The Other Side(61)

In a short while, he was livid on seeing the Godman step into their property along with three other followers, all dressed in saffron robes, bright orange bandanas covering their forehead. He walked out to confront the fakir and his entourage. The Godman smiled at Mr. Bajaj as he neared, informing him before he could open his mouth that his wife had summoned him. Mr. Bajaj immediately called out for his wife, who came out all teary-eyed and weak but the moment she saw the fakir, she ran past her husband and fell in his feet.

“Please help my daughter. Save her, babaji,” she cried as the baba gently helped her onto her feet. “What the hell is this, Pooja? I've taken an appointment with Dr. Shah, the country's leading psychiatrist. Don't spoil it with this mumbo-jumbo. Such people are not god men but conmen. This is all bullshit,” Mr. Bajaj said, looking at the old man dressed in white flowing robes, his beard reaching his chest, hiding the numerous talismans he wore around his neck.

“No, if there is someone who can help us it is babaji. I have heard about him from Aunt Mridula, who had called to offer condolences,” Mrs. Bajaj broke down.

The baba took a few steps ahead, placing his hand over her head. She immediately felt a wave of relaxation soothing her senses, a sliver of hope passed through her heart. Just for his wife's sake, Mr. Bajaj allowed the fakir to enter his daughter's room.

“It is a mental illness. She could not adjust to the new house and took up the tales she heard about this place. Just accept that fact,” Mr. Bajaj whispered to his wife as soon as they entered the room along with the fakir.

Mrs. Bajaj turned away unable to look at her daughter's withered condition while her husband had stared, terrified as Ayushee started convulsing in bed, the moment the fakir placed his foot inside the room. Worried, Mr. Bajaj rushed ahead but the baba's followers held him, requesting him to be patient.

Babaji walked around the bed seven times muttering under his breath, his eyes closed not even checking his steps as Ayushee wailed and fought to free her bonds. The little innocence of her face was lost as it morphed, scars appearing on the skin; deep gashes running across her hands and legs; eyes turning pitch black, her neck arched back to reveal deep red puncture marks. The Godman seemed to pay no attention to her.

As soon as he had finished the seventh round, Ayushee let out a hollow high-pitched laugh that gave boiling goose bumps to her parents.

“Go away or I'll kill you,” Ayushee said in a hoarse voice unlike hers.

The baba stared hard at her threatening form.

“Who are you?” he asked in a soft yet powerful voice.

“Smita!” came the answer almost as if the ugly voice was compelled to speak. Mrs. Bajaj clutched onto her husband's wrist on hearing that name.



“In the name of God, you'll leave this innocent girl and move on. You won't harm anything living or dead, tangible or intangible on any plane. The power of light calls out to you,” the fakir raised his voice, drawing invisible scriptures in the air.

“No, I won't. I won't go!” Ayushee screamed. “This little child does not deserve to be tortured. You'll leave because…” the fakir was saying when Ayushee cut in.

“Even I didn't, you old fool. They hurt me, they killed my mother and then left this place when I came back to claim half of them. I killed the remaining half even as they tried to escape me by shifting to new locations,” Ayushee let loose a sinister bout of laughter.

“And after a long time, I have someone to call my own, a friend to play with and these… these filthy people…” the figure that was their daughter spat towards the Bajaj family, a thick slimy greenishblack paste just dropping short of their feet. “These filthy people wouldn't allow her to even play with me. She would not come to me, so I came to her… and I'm here to say. I'm not leaving… not leaving till I claim her and take her back with me,” she added, twisting her head a complete three sixty degree staring towards the direction of the banyan tree, hidden from view. Mr. Bajaj put his hand to his mouth, almost losing balance and eyed his wife, who held onto his shaking body for support.

The fakir let his guard down and stepped forward, watching the figure with intent. He again started chanting and Ayushee wailed as if a swarm of bees had stung her at the same time. Nearing the bed, the Godman blew his breath on Ayushee's face. Mr. Bajaj watched in slow motion as his daughter's eyes gradually started drooping down, her movements corresponding in the same manner.

“Cut the ropes,” babaji ordered and the followers immediately started untying the knots.

“The thread ball,” he said, extending his hand and one of the followers placed a round ball of black thread in his palm.