Learning how to harness what the man in black called "the essence of the universe" - whatever that meant - was hard, to be sure.

First, you had to void your brain. Avish had actually gotten pretty good at that. But then came the tough part. Filling that void back again; not with the same things, not with facts or math sums or memories of your juvenility, no. You had to cram the void with information on the Holder, about whom Bhoo had informed Avish in the form of - and what better than - a story.

At this point, they could have their own inside jokes, what with the amount of mumbo-jumbo Avish now knew of.

Avish really wanted to succeed. Then he'd be able to do cool things like summon chairs and bang doors, all with his mind. Telekinesis is not possible, people say. Telekinesis doesn't exist, Bhoo said; but it is possible.

Avish sat down in the living room (which would years later become a place of horror for him), trying to empty his brain and filling it back again with that hogwash Bhoo had told him about. Apparently, his looks while doing so scared the light out of Mom's headbulbs. 'Don't ever do that again,' she said. Then added: 'What were you doing, honey?'

The number of bruises and mild contusions on Shweta's body scared her son back, so they were even. Funny thing was, Mom seemed to bear them with pride, like they were battle-scars or something (which, in a way, they were, but still). Avish might be a kid, but he was growing up. Quickly too, thanks to the circumstances and the man in black. Who was now an undisputed, indispensable constituent of his life.

At school, there were a few heart-stopping, weird encounters with the Boogies (one with Raghu was particularly intense) he had. But they simply abstained. Probably clenching their jaw, wanting to slice Avish into pieces to feed him to hounds but not being able to. Telling Mrs. Pratibha had been the right decision, after all.

Which was all thanks to Radha. And all his friends, but her most of all.

However, Avish did realize rolling his tongue about Bhoo and everything else had been a mistake. He oughtn't have told her. But what had happened had happened, and now every time Radha tried stirring him up on the subject, Avish pulled down hard to precipitate. He willed that chapter close, if he could.

One day Deep and Divyam started chirping this new composed tune of theirs, and then Roy joined in, and then Radha and Avish. And soon the entire class was banging at their desks and clapping their hands and it was wholesomely awesome. They even gathered a whole squad for their game, "Guess Who".

'Alright, check this out,' Divyam said in his heavy accent. Then he stole Deep's thick specs and acted out a whole part.

'A - a chicken!' said Roy.

'I-I can't even see!' Deep complained.

'A speaking possum?' guessed Radha.

'Mr. Mathur?!' Avish yelled.

'Yes!' Divyam exclaimed, jumping with excitement.

'That was so not him,' Radha said. 'You suck at acting.'

Before they knew it, much of the class had joined them. It was like most of them weren't bad people at all; they sympathized with Avish, but then acted cool and normal. It was fun knowing their group wasn't as uncool and nerdy as they'd presumed. Radha had always been a social sweetheart, but now Avish felt like he was a part of the class too. He mattered.

Being a straight-A(s) student, studying was something he didn't really have to worry about. Besides, he was liking this new life at school. No bullies. Laughing with his friends. Occasionally crying from that laughter. Life was good, he guessed.

Except at home. Things between his parents were worse than ever, if they had even been better in the first place. As just a kid, Avish didn't intervene. As just a kid, he tolerated. Because that's what "just a kid"-s do.

Meanwhile, the nightmares/daydreaming sequences hadn't stopped. He had now seen the same scene a gazillion times, walking down the stairs with a migraine-y head and discovering his grandma in the musty old recliner . . . gooseflesh every time he thought of that.

What was weirder was that he could think crystal-clear in those dreams, those whatevers. So every time he walked down the stairs, he knew he had done this before. He knew he would see his grandma in that . . . state. But there was nothing he could do about that.

Months passed. The nightmare was not to cease its recurrence.

Meanwhile, Avish was told how the void was a dangerous place, and visiting it without proper provisions and concentration could prove to be hazardous. The man in black could be really dramatic sometimes.

