Asha’s fingers locked around my forearm like a vice of ice, her nails digging in so hard it was as if she wanted to leave fingerprints under my skin. Her eyes—burning with obsession—bored into me.

Asha (low, ragged, almost animal): “Hungry… I’ve been hungry for so long…! And I’m so cold… in this darkness… There’s warmth in you. Give it to me…” 🔥❄️

The resentment in her stare was almost physical. Every hiss, every ounce of hatred—directed solely at me. My head swam. My arms and legs went heavy, pins-and-needles pricked at my fingertips, and I could feel something… pulling. Trying to strip me right out of myself, like yanking a soul loose from its hinges.

Me (forcing words through a tightening throat): “No… no…”

Asha (mocking, hungry): “Be afraid… fear only makes blood sweeter!”

Her voice was a vortex in my ears, the hallway spinning into a whirlpool of fog. All sound dulled, as though I’d been dragged far beneath the surface of black water.

Me (thinking, brain barely sparked): My head’s full of cotton wool… numb… can’t even feel my hands… 😵💫

Then—suddenly—her fingers snapped open. She gave a low, vicious growl, like something else had stepped into her hunting ground and ruined her feast.

A voice cut through the haze—soft yet commanding. I couldn’t see her, but somehow I knew. Sana.

Sana (firm, rhythmic chanting, her Hindi accented with urgency): “Let the protection of the body manifest… speech and mind… (murmuring) … from all the harm of the elemental… (murmuring) …”

It was like someone had popped the airtight bubble around my head. Air rushed back into my lungs; my chest loosened. I could breathe again.

Me (gasping, clutching my abdomen): “—Gah!” 😮💨

I staggered upright, eyes flying open. The hallway was empty. Pitch-black, still night. Everything back in its neat little place. No green haze. No ice-fingered nightmare.

Me (thinking): …it happened again. And here I thought tonight might let me sleep like a normal human.

My knees gave out and I slumped to the floor, that cold tide of impending doom washing over me again.

Me (weakly): “So tired… I’m so tired…”

A warm hand touched my shoulder, making me yelp—I’d completely forgotten anyone else existed.

Sana (concerned, but scolding like an older sister): “Miss Khan… how did you end up here, all alone… with that… in the hallway?”

I blinked, then snapped to face her.

Me (leaning in, urgent): “With that?! You saw her too, Sana?”

Sana (wide-eyed, voice rising): “I couldn’t have missed her! That much dark energy could choke the entire house! You think I don’t notice when death walks into my workplace?”

Me (hopeful, desperate): “If you saw her, then… then I’m not losing it? I mean—if you saw the same thing, there’s no way it’s just me hallucinating, right?”

Sana (gripping my arm like she’s holding it together for the both of us): “You’re not insane, Miss! Not at all! Spirits love messing with people, but that—” (she shuddered) “—that was no ordinary thing.”

Without giving me room to argue, she hauled me to my feet with a strength I didn’t know her tiny frame had.

I gently pulled my arm free from Sana’s grip, making it clear I could stand without being babysat.

Me (quiet but firm): “Thank you… I can get up on my own.”

Sana (frowning, still hovering like a mother hen): “You don’t have to, Miss. I can see how hard it is for you.”

Me (straightening my back, even though my legs felt like overcooked noodles): “I’m not letting this madness break me. That’s exactly what it wants.” 💪🔥

Sana gave me a surprised look as I rose to my feet, swaying just enough to keep it interesting.

Sana (soft, intent): “Don’t let the bhoots fool you. You’re not insane.”

Me (blinking): “Bhoots… supernatural beings?”

The word lodged itself in my brain, clashing instantly with the skepticism still clinging to me. I felt unsettled, too drained to think clearly.

Me (muttering): “That’s nonsense…”

Sana (tilting her head, eyes narrowing just slightly): “Don’t be so sure. What you just saw—didn’t it make you think?”

Me (deadpan): “It did. Mostly about whether or not I should be fitted for a straitjacket.” 🙃

Her lips pressed into a sharp line. I noticed her hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes heavy with sadness… and, faintly, she was trembling.

Me: “What are you holding?”

Sana lifted her hand, revealing a loop of seven colours woven into a small charm.

