'Well, well,' Shweta observed, 'your bruises sure healed quick.'

'Told you it was nothing, Mom,' her son chirped. He seemed pretty effervescent today, she noted; good dreams, must be.

It's remarkable, really, how young boys work; one day they can be all murk and no please, the other day as lively as a squirrel. More complicated machinery than that of a freaking time-machine, Shweta reflected.

Anyhow, seeing her son all jumpy and jittery and acting like an actual kid for once gave her joy. She knew things were rough at school for children like Avish, children who never spoke back, who could never think of a come-back, physical or verbal, who kept their heads down hoping to dodge insults rather than revolting to repel them. She herself had been such a kid. But she knew there was a distinct quality in Avish that made him different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it - he was usually so discreet, kept to himself - but she was certain it was there. Buried somewhere under that precocious, quiet boy was a much more layered person. A capable person.

(capable of moving mountains and rivalling rivers)

She frowned. The phrase had simply popped up in her brain with no explanation whatsoever. She'd never heard it before.

Not for the last time, she reminded herself she was getting older with each passing day. Speaking of old, how about her darling husband to give her a strong daily dose of migraine - since every conversation between them benignly wound up into an argument sooner or later. She knew Avish sensed it, the palpable heat in the air every night they had dinner together. Which wasn't always. Most of the times, Dhruv would come after Avish had already slept, swaying and stinking of booze. She was glad his work - if he still had a job, that was, he never talked about it - kept him occupied for the most part. Yes, she got damn bored at home alone, with the same rom-coms on the telly and the same nosy ole' neighbors to talk to. Same ole' Mrs. Gupta giving her advices, telling her of voodoo charms and what-not. Her own same ole' mother asking same ole' questions on the phone, whether that brute Dhruv was taking right care of her (she had always been against this marriage, now Shweta regretted not listening to her).

Sometimes, Shweta just wanted to scream into the receiver: he's a monster mom take me back just take me back please I am still your little girl yes yes still your little girl please O please save me - but of course not. How could she? How dare a grown woman like her - a mother, for heavens' sake! - act so naïve?

This is life, bitch. Handle it any way you can.

"SSDD: Same shit, different day; from today till eternity" - that ought to be the name of her goddamn autobiography, if she ever had one, that was. She wondered whether anyone would read it.

'Momma?'

'Huh?' Shweta was bought back into the here and now.

Avish smiled lustrously. The sly son of a gun; he always knew what was going on. 'I said, I have to go now, Momma.'

She bent on her knees - at which her joints lamented, another reminder, madam, of your age - and kissed her son on both cheeks, then creased her face as she studied him. 'If you're not a civilized human, honey, at least act the part. You'll stain my name.'

The eleven-year-old groaned as his mother bought a comb and began tidying his bedraggled hair. Satisfied with her work, she then pecked Avish on his cheeks again. 'Mom!' he cried.

'Now you look like my son. A bit more like him, least.'

'Can I go now? I'll miss the bus.' Avish sang, but his posture still spoke mirth.

'Got your lunch?'

'Yes.'

'Water-bottle?'

He held it up. 'It's in my hands, Mom. How can you not see?'

Shweta chuckled. Teasing him was fun. 'Off you go, then.'

'Bye.' And her son frolicked away.

Well, Shweta thought, at least someone's having the time of his life.

______________________________________

When Avish entered the class humming a tune (an assortment of sorts, really; somewhere in between Bhoo's melody and a droll song Deep and himself had composed last to last year), he was greeted by several probing, inquisitive eyes. Even some skeptical ones. He wouldn't have noticed this since he walked with his head lolling down generally, but it was just standing out like a hawk without a beak. Usually when he walked in, he was invisible. Today, suddenly, he was an artefact whose designs intrigued everyone. Some of his classmates were excitedly chirruping amongst themselves.

Eyes followed him as he took his seat beside Roy, behaving as casually as possible. 'Oi! Why are they staring at me like that?'

Pretending not to have heard the question, Roy glanced past him at a dark-complexioned kid sporting thick spectacles bigger than his face which magnified his eyes a quadruple times. 'Deep,' Roy said to the kid. 'Tell Avish I am not talking to him.'

'Avish, he is not talking to you,' Deep transduced.

'But what happened?' Avish asked.

