The Bargain at Baya

  The Bargain at Baya

 

In the 1980s, dense forests with thick bamboo undergrowths surrounded the village of Baya, fostering rumors of ghosts and spirits among its residents. One such resident was Kefayat, who was no ordinary villager. He was a Kabiraj, a healer of ailments, well-versed in tantra mantras or ancient incantations, and possessed a strange power to command spirits. For him, spirits—or jins, the villagers called them—were invisible pets—neither fully hostile nor quite tame. But for everybody else in the village, the spirits were terrifying.

One afternoon, while the summer was in full swing and when Baya's marketplace was in its busiest state, a shock was spread among the people. A murmuring, jostling crowd trembled with puzzled faces. People traveling through the bamboo forest path had begun to encounter gruesome incidents of death. Stories of ghostly bamboo, which moved as though with its deadly will, sent shivers down the spine of the village.

The spirits residing in the trees possessed a ferocious sense of humour: whenever a traveler traversed beneath one of these expansive bamboo stalks, the jins would hurl the stalk down from the trees, spanning the pathway. If anyone dared step over it, the spirits would jerk the bamboo out from underneath the feet and send the traveler backward with unnatural force. The unlucky fell far off the path, broken and lifeless.

If someone thought himself clever and tried to avoid the trap by passing under the bamboo, the spirits suddenly thrust it forward, pressing against his throat. Many who attempted this trick to outwit the spirits met a tragic end. The people of Baya grew terrified of the forest path, and with each body found, their fear became desperate worry.

In desperation at the turn of events, the elders decided to solicit Kefayat's help. They went before him at sunset, just when he was lighting his evening lamps. "Kefayat," they begged, "the jins are killing our people. We have nowhere else to turn."

Kefayat, seeing the fear in their eyes, agreed to help. With his mantras and deep knowledge of the spirit world to arm him, he made his solitary walk to the forest, chanting as he went. Overhead, the trees loomed darkly; the bamboo creaked ominously in the evening wind. Coming to the path that was said to be haunted, he stopped and called out in a deep, resonant voice, "Show yourselves! I summon you, spirits of this place!

The air went still. Then shimmering shadows began to gather, coalescing into ghostly shapes glowing faintly in the dim light. The jins appeared, floating just above the ground, their forms shifting as if smoke. They stared at Kefayat with an unreadable expression.

"Why are you killing these people?" Kefayat demanded. "What have they done to you?

It was then that one of them came forward, its voice a wind through hollow bamboo. "This is our place. The humans who come here are a disturbance to our peace. We warned them, but they would not listen."

Kefayat would not back down. "And how might we appease you? The people must pass this way. What might we give you to let them be?

The spirits thought over his question and then replied to it in unison in an eerie tone, "We want a tribute. Bring 80 kg. of rosgollas—the sweetest you have for us."

The villagers who were looking on from a distance with bated breath were taken aback by this strange demand. But Kefayat, ever-adept at haggling with the unseen, raised his hand to call for silence. "Eighty kilograms is too much. I offer you half of 40 kg—and no more."

The spirits hissed, their forms rippling with irritation. "You would insult us with such a meager offering?"

But Kefayat stood firm, chanting softly under his breath to keep his own strength stable. "Take 40 kilograms, or take nothing at all. I will not be swayed."

The spirits floated back, muttering among themselves in unintelligible hushed tones. After a while, one of them turned to Kefayat and said, "Alright. Bring us 40 kg of rosgollas, and we will leave."

Kefayat nodded, and the villagers quickly collected the sweets and heaped them high near the forest path. After arranging the sweets, Kefayat yelled to the spirits, "Your tribute is here." Now, keep your promise."

The villagers exchanged nervous glances and watched in awe as the sweets began to disappear one after another, seemingly devoured by an invisible mouth. In a matter of seconds, all 40 kg of *rosgollas* had disappeared, smearing streaks of sticky syrup on the grounds.

A villager turned around, eyes wide, to Kefayat. "Where did all the sweets go?"

Kefayat looked toward the empty space the sweets had come from. "The jins have had their fill. They are satiated."

Indeed, no man died in the forest after that day. The path leading through the bamboo grove was now safe, yet villagers crossed with circumspection, whispering prayers as they walked by. Kefayat's bargain with the spirits would remain a story of caution and wonder, a reminder of how thin the line stood between the living and the spirit world.

And from that day on, no villagers ever showed any disrespect to the woods, knowing quite well that it was not entirely their own, for back in the shadows, the jins were still there, waiting and watching.