The Bhavan’s Secret Visitor
1885 Words
“Hello, little girl. What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
The inquiry came from a young woman standing in the doorway. She was commanding, possessing an air of city-bred sophistication that seemed entirely out of place in Ratanpur. She wore a tailored floral dress that cinched at her narrow waist, and a faint scent of lavender seemed to follow her every movement. In her hand, she held a heavy iron torch, its beam cutting through the darkness of the room.
Anju bolted upright, her heart racing. She gripped her own headlight tightly, the beam shaking as she swung it toward the stranger.
“Please, I’m sorry! Please spare me,” Anju cried, her back hitting the wardrobe as she looked for an escape.
“Listen, I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not going to hurt you, truly,” the woman reassured her. She lowered her torch, its beams splashing against the floor, to show she carried no weapon. For a moment, Anju wished the shadows would simply swallow her whole.
“What are you doing here yourself at such an hour?” Anju managed to ask, her voice brittle. “The neighbors said the family fled. No one stays in this Mohalla anymore.”
The lady let out a soft, melodic laugh that seemed to settle the frantic air of the room. “You must try to calm yourself. My name is Vindya, and I have recently purchased this Bhavan.”
“You bought this place?” Anju’s eyes widened. “Surely you know what happened here? Are you even of Ratanpur?”
“I am quite aware that a creature allegedly claimed the life of a woman named Roshni. That is precisely why I secured the property,” Vindya explained. She sat on the edge of a velvet-cushioned chair and gestured for Anju to join her. Anju remained standing for a long beat, her gaze darting toward the door, before she hesitantly sat on the very edge of the seat.
“I am a journalist from Madanpur,” Vindya added, her gaze steady. “This story, this tragedy, I am here to unmask the rot at the root of it.”
“To what end?” Anju asked, her brow furrowing.
“For the truth, and for my career. My mother was a journalist, but her life was cut short before she could reach her prime. I promised her I would reach the peak she was denied.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Anju whispered, her shoulders finally dropping an inch. The mention of a mother’s legacy touched a chord of sympathy in her.
“Thank you. It was many years ago, and I have made my peace with it. But what of you? What is your name, and why have you risked the night to be here?”
“My name is Anjali,” she began, feeling a strange pull toward this woman’s confidence. “Ma’am Roshni was my principal. I cannot rest while everyone claims a creature did this. My nightmares, they tell a different story. It isn't an animal, Miss Vindya. It is sorcery.”
“And yet, you are brave enough to pursue it?” Vindya inquired, a glimmer of genuine interest in her eyes.
“Not when the school brands me as unstable,” Anju countered, the bitterness leaking into her tone. “My mother and my friends think I am merely hallucinating. Only Father believes me.” She sighed, the weight of the task suddenly feeling like a heavy leaden cloak. “Before I came here, Ma’am Roshni appeared to me in a dream. She was being tormented. She told me Ratanpur is drowning in darkness and asked me to save it. But how? I am just a schoolgirl.”
“You are enduring a burden no child should carry,” Vindya remarked, her tone shifting into a soothing, maternal register. “Tell me, what exactly did she ask of you?”
As Anju poured out her heart, describing the suffocating anxiety and the feeling of being pursued, Vindya moved closer. “I am here for you now, Anju. We shall face this together. I know you are not fabricating these horrors.”
Vindya stood up smoothly. “You are trembling from exhaustion. Come downstairs. I shall prepare a pot of tea to settle your nerves.”
Anju hesitated. The memory of the figure in her dream flashed behind her eyes. She looked at Vindya, this beautiful, calm stranger who had appeared in a dead woman's house at midnight. It felt wrong to follow her, yet the chill of the Bhavan and the weight of her own fatigue were a heavy tide.
When they reached the kitchen, Anju watched Vindya’s every move, her eyes tracking the pouring of the water. When the cup was placed before her, she let it sit, the steam rising in the dim light of their torches. Only after Vindya took a long sip from her own cup did Anju finally take a small, cautious taste. The warmth was overwhelming. Within minutes, the tension that had held her together for days began to dissolve. Her eyelids grew heavy, the light from her headlight blurred as it tilted toward the floor, and her head sank slowly onto the wooden table as a deep, heavy sleep claimed her.
The sun rose over Ratanpur, painting the sky in pale ribs of pink and gold. A sharp morning chill lingered, carried by a breeze that rattled the neem trees. Usually, this was the hour of rhythmic comfort: the clink of metal milk canisters, the distant sweep of brooms on stone, and the morning melodies of the Koel birds.
