Chapter 3: The Hidden Hamlet
A faint glimmer shimmered at the far horizon, wavering through the final bends of the mountain road. Vyom, his knuckles still pale with tension, felt a tentative hope spark within him as the headlights finally caught the humble rooftops of a village nestled in the valley below. Relief mingled with uncertainty in his chest—at last, civilization, a chance for help, perhaps even a mechanic who could rescue them from the silent menace lurking in their car. The rain had slackened to a mist, catching in the golden lanterns that dotted the distant lane, and Vyom pressed onward, heart pounding with cautious optimism as the promise of safety drew nearer with every turn.
Priya stirred, yawning, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Vyom smiled weakly. “Just tired.”
The village unfolded before them, alive with a vibrant commotion neither Vyom nor Priya had expected. Lanterns bobbed above the heads of cheerful villagers, and the scent of spiced street food drifted on the cool evening breeze. Vyom’s nerves remained taut, but Priya’s curiosity bloomed—her eyes lit up.
Vyom eased the car to a stop at the ragged edge of the narrow village road, his knuckles still pale from the ordeal, gently coaxing the handbrake into place. The engine idled with a tired hum, the headlights cutting wavering lines through the misty darkness. For a brief moment, all was still—the rain has also stopped, the distant murmur of drums from the village’s celebration, and Vyom’s own ragged breathing, slowing at last as the car settled, safe for now, beneath the shadowed canopy of the Western Ghats.
He turned to Priya, voice tight with forced calm, “Do you want to get out. Maybe stretch or grab a snack?”
Priya yawned, stretching her arms before lazily reaching for the bag of chips beside her seat. The air outside was cool outside, with a sleepy smile, she nudged Vyom and pointed. “Look—let’s get something to eat,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the remnants of sleep.
They ordered two plates, and as Vyom handed over the coins, he glanced up at the vendor. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, his voice betraying both exhaustion and intrigue.
The vendor, wiping his hands on a checkered cloth, grinned widely. “A wedding at the Eighth Hanuman Temple,” he declared. “It’s rare—a real blessing for our village. Everyone’s invited!” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You both must come. Such ceremonies are seldom seen, even by us.”
Priya was instantly enchanted, insisting they attend the celebration. Vyom hesitated, weariness still gnawing at him, but her excitement was contagious. He tried to protest, but in her eyes danced a joy and wonder that softened his resolve.
An elderly woman emerged from the shadows on the edge of the bustling village square. Her hair fell in wild, snowy strands down her back, and her frame, impossibly slender, seemed almost to float as she approached Vyom and Priya near their car.
She moved with a purpose, her gaze fixed on them—on Vyom, especially. Without a word, she reached through the open window, her fingers curling around the steering wheel with a familiarity that sent a shiver through Vyom.
Startled, Priya’s voice cut through the night. “Hey, lady, what are you doing? Please, keep your hands out of our car!”
The woman didn’t flinch. Her large, luminous eyes turned from Priya to Vyom, and she spoke in a voice both gentle and unsettling. “Something’s wrong with your brakes.”
Vyom’s breath caught. How could she possibly know? He had told no one.
Before he could ask, Priya insisted, her voice rising, “No. There’s nothing wrong. Please, just step away from the car.”
But the woman lingered, her fingers still tracing the steering wheel, as though she could sense the car’s secrets with a single touch. The air between them thickened with something unspoken, and Vyom felt a chill crawl up his spine as if, in that moment, the night itself was holding its breath.
Vyom hesitated and calmed Priya down, the truth tumbling from his lips before he could stop it. “Priya, the brakes aren’t working,” he confessed, voice trembling. “That’s why I was driving like that.”
Priya stared at him, shock flickering across her face as she pieced together the strange journey. It was then that Vyom, voice barely above a whisper, turned to the elderly woman and asked, “How did you know about the brakes? I haven’t told anyone.”
The woman’s pale eyes sparkled with mystery. “I saw it from far behind,” she replied, her tone both gentle and eerie.
Vyom frowned, confusion knitting his brow. “You saw it from far? How could you possibly notice something like that?”
A knowing smile curled on the woman’s lips. She glanced meaningfully at the top of the car and said, “It’s not the brakes, child—it’s the one sitting above.”
A cold shiver ran down Vyom’s spine. He followed her gaze upward, heart pounding, but found himself speechless, caught between fear and awe at what the woman might truly mean.
The old woman’s gaze lingered in the silence, her voice a whisper that threaded through the quiet dusk. “This village,” she began, her words slow and careful, “is no ordinary place. Long ago, it slipped into the creases of our history, forgotten even as the world spun on.”
Vyom’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. The woman caught his look and smiled gently. “You see, child, the temple here—hidden from the maps and memory—is the eighth temple built for Lord Hanuman. When worship of Hanuman first spread across the land and temples began to rise, this was the eighth—an ancient sanctuary among the first, standing as a silent witness to the centuries.”
The words hung heavy in the air, charged with the hush of secrets revealed, leaving Vyom and Priya teetering on the threshold of belief and wonder.
A heavy silence lingered in the air as Vyom and Priya stood frozen, the words of the enigmatic lady echoing in their minds. Uncertainty clouded their faces, and neither could summon the courage to break it. The lady, sensing their confusion, stepped forward with a calm authority. Without a single word, she reached deftly behind the steering wheel, her weathered hands moving with a surprising assurance as she worked through a tangle of wires.
With a soft click and a final twist, she resolved the malfunction that had left the car’s brakes lifeless. The engine hummed quietly, as if waking from a troubled dream.
As she stepped back, ready to disappear into the dusk, her gaze rose to the car’s rooftop. Her voice, gentle yet resonant with mystery, cut through the thickening twilight. “It was he who saved you and brought you to this village,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on a presence only she seemed to perceive.
Vyom and Priya exchanged a glance—fearful, awestruck, and more uncertain than ever—while the village around them held its breath, as if the night itself was waiting for them to understand.
Priya’s voice broke the uneasy silence that hung between them. She turned to Vyom, her eyes wide and searching. “Vyom… who was sitting on top of the car?” Vyom hesitated. The question lingered, heavy and unanswerable, drifting through the air like a wisp of fog. He opened his mouth, hoping for words, but none would come. All he could do was shake his head, uncertain and awed, as the enigma settled around them, thick and unyielding.
Ink of Dread 
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