(Parikshit Sharma) Just alongside the mystic rail route from Kalka to Shimla, nestles a small military cantonment area Dagshai. Dagshai, approximately 11 km from Solan, can be approached from the nearest railway station – Dharampur or from Kumarhatti.
As per the legend, the place was called ‘Daag-e-Shahi’ meaning ‘Royal Stain’, however, when the Britons occupied it, got distorted to Dagshai.
My story revolves around the circular road known as the Charring Crossroad, a serpentine type that takes you through the ups and downs of this beautifully developed military town. I visited this place in my childhood days and enjoyed the cool breeze, the British settlements made for Bachelor officers and family accommodations along with the Army Public School.
I can recount that my maternal uncle who was in the administration of the Army Public School had a beautiful independent family accommodation. We enjoyed the best time of our childhood here. I and my cousin Saurabh used to roam around with our white Pomeranian ‘Toffee’. As we were of a notorious lot, we used to hang around throughout the day on the streets, in the playground, at the local shops for patissa, samosa, and besan (a sweet in the hills).
My maternal grandmother and parents used to scold us for that, but we did not bother much. One day while returning from our daily routine visit to the local vendor, we overheard the story about the English gentleman’s ghost. We gathered that he died of a tragedy when a bolder toppled over him amounting to his instantaneous death. This brought a shrill down our spine. We came back home and did not venture on the same track for almost a week.
On our next visit to the same vendor almost a week later, we ate besan and samosas, played in the ground and were tired. We slept at the bench stand. We got up really late in the evening and it was 07:15. Now, we were terror-struck and thinking of going from the same street back to home, we thought of running. We ran and covered half past the total length and got tired, so started walking. I heard a small hustle in the background and thought the English gentleman has arrived to quench his hunger. I told Saurabh and we started running once again. It was like we were out of breath, out of power to run, but still tried somehow to reach the street near the house, gasping for breath.
On return home, we narrated the same to our family. The family scolded us and took our promise not to go to the same area again – alone.
Note: This story is written by Dr Parikshit Sharma, associate professor at Amity University Noida
