The warm glow of sunlight spills through the narrow streets, painting everything in gold. Stalls stand at every corner-overflowing ki Hindu gods, and countless puja essentials.

From children to the elderly, everyone has their own little stall. Voices rise and fall in the air-vendors calling, temple bells ringing, priests chanting mantras that blend with the hum of the crowd.

People move like a living river, flowing through the chaos. Traffic lights blink uselessly; no one stops for them. Some are pushed, others push back. Cows walk calmly through the madness, unbothered. Dogs nap in the shade. Monkeys leap across wires above.

To an outsider, it's noisy, restless-too much. But to those who live here, this is home. This is Hindustan, where peace breathes through the chaos.

No one complains. Even when someone gets shoved, they smile and keep walking. Because this is how it has always been. This is life here.

Everyone comes seeking something-peace, hope, redemption, perhaps themselves.

At the ghats, the rhythm changes. The scent of incense and smoke fills the air. Aghoris, Brahmins, and Sadhus sit in meditation-bodies covered in ash, eyes closed, faces serene. Some chant "Har Har Mahadev!", their voices rising above the sound of the flowing Ganga.

Parents bring their children to the Aghoris for blessings. The holy men brush their heads gently with sacred brooms, murmuring prayers under their breath, eyes half-closed in trance.

And among all this life-there is death.

Bodies wrapped in white lie near the water, waiting to meet the fire. Families stand by quietly, watching the smoke rise, whispering final words that disappear into the wind.

Here, death isn't the end. It's release.

People don't come here to die-they come here to be free.

The truth of this place can't be explained. It's built on faith, devotion, and something far beyond words.

This is Varanasi.

The holy land of Bharat.

The ancient Kashi-the City of Light.

Before it is Banaras, it was Kashi-a name that means "the shining one." They say Lord Shiva himself once walked these ghats for his devotees. The name isn't just spoken; it's felt.

Kashi isn't just a place. It's a bridge-between life and death, between soul and eternity.

Those who come here at the end of their journey are not ordinary. They are seekers who have spent lifetimes preparing for this moment. Soon, their bodies will turn to ash-ashes that Shiva wears like ornaments.

And why not? What could be more sacred than what remains after surrender-the dust of a soul that has returned to the universe?

Amid this holy chaos, a girl walks silently. Her dark blue kurti sways with the breeze, her hair dances across her face. A small bindi rests on her forehead; silver jhumkas shimmer at her ears. Around her wrist is a single bracelet-gifted by her mother.

Beside her walks a man with a camera hanging from his neck. He moves with quiet fascination, capturing moments as they pass-the faces, the flames, the faith. Every few steps, he stops, lifts his camera, and clicks, freezing what words could never capture.

"How can something feel so different," he murmurs, "when we've lived in the same country all our lives?"

She doesn't answer. She knows these streets, their history, their pulse. For her, it's not surprise-it's reverence.

"Man, this place is unbelievable," he says again, shaking his head.

She smiles faintly, still lost in her thoughts.

"Don't you feel it?" he asks. "Like... everything inside you just goes quiet?"

Her gaze drifts toward the ghats. She blinks slowly, the sound of the river echoing in her chest.

"It's not that I don't feel it," she says softly. "I just don't know what I'm feeling."

She came here with a wish-a prayer she's carried for years. She believes whoever comes to Kashi never leaves empty-handed. She needs that strength, that energy-to move forward, to finish the dream still waiting for her.

"I get that," he says with a smile. "This place... it's heaven."

She only hums, her eyes tracing the smoke rising into the blue.

Together, they walk on-through the noise, the chants, the holy air-

into the heart of Kashi,

where even chaos feels like peace.

The day fades into evening, and as darkness descends, the ghats of Banaras begin to glow with new life. The warm light of the setting sun slowly softens, dissolving into the river's ripples. People move in one direction now, drawn by the same silent call.

It is time for the moment that captures every soul- the Ganga Aarti.

The air shifts. The sound of bells, the rhythm of conch shells, and the murmur of hundreds of footsteps fill the night. The Ganga Aarti carries a weight of emotion-pure, sacred, and ancient-touched by the divine hands of the gods themselves.

Goddess Ganga, the daughter of Parvat Raja Himavan, the King of the Himalayas- the elder sister of Maa Shakti, the one so pure that even the Tridev hold her sacred.

Her name alone can move hearts. For those who understand devotion, even her mention is enough to make them lose themselves in reverence.