Sana: “An amulet. It helped me protect you.”

I didn’t have the strength to argue, so I stayed silent. But Sana could see straight through the quiet; she knew it wasn’t agreement—just exhaustion.

Sana (gentler now): “Come on, Miss. Let me tell you something. Let me help you… before I go.”

She moved slowly down the corridor, toward the balcony doors.

Sana (glancing back, serious): “Let’s not talk in the hallway. It’s… not safe.”

I followed her onto the balcony. She sat on the bench, and I joined her without protest. The cool night breeze kissed my damp, overheated skin, easing the tension in my chest. I took a long, deep breath—finally grateful for the open sky. Just minutes ago, breathing felt like a privilege I might never have again.

Sana (quiet, eyes steady on mine): “I don’t know if you’re just refusing to see it… or if you truly believe you’re going insane. But it’s time for you to dig deeper.”

Me (raising an eyebrow): “And by ‘dig deeper,’ you mean what exactly? Honestly buying into the supernatural?”

Sana (earnest, leaning forward): “‘Supernatural’… what do you mean by that?”

Me: “Well… spirits. Deities. Amulets.”

Me (calm but cutting): “I’m sorry, Sana, but I’m going to say it as it is. All of that… was made up by people in times when there was no education and no science. It’s not their fault — they were just trying to explain things they didn’t understand. But now, in the twentieth century, we can’t afford to keep believing in fairy tales about spirits, almighty gods, and… protective trinkets.” ✋

I wasn’t angry — just done with playing along.

Me: “If I’m losing my mind like my grandmother, I’d rather admit it than hide behind what I see as bizarre excuses. Better ugly truth than pretty nonsense. I mean sure, it’d be cute to think of myself as some psychic… but honestly? That’s nonsense.”

Sana stayed silent for a beat — eyes fixed on me, listening in that way she has where she’s not just hearing, she’s weighing.

Finally, she spoke.

Sana (calm, but with something sharp underneath): “Maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe it’s easier for you to believe you’re going insane… than to consider it might be something more. You should challenge the way you see the world. Start asking yourself different questions. Think outside that tidy little box you’ve put yourself in.”

Me (folding my arms): “Fine. Let’s do this. What’s your best argument for why any of this is real?”

Sana (without hesitation): “We both saw the bhoot that attacked you today.”

Me: “Right… and what makes you so sure she—*it*—was a bhoot?”

Sana (matter-of-fact, like it’s the ABCs): “Everything. Bhoots are people who were brutally murdered and haven’t found peace. Angry spirits who want to possess another body. They have no shadows, they never touch the floor indoors, and they prey on the weak in spirit — people they can confuse, deceive, and terrify until the will is gone. Then… they attack. Exactly what happened to you.”

Her voice was steady, but the weight of her words tugged at my memory.

And yeah… she wasn’t wrong — neither Amir nor Asha’s feet had touched the floor. Both hovered, both shadowless.

Me (thinking): Okay… that’s… uncomfortably accurate. 😬

Flashback — Amir (distorted, drawn-out whispers):

> “Naï-i-ve… Don’t think madness is knowledge… Visions… Premoni-i-itions… You have a ve-ery high opinion of yourself… This isn’t it… This is different… Your grandmother is insa-a-ane… Your mother is insa-a-ane… And you will go insa-a-ane…”

Me (quietly): “They’ve both tried to convince me I’m insane… almost word for word.”

Sana (quick, leaning in): “‘They’?”

Me: “Yes. There was another one… a few days ago.”

Sana: “What did it say to you?”

Me: “Something… almost exactly like Asha said today.”

Sana (pressing): “Tell me. The exact words.”

Flashback — Amir:

> “This whole universe was born by you… This world was created by you… In the end, you always devour it…”

Flashback — Asha:

> “You manifest as a destructive force… It’s a great honour to fall victim to you, oh Dark Mother… Mother of Strife… Mother of Time… grrr…”

Me: “They’re tantras. Devotions to Goddess Kali — the dark Shakti.”

The instant the words left my mouth, Sana froze. Her eyes widened, and for a full minute she didn’t move, didn’t speak — just lifted a hand to her mouth and stared into the night like it might whisper back to her.

