Mandakini's Haveli

The haveli stood at the edge of the village, ancient and majestic, with towering walls and sprawling courtyards. Temples were scattered throughout, each housing a different deity, but all paths led to the grand temple of Lord Krishna in the west. It had been home to the Verma family for generations. Living in the haveli were the grandparents, the parents, and an 18-year-old boy, Arjun.

Though the haveli seemed peaceful on the surface, an eerie presence lingered within its walls. The family rarely spoke of it, but the whispers were always there—the basement was forbidden, and no one dared to go near it. Arjun had always wondered why, but no one would tell him.

One evening, Arjun, out of youthful curiosity, stumbled upon an old lock on a heavy wooden door that led to the basement. Without thinking, he forced it open. The musty air from the basement crept up, sending shivers down his spine. He stepped in, only to feel a cold, malevolent presence awaken from its slumber.

From that moment, strange things began to happen. At first, they were subtle—shadows moving in the corner of the eye, the sensation of someone watching from the floor. But soon, everyone in the family noticed a haunting figure—a woman, crawling along the floor, her face twisted in rage. She moved slowly, her eyes never lifting from the ground, as if bound to the floor itself. Her only goal was clear: she wanted Arjun.

The family was terrified. They stayed out of her way, climbing onto high furniture like almirahs whenever she appeared, praying she would pass them by. The house was no longer safe.

One night, in desperation, Arjun's grandfather revealed the truth.

“Her name was Mandakini,” he began, voice heavy with regret. “Many years ago, she was my love, but my mother didn’t approve of our relationship. She saw it as a disgrace to the family, and one day... she had Mandakini killed.”

Arjun’s eyes widened. His grandmother, sitting beside him, looked away.

The grandfather continued. “After Mandakini’s death, I couldn’t bear the guilt. I placed her ashes in a kalash and hid it under the temple of Lord Krishna in the basement. I thought I could lock her spirit away, along with the past, by sealing the basement. But now... now she’s come for you.”

Arjun’s father spoke up, anger and fear in his voice. “This is your doing, Father! If you hadn’t hidden her away, she wouldn’t be haunting us now. You have to fix this.”

The grandfather’s eyes darkened. “I did it for you. I forgot her because I had to marry your mother and have you. I buried my love so that you could be born.”

The father looked away, guilt-ridden but unable to argue.

That night, the family made a decision. Together, they would confront the ghost in the basement. Armed with nothing but their prayers, they descended into the cold, damp chambers below the haveli, the haunting whispers of the past echoing around them.

As they reached the temple of Lord Krishna, Mandakini’s ghost appeared. She was furious, her long black hair matted, her hands and face pressed to the ground, crawling toward Arjun. The family huddled around him in fear.

“Pray,” the grandfather said, voice trembling. “Pray to Lord Krishna, the one who taught love to all. Only he can help us now.”

The family began to chant, pleading with the god who had loved Radha but married Rukmini. They explained that just as Krishna’s love for Radha had been eternal, so too had the grandfather’s love for Mandakini. But like Krishna, the grandfather had been forced to marry someone else.

Mandakini’s form wavered, her fury still evident but lessened. The air around them felt heavy as the grandfather stepped forward, calling her name softly.

“Mandakini,” he whispered, his voice full of sorrow and love. “I never wanted to leave you. I never wanted to forget you. But I had no choice. They made me marry someone else, and for the sake of my family, I buried my love for you. Forgive me.”

The ghost paused. She slowly raised her head, her face etched with the pain of betrayal and longing. Her eyes, now full of sadness, locked onto the grandfather’s.

“I waited for you,” she whispered in a hollow voice. “For seven years, I waited. But you forgot me.”

The family held their breath as the grandfather knelt before her. “I never forgot you. I tried to bury the past, but it never left me. Let me make it right. I couldn’t be with you in life... but we can be together in death.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Mandakini would relent. But her expression darkened once more. “No,” she hissed. “Not yet. I will wait for you... on the other side.”

With that, she began to fade, her form dissipating like smoke. But not before her anger lashed out one final time. The walls of the temple trembled, cracks forming in the floor, dust falling from the ceiling. The family was knocked to the ground, bruised and battered, but alive.

As Mandakini’s ghost vanished into the darkness, the house fell silent once more. The curse was not fully lifted, but for now, they were safe. And the grandfather knew, deep in his heart, that when his time came, Mandakini would be waiting for him—on the other side.

