Ghostin’

It is a cold, rainy Sunday evening in St. Petersburg, Russia. Tourists flock the streets, meandering the countless imperial palaces, museums and other attractions that dot the city. The Neva River and its canals weave through the heart of the city, piecing together a mosaic of baroque, neoclassical, and modern architecture with patches of greenery lending it a breath of fresh air. There is, however, an outlier.

The colorful, medieval Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood is situated along the narrow Griboedov Canal. Under its tall, vaulted ceilings, it shelters a bustling crowd of people. Some methodically photograph every nook and cranny while others remain lost in their prayers.

In one dark corner, a young boy lurks entirely uninterested in his surroundings, blasting music into his ears to drown out his surroundings. He scornfully stares as his family peruses the endless floor-to-ceiling murals of the memorial. The rain has eased to a slight drizzle, so he steps out stealthily. He treads past the line of carts selling a variety of snacks. The breeze picks up, and a sheet of paper flies into his face.

He realizes that it’s just a flyer on some historical dude and tosses it away. As he glances to his right, a set of lights catches his attention. They are perched atop a pair of ornate brick columns that sign the entrance to the adjacent Mikhailovsky Gardens. He wanders in, still immersed in his smartphone.

The sound of his shoes plodding on puddles echoes through the desolate garden. Tall, thin trees and cold, damp stone benches line the web of concrete pathways. The scattered lights illuminate the path ahead, and he decides to head left. As he rounds the first turn, he bumps into someone, and a loud yelp emanates in front of him. Startled, he fumbles with his phone, and it slams into the ground, blaring loud disco music into the darkness.

The frightened boy glances around to identify the source of the wretched yelp. On his left, the overflowing canal borders the park, and on his right lies an empty expanse of greenery. As he turns around to pick up his phone, a ghastly apparition fades into existence, its cold eyes glowering at him.

Rasputin: Aaarrrgghh!!! Are you a blind boy? Watch where you’re walking!!

“There lived a certain man in Russia long ago

He was big and strong, and in his eyes, a flaming glow

Most people looked at him with terror and with fear

But to Moscow chicks, he was such a lovely dear”

Rasputin: *calms down* Ahh, I see you’re yet another one of my ardent followers. Have you come to seek my blessings?

Putin: *expressionless* I don’t even know who…what are you?

Rasputin: What do you mean you don’t know me? I am the man glorified in the song.

Putin: You mean, Boney M?

Rasputin: NOOO, I AM Rasputin, hailing from Pokrovskoye, a village in Siberia. As a holy man of God. I am blessed with the power to cure the sick, heal the wounded and alleviate pain and suffering. In fact, my powers and abilities were so impressive I was appointed as the chief advisor to the court of Czar Nicholas II.

Putin: Wait, wait, Rasputin? THE Rasputin? But he died like ages ago, in the 20th century.

Rasputin: Yes, that’s what I just explained. I am the “ghost” of Rasputin.

Putin: Ghost? What do you mean, ghost?

Rasputin: Good lord! Has your generation not heard about ghosts now? See, when you get ‘murdered’, your soul comes back, and you become a ghost.

Putin: But ghosts, they are not supposed to exist. They aren’t real!

Rasputin: What do you mean “not supposed to exist”? What right do you have to stand in front of me and say that I am not real?

Putin: Fair enough, cool, all chill. But you don’t look nearly as good as you’ve described in the song. There were so many exaggerated lines; I imagined you look like Rusell Brand or something.

Rasputin: How dare you call me ugly! How dare you call the great Rasputin UGLY! When I was your age, people used to get lost staring at my elegant visage. And you do understand that you are not Mr Handsome either. Look at yourself, scrawny and short. You look like a babushka.

Putin: Hey, you can’t say that. It’s offensive, and also, I am 15!

Rasputin: *eye roll*

Much to his annoyance, a crumpled paper flies into Rasputin’s face.

Putin: So the song is not accurate. What’s that flyer about? So many of them are fluttering about.

Rasputin unfurls the crumpled flyer

Rasputin: No, no, I was alive and young back then. *Putin rolls eyes* What!? Don’t roll your eyes at me, boy! You seriously expected a ghost to look like they are in their prime? Are you that dense? — Woah, look, it’s a flyer on my life. How on Earth are so many of these flapping around?

Putin: Eh, it’s just an advertisement for tourists to lure them to visit this weird church.

Starts reading the flyer, and a frown slowly creeps into his face

Rasputin: How pathetic is this modern government? Using the death of national heroes to attract crowds of loud, annoying tourists. And they didn’t even bother describing how magnificent I look? That song did a better job of portraying my magnificence and awe-inspiring qualities! Who wrote this trash?

Putin: It’s an investigative report! What did you expect?

