When Guruji stepped out of the ashram to return with us, the air grew colder.
I was walking beside him, heart still racing. We had left in urgency but something was waiting for him.
Just a few steps beyond the ashram gate, something hissed.
From behind a rock, a three-headed snake slithered forward. Its heads rose one after the other, hissing in unison.
Its eyes burned like coals, and it slithered toward Ustaad's bare feet.
I froze.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
I remembered the stories the curse of the gaddi, that no Ustaad may leave this sacred ground .
Ustaad didn't move.
But I did.
A fire rose inside me something deeper than fear.
This time, I would not let someone I loved be taken by a snake. Not again. Not like my father.
I lunged forward, grabbing a stick from the side of the road.
The snake hissed, turned its heads toward me, and struck fangs sunk into my leg.
Pain exploded.
But I hit it.
Again.
Again.
Until the snake burst into a shimmer of dust and vanished.
I fell to the ground, gasping.
Bade Ustaad came to me and wrapped three strips of cloth around the bite tight, deliberate, focused.
He said nothing. His face was calm, but his eyes burned.
I couldn't walk properly, but after just a few steps behind him… I blinked and we were at the Akhara field.
I don't know how we got there. My leg still throbbed, but something else was guiding me.
The field was still in chaos.
Tents half-collapsed. People hiding. Some had run.
Smoke rose from broken fire circles.
The politician and his men were crouched behind a pile of ashes near the edge of the field.
Angira was trying to organize disciples, pulling them into groups, shouting for calm.
He stood inside the arena with a few others, throwing ash, chanting hastily, and attempting to create a barrier around the frightened crowd.
He had taken on the role of both guide and shield helping the disciples fight, while also trying to protect the panicked people from the wrath of the spirit.
In the middle of the arena, Chhota Ustaad had drawn a circle of protection around Lila, shielding her body with his own.
His left hand hung loose broken, but he still fought.
The churel still in Lila's form hissed, screamed, and charged.
Chhota didn't run.
He stood tall, with only one good arm, and faced the spirit.
And just then, Guruji stepped into the field.
Everything changed.
The wind stopped. The crowd went silent. Even the spirit the churel wearing Lila's face froze for a moment.
She stared at Guruji, her face angry but also confused. It was like she knew something stronger had arrived.
She screamed and ran toward him. But before she could reach, she stopped in the air as if something had blocked her.
Guruji hadn't moved. He was just standing, eyes calm.
He turned slightly toward Chhota.
"Take her," he said firmly but gently.
Chhota looked up, confused and trembling. For a moment, it seemed he couldn't believe what was happening.
Then, still in shock, he nodded. He gently lifted Lila into his arms. She was breathing, but faintly.
With his broken arm hanging and one good arm supporting her, he carefully stepped out of the center of the field.
Ustaad bent down and picked up some ash from the ground. Slowly, he made a circle in front of him, chanting something softly.
The ash began to glow faintly.
The churel hissed again and stepped back. Her fake face started to shake, like a reflection in disturbed water. Her hands were shaking.
"I know what you are," Ustaad said. "You were pulled too early. You are stuck between the fourth gate."
Her eyes widened. Her face changed. She looked scared now. Not like a monster. Like a girl. Lost.
Ustaad spoke again a simple chant, slow and deep.
The earth below the spirit cracked slightly. Light smoke rose from the ground and wrapped around her like threads.
"I didn't want to become this," the spirit whispered.
She began to fade not in pain, but like she was being let go. Slowly, gently.
Then she disappeared.