‘Delhi in January is cold’ – Shamsher Singh remarked looking at me shivering. A man with a fierce moustache and a turban big enough to keep a family of partridges warm,Shamsher and I were standing at Delhi Cantonment station waiting for a train. I wanted to tell him that these were shivers of excitement. Because we were not waiting for just any train.
I was about to embark on a 7-day tour of Rajasthan and Gujarat aboard the Royal Orient – a train that was made up of carriages that once belonged to the Royal Maharajas of Rajasthan and Gujarat during the pre-independence era. An era of excesses which included Maharajahs raising their own taxes, building magnificent palaces and of course, running lavishly appointed personal trains. After independence, the Maharajahs were brought down to terra firma when they lost their privy purses. The trains became financially unviable and were shunted away to various yards where they could rot in peace. However, some savvy spirit decided there was merit in sprucing up these carriages, string them all together and call it the Royal Orient – a train befitting modern czars, financial whiz kids, industry captains and the rest of their ilk.
We were making a documentary on iconic train journeys and it was just my incredible luck that I became a part of the team that was allotted to visually document the Royal Orient’s trip through Chittorgarh, Jaipur, Junagadh, Veraval, Sasan Gir, Diu, Palitana and Ahmedabad. We had our own carriage and our own personal butler, the man with the fierce moustache and oversized turban – Shamsher Singh.
The rest of the crew arrived at the station and Shamsher fussed around them. I observed him bowing before our director, Shuboda, a gracious ‘namaste’ for our anchor, a young ‘starlet’ Sneha, and warm greetings for Chauhan – the cameraman and Alex – the assistant everything. I couldn’t but help notice that a certain pecking order of deference was involved.
We got busy setting up the camera and equipment to capture the Royal Orient’s regal entry. And regal it was. A steam engine with huge gusts of steam billowing from the iron wheels emerged from the fog trailing carriages resplendent with royal emblems and motifs. Suddenly the station was galvanized into action. The Royal Orient staff in smart uniforms swirled around picking bags and herding passengers into their respective carriages. I almost felt like I was in a period film.
With a frisson of excitement, I quickly boarded our plush carriage - Jodhpur. Each carriage was a self-sufficient unit with four cabins (with monogrammed linen and painted frescoes adorning the walls), bathrooms, a pantry (Shamsher could make an omelette that could make a Michelin-star chef turn in his star) and a lounge with panoramic windows. Two dining cars and a well-stocked bar kept everybody happy.
As the Royal Orient made its steady progress to our first destination, Chittorgarh, yellow mustard fields, tiny hamlets with waving children and silvery rivers flashed past our eyes.
We fell into a happy routine. Explore and shoot during the day. And then come back to the
Royal Orient by hopping on to the assigned bus/car and one memorable instance, a bullock cart. We swept through the Hawa Mahal, clambered up the Amber Fort, got overwhelmed by the Uperkot Fort, stared in awe at the magnificent Somnath Temple, held our breath as we came within pouncing distance of the majestic Asiatic lions of Sasan Gir and experienced a slice of 16th century Portugal in the pretty coastal town, Diu.
Our happy routine however got derailed on the fifth day of our journey. We were on our way to Palitana, a major Jain pilgrimage centre located on top of a hill. The pilgrims have to clamber up over 3000 steps to reach the 863-temple complex. All of us were sitting in the lounge planning the next day’s shoot. Sneha, a strict jeans and tee girl, had gamely agreed to wear a sari for the shoot. We were debating whether she should wear the sari after we reach the top or should we hire a palanquin to carry her to the top, when Alex brought out the sari that Sneha is supposed to wear. Sneha became very agitated when she saw the sari and exclaimed - ‘It’s red in colour! I cannot wear it!’
Sneha’s relative inexperience coupled with a slight attitude problem had given Shubhoda some tense moments throughout the shoot. Even though he was known to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, Shubhoda was quite patient with Sneha, always coaxing and cajoling her to say her lines in a manner befitting the show. However, Sneha’s reaction towards the sari was the proverbial last straw. Shubhoda gave her a tongue-lashing that almost halted the Royal Orient in its tracks.
