Vijayadashami, the last day of Durgapuja (the greatest festival of Bengalis, people of West Bengal, India) meant the ghost story session late at night, in my village home, a lantern burned spreading dim light and a group of very attentive people huddled together, surrounded by ancient ruins and trees.
My uncles were ace liars; they had a huge stock of ghost stories they claimed to be true. Quite a few were directly connected to our village home.
The one that scared me most was about a torso that more than one of our farmers had seen walking around our house.
Let me narrate it just as I have been told-
Our village home is right beside the dusty road that stretches from main road connecting Burdwan to Bankura to extreme interiors, snaking its way beside the banks of Damodar river, once the river ran right beside it but after the Damodar Valley Corporation Dam was built it shifted, leaving a wide bank of sand.
One of our farmers, who incidentally was guard of our home too was walking on that road, late one night, to watch a Jatra (rural theater) being shown in another village a couple of miles away.
There is a jackfruit tree in our home, that is still alive, its branches stretched across that dusty road, at that time, about seventy years back it was a healthy branch filled with leaves.
He went past that branch and all of a sudden he heard a thump, as if something heavy fell, he instinctively thought it was a dacoit or thief.
He turned around and in the feeble light of the lantern he saw a torso walking straight across the road, towards the river.
The villagers discovered him on their way back from the theater.