When I was in the fourth grade, I attended the Central School for Tibetans, a boarding school for Tibetan refugee children in Kalimpong, India. Our school was housed in a massive, old British-era three-story building that originally belonged to Nandu Lal, an Indian businessman who once traded wool with Tibetans before Tibet was occupied. After his death, a Hindu temple was built next to the school in his memory. Due to their close ties with the Tibetan community, Nandu Lal’s family eventually leased and sold the building to the Central Tibetan Schools Administration.
The building still housed many abandoned and eerie wool processing machines. As kids, we found these hulking metal giants terrifying, especially the ones with large pits filled with years of muck and grease. I slept in the dormitory for young boys, a large room tightly packed with metal bunk beds, all infested with bedbugs. Despite this, we were happy. In the middle of the room stood a large concrete pillar with a mirror attached to it. Many kids had bumped into that pillar while heading to the restroom at night—a long corridor with holes in the ground and concrete partitions just a short distance away from our dormitory.
Ghost stories were a staple of our nightly conversations. We heard tales of Nandu Lal’s ghost wandering the building to ensure everything was in order. There was also a story about a pair of rain boots that walked by themselves and a cigarette-smoking ghost who would tap your shoulder and ask for a matchstick. Our dormitory had one wall full of windows with a view of the soccer field and the town road, but someone had once told a story about a terrifying head popping up from those windows, making the beds with a view less popular.
Among all these tales, the most famous were the stories of the “Churel.” This ghost, often described as a beautiful young girl in a white dress, would lure men and then kill them. The way to identify a Churel, they said, was to check if she had backward-facing feet or a hole in her back. Though none of us had ever seen any of these ghosts, we were always scared to venture out at night.
One chilly night, the dormitory was buzzing with whispers when suddenly, two boys burst into the room, panting and wide-eyed. They claimed to have seen a Churel. They had been outside, relieving themselves when they noticed a white dress floating along the road across the soccer field. They confirmed with each other and saw what appeared to be a girl in a white dress, all alone in the dark, walking slowly up the road. But the chilling detail was that she wasn’t walking—she was floating. Goosebumps spread through the room like wildfire.
To protect the younger kids, the older boys decided to investigate. They climbed the rickety stairs leading out and peeked outside, still holding the door. After a few tense seconds, they bolted back inside, one of them tripping over the stairs, barely able to catch his breath. “Churel,” they announced.
Among us was a boy named Topgyal, who slept in the corner bed. He was older, skinny, and reserved, with an air of mystery about him. He wore all kinds of multi-colored holy threads around his neck and wrists. Topgyal didn’t mingle much and spoke only a few words now and then, but we saw him as the wise one, and he embraced that role.
“If you let the Churel pass peacefully, she’ll come closer the next time,” he said, and everyone quieted down, turning toward him. “And soon, in a few nights, she’ll be standing here, right in front of this mirror.” He then took out his mala and started reciting the mani mantra. All the other kids edged closer to the walls, away from the mirror. For a moment, the mirror’s reflection became a blank screen of imagination for all of us.
The older boys quickly decided we couldn’t let the Churel pass the road peacefully. “Everybody, hold each other’s hand and walk outside quietly. Gather whatever you can—rocks, sticks, etc., but quietly; the Churel mustn’t hear us. And once I give the command, we attack and chase it away,” said the oldest among us.
We crept out and quietly collected whatever we could find. I had a couple of rocks in my pocket and two in my hands. For the first time, I saw the Churel, still floating down the long, lonely road in the dark. By the time we were ready, the Churel had moved much further, so we were told to attack. Everyone threw whatever they had with all their might. We screamed at the top of our lungs for the Churel to go away while Topgyal stood behind us, reciting mantras.
The Churel did run away. The floating dress seemed to quickly disappear down the road, and we declared victory. As we reentered the room, we were jubilant. We had defeated a Churel and stopped her from potentially harming us. The boys who had stayed inside were seen as cowards, while we, the warriors returning from battle with the ghost, were heroes. We spoke about the incident until late at night, boasting about how far we flung our rocks and whose hit the target.
The next morning was filled with excitement. We eagerly shared our story of bravery with the girls and older kids. During breakfast, I overheard that Topgyal had suggested stockpiling rocks in buckets so we would be prepared if the Churel appeared again. After all, we were brave warriors preparing our weapons. Until that moment, I had always believed people would run away after seeing a ghost. Now, with the knowledge that I could fight a ghost, I felt heroic.
The school assembly was a daily ritual where the entire school lined up in order, facing the raised platform where the teachers and the principal stood. That morning, there was some unusual activity near the teachers’ area, and the principal was engaged in a serious discussion with a group of locals. Eventually, he walked to the center, his face stern.
“Last night,” he began, “can the boys from the junior dormitory go to that corner?” He pointed to the far corner of the assembly area. We scrambled over, our hearts pounding. “Last night, these boys threw rocks at a local girl. Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt, but this shouldn’t happen again. They will be punished accordingly.”
A teacher explained that our Churel was actually a local girl sneaking out for a secret date with her boyfriend. The houses below the road had complained about the rocks falling on their roofs and about the girl. The boyfriend had promised to bring his friends and beat us up.
We spent two grueling hours picking up rocks and cleaning the soccer field under the scorching sun. Then we had to clean both the men’s and women’s restrooms. The ‘coward’ kids laughed at us ‘warriors’ while we worked. Now, instead of fearing the Churel, we were scared of when the boyfriend would come seeking revenge.