Call of the throne

The next afternoon, I was again asked to take tea to Bade Ustaad.

I carried the steel glass on a small tray, walking slowly and carefully.

I had started to feel that every visit to his room brought something different. Something I couldn't explain.

As I entered, the scent of sandalwood and old pages filled the air.

He sat silently, as always, his eyes closed in calm.

When he opened them, he looked at me without saying anything and pointed to a spot near him.

I sat down, a little unsure. Then, he handed me a book.

I held it with both hands. It was covered in worn brown cloth.

Its corners were bent and soft from age. My heart beat faster.

Maybe today I would finally learn some kriya maybe how to remove ghosts or call spirits.

I opened it with hope, my eyes eager for some hidden knowledge.

But the first page simply said:"The Three That Dwell Around Us: Bhoot, Pashu, Manushya."

I kept reading, flipping the pages quickly at first.

Bhoots (ghosts) do not search for humans. They are broken stories, drifting quietly, unless someone disturbs them.

Pashus (animals) live by need, not by cruelty. They hurt only when their balance is disturbed.

But Manushyas (humans)... humans hurt for fun. They destroy without reason. They laugh at pain.

Each page talked about how humans damage everythingmock spirits, harm animal.

There were no mantras. No rituals. No chants to summon power.

Only stories. Quiet truths. Bitter truths.

Slowly, the spark of excitement I carried in dimmed.

I had hoped to read about powerful kriyas, hidden chants, or ghost-banishing spells.

But what I found was simple and sad.

It was not that the book was meaningless.

It just wasn't what I wanted.

One line stayed with me:

"Most spirits don't come to hurt. They come because they were first hurt."

By the time I closed the book, I felt heavier than before.

I sat there quietly, not looking at anything. I felt as though I had lost something I hadn't even found.

Bade Ustaad hadn't said a word. And just before sunset, he finally whispered, "Go now."

I stood up, bowed, and left the room slowly.

As I walked back, my uncle saw me and asked, "Where were you?"

I replied, "Ustaad asked me to help him clean and arrange his books."

I did not mention the book.

That evening, I didn't speak much. Not to my uncle. Not to myself.I had expected power.

What I received was reflection.

Later that night, as I lay near the gallery window, I heard something soft and strange coming from Chhota Ustaad's room.

It was the sound of bangles.

The light jingling was gentle but clear. I stayed quiet, as my uncle had told me not to speak about such things.

But I listened.

He was with her again.

I was sure it was Lila.

This time, there was no doubt. They were laughing together, sharing a light moment. Her voice was soft and full of care.

"You're becoming thinner," she said, concerned. "Why are you getting so weak?"

Chhota Ustaad didn't reply to that directly. Instead, in a rare gentle tone, he said, "Forget about my health for a while."

I had never heard that side of him before.

That night, I closed my eyes with those sounds still in my ears the laugh, the bangles, the warmth of a man I never thought could speak like that.

And with that, another day in the ashram ended.

But the next evening brought a strange surprise.

Again, I was asked to bring tea to Bade Ustaad. Like before, he said nothing, only pointed to the space beside him.

I sat quietly. He handed me the same book again.

At first, I felt disappointed. I had already read it.

I had turned its pages yesterday and found no spells, no chants just quiet lessons.

I almost didn't want to open it.

But when I did, my eyes stopped. The pages were different.

Somehow, I had missed an entire section. A new chapter appeared, as if it had been hidden before.

This time, it was filled with the names of different spirits types I had never imagined.

My heart beat faster. I sat straighter.

Maybe... just maybe... I was now only a step or two away from learning to throw out ghosts.

I began to read.

Shakun Bhoots — These spirits don't come to harm, but to warn. They appear in dreams or strange signs. Their presence means something important is about to happen.

Vikrit Bhoots — Born from violent or unjust deaths. Their minds are twisted by the way they died. They are often loud, restless, and can bring harm without meaning to.

Chhaya Bhoots — Quiet spirits that stay in corners or shadows. They do not move things or make noise. They simply wait, hoping to be remembered.

Pishacha — Born of jealousy or hatred. These spirits hide in corners and dark places. They make the mind weak, fill it with doubt or fear.

Vetala — Ghouls who live in cemeteries or trees. They enter dead bodies and can speak through them. They are clever and dangerous.

Churel — Spirits of women who died in pain or childbirth, often betrayed or mistreated.

They appear beautiful at first, but their feet turn backward, and their cry can freeze your soul.

Yakshini — Mysterious female spirits, half-divine, half-wild. They can bless or curse.

The book said:"A ghost is not always evil. It is the pain that haunts."

I read carefully, line by line. When I finished, I bowed to Ustaad and walked out.

And for the first time, I felt like the road to understanding ghosts had truly begun.