Horror of the Indian bhutes
STRANGE ENCOUNTERS By Al Ramsawack Monday, October 12 2015
“AYE! MAMOO, whey yuh doin dey? Is like you getting’ ready to go sell yuh lagoon rice in de La Brea Market tomorrow?†Pinching the rim of his old felt hat, Mamoo responded, “A! A! Boy Raj, is you Ah seein’? Wha’ yuh doin’ in Grants Trace here?†Raj walked into the yard; he replied, “Boy Mamoo, Ah just went up by Nanee to get some dahee (Indian yogurt) foh mih wife to drink.†For a while, they chatted about old times, after which, Raj continued, “Ah start back to sell mih ground provision; so when yuh goin’ to de La Brea Market in de mornin’, Ah want yuh to tek mih up wid some ah mih provision by mih shed at de end ah Sepee stretch.†Mamoo agreed and Raj departed.
That night, Mamoo retired to bed very early. It was deep into the night when Mamoo was awakened by a loud feminine voice, “Mamoo! Mamoo! Mamoo! Get up!†The man got up with a start. He pondered, “Ah wonder who callin’ mih dis hour ah de night?†He opened the window, in search, but there was no one to be seen. “But de place bright, bright; it must be day cleanin’ awready! Ah bettah go to de market one time.
Raj must be waitin’ by de shed foh me awready.†Hurriedly, he got ready, harnessed the donkey, hitched it to the cart and rode off to the market, carrying his two bags of paddy rice. He rode out of Grant’s Trace on to the Southern Main Road towards La Brea.
The Rousillac Village was asleep as he mounted the Pepper Sauce Hill towards the Boodoosingh Road junction, when he observed a white figure approaching the Main Road from the Boodoosingh Road.
His eyes were trained upon the strange, little woman in white. Her black, stringy hair ruffled about her face and held at the back by a frail, white orhni (veil); both her arms were cuddled to her breast as if embracing a baby.
The cart descended the gentle slope at the curve of the junction; where the woman and the cart were then in close proximity. Mamoo cleared his throat in readiness to offer her a lift on his cart, but suddenly, she vanished! Mamoo looked around in search of the mysterious woman.
He discovered, “Oh Gawd Oye! Dat is ah bhute!†(Indian ghost) Hastily, he togged madly at the reins.
“Gwan Donkey! Gwan!†he urged.
The animal, seemingly sensing danger, brayed loud and long as it galloped away.
In a moment, they entered a dark grove of trees and arching bamboos. Mamoo sighed with sweating forehead as he casted a fearful glance behind; he assured himself, “Bhutes and jumbies does ‘fraid matches and cigarette. Ah bettah light ah cigarette one time. Whoe Donkey! Whoe Donkey!†He halted the animal in order to light a cigarette in the shade of a huge matapal tree.
The moonlight streamed through the leafy spaces touching off mottles of moonlight on the road, and above, a silhouette of leaves and branches massed into a dark, eerie canopy.
The shrill hoot of a jumbie own issued from the canopy, “Koorkootooooo!†Mamoo’s muscles The shrill hoot of a jumbie own issued from the canopy, “Koorkootooooo!†Mamoo’s muscles tightened and suddenly, the branches and leaves were shaking vigorously above, in a whirlwind, which appeared localised in the branches of that matapal tree. The terrified man was glued onto his cart, cigarette between his lips, matches in hand with dilated, awe-stricken eyes fixed on the mysterious disturbance above.
In a moment, he heard a soft feminine laughter, and looking to the roadside bank, he saw the woman in white, sitting comfortably at the roots of that tree. Her ruffled hair partly covered her face and shoulders as she smiled from behind the orhni, which she held out before her. Gracefully, she pulled and caressed the veil across her neck, while pouting her lips invitingly at him. Still in the grips of fear, Mamoo could not resist the pleasure of her beauty and grace as he wondered if it were only a dream, but a new awakening dawned when her smile widened, as she parted her lips to unveil her long, white, menacing fangs; the horrid dentures flashed in the peeps of moonlight.
The man screamed in hysteria, “Gwan donkey! Gwan donkey!†At that moment, he discerned her to have been a well-known woman of the village, who had died during childbirth a few months before. It was said that her spirit remained in limbo; unable to be rested until her prescribed time of natural demise is met. The Churyle is regarded among the most feared of the Indian bhutes (spirits).
The already charged donkey hastily galloped through the dismal stretch of tall trees and bushy undergrowth.
Shortly, the cart arrived at the far end of the Sepee Stretch, at the approach of houses in Chinese Village.
The cart slowed at the little roadside shed in front of Raj’s house.
There was someone sitting on the rough vegetable counter, where Raj usually displays his garden produce for sale during daylight hours. As the cart approached, the man slid down from the counter.
On reaching the man, Mamoo pulled the cart to a stop; in a sigh of relief, he exclaimed in a quivering voice, “Oh Gawd boy Raj! Ah glad Ah meet yuh.†The man asked, “How yuh blowing and tremblin’ so man? Is like yuh see a bhute (spirit) or wat?†His statue was like that of Raj’s, who was possibly awaiting Mamoo’s arrival to take him to the La Brea market.
Mamoo asked, “Wha’ is de time dey boy Raj?†“De time is about half parse two,†replied the man, as he pulled out his pocket watch to confirm. Mamoo shouted, “Yuh crazy o’ wat! Ah tort dat is four o’clock in de mornin’!†and looking back with fearful eyes he continued, “Anyway boy Raj, Ah just bonks up de churyle ( an Indian ghost of a woman who died during childbirth) by de big matapal tree over de road by Seppie house. Oh Gawd! Boy Raj, she pretty, but she have long, long teet’ so!†Mamoo pointed out a measurement of about six-inches long.
The man stepped closer to Mamoo; he said, “Well, den, dem teet’ is about de same size like dese!†He parted his lips in a tight-faced grimace, creating endless pleats across his face.
A bright tongue of light flashed from his mouth to exhibit the most gruesome arrangement of teeth, with exaggerated fangs touching down to his chin.
“Oh Gawd Ah dead!†surrendered Mamoo in fright as he slump back on the bags of rice behind him.
He turned cold and limp. The terrified donkey galloped away in fear, non-stop to the La Brea market.
It was early morning; other vendors were arriving to set up their stalls for business.
Moments later, Mamoo revived to relate his nightmarish encounters with a vow; never to venture that route at nights again. From then, he sold his paddy rice from the Chinese shop gallery at the Grant’s Trace Junction.
