Several more years have slipped away. The village is now almost deserted. Those few who remain lock their doors and windows tightly at night, but they know—the whispers from the well pay no attention to locks or bolts. Radharani is still alive, though her body has withered away—skin shriveled and folded like old paper, eyes sunken into deep hollows. She no longer steps outside her house during the day. Only on full-moon nights does she make her slow way to the mango grove and sit at the edge of the well. Around her now, the number of shadows has grown—five, six… each one small, each one with a red thread tied around its neck.
A new girl came to the village—her name was Priya. She was eighteen. Her parents worked in the city, but Priya had come to her grandfather's house in the village to focus on her studies. Her grandfather had warned her: "Don't stay out at night in this village. Never go outside after dark." But Priya had laughed it off. She was modern, didn't believe in ghosts or curses.
One full-moon night, Priya woke from sleep. In her ears came whispers—many voices blending together:
"Priya… come… we're playing… come join us…"
She thought it was a dream. But her feet began to move on their own, carrying her toward the mango grove. When she reached the well, she saw Radharani sitting there, surrounded by the shadows. Manik, Arnab, Riya… and several other unfamiliar faces. All of them were reaching out toward her with pale, cold hands.
Radharani lifted her head. Her voice now came as many voices fused into one:
"You are the last. With you, the well will be full. We will all stay together… no one will ever be alone… ever again."
Priya tried to step back, but her feet were rooted to the ground. A freezing wind rose from inside the well—like thousands of hands pulling at her. She tried to scream, but no sound came. Her throat closed. Only a faint whisper escaped her lips:
"I… am cold… so very cold…"
In the morning, the villagers searched but could not find Priya. In her grandfather's house, only one thing remained: a new wooden doll lying on her bed—made to look exactly like Priya, a red thread knotted tightly around its neck. At the edge of the well now stood seven shadows. They held hands in the moonlight, swaying gently as though dancing.
Radharani no longer walks. She sits by the well all day long. The darkness has left her eyes—replaced by a strange, eerie peace. Because she knows—the well is nearly full. Only a few more victims remain. When it is finally complete, the curse will not end… it will begin anew. Because then Radharani and her "children" will rise from the well. They will leave the empty village and move to the cities. They will find new houses, new wells. And they will whisper:
"Come… we are waiting… now it's your family's turn."
The last person left the village. Now the mango grove stands completely silent. Only on full-moon nights does laughter rise from the well's edge—laughter of many small voices. And through it all, one old woman's voice says:
"We are all together… forever… the game will go on…"