The three-day trip to Badulla last week deserves a post of its own. If the excitement of the train ride wasn't enough, the haunted bungalow and all the tales heard within it is a spine-tingling thriller which is a tale in itself!
Well we got to ride in the engine room of the train, side by side with the engine driver which was an unforgettable experience. We got to ride through 14 tunnels and let me tell you, riding in the engine room, that is a whole different experience. The engine driver too was a cool fellow who had loads of stories to share, having worked in the railway for 30 odd years. Apparently he has seen 50 deaths during his tenure with him behind the wheel....err..the engine. Some lie in the track and walk away when the train gets near, having changed their minds. Some jump in unexpectedly and those are the ones who really do mean business when it comes to committing suicide.
We lodged at this old estate bungalow at Passara, a lovely colonial building of over 100 years old. The place was humongous and still preserved the old age charm, replete with grand colonial items (old fashioned furniture, clawed-footed bathtubs, chunky metal Shanks bathroom fittings and etc) with large airy rooms, long windows and your typical Appo (the Sri Lankan version of the head butler) in the white sarong, white shirt and the black belt. The bungalow had three living rooms which we were informed were the rooms where visitors were received according to their importance. Back in the colonial days, the lower officers were received in the small living room closest to the entrance, while the higher ranking officers were received in the slightly larger room next to the former mentioned. The governor and persons of similar stature were received in the much larger, innermost living room and we were told that in days of the past, members of English Royalty had graced that very location. It was almost like time travelling, the many tales that the appo had to tell once we got friendly with him, the setting itself creating a blissful hallucinatory effect on the mind.
And then there's the resident ghost/ghosts. Apparently in one of the rooms, a girl had been murdered once upon a time. So now she roams the bungalow during night and if a woman happens to sleep in the room that she had been murdered, she gets strangled whereas if a man happens to sleep there, he gets pulled off the bed. This is the estate superintendent's quarters and he happens to be a friend of my father and his wife and children too had experienced several inexplicable phenomena while staying there. His wife, the daughter of my father's best friend swears that one night she had been strangled in bed and that she felt a presence leaving her side as she woke. Her elder son, a boy of seven years swears that he saw a womanly figure passing in front of him and crawling under his father's desk. The children had woken up screaming on several occasions while the superintendent has not apparently seen anything. But while he was there, several people , good friends of his have stayed in the room and they each has experienced the ghost in different ways. (A girl had been strangled, two drunk men have sworn that there was a third person in the room with them, a Police DIG who has been there to investigate a murder case has been pulled off the bed, several people who had absolutely no idea about the story could not fall asleep in that room however much they had tried and etc) It was all very fascinating. Until the superintendent's 3 year old daughter said something that raised everybody's hairs.
This little girl who had initially been quite shy became very friendly with me later on. We were all sitting outside chattering nonsense about this and that when the little girl who had been sitting close to me chattering about her toys suddenly told me (mind that we were not discussing ghosts at this point and neither was she anywhere around when we were discussing ghosts) that "that woman" comes sometimes at night and she gets scared. I was wondering what woman she was talking about since the only woman in the household is her mother. Then I asked what she looked like and she told me "that dark woman with hair like yours who occasionally comes. Even aiyya is afraid of her" indicating her 7 year old brother. This managed to let a teeny bit of actual fear into everybody's blood.
The Appo too had the most interesting stories. At first he remained absolutely silent but once we got friendly, he became chatty. Having worked at the same bungalow for more than 40 years, he claims to not having slept a single night there without scattering a line of holy ash over the doorway and the window. He claims that spirits cannot cross these lines. The several times he had to sleep outside in the corridor (when superintendents' wives and children get creeped out, they request him to be at hand) he had felt someone step over him and walk away while when looking back, he had seen a dark shadow of a woman passing. Taking into account that the Appo is a dignified fellow who does not usually talk much, you do tend to believe him. He is faithful and loyal as told to us by my father's friend under whom Appo had served for many years.
