Spooky Mansion of Madhupur

Farhad is an old friend from my elementary school days in Dhaka. We studied in same high school, and
same college in the same city. We were buddies even though we studied in different colleges in USA
where we both went in early eighties. After graduation in USA, I opted for the academia, and Farhad for
the Wall Street since he loved Mammon more than Saraswati. This is no reflection on Farhad’s
intellectual prowess, but rather on the yearning for wealth which he thought would give him fame. And
indeed, he did earn a lot first working as a partner in an investment Bank, and then setting up his own
private hedge fund. But after a few years he thought of changing his trade and his location. He left USA
with a bundle of cash and decided to invest in garments which was a fast-growing industry in
Bangladesh. In no time he had set up four garment factories in Dhaka and had earned fame as one of
the top exporters. His brand was sought after by European and American companies.

I, Mazhar, on the other hand had decided to live in the USA. After a stint in one of the Universities there
as a teacher I joined an international organization since my wife Sheila, and I liked living in the USA.
Farhad never married, mainly because of his pursuit of business that kept him busy all the time. But
Farhad and I never lost touch with each other, even after he had relocated in Bangladesh. I would visit
Bangladesh every other year and make up for lost time spending most of my time with him in his old
parental home in old Dhaka. His parent’s home in Narinda was large full of trees and gardens. Farhad
liked it there even though he had made enough money to build two houses in more posh areas of
Dhaka. But he did not as he liked not only the old environment, but he also liked to be with his old
parents. I would spend at least half of my vacation in Dhaka in that house.

Several years ago, Farhad informed me that he had bought a house in Madhupur of Dhaka district near a
Shal Forest. The house was rather old, in fact almost a historical building that was built early 1900 by a
Zamindar family of Jaydevpur. The family occupied the building for three generations, but it remained
mostly unoccupied since the newer generation preferred living in urban settings after the last
descendant had died accidentally. The house had remained unoccupied for several years since the
buyers balked at the rather high price demanded by the inheritors of the property. But there was
another important reason why potential buyers were disinterested in the property which I will reveal
later.

Farhad had asked me to visit his new property and stay there with family in my next visit to Bangladesh.
I could not visit Bangladesh until two years later after Farhad had bought his Madhupur mansion. It was
December when I next went to Dhaka with Sheila and my two young children. Farhad invited us to
spend the last the last week of December with him. He said he had invited a few other foreigner friends
of his to spend the weekend with him and welcome the new year. When I asked him curiously if the
house was large enough to accommodate so many people, he jocularly replied that the house was large
enough for a small army troop!

Farhad asked me to take a train to Jaydevpur instead of car since the road to his Madhupur mansion was
not suitable for a car drive. He drove either a jeep or a sturdy Pajero because the ten-mile ride from
main road was half stone and half brick with holes strewn along the way that were made by brick
carrying trucks from nearby brickfields. Accordingly, we arrived one brisk morning from Dhaka in
Jaydevpur station. A driver met us at the station with Farhad’s Pajero. His name was Shafi. Shafi said he
had been with Farhad since the time he had bought the house. He also said that he was a local and he
also knew the previous owner’s family as his father worked also as a driver with the family.
The drive to Madhupur was through a rather dense forest of Shal trees and I was warned by Farhad it
would be rough at places. The road was so bumpy that Sheila complained of back ache, and the children
thought they were having a roller-coaster ride in an amusement park. The bumpy ride intervened with
the scenic road with unwelcome jolts. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the scenery.

The Madhupur mansion was indeed remarkable. It was built in the turn-of-the century architectural
fashion with massive pillars, a broad portico, carved wooden doors, and slatted windows. The driveway
was carpeted with red brick mortar lined with stones with beautifully mowed lawns that had a variety of
seasonal flowers blooming in circles. I could see several people already assembled in the lawn around
tables. As soon as our Pajero stopped I saw Farhad coming from the lawn with a loud welcome. He
grabbed me by the shoulder and then greeted Sheila and my sons. He had changed much, only his hair
had receded further. He signaled to one person standing nearby and asked that he take our luggage and
guide us to our room in the house. Farhad asked me to join his guests outside after we had taken a quick
wash.

Once inside I saw how opulently the mansion was designed and kept. The floors were all marble, black,
and white. There was a large living room that was still displaying some statues which clearly dated back
to late nineteenth century. The heavy vases that held flowers were all made of stone and were filled
with fresh flowers. A wide staircase with banisters lined with carved wood led to the upper floor where
Farhad’s valet led us. The stairs were all made of marble.

