altar. On the altar was the paraphernalia of a pooja, or Hindu religious service. Since Guptaji was the leader of our delegation he was told to break a ceremonial coconut at the altar and to go through the motions of doing a brief service. He did. Without question. We were asked to stand ranged behind him and genuflect after it was all over. We did. Without question. Then Mr. Kale led us to his office.

He was a cordial host and offered us tea and a wash before we got down to work. He then got down to the task of explaining to us the mysterious ceremony at the entrance.

He said he performed the ceremony himself each morning and so had all his predecessors.

"This branch is haunted," he said. "There is a thick file of complaints made to the Head Office about the ghost." He showed us the file.

It went back to the days when the branch was opened, some twenty years earlier. The ghost was apparently a poltergeist. He spilt ink all over the ledgers and papers, though never over currency. He banged open and shut the doors and windows. He decided to play football with the branch manager's clothes, which were ultimately found on the lawn, and baseball with his wife's pots and pans, which had made a hell of a racket. No harm was ever done to anyone. But it was enough to frighten the wits out of everybody in the brooding quiet of the jungle in which little Devrukh dwelt.

So one smart branch manager some nineteen years ago had decided to propitiate the ghost by performing a pooja or religious ceremony to stop him from getting playful. It worked. The banging and clanging stopped and all was peaceful.

The bank's rule is that branch managers are transferred from their postings every two or three years. So in the interval since then there had been many branch managers, each of whom had complained to the Head Office of the haunting of Devrukh Branch; hence the thick file at Head Office.

One of them, apparently a rationalist of sorts, had decided to defy convention and stopped the religious ceremony at the altar. The banging and the clanging resumed at once. When his wife threatened to run away, the rationalist decided that he wanted his wife more than he wanted the ghost. The ceremonies were re-started. A new twist was that the coconut broken the earlier day disappeared by next morning. This was taken to be a confirmation of the existence of the ghost, which now had started accepting the offering, and a sort of benediction from the ghost upon the branch. And all was peaceful again.

"If you don't believe me, ask Nalavade, the guard. He'll tell you what happened," said Kale. Nalavade was called for. He had gone home after his night duty and would be back only by about six that evening to resume duty with his gun.

We thereupon got down to the task of completing the branch inspection as quickly as we could. I could hear the excited murmurs of my three senior colleagues who were delightedly shivering in their shoes thinking about the ghost in the branch.

Somewhere around four that evening Nalavade, the guard had been traced and asked to come in early to talk to us. By then we had also completed the inspection and had sat down to some welcome tea and biscuits. He came in and stood in one corner. When prodded by his branch manager he told his story. It went as follows:

"I normally make a tour of the border hedge twice a night; once at 11 o'clock and then at 4 in the morning. I spend the interval on the upstairs veranda of the branch manager's house because I have a clear view of all four sides and I keep doing my rounds throughout the night. About a year ago, I noticed this strange light on the lawn at the rear. It moved from one end to the other and back again. It was a dim, and blurred," he added.

"Were you drunk? How do you mean blurred?" said Mangaonkar, promptly.

"No sir," said Nalavade virtuously. "I never drink on duty."

"Go on," said Mangaonkar.

"Well, when I saw this light I thought that there was someone on the lawn and shone my torchlight at the spot. It is a powerful torchlight. There was nothing there. Yet when I switched it off I could see this dim glow moving back and forth across the lawn."

"So what did you do?" asked Guptaji impatiently.

"I shone the torchlight a few more times with the same result, sir," said Nalavade.

"Then?" I asked.

Nalavade turned to me. "I decided to follow the rule book, sir," he said.

"Hmmm," said Apte.

"I challenged the light, sir. Thrice."

None of us spoke.

"There was no response. The light kept moving back and forth."

"So I decided to load my gun and fire. I did."

Nalavade wanted to savour the climax to the full. Kale was getting excited. "Go on. Tell them what happened next."

"I was lifted bodily and thrown down into the front courtyard, sir," said Nalavade.

That is the courtyard in which stand the bicycles of customers during the day between those sad-looking rose bushes.

