I am not a great fan of ghost stories. The story tellers with their fertile imaginations try to send a chill down the spine of the reader. The stories often begin on abandoned or dilapidated buildings where ghosts prefer to live. My driver didn’t believe in them but knew of places like the Abbott Mount Church where locals believe spirits have a free run. I agreed to his suggestion to have a look at it.
The British era church is atop a small hill and in sylvan surroundings. It is located 7 kms from Lohaghat, perched at 6,400 feet above sea level. We left our car beside a huge flat ground. A steep and slippery trail lead me to the dilapidated and boarded church exuding peace and serenity. The sounds of insects, occasional chirping of birds and my laboured breathing after the steep climb differentiated the real from the surreal.
The first impression of the boarded up crumbling church with the cross hanging upside down is good enough reason for me to look for the ghosts who might be having a free run of the premises. I peep into the church through the large netted windows to find odd shapes of scattered dusty furniture. In the afternoon light and lengthening shadows my eyes are unable to adjust. I eerily imagine a live church service inside.
As I was taking pictures I notice a beautiful marble plaque that informed the visitors about the love of one Mr. Abbott who built the church in 1942 in fond memory of his dear wife. A notice in Hindi indicated the church timings. Probably the church was functional for many years after the British left India. A few unkempt graves in a drop in the ground indicated that it was in use for a long time.
Google search and my interactions with the locals did not reveal much about the church and why it was abandoned. I imagine that after India’s independence the small British, Anglo-Indian and local Christian population in the area moved away and the church fell in disuse. There are many such relics like this in the hills. I am sure there are many interesting untold colourful stories of a bygone era that can trigger ghost stories.
As I trek back slowly to the car, no ghost or spirit stops me but I notice litter: a few empty cold drink cans, packets of potato chips and mineral water bottles that told a different story of the now disused church as a nice rendezvous for the adventure loving or romantic youth.