Sana (hushed, shaken): “…My god. But how… why would they come to you?”

Me: “So what does that mean, Sana? I’m not going insane, and all this was real?”

Sana (suddenly whipping her gaze back to me, frustration sparking): “Miss, how can you still not believe it?! Being visited by bhoots is a warning you can’t ignore! They’re not just drawn to you or your energy — they’re here to plant doubt and fear in your soul! That’s how they weaken you!” ⚡👁️

In one motion, Sana shot to her feet — her sudden burst of excitement and indignation catching me off guard.

Sana (firm, almost commanding now): “You need an amulet. Let me make one for you while I’m still here. Once I leave… I won’t be able to help you anymore.”

Me (thinking, begrudgingly): An amulet? …Okay, maybe that’s actually not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. 😅

Me (out loud): “All right. It’ll ease my mind—whether I believe in it or not.”

Sana (nodding, matter-of-fact): “And mine too, Miss. Trust me, it will do its job. I only need a day to make it.”

Me (genuinely): “Thank you… for taking care of me.”

Sana (leaning in, voice low, intense): “There’s a reason the bhoots are drawn to you. We need to deal with this immediately. You are a magnet for the dead.” ☠️🧲

Me (half-nervous laugh): “Comforting. Totally comforting. What could it be? And why recite the tantras of Kali?”

Sana (tight pause, eyes shifting): “…I don’t know.”

Me (tilting my head, sharply): “Are you sure?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned abruptly toward the balcony door, her nervousness showing in the quickness of her steps.

Sana (soft but final): “Come on, Miss. You should get a good night’s sleep. You’ve been through enough tonight.”

Before I could protest—or dig deeper—she had already opened the door and slipped back into the house, wrapping the conversation up like a package I didn’t get to open.

I sat there a moment longer, the balcony suddenly feeling too big and too quiet. Inside my head, everything felt like a chaotic web—threads everywhere, no way to make sense of them.

Eventually, I went to bed. I didn’t open my eyes again until morning.

Sure, I could pretend what happened was just a bizarre dream… except my arm still remembered the icy fingers and cruel grip of Asha far too well.

It rattled me so much that, ironically, I slept like a baby through the rest of the night.

Me (thinking as the sun crept in): Okay… time to get up. A lot of work to do today—preferably the kind that doesn’t involve ghosts trying to choke me. 😑☕

I draped myself in an orange sari with a shaded pallu, vibrant red border, and a matching blouse.

Me (thinking, with a little grin): Not my everyday color, but wow… this sari is a showstopper. It needs jewelry that pops as much as it does. 🟧✨

I settled on a modest, double-chain necklace: one chain hugging my neck like a dainty choker, the other falling lower with a silver pearl pendant that rested right between my collarbones.

Me (thinking, appraising): Simple, but stylish. Maybe a little makeup to tie it all together? Indian glam, but keep it natural.

A sweep of natural makeup later, I caught my reflection and could almost hear the word “elegance.” Glowy skin, muted eyes, bright sari — the kind of combo that gets approving auntie nods and not-so-subtle side-eye from jealous cousins.

Me (internally, amped up): Now for something even more daring — a call to Mr. Rose. Let’s see if he’s as cranky as usual.

The phone rang, and right on cue, Mr. Rose picked up, voice clipped as always.

Mr. Rose (brisk, slightly frosty): “Hello, Miss Khan.”

Me: “Good morning, Mr. Rose.”

Mr. Rose: “It has been good so far.” (The man could be a thermostat — never above room temperature.)

I bit back a sigh, rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw the back of my own head.

Me (smiling through my teeth): “I have a suggestion for today’s agenda.”

Mr. Rose (immediately suspicious, voice just oozing challenge): “I’m all ears. What dazzling plan will you impress us with this time?”

Me (internally, with a dash of sarcasm): What would the morning be without your daily dose of passive-aggressive, Mr. Rose? I could pitch world peace and he’d still find a way to disagree — especially after our last archive smackdown. If I so much as mention ‘Kali temple,’ you’d think I’d asked for a holiday in the Bahamas.

Me (thinking, bracing for battle): How can I get him to see reason? If I just blurt out “Kali temple,” he’ll shut me down before I finish the sentence.

