Maharaja, an ancient brass statue stood inside the museum store-room for many decades, as he was damaged.
One day, the workers carried new statues into the storeroom, as the museum was being painted.
“Heellllooo,” Maharaja greeted the new statues, eager as he was to make friends.
They turned their faces away. One of them whispered, “Look at the marks on his body, no wonder he has been removed from display.”
“Let’s keep a distance from him, else we all will look like him,” another statue said. They all moved to a corner of the room.
Maharaja felt sad. As usual, he was being judged by his appearance.
Seeing the open store-room door, he marched down a corridor, muttering, “I’ll easily befriend humans.”
Unknown to the statue, it was ethnic day in the museum.
Several students wearing churidar-kurta, pink turbans on their heads, entered the corridor.
“How are you children?” Maharaja asked the children.
“This museum is haunted!” one student said, running away. Others followed him, tripping over each other. A student dropped his turban.
“Wonder what happened?” Maharaja frowned. “Perhaps if I dress like the humans,
they will talk to me,” picking up the turban, he wore it. A man in a chorn and a kediyu, carrying a stack of clothes, entered the corridor.
“Ta, thai,” Maharaja started dancing.
“There is a ghost here,” the man collapsed on the ground, the clothes fell in a heap. “Maybe I need to dress up more,” Maharaja picked up some clothes. “Wish I could see myself in a mirror,” he said, wearing a brown khadi kurta and a white dhoti.
A door on the right opened. A woman in an embroidered bandini ghagra-choli and a man wearing a dhoti and angarkha entered the corridor.
“GOOD MORNING!,” Maharaja smiled.
“There is a ghost here,” the man and woman turned around and ran away.
“I’ll introduce myself to the next person,” Maharaja muttered.
A small girl wearing a puan dress stepped into the corridor.
“My name is Maharaja,” Maharaja smiled.
“Eeee…there are ghosts in this museum,” the girl ran inside a room, banging the door shut.
“Now what shall I do?” Maharaja frowned.
A girl wearing a paithani nauvari sari, holding a balloon in her hand, emerged from a room in the corridor.
“How are you?” Maharaja asked.
“There is a talking spirit in the corridor!” the girl shrieked, running back into the room. The balloon fell from her hand.
“Why did she run?” Maharaja groaned. Picking up the balloon, he said, “I’ll sing for the next person.”
An old man wearing a blue shirt over a white mundu, carrying newspapers, emerged from a room.
“Sa, Re, Ga, Ma,” Maharaja sang.
“I’m going mad and hearing things,” the old man staggered back into the room, banging his head against the door.
“Shall I try a different dance?” Maharaja frowned, walking down another corridor. An old lady in patiala-salwar strode into view. “Hello,” Maharaja clicked his heels and twirled.
“Who are you?!” the lady turned around to run, but stumbled into the wall. “I’ll try one last time,” Maharaja said. “I’ll give the balloon to the next person.” A door opened. A young boy in a dhoti and an ikat kurta entered the corridor.
“This is for you” Maharaja said, offering the boy the balloon.
“Eeeekkkkss, there are ghosts here!” the boy screamed, darting away.
“The humans keep running away from me, I don’t want a human friend,” Maharaja muttered.
“I like the clothes, I’ll keep them,” Maharaja said. Throwing the balloon, he turned around and strode down a corridor. The corridor led to another, then another corridor and then to a large atrium. All around him people were studying the various statues.
Seeing such a big crowd, Maharaja got excited. An ancient greeting entered his mind. Climbing onto an empty pedestal, Maharaja joined his palms and stood quietly.
Soon, the museum-goers passing by him started to smile and greeted him back with a “Namaste”.
(Rachna is a children’s author and columnist.)