“A hundred lashes?” Miss Geeta exclaimed. She was shocked but not surprised.

“Fifty from each parent,” Bhola added. “Do you think this is right?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Geeta contemplated. “But there is one place I go to whenever I am in doubt.”

“The temple?” Bhola asked.

“The library,” Miss Geeta answered. “Come, let me take you there.”

Bhola walked behind Miss Geeta as she led him to the school library. Bhola was a little sceptical about this plan. He was not sure how reading books would help Shyam get rid of the evil spirit inside of him. He began to doubt if approaching Miss Geeta for a solution was that bright an idea. Nevertheless, he followed her into the little, insufficiently-lit room with shelves and shelves of books.

He had never been inside the library before. No student had. The first thing he observed as he stepped in was the deplorable condition of the books there. Nearly all the books were old and rotting with heavy dust piled upon them.

“Do you come here often?” Bhola asked.

Miss Geeta smiled. “I try and keep the books in proper condition. As you can see it is not a one-woman job.”

“There are so many books here. How will we read them all?”

“You, not we,” Miss Geeta replied. “I have a class to teach but I am sure you will be able to find some help here on your own.”

Bhola was annoyed. If he wanted to read books, he would have picked up his school books. At least that would fetch him better grades. He was not impressed with Miss Geeta’s suggestion. He hated it, in fact.

She left him in the library alone with the spiders. Bhola walked around, careful not to catch any dust on his clothes or in his hair. He skimmed through the titles of the book but he didn’t find anything interesting until…

“Ghost stories,” Bhola said, picking up the book. “This should be of some help.” He picked up other books with similar titles lying next to it and helped himself to a seat. He picked up the first book and puffed with great force to clear the dust.

Bhola coughed a few times but that did not deter him from reading. The title of the books had him hooked. The first tale was about a haunted house. He spent nearly an hour reading it, imagining it and wondering if his village also had a haunted house.

The next tale was about a spirit who loved to eat little boys and girls. He was thankful that Shyam’s ghost was of the whistling and not of the devouring kind. He began to think how Shyam must feel to have a ghost inside his body; whether Shyam weighed a little heavier now than before.

If he had known Shyam’s weight before the spirit entered his body, he could have weighed Shyam now and found out how much the ghost weighed by calculating the difference between the two. Perhaps that would have helped him find a solution somehow.

“Eeek,” Bhola realised the objective of his visit when he glanced at the non-functioning wallclock in front of him. He wasn’t there to read ghoulish tales. He was there to find a way to help his friend. A lot of time had been wasted already. If he didn’t act fast then his friend might have to bear a hundred lashes soon.

He skimmed through the rest of the book hoping to find something useful. He was in a state of panic; the kind of panic he had only felt on the eve of an examination day in school. He opened other books and merely flipped through the pages before leaving them on the table and regretting how he had spent his time.

He walked around the shelves hurriedly, hoping to find some book that would help him. Some of the books on the top shelves were beyond his reach and he hoped that the answer didn’t lie in any of them. The day began to darken and Bhola decided that there was no point in wasting any more time in the library.

He was about to leave the library when his eyes fixed upon a giant book with a plain white cover resting upon an old, wooden table near the door. Unlike the other books, this one was dust-free.

Shyam’s parents were terrified at the prospect of whipping their own child fifty times each with a lash while he’s helplessly tied to a tree.

“Surely there must be some other way,” Shyam’s mother pleaded.

“I am afraid not,” Guruji replied.

“Will it be okay if we whip him only five times instead of fifty?” Shyam’s father asked.

“This is no ordinary spirit. It is evil to the core. Only a severe punishment will drive him out of Shyam’s body. There can be no leniency in this matter.”

Shyam’s parents looked at each other, helpless and petrified.

“Do not worry, Mama,” Shyam said, hugging his mother. “I am your brave boy. I will bear the pain if it helps to banish the evil residing inside my body.”

He turned to his father and said, “Whip me hard, Papa. Do not hesitate. I must have done something sinful in this life or a previous one. This is the fruit of those acts. I must pay the price and relieve myself of this burden.”

Shyam’s parents cried upon hearing the mature words uttered by their child. They hugged him tightly and shared a tearful gloom.

