My name is Bonkudas Chandra, but people often call me Bonku da. I am the sole caretaker of this Diwan family’s manor. I have been living and working here since forever. My family has served the Diwans for three generations, starting in 1893 when this property was constructed. Mr Harshwardhan Diwan, the first owner of this property, was a very successful businessman. My grandfather often told me that, back in his days, the entire Diwan family lived here and hosted many social events to exert their influence in the neighbouring village. However, the successive generations had little interest in the family business; city life attracted them more, and they gradually moved there. Over time, the manor grew quieter. In the last few years, I would at times be the only one living here. Some people from the family used to visit the property once a month, but that had stopped too. I guess the silence and stillness of the manor and its surroundings were too overwhelming for the city folks. However, Patol, the eldest of the current generation, would visit the property twice a year, often unannounced.

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Given Patol’s visiting patterns, I had been expecting him for a while then. Eventually, after prolonged isolation, I heard a familiar clunking noise from the old Ambassador car that morning. Piercing through the dense fog, the car entered the compound and came to a halt next to the front gardens. I quickly wore my vest, which had the family emblem imprinted on it, unlocked the main door, and started preparing the morning tea with extra ginger, Patol liked an extra hit of ginger in his tea. As I looked through the kitchen window, I saw an old man accompanying Patol. I had never seen him before. The old man got out of the car, removed his black round hat and ran his eyes across the property. On spotting me through the window, he put on a faint smile. “Does he know me?” I asked myself. Patol escorted the old man through the main door into the large living room. From the faint murmurs I could distinctly overhear two words, “selling” and “manor”. I was not shocked. Over the last couple of years, Patol had been bringing newer faces along with him. I presumed them to be friends of the Diwans, but deep down, I knew something was not right. I knew that the family was running short on money and getting rid of this property would be a perfect way of fueling their lavish city lives. Maybe they had not found a suitable buyer yet. “In any case, I would probably be taken up by the next owners”, I reassured myself. I prepared a small buffet consisting of tea and some biscuits for the two in the drawing room. The Diwans always had their tea in the drawing room. As I was walking back to the kitchen, I ran into the old man in the corridor. Startled, he looked at me through his round glasses and hollow eyes. There was something odd about him that I cannot put together in words. He put on the same faint smile and looked at me as if he knew me from before. “Pardon me, sir”, I excused myself and went back to the kitchen to get more biscuits. To my disappointment, they probably decided to skip tea. Instead, Patol took the old man on a tour of the manor. In a while, the fog had dissipated, and the two sat on the bench on the front porch. Since the kitchen was close by, I could eavesdrop on them.

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“So, what do you think, Ratan babu?” Patol asked the old man.

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“Patol, I will not lie to you, it will not be an easy job. I will have to put in a lot of work into this”, said the old man as he drew a deep breath.

 

“Please, just do whatever it takes. We are really desperate to get out of this situation as soon as possible”, replied Patol.

 

In the kitchen, I was busy putting the tableware back into the shelves. Distracted by the conversation, a plate slipped out of my hand and shattered on the floor, making a loud noise. “I am getting too old for multi-tasking”, I quipped to myself. The noise was followed by a minute-long silence. I could sense the two looking in the direction of the kitchen.

 

“I will do the best I can. After all, I had promised your father to help the family”, said the old man reassuringly.

 

After a brief tour of the gardens, Patol rolled out the car, opened the door for the old man, and they drove away. I went about my daily chores around the manor.

 

By evening, the rain gods had announced themselves. One could barely see the main gate from the front windows because of the pouring rain. Thankfully, I had finished the gardening work in the afternoon. Since the two had not returned yet, I decided to have an early dinner and went into my quarters earlier than usual. I do not recall when I slept, but I was woken up around 2 AM by an unsettling periodic sound from the main living room. Hesitantly, I got out of my bed and walked through the corridors to the living room. Approaching the room, I could hear faint hymns and thuds. Slowly opening the door, I peeped into the room. To my surprise, there were about ten people in the room, including the old man and Patol. I had not seen so many people in the manor in a long time. Everyone was dressed in shades of white, and the room was dimly lit with only candles. In the center of the room was a circle of candles, with my vest in the middle of it. Seeing me open the door, their hymns intensified. “We summon the spirit of Bonku da”, yelled the old man, looking at me, this time without the faint smile.