The Bhramaramba Haunting

Brahmaramba only trusted Gorthipalle to assist in applying his monthly henna - Gorthipalle made sure to even slather his greying lengthy ear hair

A man named Vishveshwara Brahmaramba lived in Vijayawada, India. He had a good friend named K.R. Gorthipalle and they spent much time together - in fact, Gorthipalle was such a close confidant that even he helped Brahmaramba apply his monthly henna, accessing hairs on his body that were difficult for Brahmaramba to coat in the thick green batter.

One day Gorthipalle's sandals broke while the two were on a jaunt to the Durga temple, located high up on a hill overlooking the city. They two men stopped at a small sandal repair store to fix the now useless flapping footwear. After the cobbler was finished with the sandal (he used a piece of old tire and jalebi juice to ingeniously fix the slipper), Gorthipalle opened his wallet to pay the man 10 rupees, but found only a weathered coupon for tooth powder. He turned to his best friend.

"Brahmaramba, might you lend me 10 rupees to pay this man?" he asked.

Brahmaramba pleasant disposition was abruptly shattered by the request. As if he were trapped in melted jaggery, he slowly reached for his wallet, opened it, and handed over a 10 rupee note.

"Do not worry, friend, I will repay you promptly," Gorthipalle reassured as he struggled to pull the note from Brahmaramba's vice grip.

Gorthipalle then paid the cobbler and they both continued on their journey, although things had noticeably cooled between the two. At the top of the Durga temple, both men prayed fervently to the goddess. Brahmaramba went down on his knees, clenched his eyes so tightly that beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and a vein protruded from his slight neck, and begged that the mighty Kali herself ensure Gorthipalle pay him back his 10 rupees. Gorthipalle prayed with equal vigor that his wife would stop putting okra curry in his tiffin box.

Gorthipalle did not keep his word. After repeated requests, Gorthipalle would always come up short - "Ahhh, so sorry! I had the 10 rupees here to give you but I just had to give it to a most tragic beggar child on the street" "Oh, where is my wallet? Ha ha! The Mrs. must have taken it to get vegetables - Okra curry tonight!" "10 rupees? No, no, that can't be! You could buy a maharajah's slippers for that much!" Brahmaramba grew obsessed - he began to follow Gorthipalle on his errands, stalk him before and after Gorthipalle left his salesman job at A/C unit store. But Gorthipalle would deftly avoid his persistent cries for 10 rupees by diving into auto rickshaws, ducking into pornography films, hiding amongst herds of water buffalo, or grabbing a nearby stick and disappearing into Communist rally.

One day, Gorthipalle received unfortunate news - his friend Brahmaramba had died from drinking contaminated coconut toddy, unable to purchase the 10 rupee watered down Johnnie Walker whisky he normally consumes at the local Vijayawada Social Club. Gorthipalle was both overcome with simultaneous guilt and relief.

Blood or paan juice?

That very evening is when Gorthipalle began to hear strange noises in his flat. In the middle of the night he was awoken by soft jingling sounds next to his bed, as if someone was shaking a handful of change in their pocket. Gorthipalle jumped up, put on his glasses, and looked around the moonlit room. No one was to be found but the sharp, pungent scent of Tiger Balm wafted through the air. Brahmaramba had had bad knees. Terrified, Gorthipalle was unable to go back to bed and decided to instead to do calisthenics until morning.

A week later, Gorthipalle was walking down a hallway in his flat - from the bathroom to the kitchen - when, from behind, he suddenly heard the guttural throat sounds of a person preparing to spit. He quickly twirled around, but saw no one. When he turned back, Gorthipalle then saw the distinct blood red arc of betel nut juice streaked across the wall. He remembered how his friend Brahmaramba could always be seen gnawing on paan throughout the day.

Gorthipalle’s tightly fastened lungi inexplicably unraveled, revealing his “tamarind nuggets and neem twig” to the world.

The very next day, Gorthipalle stepped out of his flat in his lungi to purchase a newspaper on the street corner right in front of his building. Suddenly, without warning, his lungi flew off, baring his "tamarind nuggets and neem twig" to the world. Gorthipalle was mortified - it was not windy, he had not accidentally stepped on it, no incorrigible youths were around, and he had FIRMLY tied his lungi using MANY safety pins. Then Gorthipalle remembered, Brahmaramba abhorred the male skirt so many men wore in the region, namely because it revealed his shockingly skinny sugarcane stalk legs, which had been the focus of unbearable taunting throughout his childhood.

That very moment, Gorthipalle ran over Brahmaramba's home, fiercely clutching his lungi, and paid 10 rupees to Brahmaramba's grief stricken wife. When he returned to his flat, he cried out like a mad man "THERE, BRAHMARAMBA! THE DEBT IS PAID - PLEASE LEAVE THIS HOME!" Brahmaramba went to sleep that night at peace, knowing he had finally appeased the angry spirit of his friend.

In the morning, Brahmaramba felt lighter - he popped out of bed and whistled on his way the kitchen, even picking up a stray biscuit wrapper on the ground and throwing it into the waste bin (a task he normally left to his wife). But then, when he entered the kitchen, he witnessed a sight so horrifying that he let out a blood curdling scream which could be heard throughout the compound.

There, on the floor, scrawled in lime pickle, was written "What about the interest?"