As I reminisce the decades passed by, memories re-capture the era when we youngsters in our teens and pre-teens at Azhagappapuram would listen intently to ghost stories narrated by our grand and great grandmothers. We used to sit around them in the pial or porch of our houses after dinner in moonlit nights for them to relate such stories. It was a popular pastime for both the raconteurs and the listeners. Young kids were dissuaded from listening to such fables lest they would have horrifying dreams and scream at night. The narrations used to be captivating and prompted us to believe in the existence of devils and evil spirits.

In those days - around 40 years ago - young men shuttled between Azhagai and Kottaram on various businesses, more often riding bicycles. I had heard of incidents where our men had dangerous encounters at night with invisible beings, and taken ill soon afterwards. Some even reportedly passed away after running high fever or suffering hemorrhage. Sometimes even heart attacks were attributed to horrific demonic acts. But all the same, the vivid recollections of such ghastly events by many lent credence to the tales we heard.

At this point of time, on a summer evening, I was off to Kottaram riding a bicycle to watch a movie – Navaratiri -- at the Ponnu Talkies. The show began at 7.30. Because of intermittent power cuts, patrons could not enjoy the film. The audience would fix their eyes on the aperture of the projection room when power was out, and when supply restored, would turn their eyes back to the screen. This kept happening alternately. The guys vending roasted peanuts and boiled chickpeas in slender conical paper containers did brisk business. The show at last ended at the stroke of midnight. After having a light refreshment at a Kottaram junction eatery, I started riding back home. It was past midnight and the moonlight had faded a bit. The vision of the track was just about enough to steer the bike. A cat running across my way bore ill, I surmised.

It was a typical night filled with sounds of nature’s wonderful creatures – the croaking of frogs, hissing of snakes, rustling of leaves, howling of jackals, braying of a donkey afar, and so on. As the road led on to the thicket, I realized that I was the lone soul in that area traversing in the dead of night - a thought unnerved me. I whistled in the semi-darkness attempting to dispel the fear that had filled me. In a while I felt fine, briefly though. Anxious to quickly pass through the supposedly perilous abodes of certain ancient deities and idols along the track unscathed, I rode on furiously. My vehicle was virtually flying.

As I approached the curve of the canal that flows down through Pottalkulam’s southern edge, I felt as though someone had just climbed on and sat in the carrier of my bicycle. But when I looked back over my shoulder I saw none. The vehicle had instantly become an awesome overload. My pedaling had become laborious even though the track was plain, and there was no wind resistance. But how then the sudden heaviness and drag had occurred? I queried myself, trembling a bit. The arena was pitch dark with the massive pipal and banyan trees standing across the canal impeding the fading moonlight. There was a weird stillness. It then dawn on me that it was a bloodthirsty demon intending to squash me. I froze with fear and my heart skipped a beat or two. With my legs wobbling, pedaling almost ceased. I was pinned down. Navaratiri was about to become my last ratiri. Then, at that very moment, I remembered the virtue of being brave in dire circumstances, a value instilled in me by my teachers and mentors. Just as my bicycle was about to come to a halt, I impulsively shouted with the extreme power of my lungs, "Who are you, bloody…? Go away, or else…" I hurled a few more abuses at my tormenter. I had no idea how the phantom would react. To my utter relief, I now felt the extra weight and drag had eased. Perhaps, surprised by my sudden audacity, the devil got off the bike and vanished into oblivion.

I got down and put the cycle on stand. Bending, I picked up two hand-full of dirt from the dusty track and threw it toward the way I came, yelling "To hell with you, and never ever follow me." I rode back home well past midnight with some sense of triumph to a barrage of anxious queries from my mother. I assured her I would recapitulate the events of the night in the morning. I duly gave a narration her. She and my neighbors felt that I had had a providential escape. They cautioned me not to land in such deadly situations in future.

Later, as I tried to rationalize this episode, I couldn’t come to a firm conclusion as to what exactly was it that scared me with its ominous intent by being invisible and intimidating. Was it really a demon bent upon causing me extreme fear and then death vomiting blood, or I simply had a bout of delusion caused by the eerie circumstances and prior knowledge of precedents? Though I don’t have an answer even today, what saved my life on that day, I believe, was my remembering at the nick of time the merit of mental fortitude instilled in me by my mentors.

(J. Vensuslaus)