Kundan | S01 EP9 = FIANL

The wind screamed like a tormented ghost, shaking the creaky windows and causing shivers in the half-darkened room. Something creaked in an unearthly manner in the house, after which there was a soft metallic clang. It seemed as if the night was alive, and it whispered something too horrific to reveal.

"What's the sound?" Annu grumbled to herself. She looked out at the garden where the soft light of the lantern had extinguished.

"Is it the breeze? Or perhaps something more?" Kundan asked himself, holding his blanket close to himself.

Outside, a distant voice was heard, a call soft and unmistakable. It was not the cry of a human—it sounded guttural, almost bestial. The hairs on the back of Kundan's neck prickled.

"Annu!" a voice pierced the night—high, imperative.

Annu came to a standstill in her step, turning her head back over her shoulder. "Yes, mother?" she answered, her voice shaking.

"Don't venture into the garden tonight," her mother cautioned. "John Matthew is waiting out there."

She shivered at that name. "John Matthew?" she breathed aloud, clutching the doorframe for balance.

"Annu! Don't go to the garden!" her mother's voice was laced with an anguish that hushed the fading whispers of the wind.

The night was heavy and quiet, like a stalking cat. In the face of darkness, Kundan was wide awake, his eyes fixed on the dancing shadows on the ceiling. His thoughts were in turmoil, but his intuition bellowed for danger.

In the distance, Kanchan stood at the doorway, her face lit only by the soft moonlight. The fire that raged within her eyes belied the calm she was attempting to present.

"Kanchan," a voice surprised her—it was Choudhary Ji. He emerged into the faint light, his height looming, ominous.

"I have done my bit," he said softly. "The boy has crossed the garden. Now your turn. Play your last trick."

Kanchan nodded gravely. "Then let us begin."

At the same time, Kundan's tiny figure came out from the darkness of the house. Silently, he observed his grandmother venture out into the darkness, her shape vanishing in the garden's eerie clutches.

"Why is Grandma visiting the garden?" he thought. "She always visits there in the evening to talk with Grandpa, but not at this time."

His heart pounded. Tonight was not an ordinary night—it was Amavasya. He sensed something was amiss, something far more sinister than the tales he had heard.

Struggling with fear and curiosity, he muttered to himself, "Do I go with her? Or remain here?"

At the corner of his vision, he saw Annu hurrying out of the house. His aunt was not alone in this enigma.

"Masi?" Kundan whispered loudly, but she did not listen.

He mustered up his courage and went out into the chilly evening air. The night enveloped him, and the wind whistled through the leaves with a scornful tone for his boldness.

Annu's footsteps hesitated as she came to the border of the garden. The gate, creaky and half-opened, seemed to protest as the wind tried to close it. She heard a voice somewhere inside—a man's voice, known but twisted.

"Rajveer?" she breathed incredulously.

Her legs took over on their own, leading her further into the darkness of the garden. She fought her way through the trailing branches, her breath accelerating as the noises increased.

And there she spotted the hut—the dilapidated little hut that she had looked upon so many times. Only this time, it was tingling with a dim orange light permeating the gaps.

Kundan trailed from behind, his chest thumping so violently it threatened to expose his presence. He observed his aunt move towards the hut and peep through the shattered window.

"Masi." Kundan spoke softly, his voice quivering.

Before he was able to call out once more, a heart-wrenching shriek pierced the darkness.

Annu backed away, white in the face, her body quivering. Whatever she had seen within that hut had struck her with petrifying fear. Without realizing, Kundan ran to the window, his small hands on the sill, pushing himself back a little from fear, to dare peep inside.

What met his eyes was enough to draw the color out of his face.

His grandmother was inside standing by the fireplace, a sinister smile on her face. Nearby, a giant cauldron boiled fiercely, thick red stuff dripping into it from a salty bottle. Steam from the cauldron smelled of iron, hanging in the air.

But it wasn't the cauldron that petrified Kundan—it was the body lying on the cot beside it, still. His arm was attached to the saline tube, and his pale, dead face was unmistakable.

"Rajveer Bhaiya." Kundan gasped, his voice cracking.

The room burst into pandemonium as Kundan rushed into the hut, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"What are you doing, Grandma?" he wailed. "What have you done to Rajveer?"

Kanchan turned slowly, her eyes cold and unfocused. "What needed to be done," she said, her voice even.

"Are you crazy? You've murdered him!"

"No, Kundan," Kanchan answered, her voice unflinching. "He was required for the ritual. Without him, it cannot be finished."

"Ritual? What sort of craziness is this? You murdered Master Ji, didn't you?"

Kanchan's lips curved into a faint smile. "Yes," she replied.

"Why? Why would you do such a thing?"

"For your grandfather," Kanchan replied. "To restore him to his voice, his eyes. his senses. You cannot comprehend now, but someday you will realize why this was done."

Kundan glared at her, tears streaming down his face. "This isn't for Grandpa," he screamed. "This is madness!"