A Smell Of Sandalwood

From: Chris Krishnan (crkrishnan@ntlworld.com)
Story type: Ghost
Location: Kerala, India
Source: Form Submission

A Smell Of Sandalwood By C R Krishnan

The house has been lying vacant for the last 10 years. The last people to live there, my uncle and his wife, who were childless have died. Now, since most of us either living abroad or far away from that remote village cannot be expected to look after it or live there. So the place has to be sold off. That was the general consensus of all concerned that had any interest in the house and the coconut groves and the paddy fields surrounding it. The decision was made. Find a buyer.

The responsibility to do this? Well, you have guessed it, Mois. "Gopi will do it as he can get along with any people anywhere anytime". Flattery got to me, it always does. Ask my wife, she'll tell you. I am going to do it. The fact that I am living 7000 miles away has nothing to do with it. I am the right man, so say all of them. I packed my bag, said bye to my wife and son and just flew off to Kerala, India.

The flight landed at Cochi Airport some 60 miles away from the village where the house is. So it took another 5 hours to get there by car. The last mile has to be walked.The house, which is approached across paddy fields, is also surrounded by trees and beyond them is the sea. In the past 10 years the house was being looked after by a tenant farmer that has been with the family for years. He also tilled the land with the help of paid workers and generally kept an eye on the property. Cleaned it from time to time.

So I arrived exhausted and was taken to my room, which was one of the 5 rooms, three upstairs and two on the ground floor. The house was built some 100 years ago and is enormous. The farming community especially middle class people who owned coconut groves and paddy fields had big houses and annexes, places to dry the rice and husk them and processing the coconuts before selling them. The next day the agent who will arrange the sale will come to see me.

The house has no electricity as it was disconnected long time ago. It was getting dark and a hurricane lamp was brought in, which one carried about like a torch. The caretaker's wife had cooked something for me and this was brought into the house and with Raman, the caretaker looking on, I ate the very spicy hot food greedily. Sleeping time. I tell Raman unashamedly that I can't sleep in this house alone. He says he only has a one-room hut where he sleeps with his wife and three children. So I am now in deep sh*t. So I ask him could he kindly stay the night and he agrees as he knows that he is definitely going to be rewarded for this great favour and these people from foreign places paid quite a lot. So he gets out a grass mat and puts it down on the floor in the lounge.

My bedroom is upstairs and I have to pass two other bedrooms, which are locked up. There are some pigeons on the loft, which are making a lot of noise, and I also am suddenly aware of the continuous noises made by tropical insects. After a few days usually one got used to it. I don't have days, only tonight.

The house is surrounded by coconut; mango and jackfruit trees and some of them are huge. Most of the trees have bones of ancestors buried under them, as that was then the custom. You cremated the dead relatives and a few days after you picked some bones, which are always left after the burning, and you collected them in a jar and simply buried them. So each tree represented a dead relative.

It was all coming back to me now. You see, I have been away for 30 years and sometimes you forget these things. Raman accompanies me and opens the heavy door all inlaid with brass and some four inches thick. He says, keep the hurricane lamp but lower the wick so it doesn't shine so bright and he will find his own way downstairs and go to sleep on his mat. The hut is the only house near this great big house. The nearest neighbour is at least a mile away. Another farmer with another house like this one.

So I settle down on the bed which has been freshly made but since it is a hot day a grass mat has been put on it. Its an old four poster bed with a mosquito net which was white but now dark brown due to the age and of course it had not been washed for years. I am dog tired and I want to sleep. I lower the wick of the lamp and lay on top of the mat and I could hear pigeons and insects and the whole night is noisy. I toss and turn and get up and peep out of the window but its pitch black and I can hardly see the trees.

I suddenly remember that all these trees have my ancestors under them. I cannot sleep. I curse all the people who persuaded me to come to this house and I pray for the morning to come. I am a bit relieved to know that I have Raman downstairs so am not really alone.

Then I doze off. Knock! Knock! Knock! Gopi, Gopi! I call out, "Is that you Raman?" Silence. "Hallo, Raman?" I hear footsteps, receding. I open the heavy door with difficulty and look out. The room is facing a corridor, which covers the length of the other two bedrooms and ends at the staircase. I can't see in the dark. I call out again and go inside and get the hurricane lamp and put the wick up.

No one around, but I smell sandalwood. Well I could have dreamt that knock, couldn't I? No point in going down so I go back inside and close the door and try to sleep. I am sleeping and I am hearing the knock and some one whispering my name but convince myself that I am having a nightmare but the knocking is relentless. So I get up, open the door with my hurricane lamp and look to the right to the end of the corridor where the staircase begins. No one to be seen. I close the door behind me and walk towards the staircase and go down the stairs and I can still smell sandalwood. I go to the lounge and I see an empty mat. Raman is gone.

I look at my watch. And it is 3 a.m. I don't want to go up to my bedroom. So I wait. I am tired so I decide to sleep on the vacant mat. I try to get some sleep and as I am dozing I hear some footsteps approaching me and am relieved that Raman is back. But it is not Raman.

I don't see any one but I feel a presence just for a second or two but then its gone. Strong smell of sandalwood. Raman turns up at dawn and simply says, "Well Sir, I hope you had a good night sleep and my wife is bringing your tea." He also says that since one of his children was not well he couldn't really sleep here and so spent the night in his hut.

"But Raman, you knocked at my door?"

"No, Sir I didn't."

"But someone did Raman, I even heard footsteps."

"Well sir, I think it's the old man."

"Which old man, is there an old man staying in this house?"

"He used to sir, but not any more but keeps coming here. Whenever I stay here especially when I had some drinks and had an argument with my wife, he often kicks me awake before he goes to his room upstairs, which is the room you stayed last night."

"Sorry I don't understand you Raman."

"The old man, sir, your grandfather the one who bathed three times a day, always used sandalwood oil on his head after. I think he was here sir, today, as I can smell sandalwood."

"Raman, he died in 1970."

"Of course, he did sir!"