It is said that anyone who bathes in the Ganga with true faith and purity washes away every sin-and finds the path toward light.

For some, the Ganga may seem like just another river, even a polluted one. But for those who have tasted devotion, who have drowned their hearts in faith- the Ganga is the purest of all. She is life itself.

The girl and the man move with the crowd, following the flow toward Manikarnika Ghat, where the Ganga Aarti is about to begin.

Manikarnika-the sacred ghat of fire and liberation. The ghat that connects directly to Lord Shiva.

Every soul who visits Varanasi finds their way here, to feel the blessings of Maa Ganga.

As they arrive, the sight before them steals their breath.

The entire ghat is alive-crowded, glowing, vibrating with devotion. The sound of bells echoes against the water, and the river mirrors the flicker of countless flames.

A line of pandits stands by the edge of the Ganga, each holding a great brass lamp in one hand. The lamps burn with golden fire, sending waves of light and calm fragrance across the ghats.

To an onlooker, the lamps might appear heavy, impossible to hold with such grace. But to those who lift them with faith, they feel weightless-

as though the light itself carries them.

The chants grow louder.

The conch shells blow again.

Flames dance to the rhythm of devotion.

And for a moment, time stands still.

Every sound, every face, every flicker of light merges into one divine heartbeat-the soul of Kashi.

The rhythm of bells grows louder, rising like a heartbeat that echoes through the night.

And then, with a powerful chant of-

"Om Namah Parvati Pataye, Har Har Mahadev!"

-the Aarti begins.

The sound ripples through the air, deep and ancient, carried by a thousand voices that merge into one.

The pandits move in perfect harmony, circling their great brass lamps in sacred patterns. The flames dance with their motion-rising, bowing, and spinning like golden waves of devotion. Every movement feels deliberate, divine.

The chants grow stronger. The conch shells wail again. The mantras weave through the air like invisible threads connecting every heart to something higher.

The Ganga shimmers under the glow of countless flames, her surface turning liquid gold. The smoke of incense curls upward, mingling with the scent of ghee and sandalwood. The reflection of the fire dances upon the water-alive, breathing, eternal.

People stand with folded hands, eyes closed, lips whispering silent prayers. Some cry quietly, some smile through tears.

The girl watches in silence, her breath caught somewhere between awe and surrender. Beside her, the man lowers his camera for the first time. Even he knows-some moments can't be captured, only felt.

As the chants rise- "Har Har Mahadev!"-the whole ghat seems to tremble, alive with devotion.

For a moment, everything-the water, the fire, the voices, the souls-melts into one rhythm, the rhythm of Kashi itself.

As the chants rise higher, the girl's thoughts begin to drift. The sound of the bells, the glow of the flames-it all pulls her somewhere far away, into a memory she thought she had forgotten.

She sees a little girl holding her mother's hand, standing at this very ghat, watching the same Ganga Aarti.

The same golden light.

The same sacred chants.

The same crowd standing shoulder to shoulder, their eyes lifted toward the fire.

Everything feels exactly as it was.

Yet everything is distant-fading, blurred, like a dream that refuses to come into focus.

The memory shimmers at the edge of her mind, soft and painful,

as though it wants to stay hidden...

but the heart remembers anyway.

"This... this is the same place," she whispers, her eyes tracing every familiar corner, every ripple of the river, as if the memory itself is etched in the air.

"What?" The man beside her tilts his head, his gaze flickering toward her, confusion softening his features.

She blinks, startled, realizing the words have slipped out without thought. "Huh?" she murmurs, her face a mirror of her own bewilderment.

"You just said... this is the same place. What do you mean?" His voice is gentle, curious, but edged with surprise.

"Really? I said that?" Her own voice is uncertain, tinged with awe. He nods.

She turns back toward the river, trying to weave together fragments of memory, but they tangle more tightly the harder she tries. "I... I think I've been here before," she admits softly, almost to herself.

The man stares at her, genuine confusion crossing his face. "How... how can that be? This is your first time here, Dhanvi," he says, his tone edged with disbelief.

"I... I don't know," she murmurs, hands tightening slightly at her sides. The words feel strange even as they leave her lips.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Maybe it's the pull of Banaras," he says, eyes twinkling with amusement. "An ancient city like this... it has a way of making everyone feel like they've been here before."

She exhales slowly, letting the warmth of his words settle around her, though the pull of memory lingers, elusive and haunting.