Rasputin: Well, then, at least you would expect them to get the FACTS right!! They got the very first paragraph wrong; the “early life” section is complete hogwash.

Putin: Isn’t that good? It means you are all mysterious and cool; you get what I mean?

Rasputin: Absolutely not. It’s faithless narratives like this that enrage me. They portray me as some megalomaniac who manipulated the royal family for my benefit, which is absolute hogwash. You know, I got married at the age of 19, and by 20, I was wandering the land exploring and making pilgrimages, through which I got closer to God. During one of these journeys… Are you even listening, boy?

Putin: Yes, yes, I was just replying to a message.

Rasputin: *sighs* Kids these days, such impertinence.

Putin: What do you mean by that?

Rasputin: Back in our day, boy, we didn’t have all this fancy technology... We lead honest lives, working hard till our backs ached, and our joints were sore. Nowadays, everyone leads a fruitless life, accomplishing nothing of substance throughout their miserable existence.

Putin: Gee, salty much? Without technology, we wouldn’t be able to play with our friends and cure diseases and stuff.

Rasputin: You naive child. Your damned gadgets only divert you from the path of God. You have ceased to live in the moment. Instead, you’ve taken 1000 photos just today. In the good old times, photos were taken only on special occasions, and even then, only by important people. Today, every Tom, Dick and Harry dilly-dallies about all day, clicking photos of their food without eating a bite.

Putin: How else do I share and remember important life moments when you’re old? Surely, you wish you had more photos of those ancient times to show off to people?

Rasputin: NO! All your moments are boring and insignificant. Instead of experiencing life, you are experiencing a voodoo hunk of metal. I would wish that curse only upon my worst enemies!

Putin: BORING? As if you guys had LOTS of fun stuff to do back then! Seriously, what did you do back then? Sit around and chit-chat? This voodoo hunk of metal has Netflix and Youtube to watch content for hours, and we take pictures so that we can post them on Insta.

Rasputin: Exactly, you are not living your life. Your generation is addicted to this.

Putin: Ahem, ahem, addiction. Your supposedly “great” generation prescribed heroin as cough medicine and considered smoking healthy, and you are judging us?! You would not understand the feeling of the utmost joy and pleasure we get by sharing our life around on the internet. I mean, what is even the point of photographs if not use them to make your followers jealous?

Rasputin: You are mocking us for thinking those things are healthy, and yet you are claiming these tech gadgets are good for you? Don’t you realize the parallels? The next generation will ridicule you in the same fashion for drowning in the virtual world, damaging your brains and calling it entertainment.

Putin: *Stares* What are you even blabbering about, old man?

Rasputin continues to read the flyer

Putin: Ah, here we go-

Rasputin: “Reportedly had amazing healing powers”?!!!

Rasputin cracks his knuckles

That is such a gross understatement of my dynamism!! Through my great will and sheer determination, I was able to strengthen my connection with God, which I selflessly donated to cure diseases and heal the wounds of the people. Naturally, my reputation as a powerful mystic healer caught the attention of the royal family, and they summoned me to their palace. Upon arriving there, I successfully healed their son, who was suffering from haemophilia. The Tsar and Tsarina were grateful, and I was practically a messiah to them, the second coming of Christ himself. And these people *rips up flyer violently* and are impudent enough to call me a fraud and question my abilities.

Putin: Hmm, are you the only ghost? Are there other ghosts?

Rasputin: Seriously? Are you even listening? After all that, this is the question you have? You know Russia was in pieces under that Tsar. They were so pathetic at their job I had to literally advise them on every turn for them to get anything right. And the report keeps framing me as a villain. I just wanted to uplift the citizens of Russia by improving their government. These dunderheads managed to twist that to something iniquitous. Tell me, boy, how can aiding humanity be considered evil?

Putin: So you aided humanity, you say? Why did they kill you, then?

Rasputin: Influence, lad, influence. You don’t have the slightest idea of how influential I was in my time; the Russian world literally revolved around me. You should see how these clergymen reacted to my distinguished position in the society — utter jealousy. Although this malignity was somewhat understandable, considering I practically held the fate of the gentry in my hands. Still, a monk like me would naturally expect veritable fear-led respect, wouldn’t I?! People would call me a “mad monk” — the sheer audacity of these morons! But, you know, the queen laid her unconditional support with me and shunned these spiteful pigs — now that’s the kind of influence I had.

Putin: *cracking his knuckles* Oh, I think I kind-of understand… I mean, half my schoolmates are “spiteful pigs”, especially this guy Sergey from my form — he was elected as the former president, and he couldn’t stop shutting up about it… I HATE HIM! And this one time-

Rasputin: Don’t you think you toot your own horn a lot? Who is even interested in the life of a 15-year-old anyway? Boy, you must learn that the world does not revolve around you, and it is better if you learn it young in life as I did!

