My new house stood on top of a hill. It had a clear view in front of the Singapore harbour. Behind, though, was a confusion of small trees and uncleared bushes that obstructed any view of the neighbour's place not far away. Ahmad, my chauffeur, had added to that confusion by planting some banana trees. To the right, just opposite my bedroom, was a plot of open space, thirty feet in breadth and bordered on one side by the edge of the scrub that I planned to turn into a playground. The first time I saw that ghost was one Thursday night. Perhaps it is true after all that the eve of the holy day of Islam is the night of the spirits. Anyway, there was a strange silence around my place. Even the insects that usually filled the night with din could not be heard. The moon, shining so bright earlier, had been shaded by the clouds, which left the atmosphere with a kind of haziness. I just had dinner and was lounging on a lazy chair in the verandah when I decided to get a novel from the bedroom to read.
As I got up, my attention was somehow drawn towards the open ground, and there I caught sight of an old woman, hunched and dressed in a white Malay blouse and batik sarong, emerging from the bushes. Her eyes were scanning the ground, as if she was looking for something she had lost. On her shoulder she carried a hoe. The moment I saw her, I told myself this woman cannot be anything but a ghost. She might look and act just like any old lady, but one thing, I was able to see through her, all the trees and bushes beyond as she passed by them. There was also an eerie, greenish glow around her when she emerged out of the shadow of the trees and into the hazy moonlight.
I stood still for a few moments as I watched her ambling around the open ground. oddly, I was not scared. At least, I thought I was not. I went back to my seat, and kept observing her. Minutes later, as lightning flashed in the sky far beyond, the old woman disappeared. I was unaware of it, but by the time I saw her vanish, cold sweat had drenched my forehead. And that night I could not sleep well, my mind somehow troubled by what I had seen. I saw the old woman again the following evening, at the same place, behaving in the same way. As a matter of fact, she appeared and acted in exactly the same manner three nights in a row, so much so that I came to expect her every night and would sit at the veranda for her to appear.
On the fourth day, I was taking a stroll in the open space when I spotted among the gravel there and old pinch beck ring. I picked it up and took it home. I did not know it then, but that ring was to figure in the frightening series of events that were to take place subsequently. I placed it on the desk in my study. That night, as usual. I waited in the verandah for the old woman to appear. But she did not. I kept a keen eye on the bushes below the trees lining the edge of the open space, where she had emerged every night for the past three nights, but she did not appear. finally, in disappointment, I went to my study to pick a book and sat on the sofa there to read. The room was lit by a single reading light. I sat with my back to the door. In front of me was a large mirror. I was deeply engrossed with the book when suddenly I felt my whole body shivering and the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I looked up, and in the mirror I saw the door behind me slowly swinging open. On it was a hand, an emaciated, thick veined hand, one that belongs to someone used to hard, manual labour. And in she came.
It was that old woman, that ghost. Bent, with her hoe on her shoulder, she tottered to a corner of the room. There, she halted, swung the hoe off her shoulder, and started scraping the floor, almost exactly as she had been doing on the ground the past three nights. That was my first encounter with her. She was very old, thin and haggard, and was dressed in that same worn out white Malay blouse she had always worn ever since I first saw her. The hoe she carried looked old and rusty, and had a baldly chipped cutting edge. But, knowing she was really a ghost, I could not help being terrified. In fact, I was benumbed, immobilized. I could not even find my voice when I tried to scream for Ahmad. I must have stayed stunned like that for more than a few minutes until, at last, I somehow managed to spring up and dash to the main light switches. I switched on all the lights in and outside the room. By then, however the old woman was gone.
It was then that I heard Ahmad calling out for me from the outside. 'Sir! Sir!' without waiting for my response, he rushed in, looking very disturbed. he was trembling all over and panting as he told me how he had just seen a ghost with a hoe walking along the veranda towards my bedroom. Apparently, that was the first time he ever saw her. 'Must be the ghost of that old woman I've heard about, Sir. She is always looking for something, something she'd lost,' said Ahmad in a trembling voice. 'You happen to know what it is?' I asked impatiently. 'No. No one seems to know, Sir. But it's something she was looking for just before she was killed,' Ahmad replied. And that was how I learnt from Ahmad the story of the old woman.
The old woman once lived in a shack that used to stand on this very site several years ago. When my house was to be built, the shack was to be pulled down and she was told to move out. She did, but one day, as construction work was about to begin, she came back and told the workers that she had lost something there. They let her look for it, but as she was searching, one of the trees they were cutting fell on her and killed her. No one had any idea what it was she was looking for. Construction work went on uneventfully until the house was completed. But many believed, said Ahmad, that whatever it was, that thing would bring luck. When I heard the story, I realized that the ring I had just found no lying on the desk in the study, must be what that old woman was looking for. That explained why she failed to appear outside tonight and instead came into my study to look for it!
