MALANAD MYSTERIES BASED ON REAL LIFE STORIES

HARIHAR PAI

Copyright © Harihar Pai All Rights Reserved. This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. While every effort has been made to avoid any mistake or omission, this publication is being sold on the condition and understanding that neither the author nor the publishers or printers would be liable in any manner to any person by reason of any mistake or omission in this publication or for any action taken or omitted to be taken or advice rendered or accepted on the basis of this work. For any defect in printing or binding the publishers will be liable only to replace the defective copy by another copy of this work then available. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Disclaimer: While the stories are based on real life events, the characters and their conversation are fictionalised. Linking them to any person either living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATED TO MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE,

SHAMBHAVI BHAT

PREFACE

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he Malnad region is a natural wonder that must be seen to be believed. It is distinguished by its warm and welcoming people and its magnificent natural beauty. Every town in this region has different stories. I’ve written a collection of seventeen such tales in this book, brimming with mystery, for your reading pleasure. I’ve had personal experience with these stories or heard them from other folks. The gods, the demigods, the rituals, the innocence, and the science all are part of the stories. People pass away, but the stories live on. I didn’t want these stories to perish with me, so I wrote them down. These are the one-of-a-kind stories about the place, the real people who lived there, and their narrations. To protect their privacy, I’ve changed the names of a select few people. Some of the tales remain shrouded in secrecy. It’s possible that you come from one of these regions, and some of these tales were passed down to you by

your ancestors. If you have any additional information, do write me back at [email protected]. Whenever feasible, I’ve tried to provide actual photos of the individuals and locations featured in the stories. Fourteen of these stories take place in the Malnad region. The remaining three stories are from Bangalore, Tuticorin, and Goa. Each one is more mysterious than the other. Enjoy reading.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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ithout the brilliant storytellers who transport us into an imaginative universe, there would have been no way for this book to come to fruition. These unsung heroes come from all walks of life, from small towns to big cities, and each one has a unique story to tell. A special thank you to all readers who will ensure that these stories are passed on to future generations. I have to express gratitude to my parents, Mr Nagesh Pai and Mrs Vinita Pai, who took me to many places and told me some of their stories. I owe a debt of gratitude to my wife, Shambhavi Bhat, for her love and unwavering support throughout the writing of this book. My special gratitude goes to my mentors, Nagendra Reddy and Babu Prasad, for their assistance and support. And to all Pai and Mahale family for their encouragement throughout the writing journey.

Special thanks to Sohini Mukhopadhyay and Pruthvi Kumar, who acted as beta readers and gave valuable suggestions. The acknowledgement would be incomplete without expressing gratitude to the editor, Phoenix Raig, who read my mind and incorporated it into the stories.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

AN AGELESS BEGGAR ....................................... 1 WHAT’S IN THE NAME ? .................................... 12 WRATH OF JATKA ............................................ 23 THE GHOST NECKLACE .................................... 35 RANI’S TERROR ................................................. 46 DINNER OF DEATH ............................................ 54 THE TICKING CLOCK ......................................... 63 THE SPECTRAL TORCHES ................................ 80 AMMA’S ENCOUNTER WITH THE WIFE OF BHEEMAPPA GANAPATI ................................. 89 SATURN IN THE 4TH HOUSE ............................. 98 WHEN I AM HERE, YOU SHOULD FEAR........... 107 A GOD LIVES WITHIN HIM ............................... 117 WAS IT LIKE THIS, SIR? .................................. 126 THE WITCH OF THE WELL ............................... 136

DHOOMI CHAAL, SIRSI.................................... 147 WAITING FOR THE OWNER ............................. 157 STORIES FROM NAGRAJ ................................ 165 POSTFACE....................................................... 175

