Episode 2
He looked around—there wasn't a soul in sight. Everything was eerily silent. He couldn't dismiss it as his imagination because he had clearly had a conversation with that man. Lost in thought, he offered Fateha at his mother's grave, but only one name kept circling in his mind: "Rubab."
---
Rubab lived in his neighborhood. Her family was wealthy—her father owned a large general store in the city. Haider's mother had been working as a cleaner in their home for the past ten years. When Haider was a child, he used to accompany his mother there. Rubab, who was around his age, had quickly become his friend.
Rubab's mother, Jahan Ara, and her father Shahmeer were open-minded, kind people who didn't believe in class differences. That's why Haider could come and go from their home freely. Jahan Ara even helped his mother financially at times. She was also a major reason Haider was able to pursue his education.
As children, Rubab and Haider were inseparable. At some point, Haider's childhood friendship transformed into love—so quietly, he hadn't even realized it. But deep inside, he knew she was beyond his reach. One-sided love and a massive gap in status—just like the old story of the moon and the moth. The higher the moth flies, the further the moon drifts away. In the end, all that's left is longing—"Hasrat."
But how did that beggar know about Rubab? How could he know what Haider hadn't even admitted to himself? Still trying to make sense of it all, Haider returned home and started getting ready for college.
---
About three kilometers outside the city was a cremation ground, where the city's Hindu residents brought their dead. The place was so deserted that people hesitated to go there even during the day. To one side of the ground was a pond, and beside it a dense thicket of trees. Hidden within it was a large hut, nearly invisible from a distance due to the surrounding overgrowth.
Inside the hut, a huge statue of a deity named "Sthano" stood against one wall. The opposite wall was marked with symbols drawn in blood. Six human skulls were hanging there.
At the center of the hut was a pit filled with fire. Next to the fire lay a young woman, about twenty-two years old. Her hands and feet were bound, and a cloth was stuffed into her mouth. She seemed either unconscious or already dead. Nearby sat a man, probably around fifty, with his eyes closed and lips murmuring something. His head spun so fast, it was as if a child had spun a top.
Suddenly, his head stopped, and he opened his eyes—red, glowing like blood. He blew toward the fire, and the flames rose higher. In his right hand was a dagger. He raised it. Soon, there would be a seventh skull added to the wall.
---
A loud knock on the door woke Haider. Someone was banging forcefully. He glanced at the wall clock—it was noon. He scrambled up and rushed to the door. All night, that mysterious beggar had haunted his thoughts. He didn't even know when he'd fallen asleep.
As he opened the door, his breath caught. Standing before him was Rubab, her fair face glowing, her black hair loose, a shopping bag in her hand. Her eyes were a pale blue, with a small mole on the right side of her face. Beside her stood Jahan Ara.
Haider's heart pounded erratically. He stared at Rubab, mesmerized.
Then her sweet voice rang out, "Aren't you going to invite us in? Or should we leave from the doorstep?"
Flustered, Haider stepped aside and said, "Please come in."
They entered. Rubab smiled. "I brought you lunch. Though, it looks like you didn't even have breakfast. Let me go bring the food."
She headed to the kitchen.
Jahan Ara looked around and asked, "What have you done to the house—and to yourself?"
"We were out of town for a few days. When we returned and heard Shamaila had passed, we were heartbroken."
"Heart attack," Haider mumbled, and tears welled in his eyes. Seeing him like this, Jahan Ara said gently, "Look, son... I know nothing I say will ease your pain, but perhaps it will give you strength. Death is a reality. If it were something terrible, Allah would never have given it to His beloved Prophet. It's the way of the world—everyone who comes must one day go. Now your duty is to pray for your mother's forgiveness so her journey ahead is easy."
Haider nodded silently. Rubab entered with a tray of food. Haider quickly wiped his tears and forced a smile. The three of them ate together—unaware that two hidden eyes were watching them.
After they left, the house returned to its lifeless silence. Haider was just about to close the door when he heard a voice:
"Hey Payal! How long will you run from me?"
That same cursed voice—it was the beggar.
But there was no one in the street. Thinking it was a figment of his imagination, Haider closed the door and went inside.
---
People say time is the greatest healer. If it weren't, perhaps we'd never see a smile on anyone's face again. The world doesn't stop for anyone, and slowly, Haider began distracting himself with daily chores.
But he was struggling—barely managing to eat two meals a day. Sometimes not even that. Still, he endured in silence.
But silence, too, doesn't last forever. The deeper the silence, the louder the sound that breaks it.
And that silence—was about to shatter.
---
It was a fresh February morning. Signs of spring were everywhere—greenery, peace in the air, and nature brimming with joy. Haider set out for college on his old motorcycle. It was his final year, and thoughts about the future ran through his mind.
His college was 4 kilometers outside the city. He used to travel by bus or rickshaw, until his mother sold her only gold ring and borrowed money to buy him this motorcycle.
As he rode, lost in thought, the bike started to wobble. He was about to stop when a shadow appeared in front of him, and he crashed into it.
Stunned, he looked ahead and saw someone lying on the ground. Panic surged through him.
On one side was the cremation ground, and on the other, a line of trees.
He ran to the figure—it was a man, barefoot, wrapped in a sheet.
As Haider leaned in to help, the man suddenly leapt up, standing face-to-face with him.
And Haider's blood ran cold.
It was the same beggar. The same haunted face from the graveyard. The same man who'd haunted his nights.
"Hey Payal, quite the crash there! Were you trying to kill me?"
"You stepped in front of me! Are you blind? You should look both ways before crossing," Haider retorted angrily.
"Oh ho, Payal's got a temper too now, huh?"
"Stop this Payal nonsense!" Haider snapped. "Tell me straight—what do you want from me?"
"Now you're asking the right question," the beggar smirked. "Come with me. I'll show you what I want."
He started walking toward the cremation ground.
It felt like Haider's feet were moving on their own. As they entered, the stench of something burning hit him. A pile of ash still smoked—it looked like someone's final rites had just been performed.
Without turning, the beggar said, "Smells bad to you, huh? That's the scent of peace—for the soul."
Then he picked up a bone from the ashes—and popped it in his mouth.
Haider gagged with disgust.
Beyond the cremation ground was a cluster of trees and thick bushes. A narrow path wound through them. The atmosphere turned darker, heavier.
Haider felt eyes watching him.
He stopped. "That's it. I'm not going any further."
The beggar laughed. "If you've got the courage, turn back. But remember, Kalidas has summoned you. If you think you can leave without his permission, try."
Haider turned to leave—but his feet kept moving forward.
Suddenly, he noticed: the beggar was gone.
And in front of him stood a grand, eerie hut—just like the ones from horror tales.
Its doors were open, and dried leaves lay scattered, untouched for years.
He stepped inside—and horror engulfed him.
On the wall was a massive idol. In the center of the room, fire burned. A man sat in front of it, his back to Haider.
Haider looked around—and screamed.
Seven human skulls hung on the wall.
The silence broke with a sinister laugh.
"Don't be scared, child," the man said. "You're my guest tonight."
He turned.
Haider froze in fear.
Dark skin, beard down to his navel, yellow rotting teeth, bald head, and short stature.
The man grinned, "Sit, Payal, sit."
Haider, already sick of that name, snapped. "Why do you keep calling me Payal?! What does that even mean?"
The man burst out laughing.
Haider thought—it wasn't just him laughing. It felt like invisible voices were laughing too.
When the man finally calmed down, he said:
"Let me first tell you... what Payal really means…"
---
➡️ To be continued...
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