There was a long silence from all of us. Guptaji looked at each of us in turn as if to say, "See how the mysterious world of the Almighty works!"

"Were you hurt?" asked Mangaonkar.

"No sir. The courtyard is not paved. I fell onto soft mud and bruised this elbow," said Nalavade, exhibiting his left elbow.

"Is there any pain now?" asked Guptaji.

"I am from the Army, sir. I recovered quickly. But sir," he added, "I have never been so frightened in my life."

"When was this?" I asked.

"Some months ago, sir," said Nalavade, and he was allowed to leave the office.

There was a look of quiet satisfaction in Kale's eyes. He had proved his point and thoroughly frightened us all.

I thought I saw a distant glimmer, but I was not sure. "Can you call the guard back?" I asked Kale.

"Why?"

"Just call him back. I have thought of something."

Someone was sent to fetch Nalavade again. He returned.

"Do you remember which month of the year this incident you just described occurred?" I asked.

"September last year, wasn't it, sir?" said Nalavade turning to Kale.

"Yes, It was in September, just about the middle. I remember the Ganesh Chaturthi festival was some ten days away."

"Do you follow the ritual fasting days of Sankashthi before the Chaturthi festival?" I asked Nalavade.

"No sir. There is no such thing in the Army," said Nalavade.

After the guard left, Guptaji took me aside. "What sort of silly questions did you ask?" he said.

I smiled and shook my head.

"You asked things which were totally irrelevant. What has the month in the year to do with the incident? Or whether he observed the fast of Sankashthi? How absolutely silly. He's obviously had a real experience, can't you see?" he asked.

I shook my head again.

That ended our association with the graphically descriptive Nalavade.

I went out to the car early and bagged the seat next to the driver. I knew the others would have plenty to talk about. Also, if Guptaji thought that I was annoyed with his ticking off, so much the better. I needed time to think, not talk. In half an hour, we were on our way, taking the long route via Belgaum to Goa, which we hoped to reach before midnight.

The conversation between the three behind me, led by Guptaji started almost the moment before the car had reached the highway out of Devrukh.

"There is a ghost in that branch, no doubt about it," said Guptaji with an air of finality that brooked no disagreement. He then spoilt it all by asking around, "Don't you agree?"

"Well, ten branch managers can't be wrong," said Mangaonkar.

"That file of correspondence was taken seriously by Head Office over the last twenty years," said Apte.

"This is not the only branch where we have had trouble like this. I remember, even the branch at Malshe had a similar problem when I was a branch manager there in 1978," said Mangaonkar.

"And that guard. He was actually thrown down from the first floor," said Guptaji.

The conversation eddied and flowed back and forth over the next three hours. And the three enjoyed themselves thoroughly giving each other measured doses of vicarious fright. We had decided we wouldn't be stopping off at Belgaum. The idea was to make quick time for Goa, and the sybaritic pleasures it offered.

When we left Devrukh branch it had been around five in the evening. The evening grew darker as the sun set and there was a hint of thunder in the air. Headlights of oncoming trucks and the red taillights of the ones we were following gradually became the only things we could see.

And then there was this glorious sight of a tree strung up in tiny points of lights as glow worms reveled in the damp night. The glimmer at the back of my mind suddenly flashed like a bolt of lightning. I had the answer to the haunting of Devrukh branch.

Meanwhile, the horripilated delight of my companions at the back continued to flow back and forth among them. Then, it suddenly dawned on Guptaji that something was amiss. The pip-squeak was not squeaking. Mr. Bailur was uncharacteristically quiet. Guptaji decided to have some fun at my expense.

"So, Bailur, what do you have to say about the ghost in Devrukh Branch?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"Why nothing? You always have an opinion to express on every subject."

I did not reply.

"Okay, Bailur. Sorry I was short with you in the branch. But you do realize that you were asking him silly questions? You might as well have asked him whether he suffered from constipation or whether his wife had given him a thermos full of coffee to carry with him on night duty," snorted Guptaji.

"Very valid and important questions. Now how did they not occur to me? Sir, you should have asked them."

"Aw shut up, Bailur. Now do we have the privilege of your professorial observations about this ghost or don't we?"

"You are not going to like my observations, sir."

