Once Upon a Cinema: The paranormal encounters of Ashok Kumar

The year was 1951. Bimal Roy had been invited by Bombay Talkies to make a film for them. Roy had made a name for himself in Calcutta, having made the seminal Udayer Pathe (1944) and its remake Hamrahi (1945), both of which created quite a stir. These two, besides other films he made for New Theatres made him a force to reckon with. But the second world war made celluloid films prohibitively expensive, and the partition had split the audience for Bengali films between East and West Bengal, effectively halving the potential audience for his films. It was during this period that he received an invitation from Ashok Kumar and Savak Vacha of Bombay Talkies. Would Bimal Roy be kind enough to come down to Bombay and make a film for them? Roy assembled his faithful comrades – a ragtag band of talented writers, actors and technicians who always worked with him. This included Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Asit Sen (the actor-director-humorist), Paul Mahendra, and screenwriter-novelist Nabendu Ghosh. With this team and his family in two, Bimal Roy set sail for Bombay.

The account that follows is narrated in Nabendu Ghosh’s Bengali memoir, Eka Noukar Jatri. Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Asit Sen and Nabendu Ghosh were sitting in the Bombay Talkies office when a production assistant called Patange arrived and announced that someone at the studio had seen Himanshu Rai in the lot the previous night. This would have been a perfectly normal statement, if not for the fact that Himanshu Rai had passed away almost a decade ago, in 1940. Asit Sen and Hrishikesh Mukherjee, progressive young men both, brushed away Patange’s claims. But Nabendu encouraged him to explain further.

At its prime, Bombay Talkies employed around 400 people, with a proper corporate environment and dedicated departments for each filmmaking function. The editing department was headed by one Dattaram N. Pai, who overlooked editing for most of Bombay Talkies' productions. The previous night, as Pai finished the day’s work at 2 a.m., department peon Rajaram Shinde locked the editing department and left for home, but stopped in his tracks. He spotted a man wearing milky white trousers and a white shirt, holding a tin of cigarettes in his left hand and puffing on a cigarette held in the other hand. Rajaram had been working at the studio for almost 12 years now, and the only person he had ever seen dress and smoke like that was Himanshu Rai. Himanshu loved to wear white, smoked State Express 555, and was known to stroll through the studio at night. He had heard rumours about Rai’s ghost haunting the studio but this was the first time he was seeing it with his own two eyes. He shut his eyes and walked the other way, chanting ‘Ram, Ram, Ram..’, when he heard Rai’s voice booming, “Daro mat Shinde!” Shinde felt someone brush past him. As he opened his eyes, nobody was there.

When Patange finished this incredible tale, Hrishikesh remarked that Rajaram Shinde was probably stoned. The men told this story to Bimal Roy and they had a good laugh over it. But when Savak Vacha (eminent producer attached to Bombay Talkies, one of its pillars) arrived, he sided with Patange. They shouldn’t be so sure the ghost didn’t exist – “Iss kahani ke peechhe koi baat toh hai”, he said. He suggested they talk to Ashok Kumar, if they were interested in getting to the bottom of this. Dadamoni came every evening and said hi to Bimal Roy. On this particular day, the boys surrounded him. Did he believe Himanshu Rai’s ghost was haunting the studio compound? Had he seen a ghost? He lit a cigarette and Bimal da lit his famous Chesterfield.

Himanshu Rai was a karmayogi, says Ashok Kumar. He had virtually dedicated his life to the growth of cinema. He even did some acting initially but didn’t indulge in it for any of the Bombay Talkies films. The kind of obsessive, tireless work that he put in to ensure the growth of Bombay Talkies as a studio had inspired everyone, from actors to technicians to the studio hands. Those who had seen that man at work or had worked closely with him are convinced at a subliminal level that he won’t be able to leave the studio, even though he is now dead. But is there any truth to these sightings at all? Kumar said he was wondering the same thing in 1940, when Rai had passed away and the first sightings had begun. At the time Ashok used to live right behind the studio, in a house called Sawant Niwas. A worker named Dave told him he’d seen Himanshu Rai at 1 in the morning. He was clad in white, and strolled through the lot in his usual style, smoking and carrying the tin on the other hand. Ashok urged him to let him know the next time Himanshu was spotted. The very next night, Dave came running – Himanshu was back.

