CHAPTER 1:- In Shadows Bound, the Forest Whispers

Rohila Bai looked at the children, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes clouded with memories too dark to be entirely her own. Mahima and Vijay sat motionless, caught between fear and fascination, the gloom of the overcast day pressing against the windows as if it, too, was drawn to the tale.

"Long ago," she began, her tone low and hypnotic, "this valley was not known for its beauty or its streams, nor for its peaceful green hills. No, this was a valley of terror, shrouded in stories that no one dared to tell by daylight. For in those days, the forests themselves had a master—one born not of the earth, but of darkness itself. A shadow that had no shape, a creature that lived within whispers. His name was...Garika."

Vijay shuddered, his small fingers gripping the edge of the bed. Mahima's face was pale but steady, her wide eyes reflecting the weight of her questions. Rohila continued, her voice carrying the weight of secrets whispered through generations.

"They called him a rakshasa," Rohila Bai continued, her voice a mere whisper, "though no one knew what he truly was. Some said he was once human, a man who had traded his soul for power, consumed by greed and hunger. Others believed he was born of the shadows, a thing that prowled the earth before man, before beast—a force that belonged to the night. But all knew one thing… Garika could take any form he wished. He would slip between the trees, stretch like smoke into the night, and with a mere glance, he could twist your very mind, bending your thoughts to his will. People would hear their names called from the shadows, see visions of loved ones beckoning them into the depths of the forest… and those who followed him were never seen again."

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink into the silence of the room. The children hung on her every word, caught in the grip of the tale, their faces pale, their eyes unblinking.

Rohila Bai's face darkened. "No birds nested in those forests. They were too wise, too attuned to things we cannot see. And every night, just as the sun fell below the hills, the villagers would hear a sound—a strange, low hum, like a chant or a call, rising from the forest depths. They say it was Garika's voice, calling to the night, summoning the shadows that swirled around him. And slowly, people began to vanish… hunters, villagers, travelers who dared the roads at night. They were drawn into the forest and lost to the dark."

"Then," she said, "there came a time when King Gaurinarayan ruled these lands. The people, filled with dread, could bear it no longer. Their prayers reached the king's ears, pleading for protection, for something to be done to rid them of Garika's shadow. But the king, wise and cautious, knew the risk. Garika was no mere beast to be hunted; he was a force older than men's words. Yet, with his people living in fear, the king could not remain silent."

Mahima's eyes flashed with something like admiration. Her gaze drifted to the window, where dark clouds had gathered, casting an eerie, greenish light over the hills beyond.

"He called forth his four most trusted commanders," Rohila Bai continued, her voice lowering, "warriors who had proven their loyalty time and again. They were strong and cunning, their blades swift, their resolve unwavering. But even they could not have known what awaited them in those woods. The king commanded them to enter the forest at dusk, each armed with ancient talismans blessed to ward off evil, hoping these would give them strength against the darkness within."

Vijay's mouth opened, and Rohila Bai could see the question forming on his lips, but he was too entranced to speak. She leaned closer, her voice sinking into a whisper.

"When they entered the forest, night fell swiftly. It was as though the sky itself closed its eyes, and a blackness deeper than any they'd known covered the world. And then… it began." Rohila's voice trembled ever so slightly, a note of something deep and unspoken creeping into her tone. "The trees seemed to come alive, their branches creaking and groaning as though they were warning them to turn back. But the commanders pushed on, their men following close, though they felt eyes watching them from every corner."

The children sat spellbound, their breaths quiet, their eyes wide. Rohila herself seemed momentarily lost in the tale, her voice distant as though remembering each detail personally.

"They say that night in the forest was filled with screams," she whispered. "But it wasn't the cries of the men alone. It was as though a thousand voices joined them—voices of those long dead, trapped, their souls twisted into something unnatural. And as dawn broke… there was a terrible silence, a silence that only comes when something dark has been stirred."

She stopped for a moment, collecting her thoughts, before her voice dropped even lower. "When the morning light crept over the valley, only one of the commanders returned to the palace, his body battered and torn. He stumbled into the court, half-alive, his skin ashen, his breath faint. The king himself knelt beside him, desperate to know what had happened. And with his dying breath, the commander revealed the terrible truth."

A shadow passed over Rohila Bai's face, and she looked away, as if the weight of her own words were too great to bear. The children watched her, their own fear mingling with a dread curiosity, the horror unfolding before their young minds like an inevitable storm.

"He said," she continued, her voice scarcely a whisper, "that one of the other commanders… had betrayed them. This man had made a deal with Garika, offering himself, his body, as a vessel for the dark force. He believed that by binding himself to Garika, he would gain power beyond any man. But what he failed to understand was that Garika had no mercy, no restraint. The creature consumed him, body and soul, twisting him into a thing that was neither man nor beast—a monster, bound by the curse of his own betrayal."

Rohila's voice broke into a chilling, whispered rhyme, an ancient verse passed down from a time none could recall. She recited softly:

"In darkness he calls, from the depths he will rise,

The forest his kingdom, the night his disguise."

"From that day forward," Rohila said, "the forest belonged to Garika. He roamed freely, clothed in the body of that traitorous commander, twisting it to his will. The creature he became was neither alive nor dead, a figure of rot and shadow that called to all who dared wander too close. And the forest itself responded, growing denser, darker, and drawing in those it could claim as its own."

A hush fell over the room, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside. Mahima's face was pale, her lips parted, as if she were struggling to find words that would not come. Vijay stared at the floor, his eyes wide with terror, his small hands trembling.

"Amma…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Does he still… does he still roam the forest?"

Rohila Bai looked at them, her expression unreadable, and a long silence followed. She glanced toward the window, where the trees swayed beneath the weight of the storm, dark and impenetrable.

For a moment, she seemed to weigh her words carefully. She could feel the air thickening, the past merging with the present, and something deep within her urged her to stop, to spare the children the rest of this tale. But she could see Mahima's eyes, filled with fierce, unrelenting curiosity, and Vijay's trembling gaze fixed on her as if she alone could offer them the truth.

"There is more to tell," she murmured, almost to herself, her voice low and hesitant. "But some stories… are best left unfinished."

Mahima, her voice shaky but determined, whispered, "Please, Amma… tell us more."

Rohila Bai sat there, her frail form a stark contrast to the shadows gathering around her, the silence of the room heavy with the unspoken horrors that still lingered. She hesitated, as though debating whether to reveal what lay in the darkness or protect them from the truths best left buried. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the trees outside swayed beneath the dark clouds, almost as if they, too, were listening.

She turned back to the children, her expression solemn, her eyes glinting with something almost fearful.