I called the library ahead of time to ask how to get a library card. They promised to help me—but only once the person in charge shuffled back from their break, as if passing the sacred torch 🔥 of bureaucracy.

Me (thinking): “It’s so bizarre that one specific person is needed for such a simple procedure. Like they’re the gatekeeper of all written wisdom 📚—or maybe just the city's slowest coffee drinker ☕️. But who knows? Every place has its quirks. We’ll see.”

Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I hardly noticed my feet had taken me somewhere painfully familiar, like a homing pigeon 🕊️ with terrible taste in destinations.

Me: “This is... this is the very alley where Amir’s body was found ⚠️.”

I glanced around, the late afternoon sun casting long, suspicious shadows 🌇. The police tape had vanished—officially erased, like a bad dream scrubbed away by morning light 🌅.

Me (grimacing): “Even though they’ve cleaned it up, this place still churns my stomach like it’s trying out for a soap opera 🎭. Ugh.”

Me: "Being here is… disgusting. Blood, filth, and hungry rats roaming around like it’s their own five-star buffet 🐀🍽️. Honestly, who needs gourmet restaurants when you’ve got alleys like these? Calcutta really knows how to be disgusting if you know where to look. A nude, decapitated body is terrifying, sure — but also so revolting that my breakfast is honestly considering a comeback 🤢. It feels like the stench of death is still hanging around like an old sock no one’s had the courage to throw away 👻. Ugh. If escape were an Olympic sport, I’d be taking home the gold right now."

I kept walking away from the crime scene. The busy street and the heat of the day awaited me, but honestly, anything was better than that filthy, smelly alley 🔥🌆.

The drive to the library was quick. The taxi driver was merrier than a radio jockey, rattling off where to go and what to see in Calcutta 🛺🕌. But as soon as he heard I lived in London — not another Indian state as he’d figured — his confusion was practically audible 🤨. Our lively chat? Dead. Like instant noodles: one minute bubbling, next minute cold. Silence swallowed up the rest of the journey 🤐.

By the time I reached the library, the person in charge of issuing library cards had returned. I pushed open the door and nearly smacked straight into a young man standing there.

Librarian: "Amala Khan, I suppose."

Me: "Ah… yes."

Librarian: "Hello, Miss Khan. I’m Manu. I’ll help you with your paperwork and show you how to navigate the library 📚."

Me: "Oh, that’d be brilliant. Thank you."

Without another word, Manu motioned for me to follow him and then disappeared down the corridor. I trailed after, slightly surprised.

Me (thinking): He was waiting right at the door. Didn’t even let me put one foot inside before he pounced. Recognized me on the spot — either I look exactly like my paperwork, or he’s secretly moonlighting as a psychic 🤔. So weird.

Me: "You recognized me so easily."

I decided to say something.

Manu: "It wasn’t very difficult."

He kept walking without turning back.

Manu: "Trust me, it’s obvious who you are and where you come from."

Me (internally): ‘What a brilliant deduction. Next, he’ll predict what I had for breakfast — psychic librarian to the rescue.’ 🕵️‍♂️

Any desire to chat fizzled out quicker than a soda left open in the Calcutta heat. I silently and obediently played the part: handed over my documents, scribbled on some forms, and waited, staring at dust motes doing their slow waltz in the sunlight.

Manu soon returned, brandishing a small slip of paper.

Manu: "All done, Miss. Here’s your temporary library card." 🪪

Manu spoke in a delightful blend of English and Hindi—Hinglish at its most dazzling. It made me smile, if only because the conversation sounded like a ping-pong match between two radio stations.

Me: "You can talk to me in Hindi if you want. I do speak the language."

Manu: …

Me: "You said you’d help me, right?"

Manu: "Yes, our library is so huge that you wouldn’t be able to find your way around on your own." He practically beamed with pride, as if he’d personally designed the labyrinth himself. 🏰

Me: "Yes, this library seems truly enormous! It must be difficult to navigate…"

Manu: "That’s right, but I know everything here." He might as well have added a superhero cape to his outfit.

Me: "I’m looking for books on Shaivism, Shaktism, and Vaishnavism. Anything about symbolism, pujas, practices…"

Manu: "Hmm… quite a wide range of topics. Anything more specific?"

I shook my head, trying to look mysterious and scholarly at the same time. 😏

Manu: "What’s the reason for this particular search, if I may ask? Perhaps I’ll be able to help."

I shot him a glance that said “classified business,” though in reality I was only classified as curious.

Me: "I just need to know more about it."

Manu hesitated, then sighed, probably questioning his career choices.

