Sanjh's POV:
I woke up to the smell of something delicious drifting into the room. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then the events of last night came rushing back—the car stopping, the board, my bleeding hand, Grandma's scared face. I looked down at my hand. The bandage was still there, clean and dry. Sriya di had done a good job.
Hima was already awake, sitting on the bed and scrolling through her phone. She looked at me and said, "Did you sleep well, Sanjh di?"
I nodded and said, "Yeah. You?"
She made a face and said, "I kept waking up. This house is too quiet."
I wanted to tell her that quiet was good, that quiet meant safe. But after last night, I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
We got ready quickly and made our way downstairs. The house looked even more beautiful in daylight. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, falling on the polished wooden floors. The carvings on the pillars were clearer now—flowers, animals, designs I couldn't name. The veranda was filled with potted plants, and beyond it, the hills of Nishigiri stood tall and green. It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
The entire family had gathered in a large dining hall attached to the kitchen. A long table was set with more food than I had ever seen—parathas, pooris, sabzi, dal, rice, chutney, pickles, fresh fruits, and a large pot of steaming chai. Two people were busy arranging everything. A woman in a simple saree with a kind face and a man in a kurta who looked strong and quiet.
Manoj uncle was already seated at the table, chatting with my father. He saw us and waved with a warm smile. My father said, "Sanjh, Hima, come meet Yamuna ji and Rajesh ji. They take care of this house."
The woman—Yamuna—folded her hands and said, "Namaste, beti. Khana khao, bahut mehnat ki hai humne." (Namaste, daughter. Please eat, we have worked very hard on this meal.)
Her voice was warm, like she had known us for years. The man—her husband Rajesh—just smiled and nodded.
I folded my hands and said namaste. Hima did the same.
Everyone was already eating, the noise of clinking plates and happy conversations filling the room. My mother and aunts were discussing the food, my uncles were talking about the drive, and the cousins were fighting over the last poori. It felt normal. It felt good.
I sat down next to Sriya di, who immediately looked at my hand and asked, "How is it?"
I said, "Better. Doesn't hurt much."
She nodded and said, "Let me check it later. Change the bandage."
I smiled at her and said thank you.
Manoj uncle was telling my father about the house. He said, "Yeh ghar mere dada ke zamane ka hai. Unke jaane ke baad, Yamuna aur Rajesh hi sambhalte hain. Main khud yahan sirf ek baar aaya tha, jab main chhota tha. Kuch yaad nahi ab." (This house is from my grandfather's time. After he passed away, Yamuna and Rajesh have been taking care of it. I myself came here only once, when I was a small child. I don't remember anything now.)
My father asked, "Toh tum kab se plan kar rahe the yahan aane ka?" (So since when were you planning to come here?)
Manoj uncle laughed and said, "Bohot saalon se, yaar. Par kabhi mauka nahi mila. Jab tune bataya ki tum log Nishigiri aa rahe ho, toh maine socha—ab nahi toh kabhi nahi. Family ko bhej diya message. Kal subah tak woh log bhi aa jayenge." (For many years, my friend. But never got a chance. When you told me that you all were coming to Nishigiri, I thought—if not now, then never. I've sent a message to my family. They will also arrive by tomorrow morning.)
He looked at me and added with a warm smile, "Aur Sanjh ko dekh ke kitna achha lag raha hai. Tumhe pata hai, Sagar, main toh hamesha chahta tha ki meri ek beti hoti. Sanjh ko dekh ke lagta hai jaise woh meri apni hai." (And seeing Sanjh makes me so happy. You know, Sagar, I always wished I had a daughter. Seeing Sanjh feels like she is my own.)
My father smiled and patted Manoj uncle's shoulder. I felt a little embarrassed but also touched. Manoj uncle had always been like that with me—more affectionate than most of my actual relatives.
Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Aryan.
"Bhaiyyon ko bata diya hai. Kal subah pahunch rahe hain. Teri yaad aa rahi hai, partner. Prepare kara rahe ho ya nahi?" (Have told the brothers. Arriving tomorrow morning. Missing you, partner. Are you preparing or not?)
I smiled and typed back, "Tum log aao pehle. Baaki sab theek hai." (You come first. Everything else is fine.)
Aryan. My partner in crime. The only person outside my cousins who truly understood me. We had been friends since childhood, thanks to our fathers' friendship. He was the one who made me laugh when I was down, who defended me when others misunderstood me, who knew all my secrets and still chose to stay. And then there was Abhimaan.
Abhimaan. Manoj uncle's elder son. Just thinking about him made my stomach do strange things. Tall, quiet, with eyes that seemed to understand more than they should. He wasn't loud like Aryan. He was calm, steady, the kind of person who made you feel safe just by being around. I had liked him for two years now. Not that I had ever told anyone. Not even Aryan.
I quickly locked my phone before anyone could see my smile.
After breakfast, everyone moved to the large sitting area. Yamuna ji brought more chai and some sweets she had made. The uncles were talking about business, the aunts about their children, and the cousins were scattered around on their phones or talking among themselves.
Then Grandma spoke.
She said, "Main tum sabko bataana chahti hoon ki hum yahan kyun aaye hain." (I want to tell you all why we have come here.)
Everyone went quiet. Even the cousins looked up from their phones.
Grandma continued, "Yahan se thodi door ek mandir hai. Nishiteshvar Temple. Bohot purana mandir hai. Mere papa—tum sabke nana—mujhe chhoti mein yahan leke aaye the. Ek baar. Sirf ek baar." (There is a temple a little distance from here. Nishiteshvar Temple. It is a very old temple. My father—your grandfather—brought me here when I was little. Once. Just once.)