Echoes from the Lake

Meera had always wanted to do something meaningful after graduation, so when she was offered a teaching job in a remote village in Gujarat, she didn’t hesitate. The village was small, and backward in facilities, but the people were warm and respectful. They all called her "Teacher Ji." She quickly adjusted to the village life, and the students seemed eager to learn.

However, one student kept getting absent—Ravi, a quiet boy who sat at the back of the class. One day, after school, Meera decided to ask another student, Ajay, what had happened to Ravi. She found him just as he was leaving the classroom.

"Ajay, why hasn’t Ravi been coming to school?" Meera asked.

Ajay’s face paled. His lips quivered as he struggled to speak. "Teacher Ji... he drowned... in the lake."

Meera froze. Drowned? How could no one talk about it?

“Why hasn’t anyone told me this?” she pressed. “Why isn’t the village talking about it? Does the class know?”

Ajay shook his head, his eyes watering. "Nobody talks about the lake." His voice trembled as he repeated, "Nobody."

And that was it. The conversation died there, leaving a heavyweight in Meera’s chest.

She asked around—neighbours, shopkeepers, anyone who might know. Each time, she was met with the same reaction: silence, and a slow, haunting shake of the head. No one dared to speak about the lake.

Meera’s curiosity only grew. Something was wrong with the lake, and she needed to know what. One early morning, while out for her usual walk, she heard a muffled scream. She looked toward the lake and saw Ajay struggling in the water, his arms flailing.

Without thinking, Meera ran toward him, diving into the cold, dark water. She reached out, grabbing his hand, but something was pulling him down. Something stronger than her, unseen but powerful.

Then, from beneath the surface, a figure shot up—black hair tangled, pale face twisted in anger. It was a young girl, no older than fifteen, her face contorted with rage. She screamed, a sound so sharp it pierced Meera’s ears and yanked Ajay into the water.

Meera was pulled out by a passing villager, who had seen her struggling. Soaked and shaking, she couldn’t believe what she had seen. Her mind refused to accept it. But the fear was real.

The man who pulled her out whispered to her in a low, shaky voice, “Teacher Ji, that lake… it’s cursed. You shouldn’t have gone near it.”

Meera, still gasping for breath, demanded to know what was going on. The villager hesitated but finally told her the truth.

"There’s an old bungalow at the upper end of the lake. Years ago, a migrant family lived there—a father, mother, and two daughters. They were poor and came from a low caste. The village wouldn’t help them, wouldn’t give them food. Desperate, the family thought of fishing in the lake for food. But when the villagers found out, they locked the family inside their house, accusing them of polluting the lake because of their caste.

The family grew weak, too weak to survive. They ate their dog first. Then, when the mother died, the father and daughters... they ate her.”

Meera’s blood ran cold.

“And then, when the father grew weak, the daughters ate him too. They couldn’t leave the house, though. The village had locked them in. It was during a time of great fear. People didn’t want anything to do with them because of their caste. They were forgotten, locked away to die.”

The villager looked down at the ground, avoiding her eyes. “The daughters eventually died, poisoned by the rotten meat they had eaten. And ever since... no one talks about it. But sometimes, the lake... it takes people.”

Meera couldn’t believe such a horrific story, but she couldn’t shake the image of that girl in the lake, pulling Ajay under.

Her curiosity now felt like a curse. Days later, on her walk, she saw two young girls near the bungalow. They were playing with a ball, laughing as if nothing was wrong. Meera hesitated but then decided to approach them. She wanted answers. They smiled and waved at her.

“Teacher Ji, will you play with us? Please!” one of the girls asked, holding out the ball.

Meera hesitated but, against her better judgment, kicked the ball back. The girls giggled. "Come inside, Teacher Ji. Just for a little while."

Before she knew it, she was following them into the old bungalow. The house was eerie, frozen in time. In the garden, a dog sat tied up, its eyes hollow, ribs showing through its matted fur.

Inside, the house smelled of damp and decay. A man sat on a rocking chair in the corner, wearing a dhoti and kurta. He rocked slowly, in rhythm to some unseen music.

Meera forced a smile. “Who is that?”

The girls giggled. “Papa! He likes his chair.”

Something about the man felt wrong, but Meera couldn't place it. She continued visiting the bungalow, bringing treats for the girls, yet each time, she never spoke to the father. He was always there, rocking, never turning to look at her. 

Then, one day, the truth revealed itself. Meera entered the house again, and the girls were eating candies she had brought. She glanced at the man on the chair—this time, she could see the other side of his face.

Her heart stopped.

The right side of his body was nothing but bones, rotten flesh hanging loosely from the skeleton. The left side was the only thing still intact. 

