Anandorup Ghose
I have always been fascinated by stories of the supernatural – ghosts, spirits, rebirth – I am happy with any genre so long as I can get a tingle down my spine. I believe I lived in a haunted apartment for a few years in my late teens. I use the word “believe” because haunting is always a matter of interpretation. Me and my family were convinced after many incidents that it was haunted but there were always people who tried to logically justify every incident.
While there is no linkage between the two, the other thing I have always found fascinating is South Goa – more specifically the villages around Loutolim, Cortalim, Raia etc. Over the last few years I have enjoyed walking around these areas – as long as the local dogs haven’t taken an active interest in me.
Our friends in Goa very soon found out about my interest in the supernatural and drove me around a few haunted houses. The D’Mello House in Raia was one of the main attractions and my first visit there was a major disappointment when we reached around dusk one day and sat outside staring at the old house conjuring up images in our heads till we were jolted by the sight of a large group of people come sauntering out of the house talking loudly and munching wafers.
Some months ago, at the peak of monsoons this year, I happened to be in Goa again with a few friends and one evening, while watching the rain from a restaurant in Benaulim, we decided to go visit the haunted house that I had told them about. About ten of us in three cars set out around midnight for Raia and while one car lost its way and went back to the hotel, the rest of us found D’Mello House. It was the perfect setting – absolute silence, darkness broken only by thin shards of white light from nearby houses and pitter patter of rain. We parked the cars near the house and a few of us decided to brave it and go inside. For those who have seen the D’Mello House – it sits on the main road quite alone and while there are some houses a bit further down the road – there is nothing right next to it. The house faces open fields and the highway beyond. Like most deserted houses it is overrun by dense foliage and almost entirely covered in moss. There is something very pretty about the house but equally a strange feeling of not being welcome.
We entered the house wondering if we were being stupid more than being brave, particularly with the possibility of snakes etc., and walked upto the ground floor entrance with our phone torches for light. There were four of us – everyone speaking loudly and cracking jokes to cover up our fundamental nervousness. But I suspect none of us were genuinely very scared or spooked. It was the nervousness of the unknown but that was about it. After a few minutes walking around the ground floor of the house we turned around and came back. The group that had stayed outside told us that passing bikers had told them to call us out given the stories around the house.
I wasn’t happy as we drove back that night – the house sat there silent, dark, imposing and there was a story to the house – yet I felt nothing. I needed to come back.
One of our friends, I will call him K, was in the car that had lost its way and not reached the house. He is known to have the ability to sense spirits. The famous story that accompanies him is that while looking for a rental apartment in Mumbai he refused 28 houses till found one smelled right. The next night I was insistent that we go back to the house and this time I wanted K to come along.
We set out the next night around 2 am. There was a mild drizzle and we parked the cars a little bit ahead of the house. It was darker today and quieter. I stepped out of the car and immediately felt a difference in the air. The silence of the place was strong enough to silence us as well. Something didn’t feel right, and I must admit, scary.
I went up to K and semi jokingly asked him if he felt something. K looked at me with vacant eyes and said he felt this place had hundreds of unhappy people. We started walking towards the house in silence, the only sounds were of our footsteps on the wet road and the sounds of soft rain on the trees. As we stood in front of the house K again looked away from the house and towards the empty fields stretching in front to say that he could sense a lot of unhappy souls there. They meant us no harm, they were just there and they were unhappy because, in his words, something sad had suddenly happened to them.
I asked K if he would like to go into the house – it looked even more imposing and haunting today. K immediately agreed saying that he felt nothing wrong in the house – there would be no harm there. He went in to the house – and I reluctantly followed. There was no banter today – absolute silence except for the sounds of us moving the leaves and undergrowth as we walked to the porch. I was genuinely scared at this point – all my confidence and desire to see what was inside was gone. I desperately just wanted to get back into the car. And I didn’t know what was making me feel that way. I feebly warned K that we might have snakes around. We considered that for some time and turned back.
We were back on the road again and as we stood there quietly K repeated looking out into the fields into the darkness and the faint lights of the highway far away that the house was probably not haunted but the fields were. We got into the cars and drove back in silence.
We came back to the hotel and K explained that while standing in front of the house he could see figures on the fields – the figures didn’t mean us any harm – they were just there and they were sad. But more than what K said, the few of us who were there a second time, could not place what had happened that night which we hadn’t felt the previous evening. Why that night, standing in front of the house all of us had lost our ability to speak, joke or even try to act brave.
There is no reason to believe in my experience – but just for you to know – across the road from the house and across the empty fields lies the Raia Cemetery. A cemetery that was known to have the graves of many unhappy souls who perished during the Spanish Flu of 1918. People who died when they weren’t expecting to – of an illness they didn’t understand.
(Anandorup Ghose is a career management consultant who is fascinated with Ghosts, Goa and Excel sheets - not necessarily in that order.)