Bhola, however, was lost in thoughts of his own. Standing in a corner of the room, he wondered if there could be another way of curing Shyam; he knew he had to do something in order to save his friend from this cruel and harsh treatment; however it was the things that he didn’t know that were of importance paramount.

He ran to his parents next door and apprised them of the matter in great detail.

“It is good that something severe is being done. Guruji’s methods have never failed the village,” Bhola’s mother said. “I never liked the boy anyway.”

“Why don’t you stay away from him?” Bhola’s father added. “I don’t want you to get infected too. Nothing is certain when it comes to evil spirits. Why don’t you play with the other kids from your class?”

Despite his parent’s insistence, Bhola was sure that something needed to be done. And quickly. He now knew that there was only one person in the village who may be able to help him.

The havan was organised promptly. Shyam’s parents, desperate to banish the evil spirit residing inside Shyam’s body, made all necessary arrangements despite their modest incomes. Apart from paying for all the requirements and Guruji’s dakshina, they also promised to feed eleven cows daily for eleven days.

“Worry not, my dear, if we have to go without food for a few days,” Shyam’s father said. “I will work  hard to bring more money to feed the cows. We have made a divine vow and we shall dare not break it.”

“Food is not of concern to me,” Shyam’s mother replied. “I will pretend that we are fasting in His holy name. It is my child’s safety that troubles me. Once he gets better then surely our lives would see brighter days.”

The havan was a ritualistic affair where Shyam was made to sit in the center of the room with a holy fire in front of him. The fire was surrounded by numerous frankincense sticks; together they gave off enough smoke to frighten any mortal being; but here we were dealing with the supernatural and hence the rituals were justified.

Guruji chanted vehemently, periodically sprinkling a few drops of oil, grains and ghee into the fire, as Shyam’s parents sat behind him with folded legs and folded hands. Their eyes were shut and they repeated the verses after Guruji. Bhola, standing in a corner of the room, observed the proceedings with folded hands. He was hoping and praying that his best friend be cured. He knew as much as anyone else how much Shyam had already suffered due to the invasion of this evil force.

The havan lasted over an hour post which Guruji opened his eyes and stared at Shyam.

“How are you feeling now?” Guruji asked.

Shyam burst into tears. His parents didn’t move lest they break the impact of the puja; but Bhola ran to console him. He put his arms around him and asked him what the matter was.

“The ghost is very angry because of the puja,” Shyam sobbed. “He is whistling very loudly now.”

“My estimate was right,” Guruji said, meditatively. “This evil spirit is more powerful than what we first thought. We will have to resort to extreme measures to purify the child.”

“What should we do now?” Shyam’s parents asked, pleadingly.

“Two nights from now a full moon will adorn the skies,” Guruji said, stroking his long, white beard. “At the stroke of midnight we shall tie the child to the giant oak tree in the center of the village and whip him with a hundred lashes.”

“A hundred lashes?” Shyam’s parents exclaimed.

Guruji nodded, “Fifty each from both of you.”

Guruji was revered by one and all in the village for his wisdom and expansive knowledge of the divine. He had helped solve a lot of problems in the village which had previously seemed impossible to resolve, including curing people of mysterious ailments. It was little wonder then that when Shyam felt the presence of a ghost inside of him, his parents decided to seek Guruji’s guidance; their only regret being not seeking his help earlier.

“Since when have you felt the presence of this evil spirit within you?” Guruji asked Shyam in his aged yet soft voice.

Shyam, sitting opposite Guruji, had narrated this tale a dozen times to others. “It was seven nights ago. Mama and papa had gone to sleep but I was wide awake. I was lying on the floor and simply staring out of the window, admiring stars and the night sky when all of a sudden I heard his voice.”

“Did you see him?”

Shyam shook his head and replied enthusiastically, “I did not even realise when or how exactly he found his way inside of me. He must be very wily and cunning.”

Guruji urged him to keep his voice low. “We do not want the devil to hear us. Right. What did he do next?”

“Like I said, I began to hear him suddenly,” Shyam was whispering now. His parents, sitting next to him, had to lean in to hear what he had to say. “He wasn’t speaking a word. He was simply whistling. That’s all that he has been doing. Sometimes he gets tired and goes to sleep and I don’t hear him then. But sometimes, especially at night, he comes to life and haunts me.”