Meera screamed, backing away, but when she turned toward the door, it was locked. The same lock that had been placed by the villagers years ago was still there, rusted shut.

The girls laughed, their voices growing hollow and distant. The air thickened with the stench of death.

Trapped, with no escape, Meera realized the horror that awaited her.

The lake... the bungalow... the curse. There was no escape. No one had survived it. And now, it was her turn.

The Silent Celebration

The air was filled with excitement as Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations filled the school. Aarav, Meera, and Kabir, three best friends, soaked in the festive energy. It was the first day of the festival, and between rituals and the lively atmosphere, the kids were itching for a bit of adventure.

As the festivities took a short break, Aarav leaned toward his friends with a cheeky grin. “Let’s sneak into the storeroom. The peon never lets anyone inside. Now’s our chance.”

Meera hesitated, but Kabir’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. It wasn’t forbidden—just a place always off-limits because of the strict peon who guarded the door. Today, with all the noise and activity, it was their chance to explore the unexplored.

The three of them slipped away unnoticed and made their way to the storeroom at the back of the school. The door creaked open as they entered, and the room greeted them with a musty smell. Old, forgotten furniture was scattered around, covered in dust. Shelves sagged under the weight of unused supplies, and cobwebs draped the corners.

The kids wandered around, their fingers trailing along dusty surfaces, excited by the thrill of discovery. They ran their hands over old desks and worn books, poking around and laughing at their secret adventure.

Suddenly, they heard a voice calling from outside the room.

“Aarav! Meera! Kabir! Where are you?” It was one of their teachers, her voice echoing from the hallway.

Startled, the three froze and quickly ducked behind a large, forgotten shelf, hearts pounding. The teacher’s footsteps grew closer, but she didn’t enter the room. She paused for a moment, waiting, and then, after hearing no response, turned and left.

The children held their breath, waiting in silence. After a few tense moments, they began to relax, giggling nervously as they emerged from their hiding spot. Relieved, they started to move toward the door, thinking the coast was clear.

But before leaving, they heard the teacher’s voice again—this time from the hallway outside the storeroom.

“You kids better hurry! The bus is about to leave!” she called out, sounding more impatient now.

The three exchanged wide-eyed looks and quickly stepped out of the storeroom. They walked down the hall, trying to appear casual, brushing dust off their clothes as they went.

When they reached the teacher, she crossed her arms and frowned. “Where were you? You almost missed the bus.”

Aarav, thinking quickly, smiled innocently. “We were just getting water at the dispenser.”

The teacher narrowed her eyes for a moment, then sighed. “Next time, don’t wander off like that. You could’ve missed the bus.” She waved them along. “Now hurry up.”

The children climbed onto the bus, their excitement returning as the day’s adventure seemed behind them. They chatted and laughed, heading home as if it were just another day at school.

The festival continued, and the children were at the centre of it all, joining every ritual with their families. The days of Ganesh Chaturthi passed in a whirlwind of celebration, songs, and joy. It was a festive atmosphere that masked everything else.

Aarav’s grandfather, however, couldn’t shake a certain worry. He stayed quiet but often glanced at the children. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Still, he didn’t voice his concerns, not wanting to disturb the festival’s happy spirit.

Finally, the day of Ganesh Visarjan arrived. The excitement reached its peak as families gathered by the riverbank, preparing to say goodbye to Lord Ganesh. The crowd bustled around the water, singing and cheering, as the children danced along with everyone else.

As the idol was slowly lowered into the river, Aarav’s grandfather stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, his eyes scanning the scene. His expression was serious, lost in thought.

Then, just as the idol began to sink beneath the water, he spoke. His voice was low but carried weight, cutting through the noise of the festival.

“It’s time for you to go now,” he said, looking at the children without directly addressing them.

Aarav turned to his grandfather, confused. “Go where Dadaji?”

The old man’s eyes met Aarav’s, filled with sadness and understanding. His voice trembled, heavy with the truth they had yet to realize. “You don’t belong here anymore.”

The children stared at him, their laughter fading. For the first time, they felt something shift, something cold and distant. Their smiles dropped as memories flooded back—the storeroom, the hiding, the strange silence that had followed them ever since.

They hadn’t made it out of the storeroom alive. The truth hit them like a wave of disbelief. Kabir, ever the curious one, tried to climb onto a tall shelf to get a better view of the high shelves. With a loud crash, the shelf teetered and fell, trapping Kabir beneath it. The sound was drowned out by the distant festivities, and the room fell eerily quiet.