Manu: "I’ll walk you to the correct section and stay there with you to help. If you have any specific questions, I will be happy to answer."

Me: "Are you really good at this?"

Manu: "Good enough. The majority of my workday is spent studying such texts." 📖

Me: "If you have a lot to do, maybe you shouldn’t stay with me?"

Manu: "It’s okay, Miss Khan. It’s part of my job anyway. I’m in charge of the section where we’re heading."

He set off down a wide, sunlit corridor, and I followed him into the heart of bookland. The library was vast—multi-leveled, shelves marching in formation like soldiers at a parade. 📚📚📚

Me (internally): ‘Maybe I should pick his brain while we walk. Sure, I know the basics, but it’s always worth rummaging through someone else’s mental filing cabinets. Who knows? Maybe he’ll drop a pearl of wisdom—if not, at least it’ll be entertaining.’

Me (thinking): Any tidbit, however small, would be like gold dust right now. 💭✨

Me: "May I ask you a few questions while we’re on our way there?"

Manu: "Of course. What would you like to know?"

Me: "Can you please tell me about Shaktism? Just briefly—whatever you’ve got."

Manu: "Shaktism is the worship of Shakti, the Great Mother Goddess." 🌺👸

Me: "But if you translate it literally, Shakti isn’t actually a goddess, right?"

Manu: "Yes, if you dig into Sanskrit, Shakti is more like pure energy ⚡ than a person. Shaktism reveres this feminine energy as life-giving and sacred. But, like all energies in Hinduism, it has an avatar—a face to put on, so to speak. So Shakti often appears as the Goddess, the wife of Shiva." 🔥🕉️

Me (in my mind): Mrs. Chauhan mentioned this too… Shiva and Shakti are like yin and yang, inseparable — her energy wakes him up and breathes life into him. 🔄💫

Me: "They’re the masculine and feminine forces, right?"

Manu: "Exactly. Shakti takes many forms, including Durga, Kali, Parvati, and other powerful goddesses." 👑🐅🔥

Me (thinking): Durga Puja and Kali Puja, the festivals everyone goes mad for around here — two fierce faces of the same goddess, celebrated with all the drums and firecrackers you can handle. 🎉🔥🎶

Me: "Can you please tell me about Vaishnavism? It's one of the largest denominations of Hinduism, isn’t it?"

Manu: "Yes, it’s the cult of the god Vishnu. Do you know anything about him?"

Me: "I know he’s part of the Vedic triad. In Hinduism, the three main gods are Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, plus their wives."

Manu: "That’s right. Vaishnavism is a branch of Hinduism devoted to Vishnu. He’s the cosmic caretaker, keeping order and peace in the universe—he’s saved the world from total collapse more times than you can count. Vishnu can manifest in various forms, called avatars. Whenever the world is in trouble, he takes an avatar and comes down to Earth to set things right. Two of the most famous are Krishna and Rama, widely worshiped across India." 🌍✨

Me: "I remember his final avatar, the warrior, will be the messiah—a harbinger of the end of the world."

Manu: "Yes, but not just the end—the birth of a new world, too. The great cosmic reset button." 🔥🌱

Me (thinking): From cosmic caretaker to warrior savior—Vishnu really covers all the bases. Talk about multitasking!

Me: "Can you please tell me about Shaivism? It’s a rather popular denomination here in Calcutta."

Manu: "Shiva—the god at the heart of Shaivism—is one of Hinduism’s three main gods: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. In some versions of Shaivism, Shiva is seen as the supreme deity, the head honcho among the gods. So, Shaivism is a major branch of Hinduism too.

Shiva is a complex, even dual god—he brings both destruction and peace, wild raucous fun and humble solitude. One of his incarnations is the cosmic dancer, shaking the world with his tandava; the other is the ascetic meditating quietly in the mountains. He’s often pictured as a young, handsome man who also carries the necessary destruction the world demands.

His wife Parvati is the physical embodiment of Shakti—the feminine energy we talked about earlier. That’s why Shaivism and Shaktism are closely linked. Shiva represents masculine energy, and Parvati the feminine—they’re like two halves of the cosmic whole." 🔥💃🏔️✨

Me (thinking): Shaivism really embodies the balance—destruction and creation, chaos and calm. No wonder it resonates so strongly here in Calcutta.

Me (thinking): Well, that was interesting—though let’s be honest, my brain’s street already has most of these shops open. 🧠🛒

Manu: "You have a very inquisitive mind, Miss Khan. Smart women are amazing. Wisdom is a very valuable virtue."

Me: "I didn’t really say anything."

Manu: "But you’re curious, and you want to learn more. It’s the craving for knowledge that is wonderful."

