The Haunted Tool Shed of English Bungalow

Ziauddin Choudhury

One of the indelible images of my childhood town of Narayanganj that I still carry in my mind is that of a
picturesque bungalow sitting on the edge of the river Sitalakkhya. The bungalow was popularly known
as English Bungalow because the owner of the Bungalow was a British company that ran a Steamer
Service in India in the colonial period. After partition of India, the Bungalow was purchased by a local
business man who rented it to a government department. Part of the bungalow served as office for the
staff who worked for the department, and the rest was used as the residential quarters of the
department head. My father also worked for the same office, but we lived in an apartment complex
adjacent to the bungalow.

There was a long brick graveled driveway lined with Gulmohar (or Krishnachura) trees that led to the
colonial bungalow with a huge porch. The bungalow occupied a very spacious area with sprawling
lawns, vegetable gardens, fruit trees , and a huge back yard from where one could see the steamers and
boats that plied over the river Shitalakhya flowing nearby. The back yard was equally beautiful with
large lawns shaded by Krishnachura Trees. A short pathway connected the premises to a jetty on the
river. A large verandah in the back provided an ample space for sitting out, and watch the idyllic scene
of greenery and bustling river life that still conjures in my mind a worry free, laid back life of those days.

Among the menials who served in the Bungalow there was one Buddha Prasad-- a sweeper. He also
worked for us part time. Buddha Prasad, called Buddhu by all (I do not know why, as the word literally
means a fool) lived in the servants quarters of our neighbor’s bungalow with his family consisting of his
wife, two children, and a brother who worked the gardens of our neighbor.

The servant quarters were located near the entrance, but the one occupied by Buddhu was in an
extreme corner of the premises, and it had an entrance from the street outside, which was separated by
a thicket fence. Buddhu spent most of his time cleaning many rooms and spacious verandahs of the
large bungalow, including of course the bathrooms. He also supplemented his income by working part
time for some other houses including ours. His brother, Bhiku Prasad, who worked as a gardener lived
in an adjacent tool shed. He was single, a man of few words, and he always appeared as a wreck to me.
He worked silently wearing a large turban, too big for his head, to protect himself from the sun. I
remember once I had pulled as a prank the turban from his head when he was bending down to pull out
weeds revealing his bald head. He was so furious that he almost attacked me with his weeder. I never
bothered him after that.

As children, I and my younger brothers spent much of our time in the neighbor’s house playing with
three children of the other family in the spacious lawns. The games we played were mainly Golla Chhut
and Kana Macchi (blind man’s bluff), and later Cricket, when we were somewhat more grown up. Since
our number was small we wanted to augment our playing team with others. We had very few children
of our age in the immediate neighborhood. A good solution to our problem came from the two Prasad
children— Guru Prasad and Ram Prasad. Association with a sweeper’s children was not something that
most parents our time would approve of; but our parents never indulged that thought. They were glad
that we had a team of players all within the safe perimeters of our houses.

However, it was not always easy to get hold of Guru Prasad and Ram Prasad as both the boys were often
called upon by their father to provide support to his chores. We would plead with Buddhu (and our
neighbor’s daughter who was a year younger than me was very good in this) to let his sons play with us,
which he would allow on condition that the boys do their appointed chores after the games.

Things were going along mighty happily in the nice old bungalow of Tanbazar when disaster struck in the
Buddhu family like lightning. Bhiku Prasad was found strangled in the tool shed one morning with his
tongue hanging out. Everybody in the bungalow including us from the neighboring building were drawn
to the tool shed with howls and laments from Buddhu and his family. I still remember as a child the
horrid image of Bhiku with eyes bulging from his bald head, a tongue sticking out like a long strap of
leather, and a rope round his neck. What was also curious as father and uncle (our neighbor) observed
that there were several holes in the tool shed that appeared to have been freshly dug.

The story that transpired from the laments and wails of Buddhu that Bhiku was in the habit of imbibing
country liquor several times a week at a daru shop (liquor shop) in Nitaiganj patronized by fellow
Deswalis (they were all from Bihar). In addition to this habit, Bhiku also indulged in gambling that was
part of the recreation offered in the liquor shop. (I had heard other servants gossip that Bhiku had made
a lot of money from gambling.) He would go and come back on his own, and normally no one in the
servant quarters took notice of his coming and going since he used the side entrance. Bhiku was always
at the garden early in the morning no matter what time he returned to his den. This morning when he
was missing from the garden Buddhu came to the tool shed and discovered his body.

Police came later and after post mortem, they established that Bhiku Prasad was actually murdered,
although there was no apparent reason for the murder. The dug out holes did not reveal any clue, as
they were all empty. A very sad Buddhu later on cremated his brother in the local Cremation ground,
and the tool shed was closed as a residence.

This would have been a normal story of a sordid death had this ended here. More strange things were
to happen.

A few days after this terrible death, we all wanted to resume our normal playing activities. When we
asked Buddhu if his sons could join he replied rather grimly that his children were rather busy with
chores. To our surprise however, we noticed through a crack in the door of his den that both Guru and
Ramu were inside doing nothing. We did not make any fuss and came away to play among ourselves.

