A STRANGE JOURNEY
Since my childhood days, I love traveling. When I went to Delhi for studies, I wanted to make the most of Northern India. In Autumn of 2004, I visited Shimla. After spending two days, I had an idea. There is a small town called Recong Peo, 40 kms from Shimla.I decided to walk from Shimla to Recong Peo to get a feeling of oneness with nature.
By noon, I set out for Recong Peo. The road was good. Outside Shimla, the scenery changed drastically. All around, there were green mountains, covered with trees. The air was fresh and cool. The landscape was beautiful and serene, under the deep blue sky and white Autumn clouds. The sunshine felt like a warm water bath. There were small streams crisscrossing the green field. The waterfalls could be seen at a distance, coming down from the mountains.
By evening, one third of the journey was over. Unpopulated places, irrespective of their beauty, are dangerous. I wanted to spend the night in Angadpur. However, before reaching there, I came across a big hotel, - named Sussex Inn. I was still 3- 4 Kms from Angadpur. It was two storied and quite big- comparable to the middle sized hotels in Shimla. I decided to get in.
As I walked through the main gate, I felt an unexplainable sensation. Then I looked at the amazed guard standing near the door (the main gate was unguarded). He had seen me and was gazing at me. His uniform was old fashioned and ceremonial. Some months ago, I had seen a guard wearing something similar in Hotel Bristol (New Delhi). The guard opened the wooden door and I entered. I was surprised. The people, the reception, the look of the lobby itself, the design, the glasses, the furniture- literally every one and every thing seemed to have been imported from a different century. All the people were looking at me. They were dressed in traditional European costumes. I walked towards the receptionist. The receptionist was a young European man of my age. He was scrutinizing me. “Hi, Good evening, I would like to have a single bed room.” I had to repeat because he was still in shock or deep thinking. He took out a register and asked me to write my name and address. He read my name and address 2- 3 times. I had written my Delhi address. “You are from Delhi?” he asked me. “Well. Not exactly, I studied here”. “Will you please write your home address?” This was not a formality. He wanted to know from where I have come. As I wrote my home address, he went through it with deep concentration. “So, you are basically an Indian?” I answered “Yes”. “No, No, I was asking if you are a real Indian or a Portuguese staying in India”. I was in a similar state of disbelief and answered, “No, I am not a Portuguese; I am a Bengali.” Every one was listening eagerly to our conversation. Some had stood up and were standing near the reception. He asked an Indian bell boy to take me to room no. 27. It was in the first floor. The Indian boy was amazed to hear me speak Hindi. His Hindi was quite different from mine. “Maybe a local dialect of his district.”- I thought. He was mostly communicating in English. Then I remembered one thing. “I had forgotten to ask the receptionist, the rate of the room”. Even he had forgotten to tell me.
The room was somewhat similar to the lobby. The bed, the windows, the curtains, the furniture, the paintings on the wall, the look of the bathroom, the light and switches, the fan- all were old fashioned. The things were not old themselves. They were newly bought and the furniture had a glaze and polish on them. The entire hotel was well maintained. The floor and walls were spotless.
It was 6 O’ clock, and I decided to have a bath. The bathroom had a bath tub. There must be provisions for hot water. There was a gizzard but I did not know how to operate it. I pressed the bell. There was knock on the door and as I opened it, I saw 6- 7 boys (all Indians), huddled together. “Sir, how can we help you?” one of them, the leader, asked in English. “Come in”. They entered the room slowly, staying close to one another. “How to get hot water for bath?” They entered the bathroom and switched on the gizzard.
“Good , now bring some food after 1 hour”. Those guys were eager to leave and went away. Within themselves they were speaking a language similar to Hindi.
