Enter Bishwanath Chowdhury (Bishu), a failed filmmaker in his late twenties. Bishu had no money, no job, and a monstrous ego. He believed he was the next Satyajit Ray but could only afford to make short films about his cat. When he saw the ad for 22B Mistry Lane – “Rent: 500 rupees per month. Ghost included (free).” – he grinned.
The cameras from Guruji’s crew turned away from the exorcist. The journalist Mithu, who had arrived to cover the “exorcism,” lowered her notepad. Even the bulldozer drivers outside stopped their engines.
Over the next week, an odd friendship bloomed. Bishu, the failed filmmaker, realized Bhootnath wasn't a monster but a tragic figure. In life, Gobardhan Halder was a meek accountant who was bullied by his boss, ignored by his wife, and died without anyone noticing. His unfinished business wasn't revenge—it was recognition.
Bhootnath blinked. “I… I am a Class-3 Haunt, certified by the Bhooter Lok. I am supposed to scare you.” Bangla Movie Sriman Bhootnath
“You’re supposed to, but you’re failing,” Bishu said, munching a biscuit. “Try again. This time, show me some ectoplasm. For the camera.”
But there was a problem. The local landlord, Mr. Nripen Dutta (a cartoonishly evil real estate shark), wanted to demolish Bhoot Bari to build a shopping mall. And he had hired a professional exorcist—a flamboyant, turbaned fraud named Guruji Maharaj—to “cleanse” the property.
And the film The Tragic Ghost of Mistry Lane ? It won the Best Documentary award at the Kolkata International Film Festival. Bishu stood on stage, holding his trophy, and said, “This award belongs to my co-star, Sriman Bhootnath.” Enter Bishwanath Chowdhury (Bishu), a failed filmmaker in
Then Bhootnath did the one thing no ghost had ever done on live television. He spoke directly to the audience. “I am Gobardhan Halder. I am not evil. I am just lonely. Please don’t tear down my home.”
Prologue: The Mansion on Mistry Lane
Bhooter Raja, the king of the local ghosts, had assigned Bhootnath (real name: Gobardhan Halder, a failed accountant who died in 1974 choking on a shingara ) to haunt the property. The problem was, Gobardhan was terrible at haunting. He couldn't groan menacingly without sneezing. His chain-rattling sounded like someone shaking a biscuit tin. And when he tried to turn off lights, he only ever turned them on. When he saw the ad for 22B Mistry
Mithu raised an eyebrow. “You couldn't even make a documentary about your own fridge defrosting.”
Inside, Bishu and Bhootnath panicked.
“Ghosts aren't real,” Bishu announced to his only friend, a cynical journalist named Mithu. “And even if they are, I’ll make a documentary about it and win a National Award.”