<p>You might have read many ghost stories, but you may not believe them until you see one. I learned all about witches and spirits when my sister and I were child labourers for a week when our cottier woman, Jayamma, was on long leave. You may be thinking that my parents were monsters. My father had gotten kicked while milking our new cow, Meenakshi, who was probably missing Jayamma. My mom was scooping the stale cow dung laid a few days ago after her futile efforts to get a backup for Jayamma.</p>.<p>My sister and I had to carry bamboo baskets with heaps of dung and throw them in the compost pit under the tamarind tree in our backyard, nearly half a kilometre away. After tossing the cowpats, we would loiter around the tree to escape more rounds of the messy job! That was when my sister would share her knowledge of ghosts: they wear white sarees and anklets with metallic bells, the jingle of which would herald her arrival; they have twisted feet with toes pointing back; and so on. I was enchanted to know that the tamarind tree was home to many such ghosts. My sister exploited my ignorance about ghosts by spicing up the spooky stories with descriptions of various genres of ghosts, like Kolli Devva, a spirit with a burning torch.</p>.<p>Soon our saviour, Jayamma, was back. We were spared the drudgery of carrying cow dung to finally enjoy the rest of our summer holidays! We played on the ground, which was nearly half a kilometre from the tamarind tree. Day after day, my sister was weaving new stories of spirits with jingling anklets, twisted feet, a white saree, and cold breezes. I handled the ghost stories well during the day, but twilight gave me the jitters with my heart pacing. I grabbed my sister’s hand while walking past the tamarind tree. She grasped my hand and patted my back.</p>.<p>One evening, while returning home from the playground, it was already dark. Just as we neared the tamarind tree, there was a cold breeze, and an owl started hooting. I clutched my sister’s hand. I could hear a faint jingle of bells. We started walking faster. The jingle got closer. My sister left my hand and said, “Run.” Before I realised anything, she was gone!</p>.<p>I started crying and started to run. The jingle, more of a tinkle, was very close behind. My sister was panting and waiting for me at the door of our house. We both looked back to see a feminine figure emerge, with a creature behind her—like Yama Dharmaraya walking with a buffalo close behind. As they came closer, we saw her saree was not monochromatic. Her feet were not twisted, and there were no anklets either. The creature behind was a cow. It was the bell in the cow’s neck that spooked us.</p>.<p>Jayamma was coming back home with Meenakshi from our farm! My sister and I burst into laughter, patting Meenakshi’s back.</p>
<p>You might have read many ghost stories, but you may not believe them until you see one. I learned all about witches and spirits when my sister and I were child labourers for a week when our cottier woman, Jayamma, was on long leave. You may be thinking that my parents were monsters. My father had gotten kicked while milking our new cow, Meenakshi, who was probably missing Jayamma. My mom was scooping the stale cow dung laid a few days ago after her futile efforts to get a backup for Jayamma.</p>.<p>My sister and I had to carry bamboo baskets with heaps of dung and throw them in the compost pit under the tamarind tree in our backyard, nearly half a kilometre away. After tossing the cowpats, we would loiter around the tree to escape more rounds of the messy job! That was when my sister would share her knowledge of ghosts: they wear white sarees and anklets with metallic bells, the jingle of which would herald her arrival; they have twisted feet with toes pointing back; and so on. I was enchanted to know that the tamarind tree was home to many such ghosts. My sister exploited my ignorance about ghosts by spicing up the spooky stories with descriptions of various genres of ghosts, like Kolli Devva, a spirit with a burning torch.</p>.<p>Soon our saviour, Jayamma, was back. We were spared the drudgery of carrying cow dung to finally enjoy the rest of our summer holidays! We played on the ground, which was nearly half a kilometre from the tamarind tree. Day after day, my sister was weaving new stories of spirits with jingling anklets, twisted feet, a white saree, and cold breezes. I handled the ghost stories well during the day, but twilight gave me the jitters with my heart pacing. I grabbed my sister’s hand while walking past the tamarind tree. She grasped my hand and patted my back.</p>.<p>One evening, while returning home from the playground, it was already dark. Just as we neared the tamarind tree, there was a cold breeze, and an owl started hooting. I clutched my sister’s hand. I could hear a faint jingle of bells. We started walking faster. The jingle got closer. My sister left my hand and said, “Run.” Before I realised anything, she was gone!</p>.<p>I started crying and started to run. The jingle, more of a tinkle, was very close behind. My sister was panting and waiting for me at the door of our house. We both looked back to see a feminine figure emerge, with a creature behind her—like Yama Dharmaraya walking with a buffalo close behind. As they came closer, we saw her saree was not monochromatic. Her feet were not twisted, and there were no anklets either. The creature behind was a cow. It was the bell in the cow’s neck that spooked us.</p>.<p>Jayamma was coming back home with Meenakshi from our farm! My sister and I burst into laughter, patting Meenakshi’s back.</p>