As we reached the upper level, I saw a tall man in a blue sweater, with a panama hat and dark glasses
pass us by along the corridor and entering into one of the rooms. He looked at us but did not utter any
greeting. I found it odd that the man was wearing dark glasses inside the house. I took him to be another
employee in the house.

We were given two bedrooms, side by side in one corner of the upper floor. The rooms were spacious
with beds and chairs that looked to be as old as the house itself. They were of mahogany wood. The
windows were big with shutters made of wood. I looked out below and saw Farhad and his guests
enjoying themselves in the lawn. I asked the children to wash up in the next room while we both the did
the same in our room. The children did not accompany us to the ground below as they were tired. I said
we will send them their lunch. I did not see the man in panama hat in the corridor or the living room
below as we descended.

It was well into the afternoon and very late for lunch. Nevertheless, we had to eat since we had not had
our lunch. We met two other couples – A German couple and a Japanese couple. They worked for
companies which had set up local offices in Dhaka which had business relationship with Farhad’s
industry. The couples were very friendly and soon our wives mingled like old friends. Our children got
busy with swings and other playthings that they found there. I did not see the man in panama hat in the
lawn. So, I asked Farhad if he had any other guest in the house. When Farhad said no, I told him about
my encounter with the man in blue sweater and panama hat. Farhad looked surprised. He said,
“perhaps it was Gomez, my caretaker. Perhaps he was making sure that your rooms and beds were
properly done”, Farhad added.

When we returned upstairs, we first went to check on the children to see if they had eaten. I was quick
taken aback by what I saw. The children were very busy playing with a battery-operated train which was
running on tracks that covered almost the entire floor. Along side the track there were miniature trees,
train stations, signals, what not? “Where did you get this toy? “ I asked the boys. “The man with the hat
who you saw when we entered the house gave us the train after you had left”, they replied excitedly.
“But where is he now”? I asked. “Oh, he went out after setting up the train. He will come again with
new toys” , one of the boys said. I found this extremely puzzling. If the man was Gomez, the Caretaker,
he should have been in his quarters since he was not feeling well as Farhad had said.

Soon it was evening, and we were ready to join the fun in the lawn where Farhad had organized a huge
barbecue dinner. I went down with my wife Sheila and the two children. There were a few other guests
besides the house guests who had come down in their own transports from Dhaka but only for the
dinner. Farhad had also invited to well known singers for a musical soiree. We mingled with the guests
while cocktails were served by liveried bearers from the catering company that Farhad had hired to
organize the barbecue.

The food was fabulous. For barbecue Farhad had one whole goat, beef kebabs, chicken, and to
everyone’s surprise smoked hilsa also. We enjoyed our food over drinks and good conversation in chairs
and tables that were spread out in the lawn. Bangladesh winter is mild, and we were rather enjoying the
mild cold in the open with fire burning by the side. The music started soon after. Since the musical affair
would last a couple of hours, Sheila asked that I take the boys to their room.

I excused myself and took the boys to the Mansion. As I was climbing the stairs, I saw the same man
with dark glasses looking at us from the corridor. This time I decided to call him after I reached the
upper floor. But he was not there when we reached the upper floor. He had vanished like thin air!
Where did he go? I did not see him enter into any of the rooms. There were four bedrooms in the upper
floor. Two were given to us in the corner of the floor. The rooms near the staircase belonged to Farhad.
Did he enter into Farhad’s bedroom? I wondered. But I could not go into Farhad’s bedroom to kill my
curiosity. And in any case, I would be embarrassed if the man were really Farhad’s caretaker.

I went into the boys’ bedroom and asked them to go to bed without wasting much time playing with the
toy train, which was still spread out on its tiny track on the marble floor. I left the boys to join the guests
and wife Sheila in the campground in the lawn. But when I reached the ground floor, I instinctively
looked up to see if the man in dark glasses was still larking in the corridors. Surely there he was looking
at the children’s room from far corner of the corridor. I wondered if the man is Farhad’s caretaker why
should be larking in the corridor? Should I ask Farhad?

I rejoined the group. Music had already begun. I did not know if I should ask Farhad about the man
upstairs. Feeling the mood, I did not want to disturb him. I thought I would ask him next morning.

By the time the party ended it was well past midnight. Sheila and I took leave of the guests while Farhad
remained in the lawn to see off his Dhaka guests. I was wondering if I would see the strange man in
Panama hat and glasses again in the corridor. But he was not there. We saw the children’s bedroom
door was closed. We went to our room rather tired, and I fell off to sleep immediately.

I woke up rather late. We were to have our breakfast in the lawn again with other house guests. We
hurried down taking the boys with us who were already up and waiting for breakfast.

