Testimony of a Ghost Runner -Full Story

 

It seemed that I had been waiting for eternity. Annoyed and worried, pacing up and down the room, time and again, I stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched family of a stray cat and her kittens, curling up over each other’s body for warmth, beneath the shade of the entrance, there was no spec of life around. The shadow of the streetlight in the shallow pool of rainwater beneath the light post is rippling in the wind. A sudden yet very short spell of gusty wind broke a few branches of neem tree in the yard. Faint rumbling of thunder from higher clouds was a persistent noise for that half of the day. Was it a knock at my door? I turned back and found Gjuly meddling with Fidgety.

Gjuly happened to be my pet ghost. It used to be so ghostly that it never had a gender. It never thought but acted. That was all I needed. But my other pet ghosts were not the same. Some of them used to be very argumentative. I kept them mostly for those days when I used to find myself in a scarcity of wit that could generate varied opinions spontaneously. In those days, they supplied me with a plethora of viewpoints. Otherwise, I used to keep them engaged in playing lazy board games. They did not create a fuss at all about such engagements. They remain complacent in a notion that I have honored their intellect.

Fidgety happened to be my pet moth. When it came to my place, it was near transparent. I drenched it in ferrous sulfate solution and gave it a pale green color. Then Gmarc, one of the ghosts of strong opinion, protested. To keep everyone happy, I ordered Gsept to burn the borders of Fidgety’s wings. Gsept is efficient and meticulous. A true doer. It first separated the wings from Fidgety’s body. Then it passed outer borders of each of the wings, one after another, over a narrow flame, so quickly that the iron sulfate coat has been oxidized, but no part of the wing vein or protein molecule in it was burned. Then Gsept fitted the wings on Fidgety’s body. Thus, Fidgety’s wings got borders of maroon color.

Both Gjuly and Fidgety used to act silently. They were even able to remain out of sight of most of the people. Fidgety, in the presence of guests, always remained stuck to the refrigerator, camouflaging with all other magnets and rubbers. Gjuly used to disseminate its parts into the interstices of any of the curtains. Therefore, whatever Gjuly had done with Fidgety was not the source of that soft knock. I did not see anybody coming.  It was a little perplexing. The other ghosts, too, used to make no sounds while in action, of any sort. They used to move, used to talk, even used to argue silently. Too many sounds were around that night. Yet I did not reach the door but kept trying to figure out the reason and source of the possible knock.

That night I was waiting for Gmayo. Gmayo was the rare combination of thinking and acting ghosts. It was then working on a complex project. I was not comfortable with Gmayo meeting Gjuly. Gjuly, too, was working on a project. But their projects’ respective goals happened to be conflicting. Always. I never let one see the other in action. I named them in a fashion that schedule never became confusing. Their names indicated who should come after whom.

There happens to be a village more than a hundred kilometers away from where I used to live, the place where I was that night. Fifty families used to live in that village. They were owners of hectares of farmland. Just by the highway. Hence, quite suitable for converting into an industrial yard. At least, that was what my client thought. The client approached me to help him grab that land.

Grabbing land for others is what I do for a living. Better say, at that time, grabbing land was what I used to do for a living. I had this excellent team of these ghosts. They were able to influence anyone and everyone. Because, they used to possess the target. The target’s brain. What some unscientific describer may call soul. Sometimes, Spirit, too.

While I initiated the project, Gabril, the most talkative thinking ghost, had a notion, “Why those fertile crop fields? We get harvests thrice a year from them. These fields feed a good part of the society.” Gjan questioned, “Society? Or Nation?” Gabril snubbed Gjan, “Whatever. People. Human beings. But there are non-arable lands. My human family owned such land. That family got the land from land redistribution by the Government then. Before that it was owned by Master’s ancestors.” By Master, it meant me. It was continuing, “The family used to work for Master’s ancestors. They always dreamed of owning lands. They were glad to receive patta of their own land from the Government. During soil preparation season, they mortgaged the house and the piece of land adjacent to it. That was how they got the money for buying equipment. I mean, plow, pickaxe, rake and like. More they dug, the sound of digging became more intensely metallic. Before fully understanding the situation, they mortgaged the land they were plowing, to buy seeds. They dug deeper than usual to get to the water table to prepare their nursery to plant the seeds. They never noticed that the germination of seeds took longer than usual, too. Because, all these times, they were baffled why their soil was not like the soil they prepared for their previous employer, the ancestors of Master! Finally, when the planting season was almost over, they realized the seed germination was too poor, the harvest size would be poorer than what it should be.” Gjjan quipped, “Where had you been then? Why didn’t you help them with your knowledge and understanding?” Annoyed Gabril answered, “I was already dead from starvation. Besides, I wasn’t trained then by my Master to think or speak wisely… Where was I??? … at poor germination …  Yet they planted to the planting site. They borrowed money at the highest rate of interest to irrigate the land. Yet they could harvest nothing. They were back as laborers at the land of Master’s ancestors. The loan they made has not yet been paid. The house is now owned by Master’s cousin. My family pays rent for it. Also, the land they received from the Government, remains as fallow as it has ever been.” Now Gfebu interrupted in an irritated tone, “What’s all these beating about the bush? Come to the point straight.” Gmarc taunts, “Gabril thinks he can still help his family! If their land is now sold to the client, they can repay the loans. Or, at least some of it.”