"I never like your observations. You never agree with me. So that won't be anything new."

Apte's Cheshire cat smiled.

I took a deep breath.

"There is no ghost in Devrukh branch," I said.

The storm broke over my head at once. Between Guptaji and Mangaonkar there was a tussle about who should outshout whom in condemning my blasphemy.

"You are talking rubbish."

"Calm down, calm down."

"You should be posted at that branch."

"And then let us see whether you will continue with the religious service."

"If you give it up let us see what happens."

"How do you explain the lights on the lawn?"

"The guard was bodily lifted and flung down from the first floor veranda into the yard below, Bailur. Don't you see?"

"Who or what could have had the enormous strength to do that?"

"Why did the banging and clanging all come to a halt the moment the poojas were performed?"

"And why did they resume the moment it was stopped?"

"This Bailur. He has to have his own silly ideas," said Guptaji. "I am sure he will come out with some idiotic explanation about the weather and rheumatism or some such thing."

"He has to appear pseudo-scientific all the time. You think you know it all, don't you, Bailur?" said Mangaonkar.

"Not all. The ghost in Devrukh, yes," I said.

"I was wondering how this Bailur kept his mouth shut all this while. He has to keep yammering away all the time. Not like Apte here," said Guptaji.

"So, Bailur. What is your great scientific explanation?" asked Mangaonkar.

"Nothing scientific about it. Just common sense," I said.

"Are you suggesting something Bailur?" asked Guptaji dangerously.

"No sir," I said, "but it seems to me that you have missed out some things that are obvious."

"Such as?"

"Well. Do you remember the questions I asked Nalavade?"

"Yes. You and your stupid questions," said Guptaji.

"The first question I asked was, 'In which month did the incident occur?'"

"Yes, I remember," said Apte.

"The second question I asked was 'Do you observe the ritual fasting days of Sankashthi?'"

"Big deal. Get on with it," said Mangaonkar.

"The answer to the first question was — The middle of September last year."

"And the answer to the second was NO. So what?" said Guptaji.

"Well, it is the first week of September now. The air is damp. Did you notice?"

"See? I told you he will talk about the weather and rheumatism!" said Guptaji, triumphantly.

"It must have been damp then," I said.

"How do you know?" asked Apte in one of his rare interjections.

"Nalavade fell from the first floor. Do you agree?" I asked.

Both Mangaonkar and Apte nodded.

"And except for a bruised elbow he did not get hurt, because the ground was damp and soft from the rain according to Nalavade."

"What has that got to do with the ghost?" asked Guptaji.

A truck overtook us with a cacophony of hornblasts.

"So it was damp. Agreed?"

Guptaji nodded, more out of boredom than anything else.

"It gets pretty cold up here at night in the aftermath of the monsoon."

"Again the weather! This Bailur knows his BBC weather forecast like the back of his hand," said Guptaji.

"Let me tell you what I think happened," I said in a rush. "That evening was thundery and rain was in the air. It started getting dark rapidly after six when Nalavade came on duty. To keep out the cold he was wearing his regulation khaki army long-sleeved pullover. And he was carrying a bottle of the regulation army rum bought from the Canteen Stores Department at Rs 8 a bottle. Remember he is ex-Army and gets his liquor, as much as he can drink, at subsidised rates."

"But he said he didn't drink," objected Mangaonkar.

"What he said and what he did are two different things. Around 9 o'clock it started to rain. And the temperature dropped still further. Nalavade abandoned his march around the perimeter hedge and climbed up to his regular perch on the veranda of the branch manager's home. He sat there quietly smoking until the lights in the home went off and everyone went to sleep.

"By then it was getting on to ten thirty and the rain had stopped. But it was damp. And the chill increased. So Nalavade pulled out his bottle of rum and had a stiff pull. That felt good. He had another. Then he decided to make a tour of the three-sided veranda. He stood up, and turned around and looked towards the road. He then walked the ten steps up one side of the veranda and turned left. He then walked the length of the veranda across the house in front of the main door of the branch manager's home and turned left and walked down the right side of the veranda. He must have done this over fifteen times. He had been doing this earlier and he was used to doing it. The rum kept him going. And he felt quite warm and comfortable. The gun dangled from his left shoulder and the cartridge belt was across his chest and the torch dangled from his hip.