Meera screamed, overwhelmed by shock as she fainted. Aarav, frozen with fear, didn’t know what to do. He tried to pull at the shelf, but it was too heavy. His panic grew, not just from the accident but from the fear of being caught. He never made it out and stayed hidden.

They had spent the festival days taking part in rituals, surrounded by loved ones, unaware that they no longer belonged in the world of the living. They had been spirits, moving through the days as if nothing had changed.

As the Ganesh idol disappeared beneath the water, so did the children. Their forms shimmered, slowly fading into the air around them. No one noticed—except the old man, who watched in silence, tears filling his eyes as they vanished from sight. 

Taaza Laal Tamatar.

"Jyada seeti mat lagana cooker ki", Jai ne ghar ke living room se awaaz dete huye kaha. Ramya aaj jai ki favorite rajma chawal bana rahi thi. "Aapse toh achhi mai hi banati hun, idhar coding expert mai hun, aap table sajayiye bs." Kehkar Ramya pyaaz katne lagi.

Aaj sunday tha. Hafte ka ek vo din, jab dono Jai aur Ramya ek sath baith ke khana khaate thay. Ek hi ghar mei hote huye bhi, ek dusre ko waqt nahi de sakte thay. Jai night shift mei US firm ke sath work from home par thay. Ramya day shift mei chef. Is day and night shift ki dono ko jaise aadat ban gyi thi. Bas ek sunday hi tha, jab ek married couple ki tarah sath kha sakte thay. Shuru se hi dono corporate life se marry kar chuke thy. Ek dusre ka hona toh unke liye extra marital affair tha.

"Aap jaldi se tamatar le ayo. Aur suno, order karne ki sochna mat, vo pata nahi kitne purane tamatar dete hai." Ramya ne kitchen ki service window se Jai ki taraf dekhte huye kaha. Jai aaj bhi, hamesha ki tarah, apni patni ko service window se khade hokar dekhe ja raha tha.

"Acha baba, jaa raha hun" Jai apna pajama uncha karke jeb mei rupye tatolta hua bahar ki or chal dia.

Ek ansuna sa geet gun gunaate vo society ke niche khadi rehdi ke paas pahuncha. 

"Ye tamatar kitne ke diye". Ek tamatar ko utha kar, thoda daba kar Jai puchta hai.

"80 ke hai baoji" sabji wala jawab deta hai.

"Ek kilo kar dijiye. Aur suno, taaza wale daal na"

"Ji baoji. Rajjo, piche ki bori se naye wale tamatar laa de zra" sabji wala apni biwi ko awaz dete huye kehta hai. Jai abhi bhi vohi ansuna sa geet gun guna raha tha. Itne mei ek madham si umar ki ladki, ek tokri mei tamatar bhar ke le aati hai.

"80 rupye huye baoji" sabzi wale ne tamatar ki thaili Jai ki taraf karte huye kaha. Jai ne apni zeb se paise nikale. 200-200 ke noto mei, kahi ek 100 ka note tha. Jai jaise hi vo dene laga, usne dekha ki Sabzi wala rajjo ke pallu se haath saaf kar raha tha aur keh raha tha, "Aaj rajma ki 4 seeti hi lagwana".

"Aapse toh achi hi banati hun" kehte huye Rajjo chali gyi. Jai ne sabzi wale ko 100 ka note diya aur bakaya leke wapis ki aur chal dia.

Jai ke muh pe us ansune geet ki jagah ab ek muskurahat thi. Sabji waale aur Rajjo ki baat sun kar, Jai soch raha tha ki vo aur Ramya bhale hi sirf Sunday ko ek couple ki tarah rehte hai, par ek aam couple ki tarah hi hai. Life busy hai ab pehle se par vo Ramya ko apni life mei hone se thankful tha.

Tamatar le ja kar Jai kitchen mei unhe dhone laga. "Arrey waah, kya baat aaj US ke Jai saahb Indian kitchen mei kaise" keh kar Ramya usey chedne lagi.

"Han socha apni biwi ko tamatar-e-khaas khud pesh karu" keh kar Jai ne ek dhoya huya tamatar Ramya ko dete huye kaha. "Acha ji, isme aisa kya khaas hai" Ramya ne tamatar ko haath mei liye, gaur se dekha aur kaha. Jai ne Ramya ka gira huya latt sawaarte huye kaha, "ye khaas hai because ye meri biwi ke hath mei hai". Ramya sharma kar tamatar ke jaise laal ho gyi.