At this point, I intervened in the forum of thinking ghosts, “But, Gabril, sweetheart, your land is full of murram. You know it couldn’t hold the seedlings as light as that of paddy. How come that land holds heavy structures of reinforced concrete?” Gjan explains, “Structures of steels and concrete must have strong bases in strong soil as farmlands.” Gmarc suggests, “Moreover, Gabril’s family earns seasonally at Master’s land. No offense, Master, It’s natural. Because crops are seasonal things. Hence, you need labors seasonally. If industries are built, then Gabril’s family can get the opportunity of regular income.”

I got a way, “They will be able to earn enough to have home for themselves once again. For that they need to move from this place to that area of industry. It would have been better, Gabril, if it would have occurred where they are now. But industry needs a good transportation system, highways and railway tracks. Our place is far away from highways. There are no good roads to connect to highways, yet. So, it is not going to be here, for now. But if we let it become there, we, too, may get good roads and transportation. Then industry may come to our place, too.”

My thinking ghosts accepted my counseling. With this vision, they possessed the intelligentsia. The public opinion for industrialization was built. Meanwhile, Gmayo, Gaugos, Gocto and Gdeco, my thinking and acting ghosts were deployed to possess government officials so that none of those officials could find legal obstacles in conversion of lands from farming to industrial ones.

Yet Gabril went awry. It possessed a villager. Consequently, that villager started shouting, “Why arable lands? Why not fallow ones?” et cetera. To provide a quality service, I had to cut Gabril loose. Gabril suffered the most horrific tragedy of ghostdom. It sank into

oblivion, the emptiness of no return. Post of Gabril in my team is still vacant. I was so busy until recently with the ongoing project that I could not fill Gabril’s position.

Gabril’s tragedy cost the life of the villager it had possessed. My client was mad at me. They almost took the job from me. They told me, “Your competitors are offering services at half of your cost! They weren’t chosen because they’re violent. If you cannot do it differently, you won’t see money.” To keep things once again non-violent, I had to pace up with one down on my team. I pulled off all but Gmayo from the thinking and acting group. They were all deployed to possess the intelligentsia. They tried to argue that killing of the villagers was unnecessary and any violence must be avoidable, also, the only way to reinstate peace should be acceleration of the process of converting farmlands to industrial land.

But the family of the dead villager was protesting. They were all possessed. I suspected that my competitors got jobs. The politicians who were vying for power from opposing the effort of industrialization, probably hired them. Some competitors of my client, too, could have hired some of my competitors. Too much is at stake.

Gjune, Gsept and Gnovo, along with Gjuly were deployed in thieving. Taking out trivial things like radio sets, cooking utensils, in the beginning, during the night, while the villagers asleep, from their respective homes and to throw them in a river. I did not hope this thieving would threaten so hard that they would have been leaving their homes and farmlands. My plan was to graduate towards costlier things like bicycle, television set, gas ovens. My ghosts did. Yet the villagers did not show any sign of movement. We furthered the plan. We started taking out whatever valuables they had, gold, silver, ornaments, utensils. Yet none of the villagers budged. Before I resorted to armed robberies and imposing physical threats to the villagers, Gmayo possessed a police officer. Instead of taking the villagers’ complaints of thefts, that officer advised the villagers to grab the offer of my client and move away. But they were seeing a hike in the price of their respective lands around the corner. My competitors were not idle after all. There were ambiguities in villagers’ behavior. Ambiguity from one villager’s action to another villager’s action. Ambiguity in individual villager’s thoughts and actions. If they said in the morning of vacating their property, then, in the same evening, they were seen in gatherings to protest my client’s venture!

So Gmayo possessed an officer with access to the land records of the villagers. Some papers of ownership were also with the villagers. Gjuly was about to take those out from each of fifty houses. But I could not send him on the errand until I received the paper Gmayo was about to bring to me that evening. But Gmayo did not show up at all at the proper time, even late that night.

Instead I heard those feeble knocks. On my door. I took my time to respond. To figure out what was exactly going on. Then your men forced in. The files that Gmayo was about to bring appeared on my table. Another set, which Gjuly was about to go to snatch from the villagers, too, appeared on my table. Your men also found the body of the official, that Gmayo possessed, in one of the rooms of my house. The course of events that night derailed my plans. I felt that I was off my hinges.

Gjuly was possessed by the Gmayo! To my shock, I discovered. Otherwise it was not possible to happen that Gjuly could bring those papers before I send him. Alternatively, both the papers of the villagers and the files from the government land office could have been brought by Gmayo. But I never told Gmayo about villager’s papers. How did it know about them? Did the deceased soul of the officer at the land record office possess Gmayo? As far as my senses go, Gmayo, too, sank into oblivion. It disappeared from Ghostverse.

I know that you cannot believe my story. You will try to establish in your mortal material way how I had those files, those papers or how the body of that officer ended up in my storeroom. You shall not find anything logical. Yet you will punish me for illegal possession. You

may put me in one of your prisons. Yet the strife will continue. You cannot stop that. My competitors have already started earning heavily. But this thing is going to be bloodier. More killings are going to occur. More rapes…... too. It is now violent. But cheaper. You can never solve it. Because everyone is possessed. 

~~~

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