Some moans are not made of lust.Some are made of broken teeth and buried names.
Mandiram Rahasya, before dusk.
It began with the scent.
A strange, coppery wetness in the air.Not incense. Not sweat.But the unmistakable trace of blood.
Archa stood at the ritual courtyard's edge, bare feet on hot stone, watching as Veera paced like a storm waiting to erupt.
The women gathered were trembling.
This was not a sex ritual.
This was reckoning.
Veera stepped onto the stone slab.
Clothed — for the first time in days — in a black lungi and nothing else.
On her chest, painted in thick kumkum, was one word in Telugu:
"నవ్వింది"(Nawvindi. "She laughed.")
The word her uncle used the day he molested her and laughed when she cried.
"You are here," Veera said to the man standing behind the others.
He was old.Balding.Wearing guilt like it was stitched into his kurta.
Her uncle.
Archa tried to stop her.
Veera raised a hand.
"Let him stay.
Let him hear what his fingers did."
Then she lay flat on the slab.Spread her arms.Pulled her lungi to her thighs.
"Do not touch me," she said to the audience.
"Just listen."
What came next was not erotic.
It was unbearable.
A moan so guttural, so cracked, it sounded like something dying.It rose from her belly like vomit.It passed through her teeth like glass.It twisted the stomachs of the women present — some began to shake, some to cry.
Then came the words:
"ఆవిడ బూతులు అడ్డగోలుగా గీసింది నా ఒంటరితనంపై…"("She scribbled her filthy words all over my loneliness...")
"అమ్మ నన్ను చూసినా గుడ్డు గుడ్డు చూసింది…"("Even when mother saw me, she looked through me like I was a rotten egg...")
"నీ చేతులు నన్ను నన్నుగా మర్చిపోయేలా చేశాయి…"("Your hands made me forget I was me…")
Her uncle fell to his knees.
And moaned.
Not in pleasure.In vomiting, soul-stripping shame.
302A, a few hours later.
Archa returned, dazed.
The room was silent again.
Until she saw it:
A torn diary under Rekha's old mattress.Bound in crimson cloth.Its pages trembling like skin remembering pain.
She sat cross-legged and opened it.
The ink was smudged with old tears.
**"I moaned the first time because I didn't know how to scream.
I moaned the second time to forget.
The third?
I moaned to remember."**
— Rekha, Entry #4
Archa's breath caught.
Then the names began.
Pages of them.
Not lovers.
Abusers.
Real names. Dates. Locations. Specific acts.
And at the bottom of one page:
"When I moaned louder, they stopped.When I screamed, they laughed.But when I cried —they begged me to stay quiet.
So I never did again."
Suddenly, the lamp near her pillow shattered.
Glass everywhere.
The room felt cold.
Like something else was present.
She stood.Bare feet cut slightly.Blood trickled.
Then a voice. Soft. Raspy.
"Moan for me."
It wasn't hers.
And it wasn't Rekha's either.
Later that night… Ritual Hall.
Thirty women.One blindfolded.Nandita — 19. From Secunderabad.Touched once by a brother's friend when she was 11.
Tonight was her first solo ritual.
She was instructed to lie down, breathe, and moan her memory.
She obeyed.
But halfway through…
Her breathing turned violent.
Her back arched unnaturally.
She began screaming in Telugu:
"కుక్కలాగ వదిలారు నన్ను!!"("They let me loose like a dog!!")
"చెడు పురుషుల రక్తంతో నా యోని స్నానం చేస్తుంది!"("My womb will bathe in the blood of wicked men!!")
And then she bit her own tongue.
Hard.
Blood pooled at the corners of her mouth.
Archa rushed to her.Held her.Whispered:
"You're not alone."
Nandita calmed.
Fell limp.
Then looked up and whispered:
"She came inside me."
"Rekha... she's not done."
That night, an audio leaked.
Not official.Not scripted.
Just a recording of the moaning, screaming, and Telugu cuss words shouted in the ritual.
One word in particular:
"అరె పోరాడ్డానికి మగాడివా లెదా మూతిపో!"("Are you man enough to fight or just shut up and watch?!")
The clip went viral on the dark web.
Hashtag: #MoanRiot
In Guntur, five women replicated the ritual.In Bengaluru, a sex therapist hosted "Griefgasms" — guided climax for trauma release.In Delhi, someone painted a wall:
"Touch Is Protest. Moan Is Gospel."
Back at 302A...
Archa stood in front of Rekha's mirror.
She spread her thighs.
Placed both hands on her chest.
Closed her eyes.
And whispered:
"Let me remember what you didn't say."
She moaned.
Low. Deep. Possessed.
Rekha moaned back.
From inside her.