While lying in the bath tub, I was questioning myself and trying to explain the situation. Many hotels around the world use old fashioned decorations in order to attract tourists. They are decorated with furniture, utensils and pictures of last century (or even the centuries preceding it).This is a fashion. The goods are produced recently with historical designs. The furniture in my room had polish on it. It was new. Maybe manufactured few months ago. Then what about the Europeans whom I saw in the lobby? What if they were Anglo Indians? No, that’s not possible. Most Anglo Indians look like Indians. These boarders were North European, most probably Bristish. The receptionist spoke in Bristish accent.
What are these English people doing here? And why are they wearing old fashioned costumes- both men and women? No answer. These Britishers have come on a foreign tour wearing 19 th century costumes. Even the children are dressed in this manner. Then why are they (including the receptionist) shocked to see me? Why did the receptionist asked me if I was a Portuguese? Its true , the Portuguese living in South Portugal (Algarve) have light brown complexion and it is very common to mistake them for Indians. The people at the lobby were gazing at my clothes. What language are the Indians speaking? And why are they so much afraid of me?
Whatsoever, tomorrow, by 8 am I would be off. The Indian attendants brought me food and water. In fact these fools had brought me my dinner. Whatsoever, I was hungry and after finishing my meal, kept the utensils (old in style but newly purchased) outside and locked my room.
By 7:45 next morning I was at the reception. A different person was there. He was also British. “I want to check out. Kindly arrange for the bill”. In this person, the shock element was less. May be, he has been informed about me already. “Just a moment”, he said and did some calculations. “Your bill is Twenty rupees sir”. For a few seconds, I could not speak. I expected the bill to be somewhere near one thousand rupees. Involuntarily, a question escapes my mouth, “Twenty rupees or pounds?” “No, It is Rupees”. The payment would severe all connections between me and the hotel. I was eager to do the same. I took out the money and handed it to him. “What is this? I said twenty rupees.” “Well, this is what I am giving you.”
“You are using counterfeit money”. The people near the reception looked at the note and said its fake money. Things were beyond my control.. Before the Indian attendants and the receptionist and the boarders, could understand anything, I ran out. The people followed. I reached the entrance, pushed away the guard, locked the door from outside and ran out. The guard tried to open the door; I boxed him and pushed him away. “I will kill you if you come near the door”. The people were trying to break the door from inside. I took out a knife (which I had keep in outer pocket of my bag for emergency situations) and asked him to run towards the main gate. I followed him. As he opened the gate, I simply ran outside.
I turned back, to see the condition, but could not see anything- the guard, the hotel, nothing was there. I was not in position to think for 1-2 minutes. I tried to explain this. This Sussex Inn is not hunted. These are not ghosts. Ghosts would never fail to catch me. I can never threaten a ghost with a knife. There must be a different answer to all this. I continued walking. The vanishing of the hotel was good in a way, as no one would follow me.
In Shimla, I know Mr. Rakesh Singh- an expert in paranormal research and a scientist in physics. He is one of my friend’s uncle. He listened to my story with attention. He believed my story. He was happy and it seemed to me, he had an answer before I completed my details. “You wait”, he went away, and came back with a very old newspaper. It was dated 11 September 1825. “Read, but carefully. The pages are very dry and a little pressure can destroy them”. He pointed at an article. The article was named GHOSTLY VISITOR IN SUSSEX INN. It read “Yesterday, a strangely dressed man entered Sussex Inn. He stayed there for a night. Then in morning, he tried to make the payment with counterfeit money. As the staff of the hotel challenged him, he ran away and locked them in. He also beat up the guard. The moment he went out of the gate, the guard said that, he vanished. In reception, he said his name is Nishnat Biswas,
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked. “Well, you made a journey into past. There are certain points on earth through which you can travel into time. Luckily or unluckily, one such window or point is situated near the gate of Sussex Inn. The Inn is not present anymore. However, through the time window, you could see it and you walked into it. Obviously, there was a problem when you went to pay the bill. The currency of 2004 is different from that of 1825.
The mystery was explained. Sometimes we go through experiences which seem improbable, even after they have been explained to us. That was an important day of my life. I consider myself lucky to have passed through the situation.
