Chapter 6: The Final Test

Dadi breathed a sigh of relief.

She closed her eyes, mumbling a prayer, and patted my head. “Ab sab theek ho jayega, beta.”

“Munna, that’s your baba.”

Her eyes filled with relief, and she almost smiled for the first time since morning.

As she spoke, she was about to open the door.

Her hand reached for the latch, hope flickering in her eyes.

This time, my uncle stopped her.

He put his hand firmly on hers, shaking his head.

“Ma, no. The finger that reached in just now definitely wasn’t my baba’s.”

He spoke with conviction, eyes blazing with fear and certainty.

Dadi said, “The fog was thick and you didn’t see clearly. That voice and what he said, that’s definitely your baba.”

She was torn, her faith in her son fighting with the fear of the unknown.

Dadi and uncle were still arguing.

Their voices rose, fear and frustration twisting every word, while I stayed hidden, knees drawn to my chest, praying the coal would hide me from everything.

I thought for a moment and said, “Didn’t dadaji take firecrackers when he left? Have him set one off, and that’ll settle it. Bhoot Baba is afraid of gunpowder, he definitely wouldn’t dare.”

My voice was muffled, but the logic was clear. Even kids in our mohalla knew ghosts ran from crackers.

Dadi said, “Right!”

She nodded, hope brightening her features. For a second, the old bossy dadi was back.

She shouted at the door, “Munna’s baba, set off a couple of firecrackers to drive away Bhoot Baba before you come in!”

Her voice rang with authority, the kind that used to silence entire family gatherings.

“I’ve finished my pipe, what am I supposed to use to light firecrackers? And who sets off firecrackers at this time of day?” The voice outside sounded a little impatient.

For a moment, it really did sound like him—complaining about the little things, grumbling about his pipe.

It really did sound exactly like dadaji. What he said also made some sense.

My heart wavered. After all, who’d carry a matchbox just for crackers during daylight?

Dadi hesitated. “Munna, if it’s really your baba, it’s dangerous for him to be outside.”

Her maternal worry warred with fear of the supernatural. She bit her lip, glancing at uncle for advice.

Uncle said, “That’s true. If it’s really Bhoot Baba, that door won’t hold him anyway.”

He gripped the sickle tighter, knuckles white.

At that moment, suddenly came the neighbour Sharma aunty’s extremely terrified scream.

It pierced the air, shattering any illusion of safety. My heart jumped into my throat.

“Bhoot Baba! Bhoot Baba is in the town! Ah—”

Her voice cracked and faded, like the last note of a broken harmonium.

A scream.

Everyone froze, listening for more, but only silence followed.

The end of the scream quivered and then disappeared.

Even the crows stopped cawing. The entire mohalla seemed to hold its breath.

Dadi panicked. “Munna, quick! Open the door! Let your baba in quickly!”

Her voice was frantic, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pushed uncle towards the door.

I still felt something wasn’t right, but couldn’t say what.

An uneasy feeling gnawed at me, a prickling at the back of my neck.

My uncle rushed over to open the door.

He moved fast, one hand on the latch, the other clutching the sickle, torn between fear for his father and the terror lurking outside.