"As he walked he thought about the ghost. It had been held at bay by the magical properties of the pooja performed to propitiate it. Most people have nothing much to do in Devrukh. Devrukh does not even have Doordarshan.

As he approached the side veranda he saw a dim glow of a light on the lawn at the back of the branch. He at first thought it was his eyesight, and blinked and screwed up his eyes. No. The glow moved tantalizingly up and down the lawn. It didn't go away.

"He then pulled the torchlight from his hip and shone it on to the lawn. The torch beam was visible through the mist and lit up the spot on the lawn where the glow had been. Nothing.

"He switched the torchlight off. For two seconds, until his eyes got used to the dark, he saw nothing. And then he saw that the glow had become stronger and in fact bigger. And it appeared to rise and fall above the lawn. The first worm of fear crawled up Nalavade's spine. He backed away and shone his torchlight again. The glow disappeared. He shut off the torchlight. Two seconds later it came on again. This time brighter still. And it had grown still further and was moving from side to side.

"Nalavade backed away. And he shouted out his regulation challenge as he pulled a cartridge from his belt and tucked his torch into his waist belt. He pulled the gun off his shoulder as he shouted out his challenge again. He broke the breech open and stuffed the cartridge in and shouted his challenge a third time. The glowing light kept moving from side to side.

"He had to steady his aim. The rum had taken its toll. And the glowing light was moving. So he backed down still further till he found his behind resting against the railing on the veranda. He raised his gun, took aim and fired.

"Have any of you ever fired a twelve bore?" I asked.

All three shook their heads. I had until now kept strictly to the sequence of events as they had happened except for introducing the rum, which incidentally I felt was justified.

"The recoil of a twelve bore is like the kick of a mule. I have fired one and it nearly dislocated my shoulder," I said.

"The recoil of Nalavade's twelve bore hit him in his rum-sodden state. He wasn't prepared for it because he was concentrating on the ghost. And he toppled over and fell to the yard below."

"Rubbish," said Guptaji. "How do you explain the pots and pans?"

"And the branch manager's clothes on the lawn?" said Mangaonkar.

"And the fact that everything stopped the moment the ceremonies began?" said Apte, uncharacteristically long worded for a change.

"And the fact that there is no coconut left in the morning even today?" said Mangaonkar.

"Everybody from the Head Office for the last twenty years has been a fool, huh Bailur?" said Guptaji.

"And what was that about the Sankashthi?" asked Apte.

"Nalavade said that he did not follow the Sankashthi fast. It meant that he drank during the period the same way as he had done during the rest of the year," I said, adding," Had he been following the fast he would have abstained. That would have made things more difficult for my theory though it would still be perfectly likely."

"The problem with you Bailur, is that you think you know everything and everybody else is a fool," said Guptaji. "And what, my young friend was the light on the lawn which Nalavade saw?"

"A swarm of glow worms. This is the time of the year that they swarm. Didn't you see that tree lit up like it was Christmas about ten miles ago?" I asked.

There was a thoughtful silence.

"Sir. I have a suggestion."

"You and your fool suggestions."

"Why don't you recommend to the General Manager Mr. Misra, that I should be posted as Branch Manager in Devrukh? I will prove to you that there is nothing."

There was another thoughtful silence. A long silence.

"You are really willing to take it on?" asked Apte.

"Yes. I will not take it on as a dare. I am not brave. I expect I will be terrified. But of humans banging pots and pans. Not of ghosts. I will demonstrate to everybody that there is nothing in that building except us living beings."

"Tchah! First of all, you are too senior to come to Devrukh as Branch Manager. Second, much though I find you obnoxious, I don't want you to get killed by a ghost. And that's that. I don't want to discuss this idiotic subject any further," said Guptaji.

The lights of Hotel Mandovi, Panaji welcomed us at 11.30 pm. A couple of beers and a wash and I was ready for a quick dinner from room service. By 12.30 I was fast asleep.

The End

—Sharad Bailur, Mumbai, India