Years later.
The fort of Chitradurga stood under the same sun it had always known — a stubborn survivor of storms, sieges, and centuries. Its walls, pitted by cannon fire and carved by wind, still loomed like guardians over the hills.
Tourists wandered the battlements now. Guides in wide-brimmed hats told stories of the past, their voices carrying in the hot air.
"Here, through this narrow crevice, Onake Obavva fought off Hyder Ali's soldiers with nothing but a pestle…"
The visitors listened, wide-eyed, some smiling at the heroism, others shaking their heads in disbelief. They took photographs, drank bottled water, and moved on.
But not all the stories were told aloud.
That night, when the last tourists had left and the fort sank into its usual twilight quiet, a lone watchman made his rounds. His lantern cast a trembling halo of light across the stones.
He stopped by the Kallina Kote wall — the one with the crevice. Something about it always made him uneasy. He couldn't say why.
It was then he heard it.
Three knocks.
Slow. Hollow. Coming from inside the wall.
The watchman froze, his pulse hammering in his ears. He lifted the lantern, peering into the darkness of the stone gap.Nothing moved.
Then — three more knocks. This time, softer. Almost like… a signal.
He stepped back, remembering the stories the old masons told when the restoration work began — stories the guides never repeated. About how some nights, if the wind was still, you could hear a woman's voice through the stone.
Sometimes she whispered warnings.Sometimes she called a name.Sometimes… she asked for the pestle.
The watchman's hand tightened on his lantern. He considered walking away, pretending he'd heard nothing. But the sound came again — not just knocks this time, but the faintest murmur, words he couldn't quite catch.
He leaned in.
The wall was cold.
And in the shifting shadow of the crevice, for just an instant, he thought he saw her — a woman in battle stance, hair whipping in an invisible wind, eyes burning with the fire of someone who had seen beyond life and death.
She was holding the onake.
Then the lantern flickered.
The shadow vanished.
The watchman stumbled back, heart pounding. The air was suddenly still again, the night silent.
He didn't tell anyone what he'd seen.But for the rest of his life, he never walked past that wall after dark.
Far below the fort, in tunnels no map recorded, a faint sound echoed — not footsteps, not wind.
Three knocks.
And then, a voice:
"Guard the fort. From within."
End