A few steps later, we landed at the right section. Manu squinted at the shelves like a quizmaster eyeing the jackpot. "Remind me—symbols and tantras, wasn’t it?"

Me: "Maybe the Samhitas? Anything outlining religious practices and principles…"

Manu: "Okay, got it."

He melted into the stacks, flipping through books faster than a bazaar shopper on discount day. I glanced around—just moments ago we’d been parading through a cavernous library hall, and now we were tucked in a corner more secluded than my socks’ hiding place.

Manu: "Here. Look through these."

He reappeared with a precarious bundle of tomes, and I grabbed them—nearly toppling under the weight.

Me: "Oh, heavy. Did you sneak bricks in here?" 🧱

I plopped the books onto the table and began my archaeological dig.

Me (internally, surveying the loot): "Interpretation of the Brahma Samhita," the original "Brahma Samhita," "Pancaratra Pradipa," plus the "Interpretation of the Pancaratra Pradipa"… The interpretations are in English, the originals still glaring at me in Sanskrit.

I muttered my thoughts aloud, pages fluttering.

Manu: "Yes, I made sure to include Bengali Vishnu Samhitas."

Me: "?"

I glanced up, meeting his unblinking stare.

Manu: "You seem drawn to the types of Hinduism that flourish here in Calcutta."

Me: "Well, yes… Thank you. But why are you being so helpful? Isn’t your actual job calling?"

Manu chuckled, more relaxed than the guy I’d met earlier. "You are my job."

Me: "Really?"

Manu: "I was asked to help and look after you. That’s why I did your library card, too."

Me: "What did I do to deserve VIP treatment?"

Manu: "No idea. Maybe it’s because you’re a foreigner—from London? Or maybe you’ve got secret agent clearance." 🕶️

My laughter bounced off the bookshelves.

Me: "I promise, I’m just here to read—no secret spy stuff."

Manu: "Do you know Sanskrit?"

Me: "Not as well as Hindi, but I can get by."

Manu: "Were you born in India?"

Me: "No, but I studied Indology—not the field kind, more like reading at my kitchen table."

Me (thinking): So I still have no clue why I got picked for this mission. Killian claimed someone vouched for me, but I suspect he got names mixed up… Never mind. Let’s see if any of these Samhita interpretations spark joy.

We both fell silent; I dove into the texts.

Me (thinking): Honestly, Bengali Vaishnavism feels off-target. Vishnu, all peace and tranquility—his devotees don’t exactly scream ‘head-chopper’. Then again, looking for logic in the mind of a headhunter is like searching for fish in a desert. 🏜️🐟

Time slipped by. No other souls disturbed our quiet corner; Manu eventually slid into the chair beside me, fidgeting with one of the books.

Manu: "I see you’re not reading about Bengali Vaishnavism anymore. Changed your focus?"

Me: "I just don’t think it’s what I’m looking for."

Manu: "So you are after something specific. You know, you can tell me—I’m pretty handy with religious texts."

Me (internally): He could actually help… unless he decides to blab about my interests to everyone at lunchtime. Maybe I should scare him into secrecy, or just warn him to zip it. 🤐

Me: "Fine, just—look, I strongly suggest you keep silent about this. Since you apparently know I have some kind of special clearance, you must realize I’m not your run-of-the-mill tourist. If I hear so much as a whisper about this conversation outside these walls… let’s just say, it won’t end with complimentary bookmarks."

I fixed Manu with a perfectly calm stare, channeling my best mysterious-spy energy.

Me: "I don’t want to scare you. Just a friendly warning. I’m sure you won’t share this with anyone." 😇

Manu: "I… I’m not really one to gossip." He looked like someone who’d rather eat a jar of pickled chillies than get involved in drama.

I nodded, all gratitude and straight-faced politeness, folding my hands on the table like I was about to start chanting a mantra.

Me (thinking): ‘No way I’m telling him everything. For all I know, next week he’ll be writing letters to the editor about “strange Londoners with shady questions. I’ll stick to small doses of truth and keep the juicy bits to myself.’

Me: "I’m interested in a symbol I haven’t found in any book so far. Maybe you know something about it?"

Manu: "Sure, show it to me."

He whipped a pencil and a battered notepad out of his pocket, hardly missing a beat. The notepad already looked like it had endured an entire degree’s worth of doodles. Manu tore out a page and handed it over with the pencil. I quickly sketched the crime scene symbol from memory, then slid it across the table.

He studied it, brow furrowing so deeply I was worried it might stay stuck that way. Lips pressed tight, he was the picture of a man wrestling an unruly crossword clue.