Me (smoothly): “After reviewing our case, I’m almost completely certain our killer’s a follower of the goddess Kali.”

Mr. Rose (dry as week-old toast): “And how, exactly, did you arrive at such an absurd conclusion?”

Me (sweet but unbudging): “Many clues point that way. And we have nothing to lose by digging in that direction.”

Mr. Rose (clipped): “Nothing but time.”

Me (sharp): “Do you have any other suggestions?”

Mr. Rose: “Captain Lightwood told me about your archive findings. Asking local vendors about this Amir fellow seems logical to me.”

Me (nodding, then slipping in my point): “Uh-huh. And looking at religion is just as important. Especially here. This is a city where faith weaves into everything. Ritual murder in honour of Kali fits. There are plenty of ancient blood rituals connected to her.”

A pause. I could almost hear his pride screaming not to give me the satisfaction.

Mr. Rose (reluctantly): “Fine. Maybe you’re right.”

Me (thinking): Oh, the nerve it must’ve taken for those words to escape his mouth. 😏

Mr. Rose: “We’ll split up. I’ll take Vaish to the bazaar. You go to the temple. That should be more productive.”

Me: “So… settled?”

Mr. Rose: “Yes. Report back tomorrow.”

And just like that, he hung up — no goodbye, no “good luck,” just click.

Me (thinking, unconcerned now): I’m starting to get used to this brand of charm. 🙄📞

Breakfast was a solo affair — my morning stretching long enough for the Chauhans to finish without me. Before heading out, I made a point to stop and tell Priyanka I’d be working today.

I found her on the first-floor balcony with Aryan. He was calmly sipping tea, half-hidden behind his newspaper, while she kneeled over her flower pots, chatting with him about something domestic and important.

Me: “Good morning.”

Priyanka (lighting up): “Good morning, Amala! We’ve barely seen you lately.”

Aryan (lowering his paper, warm smile): “You look well.”

Me: “Thank you. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving for work.”

Priyanka (hands on hips, faux dramatic sigh): “Ah, will I ever hear anything else from you?”

Aryan (teasing gently, in Hindi): “Mera dil, don’t pester the girl. She was brought up in a different culture.”

Priyanka (gesturing dismissively, but still smiling): “Morals might be different, but our essence as people? All the same. There’s no need to reinvent the wheel…”

Aryan (glancing at me over the rim of his cup): “Go on, Amala, good luck. Is the work going well?”

Me: “Well… kind of. We’re getting there, slowly.”

Priyanka (dramatic sigh, hand to forehead): “Always work! One day I’m going to sit here alone — my husband at work, my guest at work, and soon Sana will be busy with her children…”

Aryan (turning to her casually): “Did you take the measurements for the wedding sari? I’m starting to arrange the details of the ceremony.”

My eyebrows shot up.

Me: “Measurements? …Sari? Already?”

Priyanka (with the air of a general about to secure victory): “Why wait? The groom is a catch — if we hesitate, someone else will steal him right from under our nose!” 😏💍

Me (level but pointed): “Is this what Sana wants? Don’t you care about her opinion?”

Priyanka (waving it away, practical but tinged with condescension): “We do, but sometimes it’s best not to listen to young people. At that age, you are often your own worst enemy.”

Aryan (calm, final): “That’s right. This is what’s best for Sana.”

Me (hesitating): “Maybe…”

Me (thinking, with a knot in my stomach): She doesn’t look like a woman about to marry the love of her life. This whole thing feels rushed… but apparently, that’s how it’s done here. 🌪️💍

I decided not to push further. I said my goodbyes to the Chauhans and headed for work.

By noon, I was standing in the scorching chaos of Kalighat temple square.

The sun blazed overhead, melting the morning’s energy right out of me. Vendors hollered above the din, each swearing their goods were the best in Kolkata. Beggars latched onto passing elbows, murmuring for coins. The air was thick — spices from street stalls, temple incense, and the ever-present dust.

I scanned the crowd. No one I knew. The heat pressed down like a heavy hand.

Me (thinking, already roasting alive): They’re late… and I’m three minutes away from becoming a heatstroke cautionary tale. ☀️🫠

I darted into a strip of shade, covering my head with my hands just in case.

Minutes later, we were all gathered in front of the temple’s entrance.

