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Sholapurwala lovingly looked at the tiny planchette (a heart shaped wooden arrow mounted on tinier casters) sitting motionless on his glass table top in the Nariman Point office of India’s premier vaccine maker. A large chart, containing letters of the alphabet and numerals from one to nine (an Ouija board in medium parlance), is spread eagled. Sholapurwala, a genial man in his seventies, is a scientist by training. He lightly touches the planchette, which literally comes alive before our bewildered eyes, and starts furiously zigzagging over the chart. "Who are you?” asks the old Parsi. "R-U-S-I,” goes the planchette. "Oh! you again,” exclaims Sholapurwala, "What do you want?” "I-WANT-TO-F_ _ _,” replies this disembodied entity called Rusi. Disgusting, grunts the old gentleman, he has lots of desire but no body to fulfill it. Burning in the hell of desires, we sheepishly state. Sholapurwala nods enthusiastically.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sholapurwala is well versed with occultists and their works: Helena Blavatsky, author of The Secret Doctrine claimed to have been dictated by the Masters of the Great White Brotherhood; the Theosophists, Annie Besant and Charles Leadbeater; the German occultist, Rudolph Steiner’s Karma; Alice Bailey’s Agni Yoga; Sri Aurobindo’s Life Divine — the list was endless. Though a practising Zoroastrian, Sholapurwala firmly believed in the twin principles of karma and reincarnation. At death, you merely discard the bodily robe —the journey continues through eons, in multiple bodies.
 Sholapurwala was not alone; Parsi spiritualists abound. They are neither charlatans nor in it for any gain, at least their motive is pure — providing solace to those who have lost someone beloved as also to seek guidance from the other world. Whether they are truly psychic or merely hallucinating is a different matter.
Years ago, we recollect our clients, two Parsi spinsters of blue blood, telling us that they had evidence that their brother was murdered. Before we could take them to the police, they fortunately (for us) revealed their source of information – the deceased brother himself, who spoke to them during a séance.
The most famous of the Parsi spiritualists were Khorshed and Rumi Bhavnagri of Rustom Baug who lost both their young sons in a car accident. During our stint with The Bombay Samachar, we had visited them. You lit a lamp, recited Yatha Ahu Vairyo thrice, grabbed a ball point pen which would initially scribble gibberish on a note book, and gradually full sentences would form. Was it your subconscious or an incarnation awaiting denizen of the other world, you had to decide.
Khorshed authored a book called The Laws of the Spirit World which became quite popular even though believers found its contents to be quite puerile including a chapter on an exclusive heaven for dogs, cats and parrots. They had a large following amongst non-Parsis too. The distraught mother of the air hostess who had perished in the Air India crash on New Year’s eve became obsessed by ‘automatic writing,’ an alternate method of communicating with the dead. "Darling, I found my missing earrings in the second drawer of the bedroom cabinet, exactly as you had told me,” the mother would tell her daughter, who would reply by stating that she enjoyed the most pretty purple sky in the nether heavens, yesterday.
A Parsi lady of aristocratic lineage learned to communicate with her son, a lad of 12, who had succumbed to a rare heart disorder. Behram, as we shall call this boy, turned into a powerful ‘guide’ for his mother. We were privy to an episode involving Behram. Noted counsel of the Bombay High Court, Firdaus Taleyarkhan, an avid mountaineer who explored the Himalayas every court summer vacation, fell into a crevice, and all attempts to rescue him by the Indian Army and other agencies were proving unsuccessful. On behalf of his father, the well-known Parsi politician, Homi Taleyarkhan, a relative requested Behram’s mother to conduct a séance. The rescue team was stunned by the precise instructions given by Behram as to the exact position of Firdaus in the crevice and the suggestions to extricate him. He must be pulled out in the next two hours, warned Behram. Unfortunately, it proved impossible to reach Firdaus. Just before dawn, Behram told his mother that Firdaus was happy and now with them and the rescue operations may be called off. At that very moment, the rescue team had reached an identical conclusion. Some years later, Firdaus’s well-preserved body was discovered by another Himalayan expedition team.
Karl Umrigar was India’s best upcoming jockey who had saddled many winners at a very young age. Umrigar was thrown off his mount and his lungs punctured by the hoofs of the horse which followed. After a brief battle, he succumbed. Like the Bhavnagris, his mother, Dhun (Nanny) Umrigar emerged as a powerful medium over the years, claiming an ability to communicate with her son and other departed ones including Meher Baba, a popular Parsi Irani godman, who kept a vow of silence when alive. Seasoned occultists claim, however, that the souls dwelling in the subtler mental and astral realms seldom communicate with mediums who are lulled by the lesser disembodied entities masquerading as some celebrity. Bona fide mediums too often fail to distinguish between the impressions emanating from their subconscious and messages coming from the other world. A rather thin line exists between sanity and delusional hallucination.
The internationally famed dancer and choreographer Shiamak Davar is a committed spiritualist and so is noted stage actor Sorab Ardeshir who, along with his octogenarian mother Silla, holds séances once a week at their Bandra home. They have acquired quite a fan following among Parsis and non Parsis. There are plenty other Parsi spiritualists of various hues and colors from Pasta Lane to Thana. Of course, many who think they are mediums are plain barmy. We know of a retired lady manager of a public sector bank who is convinced that Zarthosht Saheb is in constant communication with her.
The great playwright and theater personality Adi Marzban dabbled in the occult too and wrote a memorable skit for All India Radio called Maro Raincoat, where the raincoat of a deceased best friend forewarns Marzban of many a disaster by falling off the peg on its own. In fact, Marzban wrote a superb parody in which comedian Dinshaw Daji wailed for his recently departed wife, Tehmi, who admonished him even from the distant heavens. Hearing the cackling voice of the old thespian, like a tenor gone terribly wrong, "Tehmina, tu paachhi aav, èm mané na sataav (please return and stop torturing me thus),” had the audience rolling in the aisles.
Our no nonsense grandmother often warned us never ever to participate in any séance or other mode of contacting the dead. She vividly narrated as to how cups and saucers used to fly on their own in the house of her Navsari neighbor who was an exponent of this practice. This has prevented us from a foray, as we do not want a saucer containing hot English breakfast tea hurtling at top speed toward us.
The orthodox, including the Ilm-e-Khshnoomists, frown upon these unZoroastrian practices and warn exponents of dire consequences (antithetical to the Kyani tokham (genetic make-up) and the pure Berjisi jiram (soul fibre). Asho farohars of the departed are not to be thus disturbed in their celestial realms, say our priests.
And finally, this rather touching tale, narrated to us by the new managing partner of our law firm. After a hearty repast at the Colaba Agiary, a well-known spiritualist and his mother took a car lift. The spiritualist burped loudly, whereupon his mother said, "Oh I forgot to tell you, dikra (son), daddy did warn that the paatru would not be nice!” The spiritualist replied, "Please ask him now whether I should take Baralgan or will Digene suffice.”