Manu: "This is… quite an unusual symbol. It’s not one you’ll find in the usual lists. Let’s just say… it’s non-canonical."

Me: "Really?"

Manu: "Yes. Typically, you have either the moon or the sun depicted, but rarely both together."

Me: "What does it mean? Something about strength, power?" 💪

Manu: "Sort of… but not exactly. The sun stands for power and strength. The moon is wisdom, prudence, tranquility… You see, together they’re opposites—two halves of a whole."

Me: "Opposites? Like… in Hinduism, feminine and—"

Manu: "—masculine," he finished, with an approving nod.

Me: "Oh."

That one word felt like it turned on a light in the back of my mind.

Me (thinking): ‘So maybe I should dig deeper into Shaktism and Shaivism after all. But this symbol must have an extra layer of meaning.’

Me: "The crescent moon is an attribute of Shiva, isn’t it?"

Manu: "Yes, exactly. But it’s also sometimes tied to Shakti—in some forms of Parvati, Shiva’s wife."

I mock-buried my head in my hands, letting out a theatrical groan.

Me: "Hinduism can be a labyrinth sometimes. I need breadcrumbs just to keep track." 🌀

Manu: "Honestly, to get a better grasp, you’d need to read certain books—we don’t have all the right ones here."

He gestured for me to follow and headed down another corridor, clearly on a mission.

Manu: "Let’s check another section."

As we walked, he kept talking:

Manu: "There are some interpretations of the tantras, but they don’t go into all the details like the old Sanskrit originals. There are things in the originals that you just won’t find anywhere else."

Me: "And where would I find those?"

Manu: "Umm… pretty much nowhere. At least, not here." He shrugged apologetically.

Me: "Oh, just brilliant." 🙄

Manu: "Sorry. Some private collectors hoard the real originals like secret treasure. Ordinary mortals like us rarely get a peek."

Me: "Why?"

Manu: "Some people believe folks from the lower castes shouldn’t be poking their noses into secret religious practices."

Me: "But I’m not in a lower caste. I’m not in any caste."

Manu: "Maybe that’s even worse. Keeping secrets from outsiders—especially about the Samhitas or Tantras—could be the whole point."

I let out a sigh so dramatic it could have won an award for “Best Disappointed Exhale.” I stared at the floor, frustration bubbling up. This whole investigation felt like squeezing water out of a rock—every clue had to be wrestled for, drop by exasperating drop.

Me: "Okay… I’ll just make do with what I have."

Manu: "I’ll find you something else."

I only managed a half-hearted nod, already sinking into my own marsh of thoughts. Manu vanished among the stacks.

Me (thinking): ‘How is anyone supposed to solve anything like this? Come on, Amala, stop playing the tragic heroine. Pull yourself together and keep going.’

I wandered off, letting my feet do the thinking, occasionally pausing to scrutinize titles. Crescent moons, suns, feminine and masculine energy… The thoughts in my head played musical chairs until everything just turned into a confusing jumble.

Me (thinking): ‘What did you expect? A treasure map? Stop whining and keep digging! Detective novels never warn you about aching feet and information droughts.’

At the aisle’s dead end, I spotted a bookcase squished up against the wall—a whole army of books eyeing me down. I sidled closer.

Me (thinking, delighted): ‘Interpretation of the Tantrasara! Jackpot! Too bad it’s not the original… but hey, Manu did warn me.’

As I reached for the book, my hand came away coated in a layer of dust thick enough to plant tomatoes in. I stretched on tiptoes and whack!—my little toe introduced itself to the edge of the shelf.

Me: "Ouch!"

Doubled over, cursing under my breath, I squatted down, clutching my throbbing toe. That’s when I noticed the bookcase wasn’t actually flush with the floor—unlike the others, it rested on small, dusty wheels.

Me: "?"

The toe pain was instantly forgotten—replaced by the thrill of possible discovery.

Me: "That bloody wheel!"

Looking around, I realized all other cases were properly grounded. A little electric excitement zipped through me. If life gives you curious bookcases, you investigate. Detective Amala, on the case.

Me: "Maybe I can move it? Why else would it have wheels?"

I grabbed the case and gave it a determined yank. Nothing. I tried again—nada. But, refusing to be bested by furniture, I braced myself and gave one more heroic haul… and promptly lost my grip, landing with a crash loud enough to scare the dust mites.

Me: "Great. At this rate, I’ll need my own shelf in the library’s orthopedic section…" 🤦

But then—surprise!—I saw a sliver of space where there hadn’t been one before. Heart pounding, I scrambled up and hustled over. The bookcase, and a chunk of wall with it, had actually budged, revealing a hidden passage.

