Chapter 8: The Crimson Window

While my learning with Guruji grew deeper, the book continued revealing new mysteries. Each
day a new chapter. Each night, a new kriya, a new whisper from the other side of the world. I
no longer just read it I listened to it.

The book had started teaching me more about the Eight Dwar. Not just names and emotions,
but actual tantric kriyas blood chants, shadow rituals, breath bindings. It was no longer
knowledge. It was transformation.

Around this time, my uncle told me something joyful. A message had come from my mother
the donation from the manager had reached her. The family was happy and grateful. I could
almost feel their smile across the miles.

Back in the ashram, things were changing too. Lila and Chhota Ustaad’s a

ection had grown
more open. Angira, once dismissive of her, now didn’t interfere. Everyone was busy preparing
for the upcoming Akhara of Spirits. Even Angira’s behavior toward me became strangely
polite.

One afternoon, while I was helping my uncle, Angira asked if I would like to accompany them
to a nearby house. A case of possession. I was about to excuse myself just as my uncle had
told me in whispers but something in me, the pull of Tantra, made me nod.

I could feel my uncle’s worry as I walked away.

The house belonged to a goldsmith (a sunar) whose youngest son was said to be possessed.
Inside, they greeted Chhota Ustaad with reverence. He was the master of removal, after all. I
stood in a quiet corner, eyes wide.

Angira and Chhota began sealing the house: shutting every door and window, drawing lines
with ash, binding space.

Then they turned to the boy."Why aren’t you eating?" Chhota asked.

Chhota placed food in front of him, but the boy threw it away"I want blood. Meat. Dead
animals."

The father gasped. "He’s always been vegetarian!"

I began to feel dizzy. I saw something or maybe sensed it like the Eight Dwar opening before
me in a circle of light. But they didn’t stay open. They flickered, one after another, until the
fourth stopped and burned into view.

Everything went black.

When I regained consciousness, the ritual was still going on. Chhota was mid-mantra. Without
thinking, I shouted, "Fourth Dwar!"

A sudden gust of silence.

The boy fell flat. His eyes rolled back. His breathing returned.

Everyone stared.Then someone noticed a tiny exhaust window in the kitchen barely open,
almost invisible. Angira’s eyes widened. Chhota Ustaad rushed to it.

There, were deep red stains. It looked like sindoor... or maybe blood.

Chhota cursed under his breath. "It escaped through this...!"

Angira kicked the doorframe in frustration. "We sealed every window but this one. How did we
miss it?"

For a moment, both of them just stood there, staring at the stains, stunned that the ghost had
slipped past their grasp.

Angira nodded grimly. "It was ready. We could’ve had it in the bottle."

Then Chhota turned, his eyes narrowing on me. "And you... shouting 'Fourth Dwar' like that..."
He paused. "What was that?"

I didn’t answer.

Angira looked at me for a long second and then said, "He saw it. He sensed something we
didn’t.He was shouting for the opened dwar (gate).

Angira finally gave me a short, sti

nod of respect.

"You saw that?" Angira asked.

"Fourth dwar (Gate)?" Chhota laughed. "He’s using ancient gate kriyas now, ha ha ha ha !"

They thought I was alerting them about the kitchen vent.

"You’re sharper than I thought," Angira muttered, half-impressed.

But I said nothing.

As we walked back, I heard them whispering.
"We need more souls," Angira said. "We don’t have enough for the Akhara."

"Two more weeks," Chhota replied. "We’ll fill those bottles. Somehow."

Back at the ashram, I saw my uncle quietly sitting near his bedding. His eyes met mine, and I
saw something distant in them. "Take care of yourself," he said softly. "I have to go. The
Nawab’s restaurant has finally confirmed my post. I’ve delayed it long enough."

He stared at me then. And in his eyes was everything fear, worry, love, and a disappointment
he hadn’t spoken aloud.

“You used to listen,” he said quietly. “Now your ears are full of mantras, and your eyes are
fixed on things that don't always show their price.”

He stepped forward and placed his hand gently on my head.

“You may think they see something in you,” he whispered.
He was afraid not of the ashram, but of what it was becoming.

He gave me a cloth bundle with some of his things and placed his hand on my head longer
than usual.
"Call me if anything feels wrong," he added. "Don’t stay silent."

He turned, and I watched him walk away. He didn’t look back. But I knew his heart was still
with me.

That night, I lay surrounded by dozens of others, yet I felt emptier than ever.

And I remembered what I saw at the sunar's house that Angira and Chhota had been
preparing not just to release the spirit, but to trap it in a bottle. They were just one second
late.

The open exhaust had saved the soul. Or maybe... the gate(dwar) had.