I believed that a cremation ground belonged only to the dead…
until that night, when someone in the darkness began counting my breaths.
It was Amavasya.
And that night, no one touched me.
I placed my own hand
on that tantric mark —
a mark that, once touched,
either leaves people dead…
or leaves them no longer themselves.
It was an Amavasya night.
A night when the sky is not just dark, but empty.
No moon, no stars. As if someone had taken the light out of the sky and placed it elsewhere. The wind moved in broken pauses, like an old man's chest that hesitates before taking a deep breath.
I was standing by the banks of the Ganga.
The Ganga, that never stops flowing.
That never pauses.
That washes away every sin.
But that night…
the Ganga was flowing, yet it was not moving.
The water was black. Not the black of soil, but the black of night. Heavy. Dense. As if it was not water, but the accumulation of something else. Even the faint light falling on it did not return. The reflection was distorted. Even my face did not look like mine.
For a moment, I felt the river was watching me.
I looked away.
The cremation ground was nearby. Very nearby.
So close that the smell of burning pyres reached my nose with the wind. Burning ghee, half-burnt wood, and ash mixed into a scent that exists only in one place. A place where life performs its final duty.
A pyre was burning.
But the nature of the fire was strange.
It did not flicker.
It did not bend with the wind. It did not grow stronger or weaker. The fire seemed frozen while burning. Perfectly straight. Perfectly calm. I had never seen such fire before. Fire is alive. But this… this was alive while standing still.
Ash was scattered on the ground. Bone fragments. Half-burnt clothes. And among them, etched into the earth, was a symbol. Not a circle. Not a line. But a convergence of lines that felt wrong the moment you looked at it.
A tantric symbol.
I did not know its name.
But the body recognizes what the mind refuses to accept.
There was no sound from the nearby village. No dogs barking. No insects. A silence so deep that your ears begin to search for sound on their own.
I remembered what the villagers had said.
"Do not go near the cremation ground on Amavasya."
"Names are not spoken tonight."
"Things listen on this night."
Red threads were tied on their doors. Lemons hung. Pieces of iron. Old practices that the modern mind laughs at.
I laughed too.
I was logical.
I believed fear was a habit, and habits can be broken.
That is why I was there.
That was when I felt it for the first time.
As if someone was standing behind me.
Directly behind me. Very close.
The hair on my neck stood up.
I turned instantly.
No one.
Just the cremation ground. Just the pyre. Just the night.
"Delusion," I told myself.
And then…
a faint breath passed near my ear.
So close
that if I had moved even an inch, it would have touched my skin.
I held my breath.
My heart was pounding, but my mind still searched for logic. Wind. Fatigue. Imagination.
My eyes went back to the symbol on the ground.
Near it, something wet caught my attention. Like blood. But when I looked closely, it was dry. Old. Very old.
I do not know why…
but my hand moved forward on its own.
As if someone else had moved it.
As if something was saying —
do not look, touch and see.
Just as my fingers were about to touch the symbol, my mind screamed, stop.
But my body did not.
I placed my hand on it.
In that instant, my entire wrist went cold.
A cold that does not come from outside, but from within. My heartbeat skipped for a moment. My breath tangled.
I wanted to pull my hand away.
But it felt stuck.
And then…
someone spoke from the darkness.
"You have been here before."
The voice did not enter my ears. It landed straight inside my chest.
It did not take my name.
But I knew it was speaking to me.
"I am here for the first time," I said.
Or maybe I thought it. I do not remember.
The voice was not laughter.
But it carried a reassurance that felt wrong.
"The body lies," the voice said.
"Memory says something else."
My hand suddenly came free.
I almost fell backward.
And in that very moment —
the fire of the pyre went out in a single jolt.
Completely.
As if someone had switched it off.
The darkness grew deeper.
And in the middle of the cremation ground, where only fire had been moments ago…
a figure was standing.
Not fully human.
Not fully a shadow.
Its face was unclear.
But its eyes…
They were looking at me.
And in that moment, I understood —
No one had chosen me.
I had opened the door myself.