ANJALI:WHISPERS OF RATANPUR

The Prophecy of the Hut

The night was malevolent. A cold, suffocating air, thick and choking as stale incense, seemed to bleed across the land. The streets of the Mohalla had dissolved; the surroundings held no continuity, only the deep, breathing dark. Anjali moved as if underwater, her oil lamp casting a frantic, fluttering circle of yellow light. She walked carefully, fearfully, her toes brushing the lifeless, brittle bushes that lay scattered on the path, straining to ensure her steps made no sound.

​She was in the middle of nowhere, yet at every corner, tall, skeletal trees stood sentinel, and the rustle of unseen creatures going about their dark activities turned the silence into a vibrating threat. It was not the Khet-ki-Mend she knew; this was a corrupted wilderness.

​As she moved further into the oppressive density of the forest, she heard a sound—a cry. It was a high-pitched shriek laced with terror, unmistakable even through the distance. It was Ma'am Roshni's voice. The former Principal wailed from a distance, deep within the darkness.

​Anjali continued walking, tracing the sound, feeling less like she was moving on her own will and more like she was being pulled by an invisible string. The further she went, the closer the suffering sounded. Soon, she saw a small, ancient-looking hut, enclosed by a fence of gnarled fig and thorn trees. In the absolute dark, the hut glowed with an unsettling, faint, sickly phosphorescence.

​The cry grew stronger, coalescing into coherent words: "Anjali, the land has been dominated by evil! Ratanpur is soiled on so much evil! Only the gifted, only the chosen, only the one that has been privileged can save it! Do not let the people of Ratanpur suffer another dilemma! You ought to act fast... Anju, act fast... Anju...!"

​The voice was a desperate, ethereal plea. Anjali followed it to the threshold of the hut. It had appeared so small from the outside, but stepping across the threshold was like plunging into a large, cold chamber of pure malice. Different, foul-smelling incense smoked at various corners. The whispers and admonitions of unseen witches diffused through the stale air.

​Peering into one of the numerous, dark recesses that served as rooms, Anjali saw the horror: Ma’am Roshni was suspended from a thick, wooden stake that jutted from the floor. Several ugly creatures in the bodies of withered old women stood around her. They had thin, sharp limbs, and their nails were like toothed swords. They were attacking Ma'am Roshni repeatedly with crude daggers, and she screamed, bleeding profusely onto the cold earth floor.

​"Ma'am Roshni!" Anjali shrieked, the sight snapping her out of the manipulated trance. She dashed inside, her small oil lamp slipping from her grasp and shattering on the floor, plunging the scene into deeper shadow and dread. "What have you done to her? Leave Ma'am Roshni alone!"

​"Anju, run! Anju, run, they will come after you! They will kill you! I am dead. But you, you are still alive! You have to save Ratanpur, remember all that's at stake! Run! Run! Run!" Ma'am Roshni screamed, groaning under the continued assault of the creatures.

​The withered entities sighted Anjali. With a unified, hissing sound, several of them broke away from the attack and pursued her. Anjali turned, running blindly back toward the entrance and into the crushing, thick darkness of the forest. Fear reached its terrifying peak.

​As she ran, the chilling, familiar rasp of the creature echoed right behind her: “Anju, you can’t run from me, you know that, don’t you? I promised I would hunt you until I claimed you. I will destroy you, and nothing shall ever stop me!”

​“Oh, Bhagwan, it was a dream!”

​Anjali bolted upright in her bed, gasping for breath, the last echoes of the creature's promise ringing in her ears. Her body was slick with sweat, her heart thumping a furious rhythm against her ribs. She muttered the words to herself, forcing her mind to accept the reality of her small, safe room. It was a dream. A terrible, terrifying prophecy at that.

​"Help Ratanpur, oh Bhagwan!" The desperate plea from Ma'am Roshni, combined with the dream's visceral horror, left her no peace.

​It was still the dead of night. Anjali lay awake, her pulse thudding against her ribs as the image of the hut from the nightmare refused to fade. A reckless surge of anxiety, sharp and demanding, pushed aside any thought of safety. The pressure in her chest was too great; she couldn't just lie there waiting for the sun to rise.

​Driven by a sudden, dangerous impulse, she slipped out from under the covers. There was no more waiting for a better time or a safer moment. She had to see it for herself. She would go to Ma'am Roshni's Bhavan right now, alone in the dark.

​She swiftly pulled on her jacket, tied her hair into a tight onion bun, and reached for the silver bracelet that lay on her small table beside the mirror. The bracelet, which her father had dedicated to Bhagwan, was her only perceived protection.

​Tip-toeing through the quiet house, meticulously ensuring her bare feet made no sound on the stone floor, in a bid not to wake Prakash or Shanti from their exhausted sleep, Anjali slipped out the back door and set out, alone, toward the dangerous Bhavan.

