This remains one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life. The memories are so vivid that even after almost 40 years I can see it unfolding before me. And I get goose bumps every time, even as I write this blog.

In deference to the quiet, decent man at the centre of this tale, I have not mentioned names of people or places. However, he feels that his unusual anecdote is worth sharing.

The story goes like this. As a new joinee, I was welcomed by the office fraternity. Just a few days later, something unusual happened. As I opened the washroom door, I heard a low moaning and whimpering sound. A young man stood looking into the mirror at the opposite end and splashing his face with water. His face was contorted. He seemed to be in anguish and pain.

I quickly walked back to my desk, unable to process what I had seen. I glanced at the wall-clock. It was a few minutes after 3pm. Just as I was about to reach out to a senior colleague, I was relieved to see Nagendra (name changed) come back to his table looking composed and normal. He was one of the typists- a quiet and sincere guy.

We were amongst the first ones to reach the office. This led to a bonding of sorts. He was very much into cricket and flying kites. We hit it off on both counts. So it was that one day I asked him about the washroom episode. He just gave a wry smile and shrugged.

A few weeks later it was peak summer and on a public holiday I was invited to his home for lunch. In those days the area was on the outskirts of the city. An independent house with a small garden and a swing in the front porch.  Nagendra opened the door as soon as he heard the front gate latch clanking.

As I entered the house, I felt an odd sensation. Just for a moment. The windows were closed and curtains drawn in the front room and a ceiling fan whirred a bit noisily.  Then I was taken into the dining room where the lunch table had already been set. I was introduced to his mother and younger sister who had laid out an elaborate feast.

My hostess was very gracious and kept serving me with various delicacies. Soon, we began talking as if we had known each other for years. They were curious about my background and family story. Nagendra’s mother was then a teacher in social sciences at a nearby secondary school. His sister was studying law and hoped to practice at the high court. Sadly the father had passed away some months back from a heart attack. Although he had BP problems, his death had come as a shock. I looked at his photo-frame on the mantelpiece with a garland and a diya burning.

At around 3 pm, it was time again for tea and snacks. As we sat on the comfortable drawing room chairs, the talk had dried up. They kept looking at the clock and stealing glances at each other and at me.

Then it happened. As the clock struck three, there was a noisy clattering from the kitchen. I got up startled but was restrained by Nagendra. This bizarre event had apparently happened earlier also. Kitchen utensils would fall from their stands and those in the wash basin would rattle. It was all over in a couple of minutes. I had earlier entered the kitchen to place my lunch plate.  This time I saw the fallen clutter of vessels.

It was then that his mother and sister told me the story. The main character kept quiet during the animated conversation. The family could trace its roots to a cluster of villages and small towns in the heart of India, some 200 kms away. A scenic area with lakes and hills and the vibrant charm of tribal culture and ethos. Growing in popularity with the local tourists. More than a year back they had gone for a traditional alliance for their son. At the engagement ceremonies they had been introduced to a half veiled but nice looking young woman who also briefly spoke like an educated person. My friend had immediately said ‘Yes’ and the preparations started. A few months later they were Man and Wife. Not quite. The wife turned out to be the elder sister who sadly was slow-witted. It came to light later that the younger sibling and her paramour- a local politician cum businessman- had planned this charade to solve the family’s problems. An angry and bewildered Nagendra and family had disowned the entire ceremony and left the new bride at her village.

The strange occurrences had started soon after. Deeply disturbed they ran for help to their large and close-knit family relations. It was around this time that the father figure suddenly passed away leaving all desolate and in deep grief. Family elders brought in a temple priest to help the distraught family. He performed a hawan to drive away the bad energies. Then came a tantric with his occult rituals and the black amulet which Nagendra had to wear on his right upper arm. The young man traversed the 15 kms to his office every day on his father’s motor cycle. He had been advised to get on the vehicle within the house gates and only get off at the basement office parking lot. No stops for any meetings or household chores on the way. Such had been his life when I met them. I was stunned.

It was a few months later that Nagendra surprised me by inviting me to tea at a famous corner tea-shop. He told me that his clan in full strength had visited the village and threatened action. The commotion had led to the Sarpanch, local civic officials and the police getting involved. The bride’s family had demanded Rs 25,000 to annul the marriage, a good sum in those times. Finally a deal was made at Rs 15,000 to be paid in instalments. All the mysterious events of the last year suddenly stopped. Nagendra and family finally found peace and could go on with their lives.

My friend saved the weirdest details for the last. The din of the crashing utensils and his own meltdowns had been triggered by Vodoo magic. Friday, 3pm, had been when the wedding had been solemnised. The abandoned bride’s family had hit back by getting some practitioners to do black magic. When Nagendra had gone for the final settlement, they had even shown him a straw doll with his photo pasted at the head.

I shook my head in disbelief. I had read about voodoo practices in Haiti and some Caribbean islands. Far, far away from his native place- just a four hour drive from where we were sitting. I asked for another round of masala chai.

Around 10 years ago, I was working with a private company and had to visit the city where my old friend was now posted as the Office Head. He had put on weight but was all smiles as he hit my palms in the de-taali fashion (a low-five). We had tea in his cabin and he updated me on his life. He had waited to get his sister married before taking the plunge again. She was now with the State Judicial Service in a good position. They had lost their mother a few years back.

His own family life was happy and settled and good. He had married an office colleague and she had later opted for voluntary retirement. He proudly mentioned that his daughter had passed out of IIM Indore and had a good job with a marquee MNC in the same city.

My good-hearted friend had to connect all the dots… the first woman whom he had agreed to marry in the village had tied the knot with her boyfriend. Her unfortunate elder sister had picked up her life again. She had a talent for the tribal arts, weaving and pottery. Some good people connected her to the State artisan community and she now worked for the Handicrafts department. “That gave me total peace,” said Nagendra with a smile.

Then he took me home to meet his family at dinner. It was heart-warming to see him settled and happy with his family. We continued with our catching-up as he dropped me at the airport for my late-night flight home.