“Is he whistling now?”

Shyam shook his head again.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me,” Guruji said.

“Why?” Bhola, who was standing behind Shyam and observing everything quietly, enquired with a genuine curiousity.

“Hush now! Don’t question Guruji,” Shyam’s father intervened. “You’re too young.”

“Forgive him, Guruji,” Shyam’s mother pleaded. “He is just a child. He is Shyam’s best friend. He is just a child, you know.”

Guruji looked at Bhola and offered him a warm smile but Bhola was upset that his question was not answered. He thought he was not being unreasonable or disrespectful.

Shyam did as he was told. He stuck his tongue out and made a funny sound while doing so which made Bhola giggle furtively.

Guruji brought the attention of Shyam’s parents to his tongue and said, “Look, the tongue is pale with white spots all over.”

Shyam’s parents nodded. Shyam’s parents were simple people who laboured by the day and laboured by the night, and if they ever found a moment’s rest for their hands they folded it in prayer to the almighty. Their biggest concern was to rid their one and only child of the evil spirit residing within him. If Guruji had asked them that their child’s tongue has fairies dancing on top of it then too the two of them would have nodded to the statement.

“I have never seen his tongue so pale,” his mother observed.

“What about my tongue? Is it also pale?” Bhola asked, sticking his tongue out.

“No, your tongue is bright and pink compared to Shyam’s tongue,” Shyam’s father answered. “The difference is clear.”

Shyam’s mother also stuck her tongue out for comparison and it was agreed that even her tongue has no visible points of concern. Needless to say, it was Shyam’s father’s turn to stick his tongue out for others to examine. Again, needless to say, they arrived at the same conclusion.

Guruji looked on at the four creatures in front of him sticking their tongues out and examining each other. He did not know whether to be amused or bemused by it.

When the four saw Guruji watching them with a perplexed face they quickly reverted to their previous positions and remained silent, awaiting further instructions.

“I am afraid the evil spirit is stronger than what I had expected him to be,” Guruji spoke with concern written all over his face. “We must act quickly before the whole household becomes possessed.”

“Whole household?” Shyam’s father asked, shocked at the words he had just heard. Shyam’s mother repeated the question and looked at Guruji with hopeful eyes.

Guruji nodded and replied, “To drive away the evil spirit, we must organise a havan promptly.”

Bhoot. Bhoot.

Shyam’s mates teased him as he entered the class. Shyam was visibly shaken and on the verge of a breakdown. He kept his head low and sat on the first bench in the corner of the room. Nobody sat anywhere close to him. Nobody except Bhola.

Bhola and Shyam were best friends. They lived next door to each other and had practically spent their teeny-weeny years together. They played together. They studied together. They dug treasures and noses together. They were inseparable.

Bhoot. Bhoot.

Someone (or probably more) had etched those ghastly words on his wooden desk. Shyam quickly covered it with his books.

The teasing continued. Bhola could hear other kids whispering mean things about his friend. Even Miss Geeta’s rebuke failed to silence them.

He is possessed
Don’t go near him
He will eat you
Soon he will turn green
He is a demon

Bhola wanted the teasing to stop but he was powerless. He looked at Shyam to offer him some comfort but Shyam had his head hung low and did not look up. School was a nightmare for him. Shyam wanted to run and go as far as his legs could take him. Little kids are often told that they are capable of anything and everything but they are seldom allowed to do what their little hearts desire. Shyam stayed still in his seat and prayed for the torment to end.

When the giggling and the whispering got louder, Miss Geeta reprimanded the class firmly.
“I don’t want to hear any mumbling. Keep your eyes on the book.”

She walked up to Shyam and said, “Ignore them. Try and concentrate on your studies. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Shyam looked up and nodded. He had come to hate Miss Geeta at this point. It was at her insistence that his parents had agreed to continue sending him to school. They were otherwise keen on keeping him home until he was “completely pure again”. Shyam cursed her under his breath and buried his face in his book.

Bhola noticed that Shyam’s nose was red with shame and embarrassment. When Miss Geeta walked away to continue her lesson, Bhola patted him on the shoulder and whispered gently.
“She’s right. Don’t worry. You will get better soon.”

“Y-yes,” Shyam replied, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Mama and papa have asked Guruji to visit us.”