The most level-headed guy in the group, Chauhan, quietened Shubhoda. He
asked Sneha - ‘Any particular reason?’ Sneha whimpered – ‘My mother has told me never to wear red. Something bad happens when somebody in our family wears red’. From the corner of my eye,I could see Shubhoda turn a distinct shade of crimson. He burst out – ‘Sneha...you actually think I will compromise on my shoot because of your mother’s superstitions. I have had enough of this. Shoot starts at 7 sharp. I want you in the red sari by 6’. Sneha flounced out of the room. Chauhan asked – Shubho...maybe there’s a good reason why Sneha doesn’t want to wear red...come to think of it...in all these days...never once did she wear red.’ Shubhoda replied tersely – ‘ Don’t worry...we all know it’s just another tantrum.’
An early morning shoot means everybody has to wake up at the crack of dawn. I woke up to see a crimson hue suffuse the horizon. I stared at the countryside flashing by with bleary eyes while the rhythmic clickety-clack of the Royal Orient whispered seductively in my ears -‘sleep a little more...sleep a little more’. I remembered Shubhoda’s angry face from the previous evening. And it was as effective as a bucket of cold water. A brisk 15 minutes later, I was sitting in the lounge showered and ready for the day’s shoot. The rest of the team trooped in one by one. Shamsher got busy serving his esphesal chai, a concoction that made one feel ready for anything.
Shubhoda glanced at his watch and instructed Alex to check on Sneha, whose cabin was at the furthest corner of the carriage, just next to the pantry. A sudden cry made us all rush out to the passage. Alex was standing outside Sneha’s cabin and even from where we were standing; we could see that he was terrified.
We rushed to Sneha’s cabin. And found Sneha dressed up in the red sari. A bit puzzled, we all looked at Alex who was still staring at her with a transfixed look. Sneha was supposed to wear a red sari. Which she did. What was there to get so terrified about?
And then Sneha spoke. And it made our blood run cold. Because it wasn’t the voice of a twenty something woman. It was the quavering voice of an old woman who was speaking in a language which we have never heard before.
Alex spoke in quick bursts. ‘I asked her whether she was ready...she scowled at me...and then said something in an angry voice...I think she has cursed me...Chauhan...do something.’
Chauhan calmly stepped inside the cabin. Sneha whipped her head up, pointed her finger at him and muttered something harsh. Alex whimpered – ‘Look she’s cursing him also.’
Chauhan stepped back into the corridor. He said – ‘I think I understood a word or two.
It’s a very old Jaipuri dialect. Let’s call her mother. Sneha said she’s been asked not to wear red. I think her mother would definitely know why.’
A worried Shubhoda immediately called up the Bombay office and got the contact details of Sneha’s mother. He called her up and handed the phone to Chauhan.
I had met Sneha’s mother during the auditions. A quiet lady with a dignified air, she had stood silently in one corner of the studio as Sneha read out a piece. I hoped that she definitely had the answer to Sneha’s condition.
Chauhan finished his chat with Sneha’s mother. He said – ‘We need to make Sneha sleep. And get her out of the red sari.'
He paused, as if a bit unsure of what he’s going to say next. He cleared his throat and continued – ‘That voice that you hear is apparently Sneha’s great-great-grandmother. She has been terrorising various generations of Sneha’s family. Anybody who wears red gets possessed by her spirit.’ Chauhan paused and added – ‘She was killed in a family dispute by her husband’s brother. And she was wearing a red sari that day. That’s why, nobody in their family wears red’
A cold chill scampered up and down our spines. Shubhoda asked the very pertinent question as to how we can make Sneha sleep. Chauhan said – ‘Sneha’s great-great-grandmother loved kheer. We need to prepare a bowl of kheer and keep it next to her. Apparently, she cannot resist kheer. Obviously, we need to put something in the kheer that will knock her out for some hours.’