Me (thinking, wide-eyed): ‘Whoa, is this a secret door? What is this, Agatha Christie meets Scooby-Doo? Although, thinking practically, this place used to be a big-shot Bengali’s mansion—secret rooms aren’t that surprising. Still… why would the National Library need a secret passage now?’

The sensible voice in my head suggested staying put, but curiosity steamrolled over caution.

Me: "Well… here goes nothing."

And with that, I prepared to step into mystery—because fate, adventure, and accidental discoveries (and possibly bruised toes) wait for no one.

Me (thinking): Should I let Manu know? Oh, please. When destiny hands you a secret passage and bookshelves full of forbidden treasures, you don’t run for a chaperone! Either he’s blissfully unaware, or he’ll stumble in behind me and figure it all out. Either way, this is too exciting to worry about him now. 😏

Without another thought, I slipped through the gap like a cat burglar on the best day of her career. The hiding spot behind the bookcase was a cramped, musty tunnel—a horror film’s idea of ambiance. The air was so thick and damp, I almost expected to hear bats complaining about the humidity.

Me: "Ugh…" (and not the delicious chocolate kind)

But I powered through and—boom! There it was: a sprawling, secret hall lined with bookshelves and grand enough to host a royal bookworm convention. Sofas so plush they practically winked at me, and enough elegantly carved dark oak furniture to make any antique shop weep with envy.

Me: "Oh wow… Where did I land—Maharaja’s secret reading lair?"

I shuffled to the nearest shelf, heart thumping with the kind of joy you only get when you find sacred texts and a hidden room—every nerdy dream come true.

Me: “Dasha Mahavidya”, “Interpretation of the Mahanirvana Tantra”… Hold on, is that—yes!—the original Mahanirvana Tantra! Actual holy grail vibes! This is…well, jackpot isn’t a strong enough word. 💎📚

Overcome with delight, I didn’t even hear the footsteps behind me. Then—a hand gripped my shoulder.

Me: "?!"

Instinct kicked in. I whirled around, delivering a textbook shoulder-escape and almost uppercut. Only when I saw Manu blinking back at me did I pull myself back from full ninja mode.

Me: "Oh! Manu?!"

Manu: "Miss Khan, you… you’re mad! Completely crazy!"

Me: "What are you doing sneaking up and grabbing people? In a place like this, my fight-or-flight kicks in—believe me, you should be glad your nose is still straight!"

Manu, massaging his temple: deep sigh, epic frown "You need to get out. Now! How on earth did you even get in?"

Me: "Through—well, you saw the passage…"

Manu: "Yes, but how did you find it?!"

Me: "What is this room, anyway?"

Manu: "Private collection. Prominent Brahmin family. And guess who’s supposed to keep nosy people out? Yours truly."

Me: "Wait, Brahmins are allowed to have this much treasure?"

Manu: "Not every Brahmin follows tradition, okay?"

Me: "So, they just… bought a whole room in the library?"

Manu: "Exactly. And you—OUT. Now!"

I danced around him, as he grew red with annoyance. I was already dreaming of cataloguing, touching, deciphering every book here. A hidden room, stuffed with forbidden knowledge—Calcutta’s own Indiana Jones moment.

Manu: "Miss Khan…!"

He tried to shepherd me out, but I held my ground.

Me: "Stop it. Either keep calm and help, or keep quiet so we both get out faster."

Manu, spluttering: "You… what… how…"

Me: "Listen, if we get caught, who do you think they'll blame? The foreigner on a library tour or the guy whose actual job is to guard this place? You want a quick exit? Help me find what I need."

Manu, faintly scandalized: "You really are terrible."

Me: "No, I’m just stubborn—and determined. So? Help?"

His jaw flexed. After an epic struggle with his conscience, he sighed—defeated.

Manu: "Fine! I can’t believe I’m saying this. Let’s go. But no funny business! NO touching!"

He stomped away muttering about "reckless girls" and "imminent career-ruining disasters." I withheld my victory dance.

Me: "Find the originals!"

Manu glared: "I know exactly what to look for! I wish I didn’t!"

Me: "Such drama…"

After a frantic scramble, Manu retrieved a hefty, battered tome—touching it like it was both a ticking bomb and buried treasure. Reverence and dread, all in one.

Manu: "Here… I think there are answers in this. If anyone finds out I even breathed on it, my head’s on the chopping block."

Me: "Your head, huh? Bit dramatic, are we?"

Me (thinking): Interesting choice of words…

Manu: "I’d be seriously punished."

Me: "So… what is this book?"