Ashok Kumar ran as fast as he could, but no white shirt- white trousers – cigarette tin could be seen anywhere. And it was then that it struck him. He asked Dave to summon Mr. Tagore, the art director. Mr. Tagore used to sleep in the studio. He came promptly. Ashok asked him in a dead-serious tone: why was he scaring these people? Mr. Tagore had no idea what he was talking about. It so happened that Tagore was wearing all white that night, and smoking. He carried a tin of Gold Flake wherever he went. Ashok Kumar explained everything to the stunned man and asked him never to walk around like that again. At least, not in all white.

In his memoir, Nabendu Ghosh mentions another incident with Ashok Kumar which he apparently narrated in the same session. This happened when he had just been married to Shobharani Ganguly. His career as a leading man had just taken off. He was granted a leave of three days (actors at this time were salaried employees of the studio), so the best place they could think of visiting was Khandala. There were many small bungalows available for rent. They booked one known as Jeejeebhoy House. There was a caretaker named Gangaram who took care of the chores. When asked why the rent was so low, Gangaram remarked that the house was haunted. Again, Ashok and his wife laughed, saying ‘let’s watch a ghost together next time.’ Ashok and Shobha were having a great time at the bungalow, until one night when Gangaram left to meet a friend. He left at ten, promising to return by midnight.

Shobha slept by 11. Dadamoni was busy reading a book. The clock had struck 12, and no sign of Gangaram. A woman’s voice called out, piercing the silence. She was asking for help. Ashok Kumar set the book down and opened the door. He noticed a car parked outside their gate, and an attractive woman of about 30-35 stood there with someone who looked like he might be the driver. The car had broken down, she insisted. Could they get some water so that it could be brought back to life? Absolutely! Eager to help, Ashok rushed in to get water for her. He handed her a bottle of water. She passed it to the driver and as he tried to get the car started, she waited on the stairs. Ashok and the woman got talking. He wondered if he could offer her a drink…maybe a beer? She said no.

The driver yelled, there was no way to fix the car right then. She’d have to find another way to get back to Bombay. She was enraged. He was a worthless driver, she said, but agreed that there was no other way. Ashok tried to say bye but she didn’t wait. They started walking together, turned the bend and vanished into the night. Ashok shut the door and went to bed. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. He woke up to a blood-curdling scream from outside. He opened the door but there was nobody, just the car. Who was screaming then? Was it coming from inside the car? Ashok approached the vehicle and peered in. Inside, a middle-aged man was trying hard to breathe with his mouth wide open, but his throat had been cut open and the wound was bleeding profusely. Dadamoni jumped back a step, and then dashed back towards the door in sheer terror. This time, he locked the door, sat close to his sleeping wife and fixed himself a glass of whiskey. He drifted into sleep as alcohol overpowered him.

Everything seemed normal in the morning. Gangaram was apologizing as he had to stay the night. His friend’s child was sick. When he returned, the lights were on. Ashok told him that a man was murdered in the car outside. Gangaram hadn’t noticed any car outside the house. Ashok realized he was telling the truth. There was indeed no sign of the car. But he had to report the murder he had witnessed, Ashok decided. Shobha was awake by now. They headed to the nearest police station. As he narrated the incident to the officer in charge, he asked if they had put up at Jeejeebhoy House. Had no one warned him that the house was haunted? The events that Ashok Kumar had witnessed had actually transpired fourteen years ago. The woman ran away after murdering the man Ashok saw bleeding to death. By the time the cops caught up with her, the woman had died in a car crash. And that’s why, Ashok Kumar said, lighting another cigarette, he was not so sure that ghosts don’t exist.

Amborish is a National Film Award winning writer, biographer and film historian.

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