remained fixated on the whole scenario before him, the shamans’ gazes were focused on the one single person within their small intimate circle. She was in her mid-40s, moderately obese and dressed in a flowery cotton nightgown frilled at the collar with white lace. She was seated cross legged, her plump hands rigidly holding on to her knees on both sides. Her face and neck appeared to be somewhat swollen and her puffy eyelids were clamped shut over her eyes. She was shaking uncontrollably like someone suffering from dengue fever and her upper body swayed frenetically from side to side and in wide circular movements, her body bending down low in front then moving on up to more acute angles.
One of the shamans, a particularly emaciated looking one, his upper body bare like the others, picked up a fistful of rice from the brass plate on the floor and then flung it at the agitated woman. The woman continued to shiver, tremble and bounce on her seat. Another handful of rice emitting no response, the shaman then picked up a broom and holding it over the woman’s head, started to threaten her with dire consequences if she did not reveal herself. “Tell me who you are! Tell me! Who are you that hides within this woman’s body? I demand you tell me! Speak to me. Tell me what you want.”
The small boy shivered in anticipation. This had been going on too long – almost two hours – and nothing other than what was still happening, had happened. Maybe now there would be something new, a twist in the events? The quivering woman had opened her eyes and was staring back at the shaman with eyes in which the eyeballs seemed to be almost protruding. She hissed back at the emaciated looking shaman, her words garbled and unintelligible. The shaman picked