The Secret Catacomb of Dighapatia

--Ziauddin Choudhury

Dighapatia Rajbari used to be a popular tourist stop in Natore, formerly a sub-division of

Rajshahi district. The imposing palace, home of the Maharajahs of Natore for several
generations fell into decay after partition. The palace was placed under the archaeological
department for preservation initially. Years later, the provincial governor of East Pakistan that
period, Monayem Khan, turned it into a Government House for Northern Areas. In 1971 the
place was again ravaged first by the Pakistan Army and then by the Indian forces that used the
place for camps. In 1972 Bangabandhu ordered restoration of the place, and termed it Uttara
Ganabhaban –the official residence of the President in the Northern Districts.

I had the privilege of staying in the historic building one night in the summer of 1972, the time
when the palace was undergoing restoration. I was accompanying Mr. Kamaruzzaman, then
minister for relief and rehabilitation, in his tour of the northern districts as his private secretary.
This was my first ever visit to the northern districts, and I was getting the taste of a scorching
summer of the area in July. However, the eerie experience that I had in the palace that time
was one that would haunt me for days and months to come. This is not what you expect in an
abode renovated and refurbished for visiting dignitaries. More importantly not everyone who
stayed in the stately house had that experience. It was one of a kind.

Our party arrived at Natore in a hot July afternoon traveling through dusty roads of Pabna, and
we deposited ourselves in the Rajbari totally exhausted. I was so tired that I even forgot to
admire the enormous structure, the ornate gateway, and the sprawling green lawns of the
palace. The rooms were enormous, and many were still getting painted and the windows
repaired. I was given a room on the upper floor a few doors away from the Minister’s suite.
There were no air conditioners in the rooms, except a few that were reserved for dignitaries.
The Halls downstairs including the dining room also lacked any air conditioning that time. We
were told that all room air conditioners had been looted in 1971. (A convenient excuse given
by the keepers of all government owned rest houses post 1971 for all thefts and looting in the
rest houses.)

Immediately after I reached my room I opened all windows to let in fresh air, although it was
still very hot outside. However, the high ceiling and thick walls of the building helped to keep
the temperature inside somewhat cooler than outside. I took a long shower in the adjacent
bath quickly and joined the minister and others down in the dining room for an early dinner. I
was glad to see there a large refrigerator in the dining room that was recently installed. The
minister did not want to have any meetings that night as he had a full schedule the next day.

After the minister retired for the night I took a stroll of the enormous Hall and adjoining
corridors that still had some statues left. The original chandeliers had disappeared, and these
were replaced by less expensive fixture albeit attractive. There was a small stage in the Hall
that the Maharajahs used for performances by singers and dancers who entertained the
Maharajah’s guests. I enquired of a bearded attendant of the rest house if he had any
interesting stories to tell me about the old palace. He laughed and said he had heard many
from his father, but these would only deprive me of my sleep. I took his remark as a joke. On a
practical matter, however, I asked him if the floor above had any refrigerator. He answered
that the only refrigerator in the premises was in the dining hall, but he would gladly keep a
pitcher of cold water in my room. I thanked him as he took one pitcher to my room.

I came back to my room and lay in bed reading an Agatha Christie book that I had brought with
me. The room felt sultry even though all windows were wide open. After reading about an
hour I felt quite sleepy. I kept the windows open, and went to sleep. I do not how long I had
slept, but a loud thud of the windows woke me up all of a sudden. I rose up to find that the
window had closed mysteriously, and the water pitcher had dropped on the ground splashing
water all around. I tried to switch on the bed lamp, but it would not work. Fortunately there
was a flashlight near the bed. I turned it on, but I did not see anyone in my room. I stood up
and tried to open the window. It seemed to be stuck. I decided to go down to get some water
with the flashlight in my hand.
There was no one below as I descended the stairs, the bearers had gone to their sleeping
quarters, and the guests were all asleep in their respective rooms. The lights in the main hall
were lit so that I did not have any difficulty in reaching the utility room where the refrigerator
was located. I opened the refrigerator hoping there would be another pitcher of water there.
As I looked for the pitcher I felt an icy grip in my left shoulder. I looked back in shudder only to
find no one. I thought I was still imagining things after the inexplicable incident of a closed
window in my room earlier. I went back to the refrigerator, but this time I definitely felt a
tighter grip on my left arm. I shook my hand free and as I turned around I saw an image of a
human figure running quickly toward the door near the Galley.

I do not what possessed me, but on an impulse I followed the image, and came to a closed
door. Without thinking I turned the door handle and saw a stair case leading to a floor below. I
was not aware that the building had a basement, but when I saw that the staircase was lighted I
went down the stairs. It was a large hall where I descended that was partly lit by the lights of
the staircase. I used the flashlight to see what was inside the room. There were few pieces of
old furniture and some rugs on the floor. The ceiling was decorated with very old chandeliers
that would be lit with candles in old time. My instinct told me not to explore the place any
more, and I retraced my steps to the stairs. As I started back, I distinctly heard a woman cry in
anguish and looked back mortified by fear. The sound was coming from an adjacent room.