Killian (looking between us): “Strange setup, if you ask me. The three of us here, while Rose and Vaish are over there.”

Lima (shrugging, matter-of-fact): “Not strange at all. Two men don’t need the same kind of military escort two women do.”

Me (agreeing, but with a smirk): “True… but I’ve got another theory.”

Killian (dry curiosity): “And that is?”

Me: “Rose doesn’t want to see me. So today? His wish came true.”

Killian (giving me the mild, schoolteacher look): “It’s time you stopped arguing with each other. It slows down our work.”

Me (defensive): “I’m not the one who starts it.”

Killian: “Maybe not… but you do encourage it. Better to ignore him. He’s our leader, and his word stands. Arguing will only cause trouble.”

Me (thinking, with an inward grimace): Oh, the joy of biting my tongue. 🙄

Before going inside, we all removed our shoes and bought fresh flower offerings for the goddess — a little cultural respect before the actual work.

The instant I stepped into the temple, it hit me — a strange, jarring blend of thick incense… and blood. My nose wrinkled before I could stop it.

Lima (suddenly freezing in place): “What the… what is that smell?”

Me (quietly, gesturing ahead): “In the next hall, there are sacrifices for the goddess.”

Lima (wide-eyed): “…Sacrifices?”

Me: “Yes. Chickens… sometimes something bigger.”

Lima (face twisting): “That’s… disgusting.” 🐓💔

Me (calm but firm): “This is an important part of their culture, Lima. So a little respect wouldn’t hurt.”

Lima (wrinkling her nose, impatient): “Respect? How can I respect something like this?”

Me (patient but resolute): “This is how they worship the goddess they love. They seek her blessings. You can’t walk into her temple and just toss aside their traditions. Understand?”

Lima twisted her lips, silent but clearly still disgusted. I felt that, but I just couldn’t see it her way.

Me (internally): You just can’t go messing with someone else’s faith and slap your own rules on it.

I smiled faintly and said, “There’s a Bengali saying: ‘Ashvin maashe bhoriya bakri o mullo.’”

Killian (raising an eyebrow): “Translation?”

Me: “In the month of Ashvin, even a lousy goat is worth money.” 🐐💰

“This is the month of Durga Puja — an important festival honoring the goddess Durga.”

Lima (grimacing): “I hope we won’t be here for it. I imagine the blood will flow like a river through Calcutta during those holidays.”

Me (glancing around the temple halls, voice softening): “If things don’t speed up, we’ll be here. And soon, too.”

I took a slow breath, absorbing the temple’s atmosphere. Though the space was tight, every corner was steeped in magnificence—a palpable energy filled the air. Maybe it was the steady stream of worshippers moving through the corridors, or the sharp incense scent hanging thick… but standing there, I knew we were in the sanctuary of a great goddess.

Killian (practical): “So, where do we start?”

Me (decisive): “We find a local priest. Someone who knows the temple’s secrets. Then we talk.”

Lima (voice shaky, clutching my arm): “Amala… can I hold your arm? I don’t feel right here.” 😰

Me (thinking, glancing at Lima): Poor thing really doesn’t look well…

Me (gently): “Of course, hold on to me. I don’t mind — if it makes you feel better, then do it.”

Lima (relieved): “Thank you…”

Me (teasing lightly): “Funny, at the crime scene you were as tough as nails.”

Lima (half-smiling, half-grimacing): “I am tough… when it’s not about animal cruelty. But here… the atmosphere is just… creepy. I don’t know.”

She slipped her arm into mine, and I squeezed it reassuringly.

Me (thinking, smiling to myself): Actually… it’s kind of cute. 😊

We kept walking. The cold temple floor was a mix of chill stone, bits of mud, and—unfortunately—blood, tracked in by countless bare feet. Every step was both grounding and unsettling.

Then I stepped into the next chamber… and stopped dead in my tracks.

Me (breath catching): “This is… incredible!”

Killian (alert): “What’s the matter?”

Not far from us, beside an altar veiled in incense smoke, stood a young woman in intricate traditional attire, moving with the calm grace of someone who belonged there. She was burning incense before the idol of Kali, her posture reverent, her eyes fixed in devotion.

