Chapter 8: The Final Take

I clutched the neem-wood talisman, feeling its heat burn into my skin. The crew pressed on—no stopping in this industry, not even for the dead.

At 3 a.m.—the witching hour—the lights flickered and the air grew colder. The lighting dada muttered “Jai Mata Di,” and nobody touched their chai. The director tried to rally us for one last scene.

I was to be buried in earth for the shot. Just before, Guddu Bhai called—online outrage was rising, people accusing the crew of risking my life. “Aap log insaaniyat bhool gaye ho kya?” WhatsApp pings exploded. Guddu Bhai ordered safety first, and the original pit was abandoned.

The crew filled the pit, grumbling. I rested, smoking on a gravestone, scrolling through fan messages: “Rakesh Sir, take care!” I felt less alone.

“Bhaiya, you’re up next!” Neha called. I stood, but my foot slipped. I tumbled into the pit, earth pouring over me, burying me alive.

My last thought before the mud closed over my eyes: “Aarav, forgive me if I don’t make it.” Somewhere far above, I thought I heard my phone buzz—one last message from home, lost in the dark.