Chapter 4: The Garlands of Bride and Groom
Priya and Vyom stood in the heart of the enigmatic village, surrounded by mist-laden hills and a festive energy that seemed to hum in the air. The decorations shimmered under the golden afternoon light—garlands strung between ancient trees, marigolds scattered along winding paths, and paper lanterns gently swaying in the breeze.
Suddenly, amidst the distant peal of temple bells, Vyom felt a strange sensation—a whisper curling through his mind, quiet but unmistakable. Take the garlands from the monkey and carry them into the temple, the voice urged, soft as a memory yet undeniable in its clarity.
He glanced at Priya, her eyes wide with wonder at the scene unfolding before them, and knew she sensed there was something unusual at play. The village, lost to history yet alive before their eyes, felt suspended between reality and myth—waiting for their next move.
Vyom inhaled deeply, the taste of fear lingering on his tongue. He looked at Priya and tried to steady his trembling voice. “Let’s eat something, Priya,” he said, his words barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate veil of reality draped around them. The two moved to the roadside stall, hands shaking, hearts still hammering from the inexplicable events.
With every bite of the spicy aloo tikki, Vyom tried to convince himself that this was just another stop on a long road trip, that the village and its ancient secrets hadn’t really followed them here. But the taste of fried potatoes mingled with the heavy silence between them, reminding them both that some mysteries can’t be chased away by daylight or reason.
He cast another glance at Priya, her eyes wide and uncertain, and forced a smile—an unspoken promise that, no matter how strange the road ahead, he would be at her side. Together, they sat in the shadow of the hills, the echoes of the village’s legends whispering through the trees, willing themselves to believe that their journey was far from over and the answers might still be waiting, just around the next bend.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it—a monkey, surprisingly regal, sauntering towards them atop the cobbled path. In its small, dexterous hands, the monkey balanced a large, ornate plate, and on the plate rested two garlands woven from scarlet and white blooms, glimmering in the lamplight.
Without hesitation or a word, Vyom grabbed Priya’s hand, pulse racing, and they stepped forward. The monkey paused before them, its eyes bright and unblinking, and extended the plate with an almost ceremonial grace. Vyom accepted it, hands trembling slightly, and in that instant, the monkey turned away, vanishing as quickly as it had arrived.
Priya and Vyom exchanged a glance, equal parts bewilderment and awe, before making their way into the temple. The interior was resplendent—thick garlands of marigold and jasmine draped from every pillar, warm lights casting a golden haze over the crowds of villagers who moved with festive purpose. Somewhere in the murmur and music, the air felt charged with something ancient and benevolent.
Together, moving as if in a dream, Vyom and Priya presented the garlands at the foot of the sanctum. A quiet hush fell over them as they retreated, slipping back into the night, the temple’s celebrations echoing faintly in their ears. The weight of what had happened pressed around them, and neither spoke as they left, hearts pounding with the sense that they had just brushed the edge of something extraordinary.
Ink of Dread 
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