What in spite of all bugged eleven-year-old Avish was something he knew Bhoo won't answer. Or, rather, something he knew the answer Bhoo would give about. Still, he couldn't help but wonder.

He played how the conversation would go in his mind.

'Are you my grandpa, Bhoo?'

'I am me. I am you. I am -'

'-what you need me to be. Yeah, I know, I know.'

There were still times when Avish was utterly terrified of the man in black. The way he just appeared and disappeared at will. The way him and his humming was always there at two in the morning, chilling Avish to the core. And the lute playing in his whatever-recurring-dream did share notes with the man's tune.

You think too much, is what he told himself time and again.

His twelfth birthday was fun. At school, Roy pestered him for a party. Deep and Divyam composed a jovial little track which Avish nearly cried at (he cried easy). (The lyrics went something like "when you turn twelve, you always rebel . . ."). Silly, sure, but sentimental. Radha gave him - and this was quite unexpected - a kiss on the cheek.

At home, Dad had gotten drunk and spent his time getting over a hangover. Mom, though, had a surprise up her sleeve. She took him to a movie and they had a blast. People goggled at them as they broke all boundaries and laughed like morons and ate popcorn and howled at the screen. It was, earnestly, the most fun he'd had in a while. Or her.

Bhoo was no less. He got Avish a present, too. Avish had been reluctant to accept it, for the man in black seemed to be attached to this particular item.

'Just take it, my friend,' Bhoo insisted, kindly.

So Avish did. The hat was an articulate object of fashion, now that Avish saw it up close. It had iridescent fine lines running over its glossy black rim, lines which looked to be a foreign language of some sort, lines which appeared and disappeared at random will. The hat smelled of its original owner: old, mature and surreal.

'Thank you.'

Avish hid it in his personal cupboard under a movable log-plank, where no one would find it. Or there would be questions. Who gave it to you and did you steal it and are you insane or what.

All right, probably not the last one, but a young child's brain is a funny place.

Sometimes, Avish would take the hat out and try it on. Stand in front of a mirror, imitate the man in black. Again, he looked remarkably like his grandpa in that intriguing portrait at Grandma's house once he donned the hat. "I have been watching over you, heh, Avish," he'd mimic badly.

But each time he did so he felt kind of guilty, so he stopped doing it altogether. The man in black was becoming something of a sacred figure to him.

And it was clear that Bhoo was not somebody you messed around with.

_____________________________________

The harder you grip sand, the faster it slips.

The less you want time to pass by, the faster it does.

His thirteenth birthday was equally frenzied and fantastic as his last. One thing annoyed him to no end, however: Bhoo hadn't shown up. So the night after, Avish didn't wait up for him and pointedly, forcefully sent himself off to sleep.

That is, until the nightmare woke him up.

*
'Uhm . . . excuse me?'
It is Grandma.
'No! NO! NOOOO - !'
*

Sweating profusely, Avish awoke to the darkness surrounding him.

His frightened eyes darted over to his Mickey-Mouse clock on the wall.

1:59 a.m.

Tick-tock, tick-tock . . .

Before he knew it, the clock read 2:00 a.m.

And he heard a squishy sound.

There, on his favorite bean-bag was seated the man in black. Just like on their first meet.

The two of them just stared at each other. As always, Avish was immediately drawn in by the seaweed grace in the man's untampered eye. And the other one, the halfway-shut, scarred one, scared him. He'd always wondered the story behind it, but always been too afraid to ask.

Just now Avish realized, how far their duo had come.

Bhoo began to chant a melody, which was as hypnotic as it had been on their first night. Whistling and snapping and humming. An ocean to drown your rationale.

'Why didn't you show up last night?'

The man in black ignored him, humming still. Eyes transfixed on Avish.

'It was my birthday, Bhoo-'

The music stopped.

'-you can't just-'

'Today I speak,' intervened the man in black, command in his voice, 'and you listen.'