The most hair raising incident happened when my father's old colleagues dropped in for dinner that day. Now my father used to work in Badulla for more than 3 years and he was given quarters at this charming old colonial bungalow as well located a little away from the Badulla town. He has lived there alone for more than 3 years with just the watcher guy and the cook for company (they had their quarters away from the house so practically my father lived in the house alone) and even I when visiting for holidays had stayed there for days all alone. One of the people who visited for dinner is the one who who holds my father's position now and he too has been given quarters at the same place. An incident that he reluctantly came up with (as he is not a believer in ghosts) is that one day as he walked in through the front door of the house, he felt something strange. Hair was raising at the back of his neck and as he looked to the side, a foreigner who was sitting on the sofa got up and walked away. Let me tell you, hearing that about a place where you used to stay alone, sleep alone is not fun at all.
And then I remembered everything. Although I haven't actually seen anything, I, a heavy sleeper, had always had difficulty sleeping at that place. I was never very comfortable at night and one night, while visitors were occupying my room which was larger, instead of staying in my parent's room as suggested, I asked for another smaller room (to which I was inexplicably drawn to) to be set up for myself as I was writing my final year thesis at the moment and needed a room for myself. This room had large windows, a whole row of windows in fact and I threw several blankets over them when the feeling of being watched became unbearable, thinking that the watcher may just be peeping in from outside. That room in particular was uncomfortable while I had never really felt at ease in any rooms that I had slept in at that house.
And then there's this tale about the white cobra that the caretaker keeps seeing creeping into the house that we often carelessly waved off. Oh well............
Planters' bungalows often have the most fascinating tales. Having been inhabited by many over the years and also owing to the dramatic lives that these planters had led anyways, these houses are bound to have some sentiments echoing within the walls anyway. Anyhow, I am sure that if I stayed there for at least a week, I would have collected enough material to write 2-3 novels as the number of ghost stories, first hand encounters with the supernatural and etc is stupendous. Come to think of it, I think I can pull off at least one novel out of all this!
Speaking of novels, mine is developing rather slowly. Tempted to leave that aside and start on a horror story but I just wouldn't know where to start! Oh well, lets see. "Scattered" sales are good surprisingly for a poetry collection and I am getting positive feedback and well as constructive criticism for which I am grateful. Most comments I get is that they would like to see another poetry collection soon. Let's see. Time to write is rare indeed!
Well we got to ride in the engine room of the train, side by side with the engine driver which was an unforgettable experience. We got to ride through 14 tunnels and let me tell you, riding in the engine room, that is a whole different experience. The engine driver too was a cool fellow who had loads of stories to share, having worked in the railway for 30 odd years. Apparently he has seen 50 deaths during his tenure with him behind the wheel....err..the engine. Some lie in the track and walk away when the train gets near, having changed their minds. Some jump in unexpectedly and those are the ones who really do mean business when it comes to committing suicide.
We lodged at this old estate bungalow at Passara, a lovely colonial building of over 100 years old. The place was humongous and still preserved the old age charm, replete with grand colonial items (old fashioned furniture, clawed-footed bathtubs, chunky metal Shanks bathroom fittings and etc) with large airy rooms, long windows and your typical Appo (the Sri Lankan version of the head butler) in the white sarong, white shirt and the black belt. The bungalow had three living rooms which we were informed were the rooms where visitors were received according to their importance. Back in the colonial days, the lower officers were received in the small living room closest to the entrance, while the higher ranking officers were received in the slightly larger room next to the former mentioned. The governor and persons of similar stature were received in the much larger, innermost living room and we were told that in days of the past, members of English Royalty had graced that very location. It was almost like time travelling, the many tales that the appo had to tell once we got friendly with him, the setting itself creating a blissful hallucinatory effect on the mind.
And then there's the resident ghost/ghosts. Apparently in one of the rooms, a girl had been murdered once upon a time. So now she roams the bungalow during night and if a woman happens to sleep in the room that she had been murdered, she gets strangled whereas if a man happens to sleep there, he gets pulled off the bed. This is the estate superintendent's quarters and he happens to be a friend of my father and his wife and children too had experienced several inexplicable phenomena while staying there. His wife, the daughter of my father's best friend swears that one night she had been strangled in bed and that she felt a presence leaving her side as she woke. Her elder son, a boy of seven years swears that he saw a womanly figure passing in front of him and crawling under his father's desk. The children had woken up screaming on several occasions while the superintendent has not apparently seen anything. But while he was there, several people , good friends of his have stayed in the room and they each has experienced the ghost in different ways. (A girl had been strangled, two drunk men have sworn that there was a third person in the room with them, a Police DIG who has been there to investigate a murder case has been pulled off the bed, several people who had absolutely no idea about the story could not fall asleep in that room however much they had tried and etc) It was all very fascinating. Until the superintendent's 3 year old daughter said something that raised everybody's hairs.
