An extraordinary girl

Black Magic with Poles

Now I would like to narrate the story of how black magic was employed in detecting a thief. It was an incident I witnessed with my own eyes.

Once, some extremely valuable gold and silver utensils were stolen from our house. They were treasured heirlooms of our family, and Father was particularly disturbed at their disappearance because such a loss was a matter of shame to the family. He resolved to catch the thief by any means possible. He was sure that the theft was the work of one of the servants, for no one from outside would dare to enter a house when so many inmates were there, open the almirahs and steal such a large number of things — unless a servant was in league with him.

Father questioned all of the servants, but all of them denied any knowledge of the theft. Now he became more anxious, and informed the police. At the same time he called in a Muslim fakir who had a considerable reputation. It was said he could call forth spirits by his occult power. If a culprit was to be found, the fakir would summon a spirit, and invoke its power into a stick or a rod. He would then put that stick or rod in someone's hands, who would be led by it to the wanted man.

On the day the fakir had been called to our house, all the servants were made to gather on the lawn. Many people had gathered to watch. Two long, sturdy poles were procured. When the fakir arrived, he selected two of our most trusted servants, and instructed them to hold the ends of the poles, one man in front and the other behind. They were to go wherever the poles took them. My father seated himself nearby with a whip in his hand. It was his intention to whip the thief the moment he was caught. I was standing on the first-floor verandah with my mother. I was about nine or ten years old.

The stage was set. The fakir began to mutter an incantation and sprinkled water on the poles. Suddenly, they began to move, even though the servants were holding them firmly. Imagine the excitement of the spectators! Now the poles began

to pull the two servants along, making them stop before one servant after another. In this way they passed by all the servants, and were then impelled by the poles to climb the stairs to the first floor. There the poles led them to the almirah where the stolen goods had been kept, then sought to return to the ground floor. Here the servants found themselves in trouble, for the poles, rather than descending by the stairs, tried to jump down by leaping over the railing. The servants who were doing their best to hold on to the poles barely escaped a bad fall. The poles led them back to the ring of servants waiting on the lawn, and again made them stop in front of each, one after another, until they came to an old servant.

Now something happened which I would not have believed possible if I had not seen it with my own eyes. The two sturdy bamboo poles bent by themselves in the middle so that they encircled the old man's neck like the hands of someone trying to strangle him.

Upon. seeing this, my father jumped up and started lashing him with his whip. He was certain that the thief had been found. The old man fell to the ground, but still my father went on whipping him mercilessly.

Watching from the verandah upstairs, I was unable to bear this brutality, and fainted. Now my mother shouted to Father, "Do you want to kill my daughter as well as that old man? Stop it at once!"

By now the servant's entire body was licerated and he was groaning pathetically. He confessed his guilt and said he had sold all the utensils. My father was wild with rage, not only for the loss of the stolen goods, but because he had believed for years that this particular servant was his most faithful. He had been the custodian of my father's money, but had never lost a pie. Father couldn't understand what had possessed him now, what greed or dire temptation, to break open the almirah and steal such a quantity of the family's valuables.

My mother, however, gave no thought to the old man's crime, and nursed him day and night till he was cured. She did this despite constant friction with my father. Her viewpoint was clear: "I can't see a man die before my eyes," she told him,

"even if he is a thief. You can drive me out of the house for it if you like. But this man has paid heavily for what he did, and I can't bear to see him in this condition or hear his cries of pain. Think how many years he has served us faithfully — surely that has some value. It must be reckoned with."

After he recovered the servant left us. In spite of all he had suffered, he returned after some years to beg pardon of my father, but Father was unrelenting. "Beware," he told the old man. "Never come before me again. If you do, I won't spare you. I haven't forgotten your treachery and I doubt if I ever will."

I recall the story of another servant. While my mother was awaiting my birth, a man approached my grandfather. He had a number of recommendation letters which he showed, saying that he would like nothing better than to serve in my grandfather's house as a servant. Grandfather was pleased with his certificates and told him, "Very well, when my daughter-in-law's child is born, you can help to look after it."

The man was extremely happy with this appointment, and spared no pains to make me happy. He came to love me dearly, and I too reciprocated his affection.

Even when I grew to marriageable age, he would still follow me like a shadow. He would watch over me to such an extent that he would hang about even while I was with my friends, especially when my mother was not about. This would often annoy me, but he Would not be concerned whether I minded or not.

Aside from his devotion to me, he was so trustworthy that we gave him the freedom of the house. He knew where we kept our money and our valuables, but, unlike the servant who had been unmasked by the fakir, he never touched or stole anything. When I was married, he accompanied me to my father-in-law's house. But unfortunately I had to dismiss him later when my life took a different turn.

In modern times, the stories of such servants will be looked upon as utter make-believe, but, if one reads writers such as Rabindranath Tagore, one will realise that such incidents were far from rare fifty to a hundred years ago.