PART 2
To read part 1, visit- https://nanditat6.wixsite.com/rosee-t/post/the-haunted-bell
After him having rechecked, the cook was absolutely sure of himself and concluded in a very matter-of-fact tone that obviously it must be ‘the Bhoot’ wanting entry into the bungalow. Shivers ran down my spine but I put on a dauntless demeanour and announced to the cook that these are make-believe stories and surely there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation to it and asked him to get back to his chores. About 5-7 minutes must have passed and I felt a great sense of relief on hearing my husband’s Yezdi motorcycle. I hugged him as tears welled up in my eyes and he was shocked to see me crying.
After I narrated the incident to him, we got busy with our evening ritual of drinks and dinner and the rest of the night passed by rather uneventfully. The next day, around 3.30 in the afternoon I heard a gentle knock on my bedroom door that gradually grew louder indicating an urgency. “Come in,” I said and the maid walked in perturbed and claiming the same as the cook had done the previous evening. This time I felt determined to get to the root of this problem, perhaps it was just the noon time that made me feel more courageous than the previous night. I walked out and started enquiring the ‘maalis’ who were weeding the grass as to who had dared to play such a prank. They all swore that they were not responsible for it and looked equally as concerned as me. The word spread like wildfire that there was a ghost in the bungalow and that too one who wishes to enter the bungalow after announcing their arrival by ringing the bell.
To my horror, the bungalow staff even had stories about someone having hung themselves in the very bungalow a long time back. I did not know how far these stories were true. When my husband returned that day, I clung to him and made him promise that he would send me to see my parents soon. I proceeded to update him about the incident and the stories I had heard.
Now he decided to check himself and as he pressed the main doorbell, the sweet musical sound of the bell went on. But I was not buying his assurance that there was nothing to fear if this happened again the next day. My husband, an engineer, went to the meter room and screwed open the bell box on the ‘garam-tanki kamra’ and found that there was a short-circuit due to the damp wall which caused the bell to go on on its own.
I was relieved to get a logical explanation and found comfort in the knowledge. How, though a short circuit can cause this, is something I am unable to understand to this day.