[Scene: A tea stall in a small Indian town. It’s around 9:30 PM. Ravi and Suresh sit on a bench sipping cutting chai under a streetlight, a large peepal tree swaying nearby.]
Suresh: (glancing nervously at the peepal tree)
Ravi… let’s finish up quickly, da. It’s almost 10. That tree over there—it’s not safe to be near it at night. Don’t you know it’s haunted?
Ravi: (chuckling)
Haunted? You mean that peepal tree? Suresh, it’s a tree, not an apartment for ghosts. What exactly do you think happens if we stand under it?
Suresh:
I’m serious, machan! My thatha used to say, “After 10 PM, the spirits come out.” They say people who sleep under peepal trees never wake up—or worse, they start speaking in tongues!
Ravi:
And what if they were just sleep-talking in Malayalam?
Suresh: (ignoring the joke)
I’ve heard stories, okay? Once, near my cousin’s village in Dindigul, a man slept under a peepal tree and the next morning he was… different. Quiet. Kept staring into space. They had to take him to an exorcist.
Ravi:
Or maybe he just had heatstroke, Suresh. Ever considered that? Those trees give off carbon dioxide at night. If you sleep under them, with no breeze, you might feel dizzy or suffocated. No spirits needed—just bad air.
Suresh:
That’s what you science fellows always say—CO₂, oxygen, photosynthesis! But how do you explain the cow that refused to go near that tree during Ammavasai?
Ravi:
Maybe the cow saw the same coconut seller you ran from last Diwali, thinking he was a ghost.
Suresh: (half-laughing, half-serious)
Okay, okay, laugh. But tell me this: why do even old priests warn us not to go near these trees at night? They can’t all be wrong.
Ravi:
They aren’t wrong. But it’s not because of ghosts. Back in the day, peepal trees were left untouched near cremation grounds. Naturally, people feared those areas. Plus, peepal trees grow really big and dark, and with their long hanging roots—they look eerie. Add some wind, a few owls, maybe a snake rustling about… voila! Instant ghost story.
Suresh:
Still… some fear is healthy, no? You don’t see me wandering around banyan trees at midnight either.
Ravi:
That’s true. But fear based on biology is different from fear based on bhool-bhulaiyaa tales. Look—I’ve actually slept under a peepal tree once, during an NSS camp in college. Nothing happened. Well, except mosquito bites and one squirrel trying to steal my biscuit.
Suresh: (mock horror)
You’re possessed, Ravi! That’s why you still wear those same jeans from college. Spirit of laziness entered you!
Ravi: (laughs)
Exactly! And this “spirit” also believes in logic and laundry schedules.
Suresh: (grinning, but thoughtful)
Okay… let’s say you’re right. But admit it—these stories do keep people cautious. Isn’t that a good thing sometimes?
Ravi:
Sure. Stories are useful, but they should evolve. Instead of saying “ghosts will get you,” we could say, “don’t sleep under trees at night—it might be bad for your health.” Why scare kids into thinking trees are haunted? Trees are our friends!
Suresh:
Hmm… I guess you’ve got a point. Still, you won’t catch me doing yoga under that peepal tree anytime soon.
Ravi:
Fair enough. You do yoga with ghosts, I’ll handle the science part. But hey—how about this? Next week, let’s sit under that tree for 10 minutes, just to test your theory.
Suresh: (eyes widening)
Are you mad? And risk waking up speaking ancient Sanskrit?
Ravi:
You already mumble during tea breaks. Sanskrit might be an upgrade!
[Both laugh. The tea vendor rings the bell to close shop. They walk away, with Suresh still casting a cautious glance at the swaying peepal tree, and Ravi shaking his head, smiling.]

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