Chapter 2: The Divine Script Unleashed

"What are you trying to do?"

Meera immediately became alert.

She took a step back, hands instinctively covering her throat. Her eyes darted between the door and Kabir, calculating her chances of escape.

My eyes couldn't help but light up.

For days, I’d dreamed of seeing the legendary divine script. My heartbeat quickened, palms suddenly sweaty. Was this really happening in front of me? The air thickened around us, heavy as the air before a summer storm in Delhi. The scent of burnt camphor drifted in from somewhere, mixing with fear and anticipation. My mind flashed back to school days, the feeling of chalk dust as I wrote Hindi letters on a slate.

Ever since transmigrating, I had never had a chance to witness the legendary divine script.

Kabir noticed my gaze and snapped, "Lowly thing! How dare you secretly watch this young master's divine script calligraphy!"

He spat the words like a curse, his nose wrinkling in contempt. In this house, servants were supposed to melt into the walls—not stand and gawk.

I almost blurted out, "Aren't you the one showing off right in front of me?"

My tongue itched, but I bit it. One wrong word and I’d be out on the street—or worse.

But Kabir didn't care. "Watching is a crime worthy of death. After I'm done with her, I'll kill you too."

He flashed a wicked grin, enjoying every ounce of fear he could squeeze from us. His words were like poison in the air.

To him, someone like me was no different from an ant. He didn't even need an excuse to kill me.

I felt the weight of my own helplessness, my hands trembling slightly on the broom handle.

Kabir turned back to Meera and said coldly, "You don't want to marry Raja Saheb? That's fine. My mother and I were worried you'd create a scene and disgrace the Singh family. In that case... we'll just have to use other means."

There it was again—family honour, the age-old excuse. As if a woman’s wishes meant less than a rumour in the market.

As he spoke, he scribbled a few strokes in the air. Wisps of black mist curled, and a crooked Hindi letter for 'mute' gradually took shape. The smell of burnt camphor intensified, and the shadows along the walls deepened. My breath caught. That black mist seemed to chill the air around us. The strokes writhed like snakes, forming a letter I remembered from Hindi class back home.

I was stunned on the spot.

My mind raced: Was I hallucinating? But there it was—the familiar shape, though twisted and pulsing with a dark energy. A Hindi letter, in this world of magic.

Isn't that a Hindi letter?

That 'mute' letter was awkward and misshapen, yet it radiated a powerful force that made it hard to breathe.

My chest tightened as if an invisible fist had clamped down. I could almost hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Realising things were going wrong, Meera turned to run.

Her slippers barely made a sound as she darted towards the verandah. Hope flickered in her eyes—maybe she could still escape.

But the 'mute' letter seemed to come alive, slamming straight towards her.

Like a shadow, it twisted through the air, zeroing in on her. The other servants looked away, not daring to interfere.

She tried to shout, tried to call for help, but the sound at her lips was cut off. Her throat felt as if an invisible hand was strangling it. She clutched at her throat, her bangles jangling wildly, eyes darting to the Ganesh idol on the shelf as if seeking divine help. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make a sound.

It was terrifying, that sudden silence. She clutched her throat, eyes wide, but not a single syllable escaped. Not even a whisper.

Kabir looked down at Meera without a trace of pity. "The result is the same either way. Wouldn't it have been easier to listen from the start?"

He smirked, as if silencing her was nothing more than flicking dust off his kurta.

"Huh!"

Unable to speak, Meera could only spit at him.

She spat at his shoes, her jaw set with defiance. If she couldn’t use her voice, she’d show her disgust with whatever she had left.

"Wretch!"

Kabir was instantly enraged and raised his hand to slap her.

Meera, terrified, squeezed her eyes shut.

Her shoulders hunched as she braced herself, lips pressed into a thin line. I could see her breathing quicken, chest rising and falling.

But after a moment, the expected pain never came.

A hush fell over the room. Even the pigeons outside the window seemed to pause in flight.