It hit me immediately — she wasn’t just any devotee. She was a devadasi — a temple dancer, dedicated to service in the name of her deity. I’d read about them mostly in connection with southern India; meeting one here, in Calcutta, felt rare.

Me (to Killian and Lima, a little awed): “She’s… a bayadère. An Indian temple dancer.”

Lima (softly, genuinely): “She’s beautiful…” ✨

Me: “I’m going to talk to her. Wait here.”

I crossed the room, weaving through worshippers, and greeted her in Hindi.

Me: “Hello, my name is Amala Khan. I noticed your outfit — are you a devadasi?”

She turned toward me with a warm smile and dipped her head in a graceful bow.

Devadasi (gently): “Hello to you too. My name is Yashvi.”

Yashvi: “Yes, I am a wandering devadasi. Right now, I serve at Kalighat.”

Me (curious): “Wandering? Aren’t devadasis usually tied to one temple and one deity?”

Yashvi: “I serve only the great goddess Devi — the supreme Shakti. My path is to offer my service in all Shakti Pithas. Do you know of them?”

Me (nodding): “Yes — the sacred sites in Shaktism where parts of the goddess Sati’s body fell after her posthumous separation. Each place became holy.”

Yashvi (smiling with approval): “Exactly. There are fifty-one in total. Followers of Shaktism go on pilgrimage to each one.”

Me: “And now, Kalighat is where you serve?”

Yashvi: “Yes. The great goddess Kali is one of the incarnations of Shakti, so giving her proper respect is essential.”

Me: “Do you know a lot about her?”

Yashvi (with reverence): “Devi-Shakti is the meaning of my life. I have dedicated myself to the goddess. If you wish, I can tell you everything about Kali.”

Me: “Do you speak English?”

Yashvi: “Yes.”

I gestured for Killian and Lima to join us, explaining briefly who Yashvi was and her role. They stepped closer, and soon, the conversation continued in English — though the temple’s mingling scents and chants still kept the mystique thick around us.

Me (thinking, glancing at her poised figure before the altar): What should I even ask first?

Me (aloud, curious but gentle): “How did you become a devadasi? Was it something your parents decided for you?”

Yashvi (shaking her head slowly, voice calm but edged with memory): “No… the goddess herself called me. I lost my parents when I was very young. Life offered me two paths: one dark… filled with filth and temptation, but easier to follow. And another — hard, full of trials, but lit with hope.”

She paused, eyes clouding as if replaying the crossroads in her mind.

Yashvi: “As a woman, they wanted to use me for terrible, shameful purposes… and I was so weak back then, I might have let it happen. But faith in the Great Shakti — in female power, in my own energy — made me fight. And I won.”

Lima (soft but curious, leaning forward a fraction): “So… you escaped the fate that was waiting for you?”

Yashvi (nodding firmly): “Yes. And I dedicated myself to the goddess. This —” (gesturing at her attire, the incense still curling around us) “— is my life.”

Me: “And what do you actually do as a devadasi? Here, in the temples?”

Yashvi (matter-of-fact, but with pride): “I stay for several months in each Shakti Pitha. I make offerings, tend to the goddess’s space, dance, and perform sacred rituals. Every day begins and ends in service. And when I feel my task there is complete, I leave… and walk to the next one.”

Me: “So only Shakti? You don’t serve any other deity?”

Yashvi (a small smile, eyes glinting): “Only Shakti. Our Great Mother. I gave my life to her willingly… and after that, I was initiated into the path of the devadasi. I will never bow to another god. For me—” (she placed a hand over her heart) “—there is only the Great Shakti.” ✨🙏

Me (closing my notebook, politely): “I don’t have more questions.”

Killian (tilting his head, curiosity sharpened): “We are interested in the goddess Kali, though. Could you tell us more about her?”

Yashvi (eyes brightening, voice reverent): “Of course. But to understand her fully, you must first hear the legend of how the Great Kali was born. I can tell it briefly… or in detail.”

Me (thinking quickly, weighing it): Details might hide clues. Shortcuts never solved a case.

Me (decisive): “Please, tell us in detail. The summary won’t do. I know the short version.”

Yashvi (bowing her head): “As you wish. It will be my honor.”

