Fifty Films, One Deadly Curse
Chapter 4: Kunal’s Ghost
The diya lit instantly and burned steady through the ceremony. Later, I found the boy—Kunal. His handshake was limp, his shirt faded but ironed. “Bhaiya, I grew up watching your movies. I never thought I’d get to work with you.” His voice trembled, full of respect. I liked him—he reminded me of my early days, always called me ‘Bhaiya’.
Kunal was just a logistics boy, mostly invisible to others. He’d sneak me chai in a steel tumbler, or share crew gossip. Sometimes I’d catch him taking a stealthy selfie with me. The others kept their distance, wary of my supposed bad luck. Only Kunal stayed close.
Three days passed smoothly. On the fourth, we shot an underwater scene where I had to hold my breath and act like a spirit was dragging me down. I prayed, tied the neem-wood talisman to my wrist, and muttered Hanuman Chalisa for luck.
Before the shot, Kunal pressed his palms in a silent namaste. The props master eyed me nervously: “Sir, signal if there’s a problem, we’ll pull you up.” I nodded, dived in, and began acting out the struggle.
Suddenly, I felt something grab my ankle—cold, strong, furious. My lungs screamed for air, and my chest burned as if I’d swallowed boiling tea. My ears rang with the muffled echoes of “cut, cut!” but all I heard was the thud of my own heart.
I looked down. It was Kunal, pulling me under. I tried to fight, but he was too strong. I banged my fist on the harness, desperate. My son’s face flashed before me. Aarav’s voice rang in my head, and with one last effort, I touched the talisman to my ankle. The grip vanished. I shot to the surface, coughing, shaking, furious.
Neha’s hands shook as she wiped my face, her eyes darting to the others as if searching for someone brave enough to speak. I demanded, “Where’s Kunal?”
Neha stared, towel dropping from her hands. “Bhaiya, what are you saying? Kunal... he died three days before filming started!”
The crew stepped back in shock, one makeup dada doing a quick nazar utaaro gesture with salt from his lunchbox. Cold dread filled the room. Today was his ‘terahvin’—the most dangerous day for a soul to return.
