In the soft afternoon light, I found myself once more near the idols the goddess sculpture that sat beneath the sacred arch, her expression calm, radiant, and knowing. She looked especially beautiful today adorned in the same necklace the administrator had offered.
For a moment, I stood still.
Something inside me was changing. Ever since I had served tea to Bade Ustaad, it was as if a quiet strength had started blooming inside me. I no longer trembled near the almirah, though I still avoided the shelves that held bottled things especially that snake in glass that had once stared into me. The fear hadn't vanished completely, but it no longer ruled me.
That night, something else stirred.
From the faint gap in the gallery window, I saw Chhota Ustaad return, not alone. A woman stepped into his room cloaked in a faint perfume, her presence hesitant yet familiar.
After some time, she came out hurriedly, as if chased by silence. Her purse slipped as she turned and in that brief moment, the lamplight caught something.
A necklace.
The necklace.
The same one that had once glowed on the goddess.
Chhota Ustaad's room was dim, and he lay back on his bed in a drunken stillness. No kriya tonight. No chants, no rituals. The house was unusually quiet the disciples had either gone home early or vanished into their rooms.
I whispered the incident to my uncle hesitantly, unsure.
He went pale.
"That woman?" he said. "She's the divorced sister of the tea seller outside. She comes to Chhota Ustaad... for remedies, kriyas, for her future marriage. That's all."
Then I told him what I saw the necklace, the idol.
His face changed.
He slapped me across the cheek, not hard but hard enough to say shut your truth.
"That's none of your business," he muttered.
"You're here to sweep, not to judge."
And just like that, the moment shut like a door.
But I had seen it.
And my uncle's hand may have silenced me but his silence spoke louder.
I turned away, eyes burning, and went to sleep without speaking again, curling near my corner like someone hugging secrets in the dark.
The morning came like any other slow, grey, soft with smoke.
During the daily pooja, something was missing.
The necklace.The idol once adorned in divine shimmer now stood bare.
I looked around. No one spoke of it. No one dared.
Chhota Ustaad sat quietly during the rituals, his voice dim, his spine hunched like a man thinking too much.
His usual anger sharp as a slap was dulled today. He barely shouted.
He didn't even correct the younger disciples' chants.
I glanced at my uncle, silently.
He turned away.
That was answer enough.
In the afternoon, as has become routine, I carried a cup of tea to Bade Ustaad.
His room smelled like earth after rain and soft sandalwood.
He sat like always wrapped in silence that wasn't empty, but full.
Today, while sipping his tea, he looked at me and asked softly:
"Can you read?"
I nodded."A little. I like stories… kings and queens. Battles. Magic sometimes."
He dismissed me gently with a nod.
I returned to my duties.
That night, I lay near the gallery again. Chhota Ustaad's window was just above where I slept, and his voice floated down into the quiet like a slow wind.
He wasn't alone.
Angira his favourite disciple, was with him the one who followed him like a shadow. They weren't chanting tonight.
They were whispering.
Their voices were low, cautious… but not cautious enough for my ears.
They were talking about forbidden kriyas.
Not the kind performed in public under mantras and fire.
These were darker rituals, whispered between guru and chosen shishya.
They were whispering, but not carefully enough.
"I'm tired of this," Chhota Ustaad muttered. "These rules of the gaddi… Bade Ustaad watching every move... He acts like he's some god."
Angira's voice replied softly, "Why don't we take the dark kriya deeper? Why keep going outside? Let the ashram see our real power."
Chhota Ustaad laughed dryly.
"I would… but he always gets in the way. That old man disturbs me at the wrong time. I think even he hides something.
Maybe he is linked to a dark deity only plays the good man."
There was silence, then a low reply.
"We'll soon master the dark deity. Then he won't stand in our way."
They both fell quiet for a moment. Then Angira asked:
"Why not replace him? Why not take the gaddi?"
Chhota Ustaad's reply came slowly, like smoke curling out from something burning inside.
"That throne... it's cursed."
"I don't want it."
"It calls its own. But it doesn't free them."
He sounded strangely serious now.
"Once you sit there, you belong to it. You can't leave the ashram, not even for a day. Snake bites, death shadows they follow the owner.
Bade Ustaad never leaves.
The old disciples say he went out once, long ago. No one alive has seen it."
"The throne brings followers. Money. Offerings.
But none of it belongs to the one who sits there.
You can't use a rupee. Not even for family.
That's the law."
Then Angira said what I had been sensing all along:
"This forbiden( dark) tantra is draining you. Your face, your mood… it's getting worse."
Chhota Ustaad replied sharply:
"I'll recover. I have my ways. Don't worry about me."
Angira left soon after.
From the sound of it, Chhota Ustaad drank again that night.I heard the clinking of a glass.
And somewhere between sleep and shadow, I heard him whisper:"
Lila…",
"Lila... when will we be together forever?"
I didn't understand.
But I fell asleep with a strange curiosity tightening in my chest.