Manu placed it gently on the table, reverently stroking the cover.

Manu: "A priceless treasure—Vamachara Bhava. This Tantra explores existence through the lens of Shaktism. No one outside a select few even knows it’s here."

Me: "I’ve never even heard of it!"

Manu: "Of course not. You think anyone owning something like this just brags about it?"

Me: "If this is such a treasure, then why are you showing it to me—and even letting me read it?"

Manu: glaring "You…! How dare you?!"

Me: wide-eyed but unapologetic "I’m just curious."

Manu: "It’s not about you, Miss Khan. I’ve dreamed of getting a closer look at this book for ages. And now, since I’m already throwing career suicide out the window for your sake… I might as well indulge too." 📚😤

I watched how his eyes shimmered—not from fear this time, but something far more vulnerable: reverence. True book-lover stuff. Anyone could see it. For a man who practically lived inside a library, the idea of being this close to a text like Vamachara Bhava must’ve been agony all these years. And now, here it was—unlocked, unguarded, and glowing like smuggled treasure in a forbidden tomb.

Manu: "And as a last resort… I’m blaming everything on you."

Me: "?!"

I opened my mouth, fully prepared to deliver a monologue about ungrateful assistants—when he silenced me, not with words, but by reciting a verse from the book. In Sanskrit.

Manu: "‘Those who know both birth and death, by means of destruction, having crossed death, achieve immortality through birth.’ There's an entire section here… all yajus."

Me: "The yajus—aren’t they the sacrificial mantras from the Vedic texts?"

Manu: "Precisely. Used in any sacrifice ritual, symbolic or literal. And… not all of it’s metaphor."

Me: "So… embracing death, accepting it as something sacred—only then can you sort of reclaim your soul?"

Manu: "Yes, surrendering to death to attain the immortality of the soul. These mantras… they’re powerful. But some lean heavily into the shadows. They're not bedtime stories."

Me: "So Vamachara Bhava is… Black Tantrism? The left-hand path?" 🕯️🖤

Manu: sharply "It’s a common misconception. Left-hand doesn’t mean bad or evil. That right-hand equals ‘good Shiva’ and left-hand is ‘evil Shakti’—rubbish. They still teaching you left-handed tantrism is all corruption and danger?"

Me: "No, but… I mean, it’s got a reputation."

Manu: sighing "Understandable. Without initiation or any kind of real practice, it can seem dark. But the left-hand path isn’t just gloomy incense and goat skulls. True Vamachara embraces Shakti fully. It’s about confronting what others won’t. Kali cults and Durga worship just tend to be more… intense. Raw, if you will."

Me: "So what does the book say about that? About the cults?"

Me (thinking): The blood, the symbols, the altar... Of course. There's a connection between the murder and dark tantrism. Kali’s rituals, maybe?

Manu: narrowing his eyes "Ah… so that’s what you’re after. You're looking into the left-hand shadows."

Me: "I’m not sure. But… I think so."

Manu: "Then Kaula-Shaktism will definitely strike your interest." 🔺🌒

Me: "That’s the tradition around Kali, isn’t it? The Dark Mother?"

Manu: "Yes. Kali—the fierce form of Devi. The dark face of divine feminine power. Raw energy. Chaos and liberation rolled up in one terrifyingly beautiful deity. Let me show you something—it’s in this book."

He carefully flipped through the fragile pages, his fingertips barely brushing them.

Manu: "It’s called ‘The Birth of the Great Mother’. Not about blood or wrath, not yet. But you need to hear this before we dive in further. The darkness only makes sense once you’ve seen where the light comes from."

Me: "Tell me… in detail. I want to know everything."

Manu: "As an Indologist, I’m sure you already know the story — but there are parts in this text that you won’t find in classrooms or mainstream retellings."

Me: "I’m all ears." 🧐

Manu: "Alright then… This is the legend behind the Maha Shivaratri festival. The sacred union of Shiva and Shakti — and the rebirth of the goddess herself.

Shiva’s first wife was named Sati — a form of Devi, the eternal feminine. One day, her father Daksha held a grand yajna — a ritual sacrifice. But guess what? He purposely didn’t invite his daughter or her divine husband."

Me (thinking): Oof. Petty family drama, but in cosmic proportions. 🙄🔥

Manu: "Shiva and Daksha already had a… tense relationship. Still, sweet Sati wanted to go. She went alone. But Daksha didn’t even acknowledge her. He didn’t offer Prasadam — the sacred food offering — to Shiva at all. An insult of divine magnitude.

Heartbroken and humiliated, Sati flung herself into the sacrificial fire. That’s how the controversial ‘Sati’ rite got its name — when a widow joins her husband in the flames after his death."

