Like many twentysomethings, Devya's life revolved around her phone. She even worked as a customer service rep for ATT Wireless in one of India's many call centers. She and her boyfriend Rajan were considered by their friends to be soul mates, in part because they spent so much of their free time talking on the phone (Rajan lived several hundred miles away in Mumbai). Friends said they never saw her without her phone and constantly asked her advice on which phone to buy and which service provider to use.
Given that Devya spent so many hours on the phone, she urged Rajan and her friends to use ATT (her carrier) so they could all be on the same network and save money. In fact, she was so passionate about her phone that she made her friends and family promise that, if the unthinkable were to ever happen, they would cremate her with her phone.
After Devya's untimely death, her body was prepared for ritual cremation. However, the attendants were surprised to find that they could not lift the body when it came time to transport the body to the ghats. Even when several members of the family volunteered to help, they could not lift the bier. Being highly superstitious, the family decided to consult a local Brahmin in hopes of communicating with the dead girl's spirit and sorting out the situation.
The Brahmin arrived with a great deal of pomp and circumstance not the least because the whole neighborhood was eagerly watching the unfolding spectacle. After burning incense, chanting mantras and invoking Hanuman (and Ganesh just to be safe) he picked up a stick and called to the dead girl's soul.
After a few minutes, the Brahmin lifted his face to the hushed crowd and said, "This girl is missing something." As the neighbors and other onlookers set up a murmuring buzz, her friends pushed their way to the front of the crowd where they told the Brahmin about Devya's fervent wish that she be cremated with her phone--a desire that, until now, had been entirely overlooked and forgotten. A cousin or a niece was sent running to the house to retrieve it--SIM card and all--and it was placed into the dead girl's hand after which the attendants easily lifted the bier and carried her to the ghats.
It was a spectacular pyre--everyone insisted it was the best of the season--with high, spiraling flames of red and green. Surely, they said, Devya's soul had been successfully released from this world and speedily sent on its journey to its next incarnation. The circumstances surrounding Devya's death and cremation were so unusual that the entire neighborhood talked about it for weeks, and yet no one remembered to contact Rajan and inform him of his beloved's death.
Two weeks later, however, Rajan called Devya's mother.
"Aunty," said Rajan. "I'm coming home later today. Please cook something nice for me, but don't tell Devya that I'm coming home. I want it to be a surprise."
Devya's mother, startled at the realization that Rajan was still unaware of Devya's death (and kicking herself for it), stammered, "You just come straight here when you get home. We want to talk to you about something very important."
When Rajan arrived, Devya's parents sat him down and immediately told him about the accident in which Devya had been killed. Rajan, however, was convinced that it was all a joke. He laughed and laughed, "I know you're trying to fool me! She's not dead. Stop it now. Tell Devya to come out from wherever she's hiding. I brought a gift for her all the way from Mumbai."
Shocked and a little uncomfortable, Devya's parents pressed their case by presenting Rajan with Devya's death certificate and showing him the pictures of the funeral pyre they'd taken with their ATT phones. Rajan, subdued and sweating now, murmured, "No, no, It's not true. It can't be true. We just spoke yesterday. She's been calling me everyday."
Rajan was shaking his head back and forth when his phone suddenly rang. Everyone jumped and Rajan gasped. "See! This call--it's from Devya! Look! Look for yourselves!"
He held the phone out to the family so they could each see the familiar number on the display.
"Answer!" said Devya's mother eagerly. "Answer!"
"Hello? Hello?"
"Rajan!" Devya's voice responded loud and strong. "It's Devya! When are you coming home? I want to see you!"
Horrified, Rajan dropped the phone and lost the connection.
"It was her!" said Devya's mother. "It was her! How is that possible?! We burned her phone!"
"The SIM card!" shouted Rajan. "Someone has her SIM card!"
"No! No!" said the mother. "The Brahmin insisted that we leave the SIM card in her phone. We burned that with her, too!"
"Call the Brahmin!" insisted Devya's father. "He fixed this the first time. Maybe he can fix this, too."
Once again a call was made for the Brahmin and once again word of what happened spread like wildfire through the neighborhood until hundreds of people crowded around the house watching and waiting to see what would happen. The Brahmin, nervous about the crowd, brought along his master to advise him on what was becoming an increasingly complex situation.
Together the two Brahmins burned incense, invoked the entire Hindu pantheon (including Kali, just to be safe), picked up sticks and called to the dead girl's soul. The pair hunched over their sticks, rocked back and forth and chanted for hours as they struggled to pierce the veil between the worlds and connect with Devya's spirit.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Rajan loudly blurted "Well? Have you contacted her? Was it really her that called? Is she calling from beyond the grave?"
"We're not sure," sighed the older Brahmin. "We keep getting sent straight to voice mail."
Note: This story is based on a joke making the rounds on Facebook.