There was an edge to his voice. A sincerity. And what else? What was it, hidden in the folds of his manly voice?

(an empathy?)

Avish stayed quiet, an irritating shiver running down the nape of his neck.

'First of all, a very happy belated birthday, my dear friend.'

Avish scoffed. 'Why didn't you come?'

The man in black took a rattling breath in, almost like an arcane motor of sorts. 'If I did, our talk right now would have been harder. I had no desire to spoil your special day.'

'Well, congrats, you still did. By not coming.'

A deep breath, like the thrumming before a dragon breathes fire, was heard. Avish felt his ribcage tremble.

'I want you to understand, Avish. I need you to understand. The time has come.'

Just the way he said it - tension weaved its sinewy threads in the newly thirteen-year-old's world.

'Time for what? Don't be so dramati-'

Another engine-like rattle from the man, much, much louder this time around. It was like he wanted to spit something toxic out and just . . . couldn't.

'Bhoo, what the-'

'You're doing quite well for yourself, Avish,' the man started. 'Quite well indeed.'

Each syllable felt stressed on, like words were being squeezed out of the man's throat, as opposed to their general smooth flow.

'Your friends seem nice.'

'Thanks,' Avish said grudgingly. A knot had formulated in his gut. Still, thinking of Radha automatically relaxed him a tad.

'Don't interrupt me.'

'Sorry.'

'You've finally ridded yourself of your tormentors. Congratulations on that.'

Silence.
Where was this headed?

'You are supposed to thank me.'

'Oh. I thought - well, thank you.'

'You are very welcome,' said the man in black. 'You have learnt to fight your own battles to some extent. Now learn to slay your dragons.'

Usually, it was so dope when the man got all obsolescent. Right now, it was quite the antonym of dope.

The knot in his gut tightened. Avish wanted to grip his stomach and call for his mother, but this conversation seemed to matter a lot to Bhoo.

Like he'd been building up to it. Like all that had ever happened between them, all he had ever divulged to a mere kid, was to lead up to here: this point where the crossroads of fate met, in a way Avish failed to fathom.

'How's it you mean?' Avish frowned.

'You are not always going to have someone to lean on. Growing up can be difficult, Avish, and in this difficult time, one learns of the person one is to grow to become.'

This was going so very wrong.

'I have a present for you, Avish, as I did last year. But this is a present much more quintessential, much more withholding. It is going to help you grow into a fine lad.'

No, was all his brain could process. No.

'You are ready, my friend.'

No, no, no, no, no.

'You are prepared to be left alone. You are prepared to face your own demons.'

'No,' Avish mumbled.

'I shall leave you now, and that is the greatest gift I can ever give to you.'

'No,' Avish repeated, his voice cracking in a manner he had never known voices could.

'Yes,' said the man in black. 'You knew this was coming. You lived without me for so long, surely you can learn to survive ahead.'

'No, that's different,' Avish sobbed. 'Come on, Bhoo. Don't do this to me.'

'I have no alternative, my friend.'

'You call me a friend! This isn't what friends do! They don't ditch each other!'

The man in black stood up, and he was so tall he almost touched the ceiling. He shadowed the room. 'This is for your own good, Avish. You will thank me later for this.'

'You're just making things up! That man - that man went insane - and - and now I'll go mad too - because you - you can't - '

'I can,' said the man affirmatively, 'and I am.'

'Please. I beg you.'

A growl erupted from the man's shriveled, dry mouth. 'Do not do this, Avish. It will do you no good to whimper like a wounded cur. I have made my mind.'

'Since you came, things have been better. They've - they've changed. And now you're leaving, and I'll suck again - please - please - '

Avish outright broke into a crying tantrum now. His face was redder than that of the truck driver that had almost killed his mother that one time.

'Please.'

The man in black growled larger this time, the growl resounding through the room. The bed on which Avish was seated jittered lightly. 'Do not force my hand, Avish. This is happening, whether you like it or not.'