The next morning, before leaving for the office, I examined the ring closely. Seeing how ordinary it was, I wondered how anyone could imagine it was lucky. I took it to my bedroom and kept it in a drawer there and, for the rest of the day. completely forgot about the matter, so occupied was I by my work. As usual after dinner that evening, I sat on the chair in the verandah waiting for the ghost to appear. I was to be disappointed yet again. Close to midnight, I finally gave up and went to bed, but somehow could not get any sleep. I kept thinking about the old woman and her ring. Casting an occasional glance at the drawer, I could imagine her coming, hunch and all, to open it and sift through its contents with her hoe. I could not help sympathizing with her, appearing every night in search of her lost possession, unfazed by her repeated failure to find it. Part of me was telling myself to put the ring back where I found it, among the gravel near the edge of the open space. But another part of me urged me not to be silly as how could it have something to do with the ghost's appearance?
Suddenly, I woke up. I had no idea when I fell asleep but I was suddenly awake, feeling weak and chilly all over. I turned over to the right, facing the drawer where the ring was, and was instantly seized by fear, the shivers running through my body. Through the mosquito net I saw the old woman standing beside the bed. This time I had a good look at her face, and what I saw was not just an old woman anymore. It was something out of the depths of Hell, horrible and malevolent. The eyes were filled with fury as the glared at me. Her left hand kept pointing at me as coming closer, she lifted the hoe off her shoulder and with a chilling scream sent it swinging at me. I never knew how I did it, but I sprang away just in time to avoid the blow. Screaming in fright, I made a dash for the door and ran out, and there I broke down and bawled like a baby.
Still in tears, I flicked all the switches to light the rooms, but not one of them turned on. I fled into the dining hall, locked the door, and turned around to face what was coming. Within moments, the door swung open with a terrific bang and floating in the air towards me was the ghost's head. I tried to flee, but I simply could not move a muscle. The horrible face came closer and closer till it almost touched me. And then I blacked out. When I came to, Ahmad was sponging me with a wet towel. He told me he had rushed inside upon he saw the ghost. He gathered enough courage to go to my help only when it had disappeared. Ahmad advised me to have the place exorcised. I agreed. At noon that day, we invited Pak Majid, a well known healer in the neighbourhood, to the house. Pak Majid was more than seventy years old. His hair, mustache and beard had turned completely grey. He sat on the floor with his legs tightly crossed as he listened to my story. I showed him the pinch beck ring I found, and he took it from my hand and studied it intently. He smiled and nodded repeatedly.
'Yes, yes, this is the one, this is it. It's been a long time...' he said to himself. his demeanor seemed rather odd to me, and his mutterings rather curious. 'This is the ring. The ting that will bring luck to its keeper. Whoever gets it will be rich, the healer stroked his beard thoughtfully before turning to address me. 'The ring has to be buried where it was found, at exactly the same spot, to let the Old One find it. And it make sure she does not come back to trouble you, all the necessary rites must be conducted when we bury it. but you can leave those things to me.' I was prepared to do anything Pak Majid told me, as long as that ghost never returned to terrify me. And so later, after prayers were chanted in a small ceremony, Pak Majid went out by himself to perform some mysterious rites in the open space, before burying the pinch beck ring at the spot where it was found.
Afterwards, Pak Majid told me, 'Tonight, the Old One will fine her ring and you will have no more trouble from her.' He collected his fee, five pieces of crisp ten dollar notes, and left. The story should have ended here, but it did not. Three days later, Pak Majid was found dead at home, with a ghastly wound on his neck. The moment I heard the news, I told myself, it's that ghost again. Somehow I could not help thinking his death must have had something to do with the old woman and that ring. I hastened to the house. it was daytime when I went there and sunshine lent brightness to the room where his body was discovered. Yet, the instant I stepped inside, I could feel a chill in the air and an inexplicable sense of dread spreading through me, leaving me shivering uncontrollably. I took a look around. Pak Majid's body lay stiff on the floor, having been left as it was after it was discovered. On the back of his neck was a long, gaping wound. Blood had formed a pool around him. Close by, on a table, lay a ring. I took a closer look. It was bent and badly damaged, but there was no mistaking it. It was the old woman's ring.
So, Pak Majid's death did have something to do with the ring after all. I could only guess how it happened, he must have decided to keep the ring instead of burying it like he said he would. He must have decided he could reap for himself the riches the ring supposedly promised. And the old woman must have come after him, to take back what was hers. My shivering was getting worse. In my eyes I was beginning to have visions of the old woman, coming, hunch and all, swinging her hoe, still seeking her ring. I put it back on the table, and hastened out of the place.
No comments:
Post a Comment