Putin: You are literally narrating your entire life and death to me — and you are 100 years old, and you are a dead GHOST! You are the last soul who should say that! All you talk about is how important you think you were to the Queen.

Rasputin: *smirks* Well, I certainly was a vastly desirable man, to put it subtly. The Tsarina was one of my greatest admirers… You see, I had remarkable ascendancy over her, *whispers* even more than the Tsar himself!

The Tsar was palpably a virtuous man; he would not doubt the intentions of the lovely queen even in his dreams. The nobles were the ones with muck minds. These buffoons couldn’t stand the thought of the queen consulting a revered personality like me and would constantly cause uproar in the system. It was pure chaos at the time. They just could not fathom the momentousness of my position in the kingdom. This made me anticipate the impending doom of the Russian empire; all this bottled-up fury was enough to call for a revolution for no good reason, and I was certainly not wrong! They-

Putin: So people were angry because you were dating the queen, eh? Quite a player, I must say-

Rasputin: That is a horrendous accusation! Tsarina held me in high regard, perhaps more than anyone, which is probably why the duke and prince carried out several elaborate plans to eliminate me from the kingdom. It was almost as if they were digging their own grave! Their naivety took me by surprise — can a monk who cured the heir of the Russian empire of haemophilia face death by ingesting mere poison? After all that I had done for the land, it broke my sensitive heart into a million pieces to see how much effort was put to end my innocent soul. If these duck heads invested their brains into improving the condition of the country, the royal empire and I wouldn’t have had to sacrifice our lives-

Putin: Sacrifice? Weren’t you murdered?

Rasputin: Ah yes, after the failed attempts of the duke and the prince to butcher me, they shot me and let my holy body flow with the waters of Neva. But you see, for us, monks, dying is a choice — a conscious choice that I made for the betterment of the world. After all, the welfare of my nation was deeply bestowed on my shoulders. I had wisely predicted that the empire would crumble after my death, which eventually resulted in the end of the monarchy in Russia. Evidently, my death aided Russia to move on with the times.

Putin: Seems like you mattered more being dead than being alive. I’d call that influence now! What did you even do after you died?

Rasputin: Well, I spent all my years just seeing the world change and taking its course to what it is today. Change is much easier to accept when you live through it, not that it becomes more accepting… I also liked seeing my kids and grandkids and you grow up. It was a very different feeling to see one’s own kind thrive and proliferate. I-

Putin: Woah, Woah Woah, that is super creepy. Why would you watch me grow up?

Rasputin: What do you mean it’s creepy? Why would I not watch you grow up *mumbles under his breath* even though you’re showing no real signs of growing up. By your age, I had a real and flourishing moustache!

Putin: What are you even saying?! Why would I expect a random ghost to see me grow up?!! This is so messed up!

Rasputin: RANDOM?!! Is that what you think of the noble soul of your great-grandfather?!

Putin: WHAT?!! You’ve got to be kidding me. Is this some kind of joke? Stop freaking me out or-

Just when such unreal news is dropped on Putin, a short middle-aged woman who seems somewhat worried frantically walks towards this young lad who is oblivious to the reason for her panic while he is still trying to process what he has just heard.

Putin stood there shaking, refusing, or perhaps, incapable of snapping out of wildly staring into oblivion.

Lady: Putin!! Where have you been all day?!! And what on earth has happened to your phone!? Your father and I realised not too long ago that you have been away for a long time, and we were absolutely terrified about your whereabouts! This is such disgraceful behaviour! We are going back home now, and you are GROUNDED. Are you even listening to me?!

Putin slowly tries to put the pieces together. Why would the ghost bump into him and not anybody else? Was the boastful cracking of knuckles something he learnt from his great grand-dad himself? Woah, this is cool — he can now tell the world that he is from Rasputin’s lineage! But how exactly was he going to prove it? Also, wasn’t Rasputin a not-so-good guy? He’d better not tell anyone. Even if he did, who was actually going to believe him?

Putin: Mama-

Putin’s Mom: What?!!

Putin: Mama… Err… I met the ghost of Rasputin… He’s- he’s right here — he says he’s my great-grandfather… Can you see him?

Putin’s Mom: Good lord! What did you eat?!! Did someone offer you something? It seems like you’re in delirium. This is exactly why you should stick with family! Let’s go home and get some rest.

The young boy staggers as he trots briskly with his mother, glancing over his shoulders every now and then, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost he just spent all evening with.

All of it felt like a wild dream, but he almost knew it wasn’t one. Or was it?

Penned by Tarun Kumaar, Vakula Venkatesh, Haripriya Arunachalam, Priyadarshini Sharma and Ameen Naseem.

Designed by Mercia Melvin