Noon, the day that felt like night
The village had pressed mute. No children, no aunties, no radios. Only shutters down and dogs that refused to bark.
Madhu sat at the empty tea stall, glass trembling in his hand. He hadn't slept. The ceiling fan in his room still carried the faint wet outline of a handprint that hadn't been there yesterday.
Two sets of footsteps.
"No sleep, huh?" Amrita slid onto the bench opposite him.
Tārā stood beside her, staring at Madhu like he was a clock about to strike thirteen.
"You've heard it," Tārā said. "The Call of the Nishi."
"That thing with my mother's voice?" Madhu's throat was sandpaper.
"And your sister's. And your own," Tārā replied. "Three calls are the warning. After that, it learns how to wear their faces."
Amrita lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. "Never say your full first name in this village. If it hears Madhusūdana before you're ready, game over."
Madhu felt the world tilt. "Madhu—what? How do you know my full name"
"You'll know when you're strong enough to survive," Tārā said. "Right now you'd just bleed from the ears."
Amrita stood. "Come with us tonight, or wait for another call. Your choice."
They walked away.
Madhu's voice stopped them, small but steady.
"If I come… will the dreams stop?"
Tārā looked back, eyes ancient.
"No. They'll just start coming true."
Guest-house room, late evening
Tārā sat cross-legged on the floor, slurping Maggi like the world wasn't ending.
"Introductions are overdue," she said between mouthfuls. "I am the bearer of the Nakṣatra fragment. Call me Tārā."
She tilted her head. "Pleased to finally meet you, bearer of the Vishnu fragment… Madhusūdana."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Didi is the bearer of Aṁśa," she added, as if that explained everything.
The door opened. Amrita entered with Inspector Satya in tow, carrying four paper cups and the face of a man who had left his revolver in the drawer for the first time in fifteen years.
Amrita sipped the coffee, grimaced. "Rule one: never answer the Nishi. Not even once."
Satya set the tray down with shaking hands. "So how do we kill it?"
Tārā raised her chopsticks. "A very big gun is coming soon."
Amrita shot her a look. "Until then, you follow us. Both of you."
Madhu stood. "You're actually planning to catch a ghost? You're insane."
Tārā looked at him—really looked.
"No," she said quietly. "We're planning to survive the night. Catching it is tomorrow's problem."
Outside, the sun bled out across the treeline.
2:00 a.m.
The bulb had surrendered. Only the phone charger's blue glow remained.
Four people sat in a circle of held breath.
2:00 a.m. exactly.
"Madhu…" Father.
"Madhu…" Mother.
"Madhu…" Little sister.
Madhu pressed palms over his mouth and stared at the floor.
Satya whispered, "That was impossible…"
Tārā: "It's learning the menu."
Thirty-three minutes later the temperature plunged.
"Satya… it hurts…"
His dead wife's voice, exactly as it had been the night the pain won.
"Save me…"
Satya's coffee cup cracked in his fist.
Second call. Third call.
He lunged for the door, dragging Madhu with him like a child's toy.
The bolts shot back by themselves.
Amrita's shout cracked the air: "Move! If it gets him past the threshold, we lose him forever!"
Into the forest, 2:41 a.m.
Satya ran like a man already dead.
They burst into a clearing and reality broke.
Hundreds of human faces floated in the dark—old, young, familiar—everyone smiling the same stretched, loving smile that didn't belong on anything human.
A hole tore open in space, blacker than night.
Invisible hands lifted Satya toward it.
He was still smiling, whispering "Meera… I'm coming…"
Madhu's legs locked.
Run, his mind screamed. Survive.
His body disobeyed.
It moved the way it had in every dream—shoulders squaring, feet planting, arms rising like a wall.
A single word ripped out of him, older than fear.
"KŪRMA!"
Golden light exploded from his chest. Skin became a living shell—hard, warm, unbreakable.
The invisible hands shattered against him.
He roared and shoved forward.
The hole in space shrieked.
Satya dropped.
Madhu caught him, shell glowing so bright the floating faces recoiled, mouths stretching in silent screams.
For one heartbeat the forest held its breath.
Then every stolen face turned toward Madhu at once and, in perfect chorus, whispered the name he wasn't ready to carry.
"Madhusūdana…"
The shell along his spine cracked like thunder.
He had just answered the Nishi
in a language older than of words.