The Flaming Cook of Bose Cabin

Bose Cabin was one of the most popular restaurants in our time in Narayanganj. The restaurant was
really a café since its main meals were breakfast and afternoon snacks. Located near Naraynaganj
Railway Station at the corner of fruit and vegetable market, not too far from our school, Bose
Cabin catered to clients of all ages and all classes. The signature offerings of the café were Aloo
Chop, Chicken Cutlets, Buttered Toasts, Shingaras, and of course spiced Omelletes (which for
strange reasons everyone called Mumlett.) It was not a fancy place, a small tin-shed building with
tables for about thirty people at the most. The kitchen was right in the back of the tin-shed, and
one could smell the aroma of all fried foods while seated in the main room. The place was so popular
that in the morning and afternoon, when people wanted breakfast or afternoon snacks, there would
be long lines.

Bose Cabin was owned by Rajendra Bose (known as Raju Babu) who had owned the place for many
years going before partition of India. Raju Babu did not migrate to India, that is up to that time,
although many of his relatives had. I guess the business generated by the café was too lucrative
for him to leave. The magician of the café who concocted those mouth watering items was,
however, one Bhajahari, a lanky person with a sultry appearance, who hailed from Keraniganj of
Dhaka. He was aided by an eternally cheerful young assistant called Nimai who literally worked on
his two feet sixteen hours a day without complaint.

My relationship with Bose cabin was more than as an occasional client. Raju Babu’s only son –
Shritindra—was a class fellow of mine. However, this friendship did not give me or his other
friends any advantage in the restaurant such as occasional free food, or even a discount. Shritindra
was a street smart kid who knew well that gratuitous food from the restaurant to friends would not
serve the family business very well. However, on the rare days we showed up and spent our pocket
allowances there, he took care that we received the best food.
Shritindra as a student was at the bottom of the pile, mainly because he did not care to study and
neglected his homework. His failures in exams often exacted cruel and unusual punishment from his
father. These included clearing manure from their cowshed (they had a milking cow) , making him
stand at the café kitchen door for hours but depriving him access to delicious food, fetching water
from the tube well to fill up the restaurant water tank, and of course banning of socialization with
friends. After suffering a year these tortures and indignities Shritindra thought enough was
enough. He approached me with an offer. Would I be willing to help him with homework and exams in
lieu of a suitable compensation such free snacks from their café? This was a deal too good to
refuse, and I readily agreed.

I cannot describe to you the heavenly delight I was in for the next few months. For each task that
I helped Shritindra with, I would get a plateful of Shingaras or Aloo Chop. On some days he even
brought an omelette with hot buttered toasts. However, there was a low side to this benefit; I had
to consume the food in secrecy, often behind the school premises so that other students could not
see these stolen gourmet moments and try to divine why I was being treated so well by Shritindra.

Unfortunately this good fortune would not last for long. A disaster struck the Bose family when
the famous café was burnt down by a fire from the kitchen. It all happened at night when
Bhajahari and his assistant Nimai were eating meals in the kitchen after the normal café hours. It
appeared (later after investigation) that Bhajahari had left the coal stove still on fire. A sudden
wind from the open door upset the stove spilling burning coals on a canister of oil that was open.
The canister exploded and the fire quickly spread all over including the café itself. The tragedy
was that both Bhajahari and Nimai were caught in the fire, as they could not escape due to the
suddenness of the accident. When the fire brigade came, the café was almost in ashes. The
strangest thing was that of the two victims, burnt remains of only one were found. This was Nimai,
as recognized from the badly burnt bronze band that he used to wear in his arm. There were no
remains of the cook to be found. The fire fighters said probably his entire body had turned into
ashes.

Bose Cabin remained closed for several months thereafter. Raju Babu was so upset that he had
initially decided to quit the business for good. But the need for an income, and the urgings of his
patrons led him to change his mind. He built a new structure on the land, but this time it was all
concrete including a new kitchen. His biggest problem however, was finding a good cook who could
really offer the same delicious items that Bhajahari did. His tried several, but they all were fired
since none could replicate the same dishes. Even the Omelette did not taste half as good, after I
tried it.

With the clientele of the café falling, Raju Babu was about to close his endeavor when Shritindra
informed me that his father had finally found a cook who could match the old culinarian’s skills.
Later I sampled the food, the famous Aloo Chop, and it was exactly the same as Bhajahari
masterpiece. The only strange aspect of the new cook was that he would speak only in mono
syllables, and never looked up when spoken to. He also wore a long sleeve shirt, long pants, and
covered his head with a monkey cap even though it was hot weather. In the kitchen he asked that
no assistant be there. He alone would handle all the cooking and cleaning tasks. And these he did
so well that Raju Babu had no complaint. Rather, he was glad that he did not have to hire a second
person for the kitchen. The bearers in the café would simply shout out orders to the new cook
from the door, and the food would be delivered by the cook on the pantry table at the end of the
café.