Me (thinking): Except here, it was the goddess who went first. Irony? Tragedy? Mythically poetic.

Manu: "When Shiva learned what happened, he was devastated. Shattered. Then came the Rudra Tandava — the cosmic dance of destruction. Shiva stormed into Daksha’s domain like a divine tempest. His fury threatened to unmake the universe.

Afraid of his power, Vishnu had to step in. He shattered Sati’s body into twelve pieces and scattered them across the world. Each place where a piece fell became a Shakti Peetha, a sacred site."

Me: "And Shiva then left to meditate in the Himalayas… far from the world."

Manu: "Yes. There, in the mountains, Sati was reborn — as Parvati, daughter of Himavat. And she remembered her beloved. But getting his attention was no easy feat.

So she prayed, danced, fasted — anything to win him back. She even enlisted Kamadeva, the god of desire, who tried to shoot Shiva with an arrow of love."

Me (thinking): Divine matchmaking… but with cosmic arrows. 💘🌄

Manu: "Didn’t work. Kamadeva ended up incinerated."

Me: "Typical."

Manu: "But Parvati didn’t give up. Her devotion melted even Shiva’s silence. And in time, he accepted her — and they reunited."

I blinked, only now realizing how spellbound I’d been.

Me: "I knew the story. But never with this much detail."

Manu nodded thoughtfully. Then, almost reverently, he quoted from the page:

Manu: "As the Mother of all phenomena and beings, She creates, preserves, and destroys the universe"

He looked at me meaningfully.

Manu: "She is the Energy of the Three-Eyed Shiva."

Me: "Creates. Preserves. Destroys. That’s raw power." 💥

Just then, Manu’s expression shifted. His gaze darted to the entrance.

Manu: "I think I heard voices…" 👀

Me: "Really?"

Manu: "I’m going to check."

Before I could reply, he was already out the door like a scared owl in library guard mode. I stood still, staring at the closed book.

Me (thinking): Please let it be a false alarm. I haven’t even started* studying the Vamachara Bhava properly.*

But moments later, he reappeared — wide eyes, fast footsteps.

Manu: "There are visitors in the section! We need to put everything back and get out, now!"

Me: "But… we haven’t even found what I need!"

Manu wasn’t having it. He shut the tome faster than I could say ‘unanswered questions’ and slid it back into its sacred resting place.

Manu: "Miss Khan, you promised."

Me: "...Yes."

I turned, frustrated — not just with him but with myself. I hadn’t uncovered even half of what I’d hoped for. My eyes wandered back to the first shelf I’d approached.

Me (thinking): Could I… steal something? No. Yes? Wait. There's so much here — would anyone truly notice if one tiny book 'accidentally' disappeared?

Manu rushed to the corridor again, no time left for hesitation.

Manu: "*Now*, Miss Khan!"

I followed—my heart pounding. And just before stepping out, three precious seconds dangled in front of me like a loaded question.

Me (internally): Do I leave quietly… or do I take fate into my own hands? ⏳📚😈

Everything was teetering—between wisdom and recklessness, secrecy and discovery—and time was running out.

Me (thinking): I won’t steal—I’ll just… borrow! Just for research! But which one? The original Mahanirvana Tantra—that’s it! It’s an absolute gem. They’ll probably notice, but I really do need the original. Besides, I’ll return it… eventually. 😇📚

Moving with the subtlety of an over-caffeinated cat burglar, I deftly slid the book from the shelf and slipped it into the folds of my clothes.

Me (thinking): And if Manu gets in trouble because of me? Ugh. Yes, I know it’s not right… but desperate times, desperate measures? 🤦

Slipping into the passage, I darted after Manu, the forbidden book gently thumping against my side. We exited the secret section, and Manu—sweat on his brow, nerves in every move—pressed the passage shut with all his remaining strength.

Manu: "I know you’re disappointed. But we simply couldn’t stay any longer."

Me: "I understand… Do the owners come here often?"

Manu: "No, not often. But someone else might’ve spotted us."

Me: "Have you really never been in there before today?"

Manu: "Nope. Never had the guts. But you— you’re built different. Can I ask you something?"

Me: "Go ahead."

Manu: "If you’re an Indologist, you probably already knew most of what I told you. Did you actually need my help?"

Me: sighing "Right after graduation, life hit fast. Family duties, business — the usual. My Indology dreams got boxed up, replaced by everything else. I know a lot, but not like a pro. Your help was exactly what I needed." 🧳📖

Manu: "Well then. Anything else I can help with? Maybe something slightly less illegal next time?"