It was Wednesday, and the household was a flurry of routine. Shanti had been up since the first light, moving between the kitchen and the dining table. She had already packed the boys' tiffins and was ensuring Rajesh’s tie was straight before Prakash left for his commute.
Anjali, who enjoyed the privacy of her own room and attached bath, should have been well into her morning prayers or dressing for school. However, Shanti felt a prickle of unease at the heavy silence coming from behind Anju’s door. It wasn't the usual silence of sleep; it felt hollow.
She knocked gently, the wood rap-tapping under her knuckles. “Anju? Wake up, beta. You’ll be late for assembly.”
When no familiar "Coming, Ma" answered her, Shanti turned the handle. The room was perfectly still. The bedsheets were rumpled, the covers cast aside as if she had climbed out in a hurry, and the air was cold.
Anju was gone.
“Anju? Anjali!” Shanti’s voice rose, cracking as she checked the bathroom and then peered under the bed, her breath hitching. Panic, cold and sudden, seized her. She ran into the hallway, her sari fluttering behind her. “Prakash! Prakash, come quickly!”
Prakash, who had been in the backyard inspecting the stone boundary wall for cracks, hurried in, wiping his hands on a rag. The look on his wife's face stopped him cold. “What is it? What has happened?”
“Anjali... she’s not in her room. I’ve looked everywhere, Prakash. She’s nowhere in the house!” Shanti was trembling so intensely she had to lean against the doorframe.
“Don’t be absurd, Shanti. She must be in the garden or perhaps she went to the temple early,” Prakash urged, though the color was already draining from his face. He pushed past her, his voice echoing through the house. “Anjali! Anju! This is no time for games!”
They searched through the compound, checking the outhouses and the shadows of the banyan tree, their shouts growing more frantic. Prakash ran out to the Mohalla, urgently knocking on the heavy wooden doors of their neighbors.
“Namaste, Bhai-sahib, have you seen my Anjali?” he asked a man heading to the bus stop.
“Anjali? No, Prakash-ji, haven’t seen a soul this morning,” came the devastatingly calm reply.
By the time he returned to the house, the cool morning had dissolved into a suffocating heat of worry. The boys sat on the veranda, their schoolbags forgotten. “Father, where is Didi? Did the creature take her?” Suresh asked, his lower lip trembling.
“Hush, Suresh!” Prakash snapped, though his own mind was spiraling toward the same dark thoughts.
He looked at Shanti. They both knew they couldn't go to the Thana yet. If the authorities started an official search, the rumors would fly. St. Joseph’s High School would use it as the final proof that Anjali had lost her mind. They had to find her themselves.
“The Lailais,” Prakash muttered, grabbing his car keys. “Perhaps she went to Mengah’s house very early this morning.”
At the other end of the Mohalla, Lailai was busy at her vats, the scent of indigo and wet fabric filling her courtyard. Mengah stood nearby in her crisp uniform, adjusting her pigtails. A sudden, heavy knocking at the gate startled them both.
Mengah ran to open it and found Prakash standing there, his shirt rumpled and his eyes reflecting intense distress.
“Anju is missing!” he blurted out, bypassing all pleasantries. “Is she here? Did she come to you?”
Lailai stepped forward, wiping her blue-stained hands on her apron. “Prakash-ji? How can she be missing? We haven’t seen her since school was dismissed yesterday.”
“She’s gone, Lailai. Her room is empty,” Prakash said, his voice dropping to a broken whisper.
Shanti appeared behind him, having followed in the car. She clutched at Mengah’s arms. “Mengah, please, you are her closest friend. Did she say anything? Did she have a plan?”
Mengah’s face went pale. She looked at the ground, trying to recall their older conversations. “She didn't tell me she was going anywhere today, Ma'am. But I remember she mentioned visiting Ma'am Roshni's Bhavan. That was a long time ago, though... back on the very day she had the trouble in the school's restroom.”
“The Bhavan? That place, after all that has happened?” Shanti wailed, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Ma’am Roshni’s Bhavan!” Prakash cried out, his fear turning into frantic action. He gestured toward his Padmini parked at the curb. “We have to go. Now!”
“We are coming with you,” Lailai declared, not waiting for an invitation. She grabbed her shawl and pulled Mengah along.
The four of them piled into the old sedan. Prakash gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, the engine of the Padmini roaring in protest as he threw it into gear. He sped toward the South District of Ratanpur, praying to every deity he knew that they weren't already too late to save his daughter from whatever sat waiting in the silence of that house.
- Writer
