Chapter 5: Soul-Stealing Fire
Kunal had drowned during location scouting. On the thirteenth day, souls are most restless—aatma vaapsi, when they try to possess the living. Had he tried to use my body to come back? My skin crawled. Neha tied a black thread on my wrist, mumbling, “Just in case, bhaiya.”
I called my guru and described the strange lighter. He listened gravely: “That’s a preta agni, made from a black cat’s bone and ashes. Whoever lights a diya with it risks having their soul stolen. If you hadn’t resisted, it wouldn’t have been you who surfaced.”
My hand clutched the neem-wood taabeez. On set, the mandir’s air was thick with agarbatti, old flowers, and burnt ghee. The cleaning lady pointed to three diyas: “Sir, these have been burning for days. Aap hi ka haath hai na in pe?”
I checked—my fingerprints were on them. I brought one close to my taabeez, and all three flames died instantly. The cleaning lady gasped and began chanting Hanuman Chalisa, backing away.
The puja had been at noon. Now it was 9 a.m.—just hours before the full thirteen days. My guru warned: such things need a living accomplice too.
Suddenly, the crew’s phones buzzed nonstop—“Aapka video trending hai, Sir!” Someone forwarded a meme with my face superimposed on a Hanuman poster. WhatsApp pings, reels, and memes flooded in—some praying for me, some mocking, some spreading wild rumours. Online, India was watching.