Morning arrived with our minds crowded by questions we hadn’t been able to answer the night before. After freshening up, we assembled at the breakfast table, greeted by a hearty spread—hot aloo-stuffed parathas, fluffy herb omelets, toast glazed with honey, and strong, aromatic chai. Despite the comfort of the meal, the weight of yesterday’s discoveries lingered heavily over us.
As we ate, Peter, Diljeet, and I began dissecting the situation again. Each of us carried a professional edge—my role as a government-linked investigator, Diljeet’s authority as a commissioner, and Peter’s connections through defense supply. We agreed that our next logical step was to involve official records. If something had triggered these events, it had to be documented somewhere. I suggested we check whether any cases—particularly drownings or suicides—had been reported along the river in recent months.
It wasn’t speculation alone. The villagers had already shared everything they knew, and none of it pointed to suicides within their area. That meant the origin might lie elsewhere along the river—something overlooked, something that had drifted into their lives unnoticed.
Soon, all five of us—Amit, Abdul, Peter, Diljeet, and I—set out in our jeep toward the nearest police station. Upon arrival, we presented our identification and requested to meet the Station House Officer. The officers received us with respect and led us into his office.
“Please, have a seat,” the SHO said politely, ordering tea for us. We introduced ourselves, briefly mentioning our investigative work, though we avoided going into anything supernatural. I asked directly whether there had been any drowning incidents reported in the past three to four months.
The SHO called in an inspector with the year’s case files. As the pages turned, the atmosphere shifted. The inspector paused, then spoke gravely. “Eight criminals escaped custody,” he explained. “While being pursued, they jumped into the river. None of the bodies were ever recovered.”
That was it—the missing piece.
A heavy silence settled between us. The SHO agreed to guide us to the exact location of the incident. When we reached the site, a small crowd had gathered, their expressions uneasy. I asked about the river’s branching paths, and a young villager pointed toward a distant direction. “There’s a Hindu village near one of those branches,” he said, leading us to a bridge where it could be seen.
Using my binoculars, I located it—a quiet settlement resting uneasily by the riverbank, its stillness almost unsettling. After thanking both the police and the locals, we turned back toward that very village—the one now tied to everything.
Back at Baba Vikram’s home, we were welcomed once again with warmth. We explained what we needed—five experienced divers. Without hesitation, Baba arranged for them.
We guided the divers to the river and instructed them to search thoroughly. Time dragged as they disappeared beneath the murky surface. Then suddenly, a voice cut through the silence: “I’ve found something!”
Our hearts raced as one diver emerged, hauling up skeletal remains. Others followed, diving deeper, returning one by one—until all eight skeletons had been recovered, entangled in weeds beneath the river.
The truth lay before us.
With Baba’s permission, a burial pit was prepared near the village. One after another, the remains were placed into the ground. Abdul brought petrol, pouring it carefully over the pit, and I stepped forward with a match.
“Everyone, step back,” I said.
The flame caught, and within seconds, fire consumed the remains. The blaze roared fiercely—and then, something extraordinary happened. From the flames, faint, mist-like forms began to rise, drifting upward like smoke touched by light. The souls, once trapped, were finally released.
“It’s done,” we said, almost in unison.
Relief swept through the village. The people, overwhelmed with gratitude, lifted us onto their shoulders, celebrating as if a great burden had been lifted from their lives. I leaned toward Baba and spoke quietly, “Let this remain between us. Some truths are better left unspoken—not for fear, but for peace.”
With that, we left and returned to Amit’s home.
A week later, we revisited the village. This time, everything had changed. There were no whispers of fear, no signs of disturbance. The air itself felt lighter, as though the land had exhaled after a long silence.
With our mission complete, we allowed ourselves to finally relax. The rest of our holidays in Hyderabad unfolded in a completely different spirit. We wandered through the historic Charminar, glowing beautifully under evening lights, explored lively bazaars filled with pearls and fragrances, and indulged in rich dishes like Hyderabadi biryani, haleem, and double ka meetha. Gradually, the fear that had followed us faded into memory.
For the first time in weeks, we felt truly at ease.
Our evenings were spent on Amit’s veranda, watching the sun sink behind neem trees, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. Abdul leaned back, exhaling deeply. “I didn’t think we’d ever see that river calm again,” he admitted.
Peter laughed lightly, tossing a pebble aside. “Honestly, I thought those headless spirits might follow us home.”
Diljeet smiled faintly. “They weren’t monsters. Just souls in pain. Fear made them seem worse than they were.”
Amit poured tea into our cups, the steam curling into the night air. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “understanding is braver than fighting.”
I raised my cup. “To understanding—and to friendship that stands through everything.”
We clinked our cups together. The warmth of the tea, the sound of laughter, and the peace around us felt earned—hard-won after everything we had faced.
The rest of the days passed in lighthearted ease, filled with sunshine, flavors, and shared moments that would stay with us forever.
And yet, as always, one thought lingered quietly in the background—
Where would we go next?
"This work is my own concept and I have done enormous amount of hardwork on it. However the grammar is corrected with AI because it is not my native language."
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