The Haunted Building

 We lived in a middle class locality in Secunderabad. Our residential quarters were flanked by a green building, said to be haunted. One of my friends Ram owned the building., who had a teenage daughter Rashmi and a little son Abhishek. My friend was a jovial person and often joined me in my morning walk. During our walk, we talked about many sundry things. Though I talked about this and that, my friend’s talk was always centred on his teenage daughter Rashmi’s education and future. When he was serious about her future, I used to dismiss his concerns, saying she was hardly sixteen or seventeen only.

  Since Rashmi was an intelligent girl, my friend wanted her to study medicine. Whenever he said that he would like to see his daughter as a medico, with a white coat and a stethoscope on her neck, his face had a great glow. I wished him all success in seeking admission for his daughter in any prestigious medical college.

  But Rashmi had different thoughts about her career. She played on veena (a stringed instrument) very well and did senior course in Carnatic music.

  My friend was very worried. Though he was not against Classical music, he did not like his daughter spending long hours playing on the veena. I personally witnessed bitter arguments between the father and the daughter over this issue.

  To my friend’s joy, Rashmi was the topper in the 12th standard. Usually such an occasion would be celebrated in a grand tea party with friends and relatives. But my friend’s family was not that lucky. Her scoring top rank in 12th standard resulted in a war of words in the family. My friend and his doctor brother wanted the girl to study medicine. But the girl wanted to do an advanced course in veena. Though the girl had her mother’s support, it was of no avail. 

  Ultimately my friend and his doctor brother had the final say. It was decided that Rashmi should study medicine.

  Rashmi gave a stern look at her father and her paternal uncle. She looked at her mother pathetically which conveyed many meanings. Then she dashed into her room and bolted the door from inside.

  We were all convinced that by the morning of the next day, she would come to terms with reality. She would agree to join the medical course.

  The next morning there was a heavy banging on the front door of my apartment. I was startled out of my sleep and opened the door.

  There stood my friend with a worried expression over his face. “Rashmi is not opening her door,”he said, gasping for breath.

  I put on a shirt and rushed into his house along with him. “Rashmi, please open the door” we all cried. But there was no response. We expected something terrible.

  Finally we broke open the door. The lifeless body of Rashmi was hanging from the ceiling fan. 

  My friend paid dearly for not letting his daughter do what she wanted. 

  The police was informed as it was a clear case of suicide by hanging.

  I do not want to go into the harrowing experiences that followed Rashmi’s death.

  But one thing I should not miss telling my readers. Rashmi ended her life on a new moon day. Hence special rites were performed for the well being of her soul till it took rebirth.  

  My friend could no longer live in the spacious building, which he constructed suiting his artistic taste. He appointed a watchman to look after the building and left for the States with his wife and little son. Being an auditor, it was no problem for him to find a job there.

 Though Rashmi died, her interest in classical music did not die. According to the watchman of the building, on every new moon night sweet music on veena was heard in Rashmi’s room in the building for a long time.

  Of late the music stopped. Perhaps Rashmi has taken a fresh birth to pursue her interest in playing veena.