1. AN AGELESS BEGGAR

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lad in shabby attire, he comes annually. Among his signature styles was an iron trunk in a green hue with “One Meal A Year” inscribed in white marker. A brown umbrella with a wooden handle that he carried over the ages was his only shelter at times. He could be anything—from a tourist to a peregrinator, a mystic to a beggar. He was an uninvited guest who came annually asking for a meal. The man had hypnotic eyes, grey in colour, one of which was mildly squinted. He looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties, predicated on how the grey heads recollect him. He limped marginally on the left side. People who come for alms won’t go on an empty stomach in India. So each house would offer him a meal. Many of the old citizens of Uttar Kannada recollect him to this day. His areas of operation were Ankola, Kumta, Honnavar, Shirali and Bhatkal. He had marked about a thousand houses in these places that he would visit, imploring for a meal. He ascertained that he would visit each house only once per year, which worked well for him as 1

people wouldn’t consider him a liability and offer him the best they could. Some equated his visit with a good omen - a designation that some special event was bound to transpire in their family during the week. My uncle, Mr C.H. Pai, visited our home in Bangalore one day. He had recently retired as AGM in SBI. During a conversation over a cup of tea, I elicited from him the topic of the said wandering man, the mystic. During his younger days, C.H. Pai was the president of the Youngsters Cricket Club of Honnavar. He brought the cricket of Honnavar into prominence when he invited the famous cricketers Gundappa Vishvanath and Sayyed Kirmani to Honnavar for a friendly match. Both of them, coincidently, were SBI employees. He recalled, “People from Honnavar and nearby villages had flocked to catch a glimpse of the cricketers. It was one of the few instances some famous personalities had landed up there. It was an incredible view, with a long line of spectators waiting to catch a glimpse of the celebrities. Honnavar Municipal Corporation worked overtime to prepare the ground. “They erected the wooden poles with a barbed wire fence around the playing ground to keep the crowd away. Police had a nightmare maintaining the public.

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“The crowd was far greater than what we saw during the Jatra festival. An estimate of about twenty thousand people had amassed. Despite the logistical nightmare for the police force, they were delighted to see such a jubilant crowd. The people of Honnavar proved to be good hosts. They arranged clean drinking water and lemon rice for the visitors.” “Then it should have been the talk of the town for many days?” I asked. “Indeed! Every household talked about the event until the mystery of the beggar overshadowed even this.”

(Artistic Impression Of The Cricket Match)

Now my curiosity piqued, “What did he do, uncle?”

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“Last time, I recollect, he ventured to our house during summer. Amma, your grandmother, was diligent in preparing pakoras in the kitchen. I was waiting for the pakoras to be fried, so I could apprehend some. Suddenly we heard a voice. “ ‘Amma... Can I get a meal today?’ he implored from outside. ‘I am getting a good aroma of pakoras, Amma...’ he murmured. It was an aberrant trick he used. “Amma always strived not to send anyone away with an empty stomach, and he was a known beggar. “ ‘Oh! You’re here, sit there, I’ll accommodate you in a minute’, verbally expressing this, she placed the banana leaf on the floor.”

(Artistic Impression Of The Beggar)

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Uncle further remembered, “We served him white rice, dal, pickles, carrot salads and pakoras. “ ‘Pakoras are delicious, Amma ...’ the beggar replied. “She talked to him as she chewed the betel leaf. It was what she loved—conversing with strangers. “ ‘When did you come to Honnavar?’ “ ‘Yesterday Amma, I travelled from Ankola. There has been heavy rainfall there; half of the roads are flooded. There was no transitory room available for me at the orphanage. I spent the awful night huddled under my umbrella in the pouring rain. Fortunately, I got a place to stay in Honnavar for three days.’ “He conventionally told stories of his struggle so that his hosts pitied him and offered him an extra Anna.” uncle recalled. “ ‘What’s your age?’ Amma asked, serving him an extra portion of the meal. “ ‘I cannot recall my exact age, but I’m approximately fifty. I was born the same year as the sighting of Halley’s comet.’” Uncle went on to say, “When he made the statement, Halley’s comet was last visually perceived 57 years ago. The beggar had lost the count after fifty. “Anyway, the conversation continued with something a bit more practical. Amma didn’t like lazy 5