'But what happened?' Deep repeated, consulting Roy, who rolled his eyes.

Then a hand landed on Avish's shoulder.

Till yesterday night, that would have pained. Thanks to the man in black, Avish had one less thing to worry about.

The owner of the hand was Divyam, a gigantic boy who looked like a wrestler trapped inside the body of a sixteen-year-old - only he was eleven, same as Avish. He explained in his heavy accent. 'Everyone knows about yesterday, Avish. Roy is just angry because first you ignored him and then didn't tell him anything about Raghu beating you up. Don't worry about him, he'll come around.'

'No, I won't,' Roy intervened.

'Oh, you will,' said Divyam.

'Are you fine, by the way?' Deep asked Avish, cocking his specs.

Avish smirked. 'Totally. Better than ever, actually.'

Roy and Deep and Divyam exchanged glances. 'Did you bump your head as well?' Divyam said. 'We heard, Avish. All of us. They beat you up bad. This is getting out of hands, man. If you don't do something about this soon, they will keep bullying you forever.'

'Forever,' Deep echoed for effect.

'Forever?' a feminine voice spoke just then. 'Nah, he'll be dead long before that.'

Avish and Roy and Deep and Divyam all looked up collectively at the speaker. She was pretty, no doubt. Some might even call her beautiful, what with her almond-colored hair, perfect torso and doe-eyes. Even at age twelve, she exhibited signs of the ravishing woman she would grow to become. But for the four boys, she was just one of their party.

'Radha!' Deep and Divyam exclaimed together. They spoke in broken sentences then, one overlapping the other, fighting for the chance to speak.

'You only -'

'Avish won't listen, not to -'

'He listens to you -'

'They'll keep tortu-'

'Alright, enough, guys!'

Everyone fell quiet. Not just the four boys, but the entire class. Some eyes goggled curiously at the lot. Radha barked 'Don't you have anywhere else to eavesdrop?' and the eyes blinked away nonchalantly. Conversations again started to bloom. Erupted in parts, then developed into the usual roar.

Radha placed herself on the desk of Avish's seat. 'Listen, mister,' she said menacingly, a single forefinger raised, 'if you think we're letting you get played with like a ragdoll every single day, then I'm afraid you're wrong.'

'Radh-'

'I'm not done. We can't call ourselves your friends if we let this continue. So either you tell Ms. Pratibha about your problems-'

'Radha, just lis-'

'Or we will,' she completed. 'It's your choice. Help yourself or be helped. You aren't getting spared either way.'

She climbed off the desk. Roy was not willing to face Avish. Deep was doing silent claps. Divyam looked stupefied. Avish sat there with his mouth open, waiting for his turn. 'I'm done,' said Radha. 'You may make your point.'

Avish uttered a sound, then thought the better of it. What was the use?
He nodded in resignation.

'Good,' said Radha. 'That's more like it.'

While everyone else was scribbling sums in their notebook intensely, Avish was tapping his pencil on his forehead rhythmically. Thinking. How he was going to confront Ms. Pratibha, tell her truths he had kept stuffed inside of him since so long. The lie, that this name-calling and bullying was all very normal, had seeped into him. He believed his lie, long as it had been. But that still couldn't shadow the truth. What he was undergoing, he didn't need to.

Yet if he told his teachers, and his teachers told his parents - that would be a disaster. Dad would know he was being a weasel all over again. Mom would go hysteric. Kids would stare, worse than they'd done today. The Boogies would probably be replaced by another set of wild boars, maybe the Khoogies, he'd call them. Maybe they would be worse.

It can't be worse than it already is.

In the end, he did want to be free. Untangled from these ropes of bullying and being an oddity. In the end, his friends were right; he couldn't possibly let this resume - who knew, if in the near future, one of Boogies lost their marbles and bought a switchblade to school, used it on him.

In the end, he had to take a step. And sprightly as he was feeling from the moment on Bhoo had magically healed him, Avish would take that step today than any other day.

But he didn't have to approach Ms. Pratibha at all. She approached him. As she was taking rounds in the class - she was their class's mentor-teacher as well as their mathematics teacher - she noticed Avish sitting idle, distrait. Word must've reached even the teachers. Yesterday's little incident had spread like wildfire.