It was about a week later that a pensive Shritindra met me at the school ground, and whispered in
my ears that there was something wrong with the café. When I enquired what it was, Shritindra
said that for a few nights in the past his father had seen kitchen lights on though the café had
closed several hours before. (The Bose family home was across the street from the café.) When
Raju Babu went to the café to find out, the lights were out. But he noticed that strangely the coal
stove was very hot, and there were some coal ambers still burning suggesting that the stove had
been put down only a little before. Next day when he enquired of the cook if he had left the stove
burning, the cook simply shook his head. Raju Babu was puzzled, but he did not know what to do.

When Shritindra asked what he could do to solve this, I suggested to him that we spend one night
in the café and observe for ourselves. Shritindra hesitated at first, thinking of the objections he
would receive from his father. But later he thought of an alternative. He said that he would tell
his parents that he would go spend a night with his cousins at Chashara (a neighborhood two miles
away), while I agreed to get my parents’ permission to spend a night with Shritindra. We only hoped
that none of our parents would find out the truth.

On the ill-fated night (you will soon find out why) we met at the school gates with bags holding our
changes for the night. We had eaten earlier paratha and bhaji in another café nearby. The night
was dark, so no one saw us as we approached Bose Cabin. First, we stopped under the huge banyan
tree that provided a kind of canopy to the shop, to make sure that no one was watching us. It was
an eerie feeling since all was dark with some dim street lights at a distance. There was some noise
from the tree that we figured was made by birds nesting there. We gingerly entered the café with
keys that Shritindra had. We quietly entered the café without switching on any lights.

Our first task was to spread the bed covers on the floor near the kitchen since we wanted to see if
any intruder actually would enter the kitchen. We succeeded to spread our bed covers this in the
pitch darkness without hurting us. We spoke in whispers even though there was no one present.
We waited, and waited, and waited. At one time we both fell asleep.

I do not how long we had slept, but we suddenly woke up with the noise of someone walking inside
the kitchen in heavy steps, and stirring pots and pans. Shritindra tapped me on my shoulder and we
both crawled near the kitchen door. We had two big sticks with us that we intended to use on any
intruder. We peered through the slightly ajar kitchen door, but did not see anything. “It could be
a large rat”, Shritindra whispered. So saying he pushed the door open and we both entered. Still
nothing. We turned around to face the door again when I heard a screeching sound behind. When I
looked again I saw a flame on the wall. I also saw the bewildered face of my companion in the light
of the flame. Before we could say anything to each other the flame advanced toward us, and at
that time we figured that it was actually a human figure outlined by a flame of fire.

Shocked beyond belief, both Shritindra and I made a desperate attempt to get out of the kitchen
and ran toward the door only to find it locked from outside. Our only hope was escape from the
door to the backyard, but the fiery figure was blocking that outlet. As we shivered in fear with
thoughts of approaching death by fire we saw the figure change into a hideous image of a
completely burnt out face with eyes bulging out of their sockets, tongue lolling out, and a body
engulfed by fire. In mortal fear we dashed to one corner of the kitchen falling over pots and pans,
and nearly upsetting the coal stove. We tried to scream but found our voices were stifled. The
fiery figure extended its flaming arms, actually all bones lit by fire as though to grab us. His eyes,
all fiery, seemed to burst out of the sockets and hit us.

In a desperate attempt Shritindra picked up a bucket of water from nearby and threw the content
at the flaming object only to increase the flame and its advance toward us. I took hold of
Shritindra’s hand as if to hold up a joint fight when I felt a terribly burning sensation on my back.
The ghoulish figure was now on our back, and was pressing us both with its flaming arms.

In that moment of near death experience I suddenly saw an opening. The ghoul had left the
backyard door unattended. I grabbed Shritindra, and dashed for the door with all the strength
that I could master. We could feel the fiery breath following us as we broke through the door, and
fell into the ground. With the ghoul not following us any more we ran like crazy and stopped only
after reaching Kalir Bazar—a place mile away.

Kalir Bazar was empty at that ungodly hour with no one except some stray dogs. As we stopped for
breath we looked behind to see if that ghoul was still chasing us. No, there was nothing around.
We thanked dear lord for saving us, and decided to go to our respective homes. We knew we had to
concoct some fibs to explain our sudden reappearance at that hour. But fibs and parental
punishment were infinitely better than losing our lives in the hands (or fiery bones) of a ghost.

There were more surprises and shocks awaiting me next day, however. Shritindra did not come to
school that morning, but came to our house in the afternoon to tell me another bizarre story. The
next morning when his father had gone to the café, he found the kitchen in a huge mess.
Everything was tossed around including the stove. Even the café chairs were found under the
banyan tree. Even more strange was that the new cook did not appear for work. When Raju Babu
sent a servant to the place which the new cook had given as his address, no one was found. On
query the neighbors said no one by that given name lived in that area. It is at that time that
Shritindra told his father our adventure of the previous night. Apparently, Raju Babu was not too
shocked by the story. He had simply replied that he would have to do something.
That something was closure of the café not only that day for all days there on. Bose Cabin
remained closed for ever. Raju Babu moved out and eventually migrated to India. I lost my child
hood friend. But before Shritindra left, we asked ourselves one question. Were the new cook
actually the fiery ghost we had encountered, and the fiery ghost was no other than the spirit of
Bhajahari? We would never know.

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