The mansion stood cloaked in shadows, its once-grand corridors now dim with the passage of time and secrets too heavy to bear. Rohila Bai walked its length, her slippered feet barely making a sound against the cold stone floor. Her fingers brushed against the peeling walls, memories flooding her mind like a haunting melody—the songs of the forest, cursed and eternal, still echoing faintly in the recesses of her mind.
The folklores had grown quiet over the years, reduced to whispers carried by the wind, but within these walls, they remained alive. The haunted nights were etched into the corners of the mansion like stubborn stains that refused to fade. As she crossed the corridor, her gaze lingered on the heavy curtains swaying slightly despite the absence of a breeze. Her voice, quiet but firm, broke the stillness.
"Uma, ready the curtains in the guest room," she instructed a young maid who was hurrying past. The girl nodded without hesitation and vanished down the hallway, her retreating figure a blur of muted colors in the dim light.
Rohila Bai paused at the grand staircase, her eyes drawn to the line of portraits that adorned the walls. Each frame held the likeness of a British officer, a high-ranking figure, or a member of the family she had served for decades. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her movements, lifeless yet watchful, as if they knew the secrets buried within these walls.
She clutched the railing, her knuckles whitening as memories surged unbidden. That night—the night of horror that had claimed her master and so much more—was a burden she carried alone, shared only with a few remaining members of the family. The common folk were kept in ignorance; the truth was too monstrous, too unnatural to be spoken aloud.
Her thoughts were broken by the sound of a soft, melodic voice.
"Rohila Bai."
She turned sharply, startled, and saw Sulochna stepping into view from a corridor near the staircase. Sulochna's presence was striking, her beauty both delicate and commanding. She was young, in her late twenties, with almond-shaped eyes that glimmered with intelligence and curiosity. Her long, dark hair was tied loosely behind her, with a few tendrils framing her sharp features. She wore a pale pink saree, embroidered with silver threads, the fabric hugging her slender form with grace. A faint perfume of jasmine lingered around her, a scent that always seemed to precede her presence.
Sulochna tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "What happened? This is the first time in years I've seen you so deep in thought."
Rohila Bai straightened, forcing a weary smile. "It's nothing, Sulochna Beti. Just the mind of an old woman playing tricks on her. Symptoms of my age." She waved her hand dismissively, though her grip on the railing betrayed her unease.
Sulochna stepped closer, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you sure? You seemed… troubled."
Rohila Bai hesitated before speaking, her voice soft. "It is nothing, really. Just memories. Have you seen the children? They have been unusually quiet today."
Sulochna sighed, crossing her arms. "Ah, Mahima! That girl has stolen another book from my shelf—something not meant for her age. She has always been curious, hasn't she? I'll speak to her. The children are in their room, I presume?"
Rohila Bai nodded. "Yes, they are."
With a smile that carried both fondness and mild irritation, Sulochna turned and began walking toward the children's room. Her saree swayed lightly with each step, the soft jingling of her anklets fading as she disappeared down the corridor.
The smile on Rohila Bai's face faded as she turned back toward the staircase. Her expression tightened, the lines of worry on her face deepening. She had lived long enough to know that peace was fleeting, and today carried the weight of something unseen.
A sudden knock, loud and urgent, echoed through the mansion, pulling her from her thoughts. The sound reverberated through the grand hall, its force sending a faint tremor through the air. Startled, Rohila Bai turned toward the main door, its black wood reinforced with intricate iron rods. The sound came again, louder this time, shaking her from her thoughts.
She hurried toward the entrance, her steps quick despite her age. As she approached, she saw Vivek and Sumitra standing near the door, their posture poised yet uneasy. Sumitra, dressed in a simple but elegant maroon saree, adjusted her pallu nervously, her eyes flicking toward the door. Vivek, in his crisp white shirt and charcoal-colored vest, exchanged a glance with her before signaling a male servant to open it.
The door creaked open, revealing the figure standing just beyond.
Rohila Bai's eyes widened slightly as the man stepped inside, his presence commanding the room. He was tall, with a lean yet sturdy frame draped in a long black coat that billowed slightly as he moved. Beneath it, he wore a finely tailored black suit, a crisp white shirt, and black trousers that disappeared into polished boots. His hair, dark and slightly disheveled, gave him an air of rugged sophistication.
He paused in the doorway, his piercing eyes scanning the room. There was something enigmatic about him, a quiet intensity that seemed to draw all attention. He carried an aura of both confidence and mystery, as though he belonged to another time, another story.
Vivek stepped forward, extending his hand with a warm smile. "Mr. Roy, thank you for coming so early. It's an honor to finally meet you."
The man stepped further inside, his handshake firm and deliberate. "Rudra," he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence, sharp and controlled. "That will suffice."
Vivek gestured toward his wife. "This is my wife, Sumitra."
Sumitra folded her hands in greeting, her movements measured and graceful. "Namaste," she said softly.
Rudra nodded, returning the gesture with equal respect. "Namaste."
As Rohila Bai stood quietly to the side, observing the exchange, she felt a strange sensation wash over her. There was something about Rudra Roy that unsettled her—not in a way that invoked fear, but in a way that awakened an old, forgotten feeling. Hope.
But hope was a dangerous thing in this mansion. It came with its own shadows, its own whispers.
"Rohila Bai," Vivek called, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. "Please ensure that Mr. Roy is comfortable. He has traveled far, and the storm hasn't been kind."
"Of course, Sir," she replied, inclining her head respectfully.
As she turned to lead Rudra to the guest room, she couldn't help but steal a glance at him. His presence felt almost too solid, too real for this place. And as she caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror, she thought she saw something strange.
For a fleeting moment, his reflection seemed to move independently, its expression darker, more knowing. Rohila blinked, her heart skipping a beat, but when she looked again, everything was as it should be.
"Right this way, Mr. Roy," she said, her voice steady despite the unease stirring within her.
Rudra followed her silently, his footsteps echoing faintly in the vast hall. As they walked, the storm outside grew closer, the first drops of rain tapping against the windows. The air grew heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.
As they reached the guest room, Rudra paused, his gaze lingering on the ornate carvings of the doorframe. "This house," he murmured, almost to himself, "has seen much, hasn't it?"
Rohila Bai hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob. "Yes," she said quietly, "more than anyone outside these walls will ever know."
He turned his gaze to her, his eyes searching. "And yet, the stories remain."
"Some stories are best left untold," she replied, opening the door with a quiet creak.
Rudra stepped inside, his movements deliberate, as though he were stepping into another world. For a moment, Rohila Bai stood in the doorway, watching him. And as he turned back to meet her gaze, a faint smile played on his lips—one that seemed to hold more than just politeness.
Outside, the rain began to fall in earnest, its rhythm steady and unyielding. And somewhere in the distance, past the forest and its secrets, the golden light flickered once more.