She began, her voice low but powerful, carrying the story like a sacred chant.

Yashvi:

“Long ago, the gods lived in peace. Each busied themselves for the benefit of humankind. But peace rarely lasts forever… Mahishasura, the demon king, returned to settle his grudge. Stronger than any, cruel beyond measure. The gods waged war against him for a century—yet they lost.

Crushed, the gods fled and bowed their heads under his reign. But they did not bend for long. They turned to the sacred triad—Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma—and pleaded for salvation. Hearing of Mahishasura’s atrocities, the triad’s anger blazed bright.

From their wrath… and the eternal feminine energy of Shakti herself… they created a being unlike any ever known. Out of Parvati’s sweet form emerged her dark, destructive hypostasis: the great goddess Kali.” 🌑🔥

Yashvi’s hands moved as though painting the scene in the air, her eyes nearly glowing with devotion.

Yashvi:

“She came forth with a cry so fierce, the earth trembled. Her scream alone reached the demon, dragging him into battle. He faced her—and fell, inevitably, to her wrath. But drunken with victory, Kali began her terrible dance. The very earth cracked beneath her feet. Her frenzy threatened to wipe life itself away.

And only Shiva—who cast himself at his beloved wife’s feet—was able to still her, to remind her of love within rage.”

The story fell into silence, filling the temple with its weight.

Killian (after a pause, quizzical as always): “And yet, she’s called ‘Mother’? Hardly… maternal.”

Yashvi (smiling with knowing patience): “Because Kali is Shakti-Devi—the Great Mother herself. If you show her devotion and humility, she is kind, protective, a fierce guardian. But show her disrespect, anger her—even by mistake—and she brings destruction. That is her balance.”

She raised her hand subtly, pointing toward an old man kneeling before the idol of Kali. His face was ashen, lips moving silently. His body trembled as if prayer alone barely kept him together.

Me (narrowing my eyes): “What… is he doing?”

Yashvi (soft, chillingly matter-of-fact): “That man sinned greatly. To atone, he cut out his tongue and gave it to the goddess in sacrifice. Every day, he crawls here to beg for forgiveness.”

Lima (soft gasp, clutching my arm tighter): “His tongue?!” 😧

Killian (raising a brow, ever the skeptic): “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Yashvi (shaking her head, serene but heavy): “Dramatic? No. Consequence. For his punishment was greater still—every one of his sons died. One by one, until none remained. His bloodline ended. Broken. Now, he prays for the son of his second wife… but that is not his own child.”

Me (with a shrug, voice calm but edged): “Let him take responsibility. If he disrespected her and sinned, then retribution is his to face.”

Yashvi (nodding firmly): “Yes. That’s why you see him here every day, crawling back to her feet. Kali does not forget.”

She glanced toward the next chamber, then raised her hand gracefully.

Yashvi: “Come. There is something else I wish to show you.”

We followed her into the first hall. Her steps were silent yet purposeful, her movements fluid like a dancer even now. There was grace stitched into everything she did — the turn of her wrist, the way her sari fell against her frame. Watching her felt like glimpsing art in motion.

Then suddenly, she stopped mid-stride, her posture lowering into a bow of reverence.

Yashvi (voice bright, respectful): “Mr. Doobay! What an honor, what a joy, to see you here.” ✨🙏

Before us stood a man of striking presence — tall, broad-shouldered, stately, with the kind of self-assurance that made space bend around him. He returned Yashvi’s greeting with a dignified nod before turning that steady gaze toward us.

P.S. Oh, my midnight darlings—did you feel that chill slither down your spine? 😏 One moment a ghostly hunger is clawing for Amala’s soul, the next a temple dancer is serenading us with blood-soaked legends of Kali—and ah, in sweeps Mr. Doobay with enough gravitas to make even the goddess pause! Tell me honestly, loves: are we still solving murders here, or did we stumble into a masquerade where ghosts, goddesses, and very handsome strangers all take their turns seducing us in the dark? 🕯️🔥

Now be brave—drop your thoughts below: would you wear Sana’s amulet without question, or slip it off and tempt fate just to see who (or what) comes calling in the night? 👀

Ever your scandal-spinner and secret-hoarder,

—Your Mistress of Midnight Masala 💋✨🕯️