She paused, her eyes distant.
"Unhone kaha tha ki ek din poori family ke saath yahan aana. Unki yeh ichha poori karni hai mujhe." (He had said that one day I must come here with the entire family. I have to fulfill his wish.)
No one spoke. This was the first time any of us had heard this story.
My mother—Jyoti—asked softly, "Aapne pehle kyun nahi bataya, Amma?" (Why didn't you tell us before, Mom?)
Grandma just shook her head and said, "Sahee samay nahi tha. Ab hai." (The right time hadn't come. Now it has.)
My father, Sagar, said, "Toh kal chalein mandir?" (So shall we go to the temple tomorrow?)
Manoj uncle nodded and said, "Haan kal mere family bhi aa jayegi. Subah tak yahan aa jayenge. Phir hum sab saath mein chal sakte hain. Aaj toh sab thak gaye honge itni lambi journey ke baad." (Yes, tomorrow my family will also arrive. They will be here by morning. Then we can all go together. Today everyone must be tired after such a long journey.)
Everyone agreed. It made sense. We all needed rest, and waiting for Manoj's family felt right.
But before anyone could move on to another topic, Yamuna ji spoke from near the door. She had been standing there quietly, listening. She said, "Nishiteshvar Temple jaane se pehle, ek aur mandir jana zaroori hai." (Before going to Nishiteshvar Temple, it is necessary to visit another temple.)
Everyone turned to look at her.
She came closer and said, "Yahan ki rivaaz hai. Pehle Chhaya Devi ke darshan karo, phir Nishiteshvar Temple jao. Tabhi tumhari yaatra poori hogi." (It is the tradition here. First visit Chhaya Devi, then go to Nishiteshvar Temple. Only then your pilgrimage will be complete.)
Rajesh ji, who was standing behind her, nodded slowly. His face was serious.
My father asked, "Chhaya Devi? Kaunsi devi hai yeh?" (Chhaya Devi? Who is this goddess?)
Yamuna ji smiled—a soft, gentle smile—and began to speak. Her voice was calm, like someone telling a story they had told many times before.
"Chhaya Devi hamari gaon ki devi hain. Lok Devi. Bahut purani hain. Jab gaon basa tha, tab se hain. Unka mandir gaon ke bahar hai, border par. Jahan welcome board laga hai." (Chhaya Devi is our village goddess. A local deity. Very ancient. She has been here since the village was settled. Her temple is outside the village, at the border. Where the welcome board is placed.)
My heart stopped.
The welcome board. Where I had fallen. Where my blood had sunk into the ground.
Yamuna ji continued, "Kehte hain ki bahut pehle, is gaon ke aas-paas buree shaktiyaan thi. Andhera. Jo bhi andar aata, wapas nahi jaata tha. Log darte the. Yahan koi nahi reh sakta tha." (It is said that long ago, there were evil forces around this village. Darkness. Whoever entered, never returned. People were afraid. No one could live here.)
Hima moved closer to me. I put my arm around her.
"Tab ek devi prakat hui. Andhere se ladne ke liye. Unhone apni chhaya—apni shadow—se is gaon ki raksha ki. Isliye unka naam Chhaya Devi. Woh khud andar nahi aati gaon mein. Woh border par khadi rehti hain. Dekhti rehti hain. Ki andar kuch bura na aaye." (Then a goddess appeared. To fight the darkness. She protected this village with her shadow—her shadow. That is why her name is Chhaya Devi. She herself does not enter the village. She stands at the border. Keeps watching. So that nothing evil enters.)
Rajesh ji added quietly, "Aaj bhi, gaon ke log raat ko border paar nahi karte. Devi ke bina." (Even today, the villagers do not cross the border at night. Without the goddess.)
My uncle Ramesh asked, "Toh mandir kahan hai exactly?" (So where exactly is the temple?)
Yamuna ji looked at him and said, "Border par. Welcome board ke paas. Wahi." (At the border. Near the welcome board. Right there.)
The room fell silent.
I could feel everyone's eyes on me. They were all remembering. The car stopping at that exact spot. Me falling. My bleeding hand.
Sriya di grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed it.
Grandma's face had gone pale. She was staring at nothing, her lips pressed tight. I saw her hands trembling slightly, but she said nothing.
Manoj uncle, unaware of what had happened last night, said cheerfully, "Toh theek hai. Pehle Chhaya Devi, phir Nishiteshvar. Kal subah chalte hain. Mere family bhi aa jayegi tab tak." (So that's settled. First Chhaya Devi, then Nishiteshvar. We'll go tomorrow morning. My family will also have arrived by then.)
Everyone nodded, but the mood had changed. The food, the laughter, the warmth—it all felt distant now.
Later, when everyone was dispersing, I found myself near the veranda, looking out at the hills. The afternoon sun was warm, but I still felt a chill from within. Chhaya Devi. The welcome board. My blood sinking into the earth.
And yet, despite everything, my mind kept drifting to tomorrow.
Abhimaan was coming. Aryan was coming.
I thought about Abhimaan's quiet smile, the way he always remembered small things about me, the way he made me feel seen without even trying. And Aryan—my crazy, loud, annoying Aryan—who knew me better than I knew myself. The three of us together again after so long.
For the first time since arriving in Nishigiri, a real smile touched my lips.
Whatever this place was, whatever secrets it held, at least I wouldn't have to face it alone.
Tomorrow, my favorite people would be here.
And somehow, that thought made everything feel a little less scary.
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