​Anju walked down the narrow road leading to Ma’am Roshni’s bhavan. It was a quiet, frightful journey. Her mind was taut with tension; she felt intensely vulnerable, isolated on this path. Despite the overwhelming fear, her faith in Bhagwan remained her only anchor.

​The streets surrounding her Mohalla were quiet and shrouded in darkness. Everyone, of course, must have retired for the night. The small light from her head-torch guided her steps on the path’s uneven, sloppy surface. A few times, she misplaced her footing and stumbled, sustaining minor scrapes, but she pressed on.

​On reaching the bhavan, the place felt utterly lonely and neglected. A gentle push on the main wooden door was enough; it swung inward with an eerie ease, groaning loudly as if its hinges had been eaten through by time or termites. The sound was an unwelcome, jarring cry in the silence.

​The first entrance led into what appeared to be the living room. Ma'am Roshni’s and her family’s pictures were displayed prominently on the expansive wall. The entire space smelled musty and utterly choking, thick with dust.

​Anju moved slowly through the living room, taking in the various photographs and the thick stack of books lying on a large table. These remnants reminded her sharply of Ma'am Roshni.

​After a few minutes in the living area, she started toward the staircase. It was no ordinary flight of stairs; it was intricately shaped like a coiled serpent, with handrails following each curve. The architectural detail was unexpectedly captivating.

​“Wow, how was this built?” she whispered, her voice barely a breath that seemed to vanish into the high, vaulted ceiling. She climbed the grand staircase, her hand trailing lightly over the polished mahogany banister which felt cool and solid beneath her palm. Each step she took rang out against the stone, the sound echoing upward through the hollow stairwell. As she reached the top floor, she stopped to look back down at the dizzying spiral of the steps, her chest tightening with a mix of vertigo and genuine wonder at the sheer scale of the Bhavan.

​The air up here felt different, thicker, and smelling faintly of old paper and incense. She moved tentatively, her small frame dwarfed by the massive arches and the intricate stonework of the ceiling. The moonlight filtered through the high clerestory windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Each step she took felt like an intrusion into a silence that had reigned for decades. She looked at the heavy timber beams supporting the roof, marveling at the craftsmanship that allowed such a massive structure to stand so tall and silent in the heart of Ratanpur.

​Her primary goal was to find a clue, anything concrete that would convince her parents and friends about the truth behind Ma'am Roshni's demise. She needed proof that Ratanpur was not facing a wild animal, but a deep, strange evil. Perhaps then, she wouldn't be alone in her quest.

​As she moved through the anteroom on the upper floor, several doors led away into the darkness of the Bhavan. One room, however, pulled at her, the door standing slightly ajar as if inviting her in. She pushed it open and stepped inside, struck by how beautifully appointed the space was. Intricate carvings adorned the heavy wooden wardrobe, and the scent of expensive sandalwood still lingered in the air. Everything was in its proper place, perfectly organized, until her eyes fell on the bed.

​It was a scene of utter chaos. The heavy quilts were torn and twisted, and the mattress was skewed as if someone or something had been thrashing in a violent struggle. The sight made Anju’s stomach turn. She stepped closer, her hip brushing against a small bedside cupboard. There, sitting precariously near the edge of the polished wood, was a small, leather-bound notebook.

​“This jotter… this belongs to Ma’am Roshni,” she murmured, her fingers trembling as she reached for it.

​Flipping through the initial pages, she found various neatly penned thoughts and schedules. Tucked between the leaves was a letter Anju recognized instantly; it was the note of gratitude she had written to Ma’am Roshni months ago, thanking her for her mentorship. A genuine smile touched her face, a brief flicker of warmth in the cold room.

​But as she continued turning the pages, the handwriting began to change, becoming jagged and frantic. The entries turned terrifying. Anju’s breath hitched as she realized that Ma’am Roshni, too, had been haunted by horrifying dreams and dark premonitions about Ratanpur. Page after page documented a two-year ordeal, filled with vivid descriptions of physical encounters that mirrored Anju’s own nightmare.

​Ma’am Roshni had lived in a state of constant, suffocating fear, yet she had kept this secret buried. She had hidden the truth from her husband and children, choosing to face the menace alone to protect them from the darkness that had finally claimed her.

​“But why Ma’am Roshni of all people in Ratanpur? Why her?!” Anju whispered, tears streaming down her visibly red eyes.

​“How was she able to keep up with school work all this time? How did she manage to smile at people despite all this…?” A flood of questions overwhelmed her.

​She collapsed onto the bed, weeping silently and pleading with Bhagwan to protect Ratanpur.

​Suddenly, a distinct step sounded in the anteroom. Anju froze. Fear gripped her; who could it be? She immediately slid the important jotter into the deep pocket of her jacket. She had found a crucial piece of evidence, and she knew it was vital for her quest.

​The footsteps grew louder and closer, exacerbating the tension that was visibly written all over her face. She pressed closer to the wall, her heart thumping heavily against her ribs.