Magic. Curse. Hidden powers.
The Pot Beneath the Banyan Tree
No one in the village of Dharivar remembered who planted the banyan tree.
It stood at the edge of the fields, roots like coiled serpents gripping the earth, branches wide enough to swallow the sky. Children were told not to play near it. Elders left offerings beneath it during drought.
And when the wind passed through its leaves, it did not sound like wind.
It sounded like whispering.
Arin had never been afraid of it.
Fear required belief. And Arin believed only in hunger.
At sixteen, hunger was the most loyal companion he had. Hunger for food. Hunger for coin. Hunger for a life larger than cracked mud walls and dry wells.
The year the river failed, Dharivar began to die.
Crops withered. Livestock thinned. The village well sank lower each week, until women had to lie flat on their stomachs just to reach water.
And still, the landlord demanded taxes.
Arin's mother had sold her bangles. Then her shawl. Then her last copper cooking pot.
There was nothing left to sell.
So Arin went digging.
Not for crops.
For rumors.
Old Keshav, the blind storyteller, had once muttered of a treasure buried beneath the banyan tree — a pot sealed by forgotten magic. Not gold, he'd said.
"Something older," the old man whispered. "Something that grants what is asked… but never freely."
Arin hadn't believed him then.
Now, belief was cheaper than starvation.
He went at night.
The moon was thin as a blade. Crickets hushed as he approached the tree. Even the wind seemed to retreat.
The roots were thicker than his arms. Twisted. Alive.
He dug where the largest root curved inward, forming something almost like a doorway.
The soil was dry at first.
Then suddenly damp.
Then black.
His shovel struck metal.
The sound was dull. Hollow.
Arin froze.
Slowly, he cleared the earth away.
It was not large. No bigger than a cooking pot. Round-bellied. Lid sealed tight. The metal was dark, almost blue-black, etched with symbols he did not recognize.
They seemed to move when he looked at them too long.
His breath quickened.
He lifted it.
It was warm.
Not from the earth.
From within.
"Just gold," he muttered to himself. "Just gold."
He twisted the lid.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the seal cracked.
The air around him thickened.
The crickets went silent.
And from inside the pot—
Smoke rose.
Not gray.
Not white.
Black.
It poured upward in a twisting column, swirling into the shape of something almost human — almost — before collapsing back into itself.
A voice followed.
Not loud.
Not soft.
Inside his skull.
You have opened what was buried.
Arin dropped the pot. It did not shatter.
It hovered inches above the ground.
His heart pounded so violently he thought it might tear through his ribs.
"What are you?" he whispered.
A pause.
Then:
I am what remains.
The smoke swirled again, and this time Arin saw faces within it. Dozens. Hundreds. Eyes open. Mouths moving silently.
"You grant wishes," he said, remembering the story.
A sound like dry laughter scraped against his thoughts.
I fulfill desire.
The difference is consequence.
Arin swallowed.
"My village is dying."
Yes.
"I want food. Water. Wealth."
The smoke coiled closer.
Desire accepted.
But the curse must root.
The earth trembled faintly beneath his feet.
"What curse?" he demanded.
But it was too late.
The smoke did not spread outward.
It flowed into him.
Through his mouth.
Through his nose.
Through his eyes.
Agony exploded inside his chest. Not burning — freezing. Like something ancient pressing against his bones from the inside.
He collapsed beneath the banyan tree, screaming.
And the tree —
The tree bent toward him.
When Arin woke at dawn, the pot sat beside him, still and silent.
The fields beyond the village shimmered green.
The river roared with fresh water.
And in the center of his palm —
A black mark pulsed faintly like a second heartbeat.
The treasure had answered.
But something had taken root.
And it was growing.
If you'd like, next we can:
Reveal what the curse does
Show the villagers' reaction to sudden prosperity
Introduce someone who knows what the pot truly is
Or make the hidden power inside Arin begin to awaken.