The rain outside had not stopped.
An hour had already passed since that silent night.
The sound of raindrops kept hitting the roof, echoing softly through the dark room.
MK's body still lay on the bed, unmoving, while the storm outside continued to pour over the quiet mountains of Nepal.
Inside his fading consciousness, strange thoughts drifted through his mind.
A single question repeated itself again and again.
Why don't girls ever propose first?
Is it really ego…?
Or do they simply enjoy watching boys chase after them?
The question floated through his thoughts like an unfinished sentence.
But that question had nothing to do with the real story.
Because the real story…
was about to begin.
Somewhere in the mountains of Nepal, there is a small place near a mountain lake.
Not many people know about it.
If you travel through the hills long enough, you will reach a small market area called Chainpur Bazaar.
That is not the name of the village itself.
It is only the name of the tiny marketplace where villagers come to buy supplies.
From that market, if you climb the mountain road for a while, you will eventually see my village.
But the history of this village…
is far older than anyone imagines.
The story begins with my ancestors.
My great-great-grandfather lived during the time of the old kings of Nepal. Some people say he worked as an advisor to the king, while others say he served in a different role.
The truth is unclear.
But one thing about that time is known.
Society had been divided into high castes and lower castes.
And my ancestors belonged to the side that people called the lower caste.
Because of that, they were forced to leave their homeland.
My great-great-grandfather escaped from that place, searching for somewhere he and his family could live peacefully.
He traveled through many lands.
But wherever he went, people drove him away.
"No place for you here."
Those were the words he kept hearing again and again.
Until one day, someone from another village spoke to him.
"If no one will give you land," the man said,
"then build your own village."
The man pointed toward a lonely piece of land near the mountains.
"You can stay there."
But the truth about that land was terrifying.
It was a place where the dead were buried.
People said the land was cursed.
Many believed that spirits lived there, and anyone who stayed too long would disappear mysteriously.
No one dared to live there.
But my ancestor was not an ordinary man.
According to the stories passed down through generations, my great-great-grandfather had knowledge of ancient spiritual arts.
People even whispered that he knew how to seal wandering spirits.
Instead of running away from that cursed land…
he faced it.
He captured the restless spirits that haunted the area and sealed them away.
And because of that…
a village was finally built there.
That village became our home.
But people from outside villages still feared us.
They called the people of our village devils.
Because they believed we lived on land that once belonged to spirits.
And because they believed we had defeated those spirits to claim it.
In Nepal, there is also something else that many people believe.
Sometimes they say that a god can enter a person's body.
When that happens, the person begins shaking violently.
One of their hands keeps moving again and again without stopping.
And sometimes something even stranger happens.
If the spirit enters a man, people say a long braid of hair grows from the center of his head.
Some braids reach the waist.
Some reach the feet.
And some are even longer.
People believe those signs show that a god has taken control of the body.
But honestly…
I never believed those things.
In my village, animals like chickens and goats are sacrificed to please these spirits.
But I always thought something different.
If a god demands the life of an animal to be satisfied…
then that is not a god.
That is a devil.
Even Lord Krishna had many forms, some peaceful and some destructive.
But still…
I never understood why people needed blood to prove their faith.
Maybe that is why I stopped caring about what the world believed.
Anyway…
That village created by my ancestor slowly grew over time.
My great-great-grandfather eventually had five sons.
Those five sons built families of their own.
And their children built homes beside them.
Generation after generation, the village grew.
But even today…
the entire village contains only twelve families.
And the truth is…
all twelve families are connected by the same bloodline.
Because every family in that village came from those five brothers.
Which means something strange.
Everyone in that village…
is technically my relative.
My cousins.
My siblings.
My blood.
And that small village in the mountains…
is the place where my story truly begins.
End of Chapter 2