The Alummoottil Nalukettu, a sprawling ancestral home, was a monument to tradition, wealth, and power. Its labyrinthine corridors had seen countless family feasts, ceremonial rituals, and secretive disputes. But what lay beneath its grandeur was a chilling secret—the tale of Chaathan, a shadowy figure that roamed its halls, a vengeful spirit born of betrayal and despair.
A Sudden Chill
It was a humid June evening. Rain lashed against the Nalukettu’s tiled roofs, and thunder rolled ominously in the distance. The family had gathered in the Meda, where laughter and conversation filled the air.
Suddenly, the flames of the oil lamps flickered wildly, and a cold draft swept through the room.
“Did you feel that?” asked Raghavan, one of the younger family members, glancing uneasily at the dark corners of the room.
The elders dismissed it as a passing breeze, but Lakshmi Amma, the matriarch, fell silent. Her wrinkled hands clutched her prayer beads tightly, her lips moving in a silent chant.
Later, as the family dispersed to their rooms, Lakshmi pulled Raghavan aside. “Do not wander into the western wing,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Why not, Ammamma?” he asked.
Her eyes darted nervously toward the corridor. “Because he is awake. Chaathan does not forgive.”
The Legend of Chaathan
The next morning, over breakfast, Raghavan pressed Lakshmi for answers. The elders exchanged uneasy glances, but Lakshmi finally relented.
“Many years ago,” she began, her voice heavy with emotion, “when the family was at its peak, we had a servant named Narayanan. He was loyal, hardworking, and deeply devoted to us. But one day, a chest of gold coins went missing from the granary. The chieftain, your great-grandfather Sekharan Channar, was furious.”
Lakshmi paused, her hands trembling. “Narayanan pleaded his innocence, but no one believed him. They locked him in the granary as punishment, intending to let him starve until he confessed. Days turned to weeks, and Narayanan’s cries for mercy faded. When they finally opened the door, he was gone—but not his anger.”
“Gone?” Raghavan asked, puzzled.
Lakshmi nodded gravely. “His body had disappeared, but his shadow remained. From that day, the western wing has been his domain. Chaathan, we call him now. He is no longer Narayanan but something darker, something vengeful.”
The First Encounter
That night, the servant Gopalan was sweeping the corridor near the granary when he felt an icy draft. A faint whisper filled the air.
“Leave…”
Gopalan froze. The shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, darker than the surrounding gloom. He turned slowly, his broom falling from his hands.
“Who’s there?” he stammered.
The shadow moved closer, its form shifting and amorphous. “You… will… pay…”
Gopalan screamed and fled, collapsing in the courtyard. When the family found him, he was incoherent, his eyes wide with terror.
The Growing Fear
Word of the shadow spread through the household. Servants refused to go near the western wing, and even the family avoided the granary. One evening, Raghavan decided to investigate.
With a lamp in hand, he ventured into the forbidden corridor. The air grew colder with every step, and the flame flickered violently.
“Chaathan, if you are here, show yourself,” he called, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him.
A whisper replied, low and menacing. “Why… do… you disturb me?”
The shadow emerged, coalescing into a humanoid form. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly, and its presence filled the corridor with an oppressive weight.
“You betrayed me,” it hissed. “Your family left me to die.”
Raghavan swallowed hard. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even born.”
“But you carry their blood,” Chaathan snarled. “And with it, their guilt.”
The Forgotten Chest
The next day, Raghavan shared his encounter with the family. Lakshmi suggested they search the granary for answers.
Amid the dust and cobwebs, they found a small, locked chest hidden beneath the floorboards. Inside were the missing gold coins and a note in Narayanan’s handwriting: “I am innocent. Forgive me.”
Lakshmi gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “He was telling the truth all along.”
The Exorcism
Desperate to end the curse, the family summoned a group of Manthravadi Brahmins, priests skilled in ancient rituals. For seven days, they chanted mantras, lit sacred fires, and made offerings to appease Chaathan.
On the final night, the shadow appeared, its form towering over the priests.
“You cannot banish me,” it growled. “This is my home.”
The chief priest stepped forward, his voice calm. “We do not wish to banish you, Chaathan. We wish to honor you. Will you accept a shrine in the Thekkedath Kaavu, where you will be revered and your pain respected?”
The shadow hesitated, its form flickering. “A shrine… for me?”
The priest nodded. “Yes, a sanctuary where your story will never be forgotten.”
Chaathan’s form dissolved into the air, and the granary fell silent.
The Legacy of Chaathan
True to their promise, the family built a shrine for Chaathan in the Thekkedath Kaavu. Annual rituals and offerings were established to honor his spirit. The granary, however, was permanently sealed, a silent reminder of the family’s past mistakes.
Even today, visitors to Alummoottil speak of an unexplainable chill in the western wing. Some say they hear faint whispers, as if Chaathan still lingers, watching, ensuring his story is never forgotten.
