I was 4 years old, living in Chintamaniswar, Bhubaneswar. One fine evening, we all had a ritual at the construction site of our future home. All my cousins, uncles, and aunts had come to our place. We were all playing outside when I ran straight to the nearby yard, filled with lots of mango trees and wild bushes called "amba tota" (botanical garden in Odia). We kept playing until sunset. But slowly, every kid returned except me. I had wandered into a dense fog amidst the mango trees. I was eventually found hugging a tree tightly, my hair unusually straight and my eyes rolled back. I was running a high fever and speaking incoherently.
I was immediately taken home, and my dad called someone who could help expel evil spirits. They made a holy pyre called "Jhuna," whose smoke filled the room. As they spoke to the spirit within me, I suddenly spoke in a different voice, claiming to be a newlywed bride who had been attacked and raped by thugs while going to a movie with her husband. Everyone was stunned. Suddenly, a wave of smoke from the holy pyre engulfed me, while my mom whipped my face with her long hair, chanting a holy mantra of love and compassion. Finally, the unwanted spirit left my body, and we saw a black bird fly towards the dissipating fog, never to return.
*a true story, narrated by my maternal aunty
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