Breakfast again was an elaborate affair. Farhad had arranged an array of desi and English breakfast.
There were parathas, puri, bhaji, toasts, eggs in different style, and a large collection of desi pithas. I
indulged myself in puris and bhajis as well as pithas more than other food. While having breakfast
narrated to him my puzzling encounter with that blue sweater person with dark glasses in the corridor,
and also his giving the boys the toy train. Was it Gomez, the caretaker? I asked.

Farhad was taken aback. “What are you talking about?” Farhad replied. “Gomez has been unwell for
past two days, he added. In fact, I should go and look him up. Come with me if you want,” Farhad said. I
followed Farhad to a tin shed behind the mansion. Inside, I saw a hefty man with a moustache sitting on
a bed wrapped in a shawl. He was nothing like the spry guy with dark glasses who I had seen several
times in the mansion yesterday. Farhad asked his caretaker how he was feeling to which replied with a
hoarse voice that he was still not well. Farhad asked him to get more rest. I followed Farhad like a
person who had been hit by a brick. Definitely it was not Gomez, but who was he? Was it an apparition?

Farhad thought I really had some delusional experience as it could not have been Gomez. Maybe I had
been reading too many ghost stories, Farhad jokingly suggested. I just kept on shaking my head but then
I asked, what about those toys that the man gave? They were real, I said. Farhad wanted to see the toy
train, so we went upstairs in the mansion. I found the boys in their room but did not see the toy train on
the floor. “Where are the toys?”, I asked the boys. “They are gone. When we woke up this morning the
toy train and the other little things were gone”, the boys said together in a plaintive tone. Farhad and I
looked at each other. Farhad disbelievingly and I in utter surprise.

As we descended the stairs Farhad looked very pensive. He did not utter any other word either about
the mysterious man or the toys. Clearly all of us, myself and my children could not be making up stories!

We left Madhupur Mansion a little after a quick lunch in Farhad’s Pajero driven by his loyal driver Shafi.
We were driving through Shal forest in a serpentine road pockmarked with holes here and there. As we
were approaching a large ditch Shafi made a sudden stop and drew our attention to it. “Sir, this is the
place where Miah Sahab had a terrible accident many years ago.” “Who is Miah Sahab? And what
accident are you talking about?” I asked. Shafi took a deep breath and said Sekander Bakht or Miah
Sahab as he was popularly known as was the last descendant of the Zamindar family that owned the
Mansion and the estate. He was a very popular man who did a lot for the welfare of the community like
setting up a school, a dispensary, and an orphanage. He spent more time in the mansion than in their
Dhaka property. Unfortunately, his wife died at a young age leaving behind two sons. Miah Sahab did
not remarry to take care of his two sons. He used to take them to game hunting and almost everywhere
he went. The boys were also very fond of him. But tragedy struck them one night when Miah Sahab was
returning from Dhaka with his boys. Miah Sahab was himself driving with the boys in front seat. A
thunderstorm swept through the place that evening flooding the muddy road and making it almost
impassable. Miah Sahab lost control and the Jeep fell into this ditch. The water in the ditch had risen so
high that the whole jeep drowned in it along with Miah Sahab and the boys. They could not get out of
the jeep and were drowned. Their bodies were recovered next day by the villagers.

After this tragic death, the successors who inherited the property did not want to live there. They put
the property on sale but there were no buyers for long. Some people spread a rumor of the Mansion
being haunted. Some had claimed that they had seen Miah Sahab roaming in the Mansion.

Did I see Miah Sahab’s spirit in the Mansion, I wondered? I asked Shafi if he could describe Miah Sahab
since he claimed he had seen him as a boy. “Oh, he was very good looking. He was rather tall and had
grey hair. He loved to wear hats and dark glasses”, Shafi said enthusiastically.
Say no more, I said mentally to myself. Suddenly I realized the person I and my sons had seen was the
unrequited spirit of Sekandar Bakht or Miah Sahab. We saw him because my sons rekindled the memory
of his own sons and he had to visit them. He even brought them toys that must have belonged to his
own children! But could this be real? Is his soul still hovering over the Mansion?

I met Farhad before we left for USA once more. But this time I found him rather morose. When I asked
him if he was facing any problem, he simply said that he was afraid he would have to get rid of
Madhupur property. When pressed for a reason Farhad said he gets bad vibes about the place every
time he went there. His servants, particularly Gomez the caretaker often complained of strange noises
coming from the upper floor and someone walking there. They first thought these might be intruders or
thieves. But nothing was stolen from the Mansion. Then Farhad said that my story of the strange man in
dark glasses confirmed his suspicion that the Mansion was spooky.

Farhad finally got rid of the place. The new buyers demolished the Mansion and built a new resort like
hotel there. I never went that way again.