Two days later I saw Guru Prasad sweeping the front porch, a job normally performed by his father. I
went near him and asked if everything was alright. He stopped working, and took me to one corner of
the porch so that no one could see us. He whispered to me, “We have ghosts in the house”. I thought
he was joking, and laughed. But Guru Prasad was serious. He said in a desperate voice, “Look, we all in
the house are panicky.” “That is why father is so grim, and would not allow us to play”, he added.
Finding him this insistent, I wanted to know from Guru Prasad where was this ghost, and how did he
know about this. Guru Prasad said he would come to our house later to tell me more.

I spent the afternoon in anxious wait for Guru Prasad who came pretty late, closer to evening, to our
apartment. He said he could not stay long, but in the half hour that he stayed he narrated to me a litany
of weird happenings in their tine shed after his uncle’s death or murder. He said they would hear noises
coming out of the tool shed at midnight, and sometimes shrieks of someone being in great pain or
agony. When his father went to enquire he saw nothing. This has continued night after night, and his
father was contemplating to leave his job. When I was looking at him with some disbelief Guru Prasad
suggested why I did not check it out myself. I found this to be a daunting suggestion, but nevertheless
accepted it on condition that Guru Prasad accompanies me to the tool shed next evening.

Next evening I asked leave of my parents to visit the bungalow on the pretext of getting some books,
hoping that I would quell my curiosity at the tool shed within an hour.

I approached the tool shed surreptitiously avoiding the roving eyes of the servants in the front. Guru
Prasad was there silhouetted against the fading lamp post outside waiting for me. When I approached
he whispered to my ears that I could not wait outside since someone could see me. He took my hand
and we both entered the tool shed, with my heart pounding somewhat. It was starkly dark inside with
nary a flicker of light. In addition a foul odor hit my nose, which Guru Prasad explained, was emanating
from an odd assortment of organic fertilizers stored there. In the darkness, to which we were becoming
a little accustomed, Guru Prasad found a bench and we sat there. As I sat there I had no idea how long
we would have to wait for the nocturnal happenings as claimed by Guru Prasad. As minutes passed by
and nothing was happening, Guru Prasad said he had a sudden need to relieve himself, and so saying left
me in the tool shed all by myself.

I expected Guru Prasad to return in a short time, but he did not. I waited and waited fighting my anxiety
and the pesky mosquitoes that constantly hovered around me. I do not recall how many minutes had
gone by, but at one time when I was contemplating to give up the mission, I heard a noise in the back.
The tool shed had two doors, one large through which we had entered, and another small in the back,
which was used by the Gardener for quick access to tools and other garden materials. I heard the door
in the back creak, and I felt as though someone had entered the shed. I looked back, and saw in the dim
light that had penetrated through the open door a fully emaciated human form standing there with
tongue stuck out and eyes bulging. It was the same image that I had seen of Bhiku Prasad after he had
died. The horrific sight made my heart leap to my throat, and I wanted to let out a shriek, but I could
not. I found I had lost my tongue.

As I held on to the bench and was contemplating if I should run out, I heard the apparition speak in a
groaning voice. It was unmistakably the voice of Bhiku Prasad. “They killed me for my money”, he
seemed to say and then advanced toward me. This action of the apparition spurred me on and suddenly
I found strength to run out of the shed. I bolted out and ran toward the river expecting to shed the
specter. I did not want to enter the bungalow for fear that I would have to explain myself to our
neighbor that odd hour, so I went toward the jetty. Before I reached the jetty I stopped under the
Krishnachura tree when to my horror I found the apparition standing right there before me with the
same bulging eyes and tongue hanging out. This time, however, the specter was pointing at something
under the tree saying, “it is under here, I fooled them, the money is here”, and started to dig out. I had
no time to watch this specter anymore, and I ran toward the jetty.

When I returned home pretty late at night I had a terrible time explaining to my parents my nightly
outing, specially the muddy shoes and shorts. I had a lame story of falling into a ditch etc. but I was let
off without any punishment. But Guru Prasad had some explaining to do, I promised to myself.

First thing I did next afternoon after school was to get hold of Guru Prasad, who I found was very
apologetic. He stated that immediately after he had left the tool shed and had gone to his den he found
his father who asked him to accompany him to the bungalow for some work. He was sorry he could not
come back. I then narrated to him the eerie happenings of the previous evening, which Guru Prasad
found incredible. When I told him about my second encounter with the specter under the Krishnachura
tree, and the hole that the specter was digging there, Guru Prasad seemed agitated. He suggested that
we go back to the back yard and see what was under the Krishnachura tree. We looked under the tree
and saw nothing. As we were about to leave I discovered under the tree a large hole partly covered by
leaves making the hole not too apparent at first sight. Guru Prasad immediately fell to his knees to
examine it. The hole was fresh, and it was deep; but there was nothing inside. So much for hidden
wealth! We returned rather disappointed.

A few major changes happened in the bungalow after that incident. Buddhu left his job with his family,
our neighbors left the bungalow for another house in the town, after a year or so. We also left the
neighborhood the following year. The bungalow was pulled down a few years later, and the huge space
was used by the new owners for commercial buildings. I had heard later that it was during the
construction of the buildings that workers dug out from under a tree a leather bag containing a large
amount of currency notes, none of which was of any use as these had become out of circulation. Poor
Bhiku Prasad had indeed buried his wealth for eternal safety!!

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