THINK OF THE DEVIL...

BY BISWADEEP GHOSH

"No, no, no. I am not superstitious. I do not believe devils exist. I don't think ghosts are real. I am imagining noises, voices, sounds, pain...." Curled up on a bed in the Intensive Care Unit of a hospital, I was endeavouring to exorcise the music assaulting my senses repeatedly. But the musicians - a motley crew consisting of a trained voice, a shehnai, a violin, and a tabla that grew loud and louder - had other intentions. They wanted me to stay awake, to hear what they had composed which, in this case, was a chhota khayal in Raga Puriya Dhanashri that went on and on for two consecutive days.

At a time when I was in considerable pain, I heard the first strains of a composition for the first time. The melody was impeccable, and the violinist seemed particularly skilled. Half asleep out of sheer faigue, I found the tune really soothing and started humming softly. The vocalist leading the pack was a wonderful singer, and he was challenging me to make the best use of my voice that had been lying dormant for so long. It must have been around four in the evening when I had started humming. This went on till my attendant walked in. I checked the clock. It was well past midnight.

"Can you hear the way these guys are practising outside? They are perfectionists to the core," I remember telling him in a tone filled with admiration.

"Which song? Who is practising? It is absolutely silent," the fellow shot back. I opened my eyes fully, and stared at him. His face had a blank look which suggested he did not know what I was talking about.

"Can't you hear the riyaz outside?," I asked most impatiently.

"There is absolute silence sir. You must be joking," he replied. He must have been wondering how I was able to crack such sick jokes so late in the night when I was, it was abundantly obvious, very sick.

I just kept mum. Outside, the musicians continued to indulge in practice. I tried to sleep, but the tabla player had other ideas. He played the drums so loudly that the sound buried the vocals. I placed a pillow across my ears, and tried to sleep. In what was the most uneasy night of my entire life, I stayed awake till the nurse walked in.

"Sister, can you hear good music?" I asked the lady while looking at my attendant who was fast asleep.

"It is six in the morning. Who will sing now?," she responded, twitching her eyebrows as if to tell me how horribly wrong I was.

That afternoon, my uncle came to town to meet me. I told him about the sound that was good music to the ears and yet, had the power to hurt me because it simply did not stop. After hearing me out, uncle brought out a small portrait of Goddess Kali, and asked me to put it under my pillow.

When I started feeling sleepy that night, I took out the portrait from under the pillow and touched it with my right hand. I tried to concentrate, and kept on praying. Slowly, slowly, the sound disappeared. The tabla seemed to become more remote with every passing second, and so did the voice and the other instruments. Not much later...God, I am not superstitious. I am not guided by beliefs that cannot be understood. I had been imagining music all through. Or, am I what I think I am not? Don't know any longer, although once I thought I did.

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