'No. Please, no, just, I'll do anything, just don't leave -'

'You have to learn so much,' the man said, more serenely this time. 'You do not need me, not if you believe in yourself. You are special, Avish. So is every single soul out there. Learn to explore yourself. Let. Me. Go.'

'No!' he shrieked, not caring if his parents heard him. 'No, no, no, no! You are not leaving!'

'And who will stop me?' the man barked back. Even walls shook. 'Not everything has to be to your liking. Not everything has to revolve around you. The world is a tough place, Avish, so learn to live in it. There is no place for cowards or for those who rely on others. They don't even get simple deaths, no. Life makes them suffer till they beg for death. Trust me. You do not want for that to happen.'

They stared at each other for a moment that was terrifically long.

'Why?'

'Because humans are as humans do.'

Avish didn't get it. He couldn't get it. Couldn't dig the point. What could this possibly gain either of them? In what way was this a favor to him? Had the man simply grown tired of him, and would now find another friend? Just . . . Avish couldn't process so much.

'It can be hard to forget, my friend.'

'I don't want to forget you ever, Bhoo!'

'But you have to learn. Or they will not let you live.'

Whoever "they" were! Whatever any of this was!

Streaks of tears, double, triple, quadruple, tumbling down each eye. Why? Why now, of all times? Why ever, in fact? Everything was fine, everything was exquisite, then why?! Why was Bhoo doing this to him? Just why, why, WHY?

'To resist is to invite chaos. To forget is to find bliss.'

(Mr. Preman)

'I'll tell everyone,' Avish whispered. 'I'll tell everyone about you.'

(the armyman from the story)

'No, you will not,' said the man in black.

(follow me to my death)

No, he wouldn't. He knew it, deep down in there somewhere. And of course the man knew. He always did.

Clenching his jaw and yowling his tears, Avish ran at Bhoo, who towered over him like a stoic mount, and made as if to grab his waistcoat's collar, but it was receding away in smoke. Pure, dark smoke. Like a wicked creature onto itself.

Slowly, but steadily, the man in black was vaporizing.

From the room and from his life.

Avish was blinded by the spontaneously forming smoke - oh, how it curled and rose and spread - and at the same time, nauseated by it. Choked by it.

The only current source of illumination in the room, his bedside lamp, starting flickering - and with each flicker, the smoke thickened and rose until it vanished altogether, thickened and rose, thickened and rose - and the man in black became less and less substantial, more and more vapor - and his shadow grew dimmer and dimmer - dimmer and dimmer - until at least it diminished to nothing more than the ghost of a speck on the wall . . .

The smoke tried to blindfold him, but Avish kept his eyes open. He could see an unholy grey shade lurking within that dense forest of smoke, gleaming like gold in bright sunlight, and he was irrationally sure that that ball of glistening grey was the man in black himself. His Bhoo, in another form.

Then the smoke grew too heavy, too venomous, to be tolerated by any human eye, and Avish felt his lids weighing down as the shadow nullified into non-existence.

And a voice could be heard, the voice of Bhoo, his Bhoo, an almost prophetic baritone, pealing through his senses like a knife slicing butter:

'When all hope is lost, when the skies turn grey and the heart yearns warmth; when pain is a familiar rival, and each breath breaks into puffs; when no one is there for you, and you are not truly yours . . . I will be there for you then, my friend. I promise in the name of the Holder and the Holy Jen.'

Avish wailed until he couldn't.

At last, he felt the weight of the smoke lift, he felt the poison in the air lessen, and he opened his eyes. And all he could see was that orb-like grey ball of glistening stars.

The remnants of Bhoo.

Until even that was gone, and only a voice remained to accompany his silence.

'Fare thee well, comrade.'

Well, well, well, how about that.

This is the point where things finally take a drastic turn. The "time-jump" has arrived. The crossroads have met.

Take this as "end of Part 1"

And remember: people change.