Chapter 3 - Chapter 3: The Possession Ritual

Vikram's hands shook as he stared at the scratches on his arm. She waits for you. The words burned red against his skin, like they'd been carved by tiny nails. He scrubbed them in the bathroom sink until water ran pink, but they stayed, fading only to a whisper of white lines. Sleep was gone now—just fitful dozes where water filled his lungs and Sulochna's face pressed close, her eyes full of tears and fire. "Help me," she'd mouth, her voice soft in his dreams, pulling at his heart. He wasn't scared anymore, not fully. It was pity that kept him awake, pity for a girl gone so long ago.The locket sat on his table, silver catching the morning light. He hadn't meant to keep it, but throwing it away felt wrong, like abandoning a lost child. Friends called, worried after his weird texts—"You okay, man? Sound stressed." He lied, said work pressure. No one would understand. Loneliness wrapped tighter, heavier than the fog. By afternoon, he searched online: "Kabra Village cemetery history." Nothing real, just old maps and ghost stories from forums. One post mentioned a pandit in Pune's old town who "fixed hauntings." Desperate, Vikram grabbed the locket and drove there.Pandit Rao's house smelled of incense and old books, a narrow lane off Laxmi Road. The pandit was ancient—white beard, kind eyes behind thick glasses, hands steady as he took the locket. "Heavy," he said, voice like gravel. "Not just metal. Pain lives here." Over chai, Rao listened to Vikram's story, nodding slow. "Sulochna Mistry. Parsi girl, British times. Loved wrong—a soldier, maybe officer. Family thought shame, drowned her in that well during famine. Bad luck follows. Her spirit angry, lost. Wants justice, or body to speak through."Vikram's throat tightened. "Can you stop it?" Rao's eyes softened. "Ritual at new moon. Fire cleanses. But you go back. Burn locket there. Dangerous, but right thing." Hope flickered—finally, a plan. They prepared that night: ghee lamps, rice, turmeric powder, a brass trident etched with prayers. Vikram felt lighter, like sharing the burden halved it. Rao clapped his shoulder. "Fear is her weapon. Courage breaks it."New moon came fast. Stars hid behind thick clouds as they parked near Kabra's gates at midnight. The air hummed, graves glowing faint blue. Gates opened without touch. Rao led, chanting soft mantras, trident raised. At the mausoleum, he drew a circle with rice—protective, he said. Vikram placed the locket in the center, poured ghee, lit it. Flames danced high, smoke twisting into shapes: a girl's face crying, a man's shadow running. Winds howled sudden, thorns ripping from ground like claws.It started slow—a chill in Vikram's chest, spreading like ice water. His vision blurred, body heavy. "Vikram?" Rao's voice far away. Then pain—sharp, like drowning from inside. He gasped, falling to knees. His mouth opened, but Sulochna's voice came out, high and broken: "He lied! Said marriage, then gone! They held me down, cold water burning!" Tears streamed—hers, not his. Memories flooded: rough hands, splashing, lungs screaming. Vikram fought, but she was strong, rage hot as fire.Rao chanted louder, Hanuman Chalisa rolling like thunder. He splashed holy water from a small vial. Vikram's body jerked, voice shifting back. "Help... she's so sad..." But shadows rose from graves—translucent people, reaching. One touched Rao's arm; he winced, face pale. Winds knocked lamps over, circle breaking. Sulochna laughed through Vikram, shrill: "No escape! All mine!" She lunged at Rao, Vikram's hands clawing air.The pandit thrust trident forward, tip glowing. "Om Hanumate Namah!" Light burst, pushing her back. Vikram collapsed, vomiting black water that smelled of rot. The locket lay half-melted in ashes. They ran—gates slamming behind like jaws. In the jeep, Rao coughed hard. "It weakened her, but not gone. Three more nights. She'll try harder." Vikram nodded, exhausted, chest aching with her sorrow. Pity turned to resolve. He wouldn't let her trap last forever.Back home, mirrors stayed foggy. The scratches burned fresh: Come alone. But now Vikram felt her—not just fear, but a broken heart wanting to heal. He clutched the trident piece Rao left him, whispering, "I'll help you rest." The night felt alive, waiting. Kabra called louder, and part of him wanted to answer.