Chudail’s Mark: Seven Nights in Delhi / Chapter 4: Marked by the Chudail
Chudail’s Mark: Seven Nights in Delhi

Chudail’s Mark: Seven Nights in Delhi

Author: Anaya Gupta

Chapter 4: Marked by the Chudail

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The old man squinted at me. "Itna asaan nahi hai."

He drew closer, lowering his voice, as if the chudail herself might be listening. The shadows grew longer around his feet.

"Tu phans chuka hai, beta. Chudail ki nazar lag gayi hai."

He looked at me with a pity that felt heavy. "Beta, once they mark you, there’s no easy way out."

"Aur jo kal raat kiya, uske baad toh jaise shraap lag gaya hai."

His words hung in the air, thick and sticky, like the smell of burning camphor during aarti.

"Agar aaj raat gaadi chala, toh shayad kuch bachaav ho."

He tapped the wood against my arm. "Mauka mat gawana. Kabhi kabhi, dar se ladna hi bachaav hai."

"Nahin toh, samajh le, kaam khatam."

His words struck like a final warning bell. Somewhere, in the distance, a temple bell clanged.

I shuddered in fear, my face turning pale.

It was as if every ghost story I had ever dismissed was now breathing down my neck.

He patted my shoulder.

It was a rough, almost fatherly gesture, the kind elders use to reassure you when you’re little and sick with fever.

"Darr mat."

He attempted a reassuring smile. "Vishwas rakh. Yeh peepal ki lakdi hai, bahut taaqat hai."

"Gaadi se bahar mat nikalna, kuch nahi bigadega."

I clutched the wood to my chest, as if it was the only shield left in the world. I remembered all the times Amma had pressed a lemon and chilli under the car for good luck.

"Lekin..." His face grew serious. "Chudail bahut chalak hoti hain."

He wagged a finger at me, face suddenly shadowed. "Bahut chalaki se phasati hain—baaton mein mat aana, bahar mat nikalna."

"Unka asli kaam hi hai bewakoof banana. Tu mat phasna."

His words echoed in my mind, making the early morning seem haunted.

I hugged the wood tightly to my chest.

Whether or not the old man was telling the truth, tonight I absolutely wouldn’t leave my car.

I pulled out Amma’s photo from my wallet, set it on the dashboard, and promised her silently: I won’t let anything happen to me.

A moment of pleasure wasn’t worth losing my life.

I thought of Amma and her words, "Beta, sab kuch mil sakta hai, par jaan nahi." I nodded to myself, resolved.

We agreed to meet at the same spot tomorrow, and I left.

The sun was high now, the world noisy and alive again. But a cold shadow clung to me all the way home.

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