Chapter 4: The Girl in White

4

The cab fell silent for a while.

Outside, the sound of the wind mingled with the steady hum of my engine. For a moment, all our fears felt distant—just shadows at the edge of the headlights.

On the pitch-black ghat road, only our vehicle moved.

It was as if we were the only souls awake in the entire Western Ghats, the world reduced to just this truck and the whisper of rubber on tar.

The downhill lane beside us ran right along the cliff edge, with banyan trees sprouting from the rock face, their branches jutting out wildly.

Their roots hung in the air like ancient arms, grasping at nothing. Here and there, I caught glimpses of vermillion stains and old cloth tied to branches—a sign that people still feared the spirits that haunted these roads.

At night, their claw-like shadows stretched across the road, always unsettling.

I remembered Dadi’s tales, told under the flicker of a hurricane lamp, of witches who roamed these very bends after sundown.

"Beta, what’s your name?" I broke the silence, glancing at the girl in Anjali’s arms.

My voice was gentle, the way I’d speak to my niece after a nightmare. I wanted her to feel safe.

The girl seemed surprised I asked her directly. She sat up, as if to answer, but then frowned and hesitated.

Her lips parted, then closed again. She looked to her mother, uncertainty plain on her face.

"Your brother is Kabir. What about you? Beta, what’s your name?"

I waited, patient, the way my school principal used to when someone forgot their answer in class.

The girl slowly opened her mouth, as if to reply, but Anjali pulled her back into her arms.

She hugged her tight, as though to shield her from something she couldn’t name.

"My daughter’s name is Riya—Riya as in ‘singer.’ Her Dadaji named her," Anjali said with a smile.

Her smile wavered, but there was pride in her voice. In our country, a name is a blessing, a hope for the future.

The girl was stunned for a moment, then nodded, but instead of leaning back into Anjali’s arms, she sat by the window on her own.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching the shadows flicker past. I caught her reflection in the window—eyes shining, lost in thought.

5

By now, it was well past midnight, and even the moon had vanished.

The darkness felt thicker, pressing in from all sides. Even the stars seemed to hide behind clouds.

This ghat road was remote, lit only by the truck’s headlights.

Every pothole and bump jolted us, and the only other light was the glow from my dashboard, the needle of the speedometer quivering.

Suddenly—

A sudden chill swept through the cab, and my fingers tightened on the wheel.

"Someone!" the girl screamed.

Her voice cut through the silence. She pointed out the window with shaking hands.

Anjali and Old Mehra both looked out the window at once, but saw nothing.

I slowed down, squinting into the darkness. The road outside was empty, just the shadows of the banyan trees.

Anjali patted the girl’s head. "There’s no one out here in the middle of the night. You must be seeing things."

She tried to sound soothing, but her eyes darted nervously across the road, as if half-believing her own denial.

"No!"

The girl insisted, "I saw her clearly—it was a girl in a floral dress, just standing by the roadside, watching us!"

Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away, stubborn as only the young can be when they know what they’ve seen.