Baulia’s Haunting Echoes
The chilling tale of Nishanath and his family’s connection to the mysterious past of Baulia, a town shadowed by the lingering presence of Mallikajan. We share this story on the festive week of Bhoot Chaturdoshi.
Ghostly matters and such ‘tosh’ were quite beyond the interests of Mr. Nishanath Chaudhuri. He was a practical man, born and raised in the small yet bustling town of Baulia in Bihar, known for its limestone and mica industries that had thrived under his family’s stewardship for four generations. His great-great-grandfather, Nishikanto, had worked closely with Robert Jenkins, a British officer stationed at Lucknow Residency, responsible for surveying Bihar for profitable mineral deposits. The discovery of these deposits turned Baulia into a hub of industry, and Jenkins found a thriving enterprise and local ally in Nishikant.
The town, once a wild and untamed forest, soon became a centre of both wealth and society, eventually even earning a road, courtesy of Jenkins’ influence and his tidy commissions. Along with the riches, however, came all the social ills that trickled in along those same roads, reshaping the life of this once-secluded town.
Baulia’s rising affluence and Jenkins’ relationship with Mallika Jaan—a famed courtesan from the Lucknow kothas—were well-known. Between his business and Baulia’s monotony, she was a source of rare amusement, and Nishikant frequently accompanied Jenkins to Lucknow, where, amid mirth and music, the officer could let down his guard. Eventually, Mallika herself would come to Baulia, housed in a separate wing within Jenkins’ estate. She had a private entrance to the residence, a luxurious room, and a lavish bathing space built to suit her comforts.
This arrangement persisted until the day Jenkins announced he would be heading back to England. Distraught, Mallika begged him to stay; her tears and songs filled with sorrow. But with his English wife, Dorothy, now set to join him, Jenkins resolved to leave, promising to return. Jenkins did return—to a heartbroken Mallika. The arrival of Dorothy marked a chilling distance between them, as if the presence of this new lady had stolen away her place in Jenkins’ heart.
Shortly before Diwali, Mallika was found dead in her dressing room, her beloved anklets lying in a pool of dried blood, an unsolved mystery that Baulia’s townsfolk soon left to time.
Years later, Nishanath’s father, Nishipada, sought a bride with a musical gift for his son, perhaps as a tribute to the forgotten Mallikajaan. He found Surbala, a young woman with a voice as sweet as a lark, albeit darker in complexion, and Nishanath got married to Surbala. After many years, Jenkins’ old bungalow, now called “Chaudhuri Dham,” housed a new songstress. The house had since undergone many changes, yet Mallikajaan’s quarters stood unchanged, its haunting charm lingering over the household.
Not long after their marriage, Surbala noticed something strange: she wasn’t alone in the house when she sang. It was as if someone were there, her voice intertwining with another—a voice that would softly echo her tune, only to fade when she stopped. She first assumed it to be an acoustic quirk of the old house, but when she mentioned it to Nishanath, he brushed it aside, though a sense of unease lingered.
As COVID-19 struck, Nishanath’s passing left a hollow emptiness in Chaudhuri Dham. The house fell silent, and Surbala’s once-joyful heart was now shrouded in mourning. Eventually, her daughter Nisha persuaded her to sing again. Picking up her tanpura, she began to sing a Raag Malkauns, and soon, the faintest melody began to accompany her, a spectral female voice that gave her chills.
As she delved deeper into her music, the presence became more distinct. At intervals, she would hear the soft hum of a sarangi, strumming in tune with her melody. She realised she was part of a duet, a ghastly performance that carried on until she fell silent. In the night’s silence, a rustling sound crept from the terrace, a faint scuffling of footsteps across dry leaves. Summoning her courage, Surbala moved to the terrace, where an eerie, faded light cast shadows across the space.
And there, beneath the ancient mango tree, lay a pile of leaves, and beside it, the broom leaning ominously, as though it had only just been abandoned by some unseen hand.
In the moonlit dark, Nishanath, somewhere in the ether, saw Mallika Jaan once again. But time for such stories and confessions had passed. The winds moaned through the trees, carrying away the secrets, as Surbala turned back, quietly closing the door to Chaudhuri Dham, shutting in the haunting memories of a time gone by.
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