GRAVEYARD SHIFT

The cemetery is sprawled with granite and marble tombs; some hold stillborn babies. Over a thousand graves lie here. One of the oldest graves in the cemetery belongs to the prologue of the 19th century. Some are permanent, having been bought by the affluent during the British regime.

Mario is chatty. “Some graves are exhumed after three years and the remains kept in the niches or given to the deceased person’s relatives. This is done to accommodate another deceased member of the same family. The embalmed corpses remain intact even after five years. Sometimes the flesh clings to the skeleton though,” he tells us enthusiastically. Hand-me-down graves. This country sure has a space crunch, I mutter. “Have you ever experienced any paranormal activity here?” I ask bravely. No, comes the decisive reply.

Encouraged, I venture out of the chapel and walk on to the passage amid the graves. A ghost is not the only thing you should be worrying about, I had been warned. Human beings, louts, and brutes also haunt cemeteries.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling yell. I jump out of my skin. Behind me, Arul, our photographer, is chortling in glee. I glare back and head for the graves at the far end of the cemetery. After a few angry steps, I stop. Something holds me back. Clasping onto the vibhuti in my hand, I egg myself on. Between a couple of stunted trees, something brushes my face. Quelling the panic inside, I reason. Hair? Unlikely. A cobweb, my mind snaps back instantly. Enough is enough. I fly back to the chapel and its light. Loser, a small voice mocks me. I ignore it completely.

Next stop on the cemetery tour: the niches burrowed into the walls surrounding the cemetery where the mortal remains dug out of graves are kept. “These are the bones of the dead”, says Mario as a skull stares back at me. The cold, cold tug of fear. I am retracing my steps back towards my refuge, the chapel. The breeze makes me break out in goose bumps. I turn around to face a white blur whoosh past the far end of the cemetery. My eyes flip, whiplash to the spot again and again. Nothing now, except the fungi-mottled walls.

Suddenly it’s raining and I fall into a melancholic silence. Two more hours go by. Arul, Mario and I make small talk.
Finally, the caress of dawn. It’s time to go, I tell myself. In the pale light, the cemetery is even more strikingly beautiful, almost, excuse the pun, haunting. As I cast a last look behind, there’s a sadness welling out of me I’ve not experienced before. For a few brief moments, in the terrain of the dead, had I crossed over to the other side?