'Avish, dear?'

'Uhm . . . yes, Miss?'

'We need to talk.'

And so she told him - no, commanded him - to come to her cabin after the class was over. Prying ears picked up signals, some scribbling pens stopped. Radha gestured from across two desks, her beady eyes warm and comforting, a banner of "you can do it" laced into her pupils. Even Roy gave him a tentative thumbs-up. Divyam and Deep looked tense, rigid.

So thirty minutes later, there he was. Avish, a nervous little boy. Short for his age, thin for his age. Mature for his age, been through too much for his age Anxious to finally word the truth that had been unnamed for way too long.

Neither Avish nor Ms. Pratibha said a word initially. She too was probably wondering how to stir such a delicately spoilt solution.

She didn't do too shabby. It started out as confrontations with teachers are supposed to kick off. 'Avish, you are a good kid. Better than majority of the lot we get these days. So I don't expect anything but the truth from you. Are we understanding this?'

'Yes, Miss.'

'Excellent.' Ms. Pratibha walked up to him and pierced him with a sharp stare. 'So, you know why I called you here?'

Avish gave a vertical bob of his head.

Ms. Pratibha exhaled. 'Are the rumors true?'

Avish mumbled a reply.

'Pardon? I couldn't hear you.'

'Yes, Miss,' Avish said it louder this time. His voice came out squeaky.

'Hm,' Ms. Pratibha breathed. 'This has been going on for some time, yes?'

Avish gave her a barely discernible nod. But she didn't need to see it to know. His mannerisms spoke it all.

'Your parents are aware of this?'

Avish shook his head.

'I guess you know what actions must be taken. I'll inform your parents myself.'

'No! Please, Miss. Don't.'

'This kind of predicament you've been in, it's not easy to get over. I feel for you, Avish. I really do. I want you to know that. I want you to know you have someone to talk to.'

The sweet talk. The special treatment. Avish was done pretending to be okay with this. 'I have friends, Miss.'

'Yes, and they are most wonderful friends too. They tell you to complain against the big boys?'

'Yuh-yes,' he stammered.

'Friends are one of the best things a person can possess in times like these,' Ms. Pratibha said, emphasizing on each word. 'Do me a favor and never let go of them.'

Avish looked at her. She meant it. 'Never,' he mouthed.

'Now, I've already given the kids that trouble you a doze. If, in spite of that, they still bother you, you come straight to me. Confirm me the names.'

She read out the names of the Boogies, one after one after one. Six kids. Six kids who had ruined Avish's school-spirit. Whose names made his stomach backflip.

He suddenly wished this talk dead. He wished he had never come to her cabin. On his brain's curtain, he saw a translucent scene unfold.

Raghu and his goons, with blades in their hands. You snitch on us! This is what you get!

His Dad materializing out of nowhere. You disappoint me, Avish. I'm ashamed to call you my son.

His mother, starry-eyed. Why didn't you tell me, honey? Why didn't you tell me?! WHY DID YOU NOT TELL -

Ms. Pratibha was not done, though. 'Is that all? Any more kids who give you trouble?'

'Nuh-no, Miss. No. Can I - can I go now, Miss?'

'Alright, then.'

Avish turned to leave. Not four steps later, Ms. Pratibha called.

'Wait, just one last thing. Then you're free to go, my dear.' She waited for his approval, maybe for him to at least turn around. When she didn't get a response, she asked away. 'Do you want the school to take strict action against those boys? We've informed their parents. We could suspend them, it's absolutely possible. If you'd feel . . . if you want to, I mean.'

Avish had his tummy fill with snakes right now, so there was really no place to devour revenge. 'No, Miss. It's - it's okay.'

Ms. Pratibha smiled kindly at him. 'You're really a lovely kid, Avish. Brave, too. I mean that.'

Years later, those words would come back to haunt Avish. In fact, this entire conversation would. Had he been a witch with foresight, he would have paid more heed to little things like these.

But of course he wasn't and of course he didn't know any of that as of yet.

So all he said was: 'May I leave now?'

_____________________________________

It was a free period. That is to say, self-study - but no one studies willingly in school surrounded by friends, do they? Especially when the substitute teacher is lenient as lenient can be?

