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Fictitious Fridays #1: The Legend of the Kasara Ghat

In Hindu culture, when a person dies, there a few rites including the funeral that are to be observed. If done in an improper or incomplete manner, the soul of the deceased person is damned to roam the land of the living, until someone from their family, completes the rites. This happens especially if the person had some burning desire that was left unachieved, and so the matter can be solved by completing that incomplete wish. But what if they have no descendants, or the rites remain incomplete? What happens to the forgotten souls? Well, they just don’t have any means to cross over into the realm of the dead. And more often than not, these souls mean no good, as they feel that if they weren’t able to achieve their life-goal, no one else should either. This story is about a couple such vengeful souls.

Sometime in the early 1950s, there was a man named Ramlal, living in Vihigaon, a rural area of Nasik, Maharashtra. India had just gained her independence in 1947, after 150 years of oppressive British rule, and was rendered a mere agrarian land. As such, Ramlal was a farmer with a decent amount of agricultural land, and a small herd of cattle. He had a relatively small family – widowed sister Janki, wife Sita, son Swaraj, and daughter Swarnim. Swaraj would often accompany him to the fields, lending him a helping hand, while Swarnim would help her mother in household chores. The kids, now in their teens, had received only primary education. Things were going fine and well, until that fateful day.

It was the month of July. Monsoon was in full swing. One day, just as the downpour stopped, a postman came to Ramlal’s home with a telegram. It was from his cousin, Vibhishan from Mokhavane. His aunt and Vibishan’s mother was dying from a prolonged illness, and wished to see her favorite nephew for one last time. The journey to Vibhishan’s place would be long, and possibly hazardous owing to the rain and the Kasara ghat he would have to cross, but one that Ramlal had to undertake, no matter what. “I’ll accompany you, father”, said Swaraj, and they prepared for the trip. They left early morning the next day on their bullock cart. They traveled till nightfall, only stopping for lunch in between. They had reached the start of Kasara ghat, and it would take at least a few hours to cross it. “Father, why don’t we stop for a while? The bulls must be dead tired”, Swaraj suggested to his father. “I know, son. Let’s move a bit further, there’s a place to stay”, Ramlal replied. So, they reached there.

The owner showed them their room, and escorted the bulls with the cart to the cowshed. “I’ll just relive myself and be right back. You start eating”, Ramlal told Swaraj, and went around to the back. See, back in those days, toilets weren’t much of a thing in India. Business was done in the open. So, Swaraj did as instructed, and began unpacking the food. Just as he was about to have the first bite of his dinner, he heard a loud, painful, and terrified cry. The owner of the place came running out, so did Swaraj. “It sounded like my father!” exclaimed Swaraj, rushing to the back, with the owner close behind. There was Ramlal, talking incoherently to a supposed entity in the air. He looked at his son, pointed at him, and said something in a language unknown to either Swaraj or the owner.

Then, Ramlal started running in circles, screaming his lungs out. The two onlookers ran towards him, in an attempt to stop him, but Ramlal just run further away, only to continue his rounds. “Sahab, stop! There’s a deep ravine up ahead!” yelled the owner. Ramlal stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and chuckled. Then, he started laughing. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more, like a madman. A few minutes passed by. Ramlal went silent, with a grim expression. He turned to face the side of the ravine, and dashed towards it with all the energy he could muster, only to end his sprint with a shriek and a jump into the abyss. “FATHER!” shouted Swaraj, as he ran towards the ravine, looking into the darkness, and collapsed onto the ground. The owner escorted him back, and later expressed his thought that Ramlal had probably hallucinated, due to the tiredness and stress.

The next morning, Swaraj left homewards, all alone. “Be careful”, the owner said, bidding his farewell. Upon reaching home, Swaraj recited the whole story. The whole family went into despair. They decided to perform the funerary rites in a few days’ time. Just the day before of the marked day, a neighbor informed Sita that while crossing Kasara ghat, he had come across Ramlal, who had told him that he was waiting for Swaraj to pick him up. The entire village began the rescue operation with renewed vigor but, it yielded no results. Still, the family continued the search, until they themselves died, in hope of reuniting with their bread-winner. Swaraj was the last to die, performing everyone’s funeral, except Ramlal’s. And when he did, there was no one left to perform his last rites as well.

Ever since, both the souls have made the Kasara ghat their home, terrorizing people. Locals strictly advise against crossing the valley at night. Those who fancy themselves brave have suffered from the consequences. There are people who have had paranormal experiences, including that of an old man in a white shirt and dhoti asking for a lift and then disappearing into thin air from the vehicle. People have received calls in the area in spite of having no network. Tyres have gone flat without any apparent reason. There have been wails heard. Windows of cars have been scratched. The father-son duo is now destined to roam the valley until the end of time, frightening travelers.