Me: grinning "No… thank you."

We said our goodbyes, me thanking Manu for his help. He told me meeting me was a pleasure, though, as he put it with a half-smile, “you are insane.” He added, kindly, that if I needed a partner in future escapades, I should give him a call. Fair deal.

Night had fallen when I got home. I greeted my hosts, ate a comforting dinner, and rang up Killian. The day spilled out behind me, exhausting in every way. I carefully tucked away my “borrowed” treasure and practically melted into bed. Thoughts spiraled and softened, and for the first time in days, my night was utterly tranquil.

Morning came early; excitement shot me fully awake. I washed up and prepared for the day with rare pep in my step. Mrs. Chauhan met me in the hallway, radiating joy, arms full of exquisite saris—her latest stunning finds.

I picked out a charming lilac sari, the kind that turns heads with its quiet elegance. The full-sleeved embroidered blouse and delicate white border gave it just enough flair—otherwise, perfectly plain and lovely.

Me (thinking): So beautiful! 💜

With practiced enthusiasm, I styled my hair, pinning in a few amethyst stones for that extra sparkle. Then, feeling a little daring, I decided to try a nose ring—after all, the girls here wore them with such effortless grace.

Me (internally): These nose rings look gorgeous on everyone here. Why not me? 👃✨

I chose a slender gold ring, finished dressing, and spun in front of the mirror—admiring every twirl.

Me (thinking): What a beautiful girl! So pretty! My self-esteem’s on a roller coaster—up and down, up and down… Wheee! 🎢

After soaking up all the compliments the mirror could offer, I dashed through breakfast and hurried back to my room, my heart racing at the thought of finally delving into the Mahanirvana Tantra. I’d barely started when Sana appeared, peeking into my room—her eyes immediately locking onto the book in my hands.

Sana: "Mi… Miss Khan! Where did you get this?!"

Me: "Shhh! No need to shout about it!"

She slipped inside, dark eyes wide with something between awe and worry.

Sana: "Mahanirvana Tantra… What did you get yourself into?"

Me: "What did I get myself into…?" (Echoing her in a whisper.)

Sana: "Where did you get this? And—why? Be careful with Vamachara! The left path has many sides, and not all of them are in the light…" 🌑⚠️

Before I could answer, Priyanka’s crisp voice floated in from the hallway.

Priyanka: "Sana! Why are you still in there?"

I scrambled to hide the precious book under a pillow just as Mrs. Chauhan swept in. Sana and I exchanged conspiratorial smiles, but Priyanka’s keen gaze missed nothing.

Priyanka: "What are you doing here?"

Me: "Sana helped me… with the palla of my sari. Still getting the hang of it!"

Priyanka: "Mmh… Amala, please go down to the living room."

Me: "Why?"

Priyanka: "Just do it. Sana, you stay here with me."

Not about to question the matriarch, I offered Sana one last glance and obediently made my way downstairs. The suspense in my chest fluttered.

Me (thinking): What’s going on? Does she really need to talk to Sana, or is this about my less-than-perfect room? Maybe she’s scolding Sana for not making my bed. Oh, great, now I’ve gotten her in trouble! I should go back upstairs…

I crept back up, only to find my two hosts emerging from my room. Sana looked nervous, her smile fading at the edges.

Me: "What’s going on?"

Priyanka: "Oh, Amala, you’re here already."

Sana: "Everything is fine, Miss Khan."

Me: "Really?"

Sana: "Yes, just a little… worried."

Me: "Why?"

Before Sana could answer, Priyanka stepped in smoothly:

Priyanka: "Sana’s wedding will be earlier than we thought. It’s time for us to start preparing for the big day." 💍🎊

P.S. Darlings, clutch your pearls—this isn’t just a chapter, it’s a dazzling high-wire act of chaos and confessions! One minute you’re “accidentally” liberating ancient tomes, next you’re tangoing with sari super-sleuths and wedding bells that ambush you like bad decisions after midnight. 💃🔥💍

Seriously, if drama were currency, I’d be filthy rich by breakfast (and Manu’d be bankrupt in nerves). Was it a scholarly “borrow,” or did I just invent the world’s naughtiest library heist? Be honest, scandal-lovers—when was your last brush with dangerously delightful mischief? Or are you still hiding your juiciest secrets under innocent smiles and tragic pallu accidents? 😇😉

Sling your sass in the comments—let’s see if your stories can sizzle, sting, or out-flirt my scandalous morning! You know I read every confession like it’s my favorite forbidden text.

—Your ever-mischievous Mistress of Midnight Masala 💋✨🕯️