Avish pretended, though. His book lying despondently on his desk, pages fluttering. Deep and Divyam engaged in composing a brand-new sizzle. Radha was completing her notes; she'd been on a vacation for two weeks. But soon as her brilliant brown eyes - wide, ever wide when open, as doe as they get - fell upon Avish, she shut all her work and scurried over to her friend's seat. He didn't really pay any attention to her, so she coughed forcefully in order to indicate her presence. Yet Avish was mentally somewhere else.

The teacher was busy going through some "official forms," whatever that meant. Radha dragged a chair by her friend.

'Hey,' she said.

Avish smirked, the smirk being amply overt. This took Radha aback. What was going on?

Impulsively, perhaps, she took his hands in her own. It felt good. It was a nice gesture on her behalf. 'You okay?'

He turned to face her, still beaming brightly. 'Yeah. Actually, I need to tell you something.'

Not just something, oh no. He told Radha everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

Starting from how music had woken him up. His encounter with the mysterious stranger. His skepticism. The imprints on his face. His mother's opinion. His parents' increasingly distressing quarrels. His various other vague encounters with the man in black. The Boogies. The magical healing. The naming of the man in black. The foreboding comment.

(you will be)

Everything.

A great weight had been lifted off of his chest. Telling Ms. Pratibha had been a scary prospect, but it had also been relieving. Telling Radha was easier, and even more tranquilizing.

Radha was the perfect audience, listening assiduously, holding Avish's hand the whole while, squeezing it at the right times, but by the end, her face was perplexed, to say the least. Positively dumbfounded.

'You don't believe me?'

'Of course I do,' she replied. 'It's just that . . . it's a lot to process.'

'Also, Radha?'

'Yeah?'

'Don't tell anyone, please.'

She smiled. 'Snitches get stitches.'

Avish nodded subtly. He fleeced her hand back. Neither heard the bell ring, neither noticed the substitute leaving the classroom, neither gave heed to the ogling eyes, neither cared. Soon a chant went up in the class, initiated by none other than Deep and Divyam, taunting the pair as a couple. Avish confronted Radha's eyes, but she was blushing furiously.

That made him blush as well.

______________________________________

That night, his entire world shook.

He was dreaming about grandma's house, for some reason. He couldn't recount the details, but what he did remember was jolting awake to the sound of breaking glass.

Outside of the dream, it was a nightmare.

One of the photo-frames on the opposite wall was missing. Then cracks began to develop in those walls. The walls started to tear. All other frames collapsed in sequential order. The cracks deepened as he viewed them, becoming gaping holes in his room's walls. His favorite clock, the Mickey-Mouse one - O nonononononono - fell down hard, parts scattering on the shuddering floor. Because the floor was shuddering. His bed was convulsing. The roof was coming down. Paint was being peeled. His cupboard doors opened and thudded repetitively. The windows broke as if struck by some inconceivable stone. Avish barely defended himself from the shards, struggling to stay on the shaking bed. A burly wind stormed in. The curtain ringlets screeched, fighting to break. The roof-fan plummeted many an inch, now teetering hazardously on one thing metal cord.

The sounds aggregated to form a thunder. His parents were probably awake downstairs, figuring a way out to save their son.

Was this an earthquake? The end of the world?

(a dream?)

Avish closed his eyes, blotting all vision. Covered his ears, blocking all sound. Hid under the covers, like they would act as a shield.

And idiotically enough, he thought of the man in black.

Minutes later, he removed his hands from his ears. The thunder had stubbed. Getting out of the covers, still unsure of what was happening, he opened his eyes.

The room was its normal self. No fallen frames. No cracks in the walls. No signs of disaster. His clock was perfectly fine, perfectly functional, showing the time as 2 a.m.

The only fresh addition was a man immaculate in a black vest. A man holding a sleek black cane, gleaming in the moonlight. Eyes horrible as horror, the good one - which could open all the way up - lacking its familiar seaweed, coin-y glisten. Hat placed, tilted, on his head. His scrawny outline radiating heat. Not warmth; heat.

Avish shivered involuntarily. Something about the man filled him with fear tonight.

Something was very screwed.

'Bhoo, what -'

'Do not call me that,' the man rasped. Like his throat were stuffed with sand. So unlike his usual baritone. So unlike his usual aura. 'You need to be taught a lesson.'

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