This little girl who had initially been quite shy became very friendly with me later on. We were all sitting outside chattering nonsense about this and that when the little girl who had been sitting close to me chattering about her toys suddenly told me (mind that we were not discussing ghosts at this point and neither was she anywhere around when we were discussing ghosts) that "that woman" comes sometimes at night and she gets scared. I was wondering what woman she was talking about since the only woman in the household is her mother. Then I asked what she looked like and she told me "that dark woman with hair like yours who occasionally comes. Even aiyya is afraid of her" indicating her 7 year old brother. This managed to let a teeny bit of actual fear into everybody's blood.
The Appo too had the most interesting stories. At first he remained absolutely silent but once we got friendly, he became chatty. Having worked at the same bungalow for more than 40 years, he claims to not having slept a single night there without scattering a line of holy ash over the doorway and the window. He claims that spirits cannot cross these lines. The several times he had to sleep outside in the corridor (when superintendents' wives and children get creeped out, they request him to be at hand) he had felt someone step over him and walk away while when looking back, he had seen a dark shadow of a woman passing. Taking into account that the Appo is a dignified fellow who does not usually talk much, you do tend to believe him. He is faithful and loyal as told to us by my father's friend under whom Appo had served for many years.
The most hair raising incident happened when my father's old colleagues dropped in for dinner that day. Now my father used to work in Badulla for more than 3 years and he was given quarters at this charming old colonial bungalow as well located a little away from the Badulla town. He has lived there alone for more than 3 years with just the watcher guy and the cook for company (they had their quarters away from the house so practically my father lived in the house alone) and even I when visiting for holidays had stayed there for days all alone. One of the people who visited for dinner is the one who who holds my father's position now and he too has been given quarters at the same place. An incident that he reluctantly came up with (as he is not a believer in ghosts) is that one day as he walked in through the front door of the house, he felt something strange. Hair was raising at the back of his neck and as he looked to the side, a foreigner who was sitting on the sofa got up and walked away. Let me tell you, hearing that about a place where you used to stay alone, sleep alone is not fun at all.
And then I remembered everything. Although I haven't actually seen anything, I, a heavy sleeper, had always had difficulty sleeping at that place. I was never very comfortable at night and one night, while visitors were occupying my room which was larger, instead of staying in my parent's room as suggested, I asked for another smaller room (to which I was inexplicably drawn to) to be set up for myself as I was writing my final year thesis at the moment and needed a room for myself. This room had large windows, a whole row of windows in fact and I threw several blankets over them when the feeling of being watched became unbearable, thinking that the watcher may just be peeping in from outside. That room in particular was uncomfortable while I had never really felt at ease in any rooms that I had slept in at that house.
And then there's this tale about the white cobra that the caretaker keeps seeing creeping into the house that we often carelessly waved off. Oh well............
Planters' bungalows often have the most fascinating tales. Having been inhabited by many over the years and also owing to the dramatic lives that these planters had led anyways, these houses are bound to have some sentiments echoing within the walls anyway. Anyhow, I am sure that if I stayed there for at least a week, I would have collected enough material to write 2-3 novels as the number of ghost stories, first hand encounters with the supernatural and etc is stupendous. Come to think of it, I think I can pull off at least one novel out of all this!
Speaking of novels, mine is developing rather slowly. Tempted to leave that aside and start on a horror story but I just wouldn't know where to start! Oh well, lets see. "Scattered" sales are good surprisingly for a poetry collection and I am getting positive feedback and well as constructive criticism for which I am grateful. Most comments I get is that they would like to see another poetry collection soon. Let's see. Time to write is rare indeed!
4 comments:
Hi,
What was the estate you stayed?
Its an estate called Dameria, up in Passara.
Interesting stuff. Is the bungalow available for rent, if so can you post the contact details?
Unfortunately, its not for rent. This is a bungalow that belongs to the Finlays group and the superintendent happens to be a family friend. That's how we got to stay there.
Fascinating tales these places have!
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