I was in two minds, whether to find out who was crying in that forsaken room or to rush up and
get some help. Before I could reach a decision the stair lights went out mysteriously. As I
turned the flashlight on I could hear the woman cry again. I turned to the wall, and saw an
opening that seemed to lead to another room. Again on an impulse I walked toward the
opening. With the flashlight I discovered the opening to be a corridor to another room. There
was a musty smell coming from the corridor. I was afraid to enter the corridor, but I was kind of
mesmerized by the sound from across the other side, and kept going.

The place I reached had a very low ceiling. With the dim lights from my hand I could see there
were several wooden boxes on the floor. There were also some firearms and other weapons on
the wall. But there was no one in that space. As I was debating in my mind if I should leave, I
heard whispers all around as though there was a large gathering inside and people were talking
in low voices. I heard also faint sound of musical instruments, and metal beads of anklets
coming from an adjoining room. I looked hard to see anything with my flashlight but there was
not a soul in that space. I turned around to leave, but before I could proceed a strong grip held
my shoulder and I dropped my flashlight. It was completely dark, and I fell down heavily on the
concrete below as I was struck by a heavy blow.

I do not remember how long I lay on the floor, but when I came to my senses it was still dark all
around. A foul stench of rotting substances hit my nose. I remember I had to crawl for several
yards to reach the stair case. As I reached the stairs I saw a man standing at the top with a
flashlight in hand. He was the bearded bearer I had met on the day before. He was looking
down on me with a frown. “How did you get in there”, he asked, before I could even pull
myself up. I trudged myself up the stairs with great difficulty, and collapsed on a chair reaching
the main hall. The bearded bearer was still looking at me with angry eyes waiting for an
answer. I asked for a glass of water first, which he gave me. After finishing the glass of water in
one gulp, I narrated to him my misadventure of the night. The old bearer shook his head, and
said I should have done this, adding that I was lucky to be alive. He asked me to get back to my
room, promising that he would tell me all about the floor below some other day, but not in the
same palace.

Next day we had to leave Natore for Rajshahi, and I wondered if I would ever learn about the
mystery of Dighapatia palace. But true to his word, the bearded bearer came to Rajshahi
Circuit House a day later, and found me out. It was a story too bizarre to be true.

The Maharajahs of Dighhapatia were as much fun loving as their peers in other parts of Bengal
indulging in game sports and entertainment of all kinds. The most common of this
entertainment was mujras or singing and dancing sessions by professional dancers from
Lucknow and Calcutta. Every puja season the Maharajahs would get a noted professional for a
month for private entertainment at the palace. The performance would be in the main Naach
Ghar (Dance Hall) on the first floor. The accommodations of the singer/dancer and her musical
assistants were made in a chamber in the basement.

The dance and singing routine continued in the Dighapatia house for several generations until
the time of the grandfather of the last Maharajah who left his estate for India after partition of
India. It was a sad ending to a great tradition, the bearer said. The grandfather of the last
Maharajah had been smitten by a young Lucknow dancing girl. So much so, that he had made
her a permanent member of his Palace instead of employing her seasonally. He spent lavishly
on the girl, and was very jealous of anyone among his friends and relatives who tried to
befriend her. Unfortunately for the Maharajah, there was a young cousin from Cooch Behar
who had developed an eye for the girl after one Mujra where he was invited. From then on the
cousin would visit Dighapatia on one pretext or another, and liked to watch the girl dance and
hear her sing. The old Maharajah tolerated this for some time; but little did he realize that his
young mistress was also falling for the younger man. He found this out rather accidentally.

The Maharajah had gone to Darjeeling for vacation with his family, but he had to return rather
early to attend an urgent business in the estate. He had returned unannounced leaving his
family in Darjeeling. To his great surprise he found a Phaeton waiting at the Palace gate that
belonged to the Cooch Behar cousin. On query from the guards he found that the cousin had
arrived there the day before. The Maharajah rushed to the palace. When he did not find the
cousin in the main hall, he became suspicious and went down to his mistress’s chamber, only to
find the mistress in an amorous embrace with the cousin. The couple was equally taken by
surprise. The Maharajah said nothing, and left the room for the main hall.

The young cousin followed the Maharajah upstairs. The Maharajah simply asked that the
cousin to leave the palace immediately, which he did. The mistress did not go up. The
Maharajah did not go down either. In fact, he would not go her chamber in the evening also.
Later that night the young mistress would receive two unknown visitors who would muffle her
to death with a pillow. Her two assistants, witnesses to this horrible incident, would be simply
knifed to death and left there. The bodies would never be found as these were buried inside
the chamber.

A few days later the Cooch Behar cousin returned to seek an interview with the Maharajah and
ask for the dancer’s welfare. Reportedly the cousin was asked to visit the dancer in her
chamber. When he went there, he was locked inside, and kept there until his horrific death
from starvation.

That was the secret of Dighapatia, the bearer told me. He also said the Public Works
Department had already sealed the basement, but somehow one door was still not completely
sealed. That is how I found the stairs. The door was sealed permanently the day after we left,
the bearer told me. You will no longer know that there ever was a secret chamber below. Not
to speak of the ghastly deaths there, and the spooks that inhabit the place.

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