Shamsher immediately sprang to action. He instructed somebody in the kitchen to make some kheer. Luckily, there was some kheer from the previous night’s dinner. He got the kheer, handed it to Chauhan and said - ‘I have put something in it that will make her sleep.’
We didn’t think it was necessary to enquire what he had put in the kheer. His espeshal chai can revive even the most jaded spirit. We assumed he had access to stuff that could do the reverse also.
Chauhan gingerly stepped inside Sneha’s cabin with the bowl of kheer. Sneha looked up with dull eyes and let out a volley of abuses. Alex started muttering Hail Mary’s. I also couldn’t help but send out a prayer or two. Chauhan quickly kept the bowl of kheer on the dressing table next to the bed. I half-closed my eyes expecting Sneha...sorry Sneha’s long dead ancestor to grab him and do something horrible. But all she did was look at him and kept on muttering to herself. Chauhan stepped out into the corridor.
We stood there for what seemed like eternity. But it was actually just about 15 minutes or so. The shoot long forgotten, we were discussing in low voices what should be our next step. Palitana was still an hour away. And we couldn’t just stop in the middle of nowhere and go looking for doctors or whoever can appease angry ancestors. A sudden noise made us look inside the cabin. Sneha was sleeping peacefully on the bed. The empty bowl of kheer was lying on the floor, swaying gently to the rhythm of the train.
Shamsher quickly got a lady passenger and gave her some story about Sneha fainting because of exhaustion. Chauhan somehow convinced her to change Sneha’s red sari and made her wear one of her night gowns.
We soon reached Palitana. Shubhoda was more than a bit shaken. I guess he felt responsible for the entire incident. He said that he will stay back in the train. He instructed us to go and shoot Palitana’s temples. I was more than happy to climb 3500 steps then stay in the vicinity of Sneha’s aggrieved ancestor. We shot extensively and it was late in the evening when we returned to the Royal Orient.
We entered the lounge and saw Sneha sitting opposite Shubhoda. We greeted her warmly. Although we were a bit unsure of whom we were greeting. If I remember correctly, Alex even attempted a namaste. Sneha gave us a tired smile and to our great relief spoke to us as herself:
‘I guess I could have told you guys last night. But then I doubt anybody would have believed me. I was eight when the same incident happened with a cousin of mine. She had gone to a friend’s place and worn a red skirt. A family relative who’s well versed in the occult had instructed our family members never to wear red...not even during weddings. But of course, accidents like these happen.’
Sneha slept early that night. We were all sitting in the dining car as the Royal Orient glided to our last destination – Ahmedabad. A man of logic, Shubhoda was finding it very difficult to digest the day’s events. Alex and I were, of course, true believers in anything to do with the paranormal. All throughout the evening, we were jumping at shadows. Chauhan tried explaining to him. ‘Shubhoda...believe me...there are lots of things in the world that cannot be explained.’
Shubhoda was slowly warming to the idea that Sneha and her mother had pulled a fast one over us. ‘After all, she’s an actress. Although that was one bloody convincing performance. Didn’t think she had it in her.’
Chauhan suddenly got up muttering that he needs to get something from our carriage. He walked straight ahead. He paused at the connecting door and asked us whether we need anything. We replied in the negative too engrossed in Shubhoda’s theory about Sneha.
And then seconds later, Chauhan returns to our table from the opposite side of the dining car.
It took us a couple of seconds to register what happened. It was Shubhoda who spoke up.
‘Chauhan...didn’t you just go out from that door...how the hell did you get back from the opposite side. The train is going at full speed...we didn’t see you cross us again...how...how did you manage it?’
Bathed in silvery moonlight, the countryside flashed past our windows.
Chauhan poured himself some coffee and with a smile playing on his lips said:
‘Shubhoda...believe me...there are lots of things in the world that cannot be explained.’
For the record, the rest of the journey was uneventful. The film was completed in a couple of months. However, it was some time since any of the crew wore anything that was a shade of red. Including Shubhoda.