"Maybe you're right, Prem..." Dhanvi whispers. The crowd has gathered now at the edge of the ghat, their voices a soft murmur beneath the gentle rustle of the night. One by one, diyas are being set afloat, their golden flames dancing on the river's surface, spreading a warm, tranquil glow.

Dhanvi and Prem step forward, each taking a diya from a nearby tray. The river before them shimmers under the moonlight, mingling silver and gold in its gentle waves. It looks almost otherworldly-pure, serene, divine. For a moment, it feels as though time itself has paused, and anyone standing here could easily lose themselves in its beauty.

They light their diyas together, the tiny flames flickering to life. Slowly, they lower them onto the water. The diyas settle gracefully, floating like delicate lotuses, drifting downstream with the current.

They watch in quiet reverence, hearts touched by the simplicity and the peace of the moment.

Dhanvi closes her eyes, placing her hand gently over her heart. A silent prayer escapes her lips, carried by the light and the river, blending with the golden glow around her.

She is here for a purpose, for a wish she has carried for as long as she can remember-a wish that will finally see the light in the upcoming time.

"Hey Ganga Maiya..." Her voice trembles slightly, soft yet commanding, letting the sacred ambiance wrap around her. "You know why I am here. Please... make it true. Let the secrets emerge. Let me succeed in my mission. Let the truth be revealed."

Her words are desperate, yet each syllable carries an ironclad determination. "Let me succeed... guide me, bless me, so the mysteries of that forest awaken, and the forgotten truths come to light..."

"I am beginning my journey in a few days, and I will need your blessings. I know you will not let me falter." She opens her eyes slowly, the glow of devotion illuminating her face.

She folds her hands, murmuring a final prayer before standing. Prem rises as well, having completed his own silent plea.

Dhanvi draws a deep breath, turning toward him, curiosity and warmth in her gaze. "What did you ask for?"

Prem hesitates, then whispers, almost shyly, "Nothing... just for your success." His voice carries a quiet honesty, wrapped in subtle restraint, as if the truth alone is enough.

They stand together for a moment, gazing at the diyas drifting along the river, letting the light of the moon, the water, and their shared prayers fill the space between them with calm, hope, and silent promise.

The glow of the diya trembled upon the surface of the water, its golden light weaving gentle ripples that kissed the darkness around it. Dhanvi's eyes followed it with a quiet devotion, her gaze reflecting that same molten gold - as though the flame had chosen her soul to dwell in for a moment.

Prem stood beside her, silent, his features carved in the half-light - a portrait of conflict and restraint. There was disbelief in his stillness, a hesitation that lingered like unshed words. He watched her faith float away on that small, flickering light, unsure whether to trust what she believed... or what he feared.

Then, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the fragile stillness between them. The sound echoed against the water, jarring the serenity of that sacred moment.

Prem's hand moved slowly to his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and the glow of it lit the tension in his eyes.

The name blinking there made his breath falter - Dhanvi's father.

"Dhanvi, it's your father's call," Prem said, his voice carrying a note of unease. "I completely forgot-he's called me several times, asking where we are and when we're coming back."

Dhanvi's eyes widened. "Then what are you waiting for? Pick it up, now."

Prem blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, realizing he'd been standing frozen with the phone in hand. He fumbled for a moment before pressing it to his ear.

"Hello..." he said, uncertainly.

A sound of someone clearing their throat came from the other end-a deliberate pause followed by a silence that was calm yet quietly menacing.

Prem's eyes flickered toward Dhanvi. She was watching him, her doe-like eyes filled with concern, her brows drawn together in a silent question: What is he saying?

He gave a small shake of his head-nothing yet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, a slow breath came through the line, breaking the stillness.

"So..." the voice finally spoke, smooth and sharp like glass. "You finally found time to talk to me, Prem?"

Prem could almost hear the faint scrape of a chair being pushed back-an impatient movement on the other end.

He swallowed. "No, Uncle-it's not like that."

"Oh?" Dhanvi's father's tone deepened, measured, with an undercurrent of restrained anger. "Then why wasn't I informed that my children decided to take off without a word? No message, no call... not even a hint of when you plan to return?"

"We're sorry-"

"Sorry?" her father's voice cut in sharply. "Do you even know how concerned I was, Prem? You both decided to leave without informing me-like I don't even exist! If Raghu hadn't told me, how else would I have known where you were?"

His tone carried more than anger; beneath it lingered the tremor of genuine concern.

"Uncle, I-Sorry-" Prem began, but before he could finish, Dhanvi's voice rose softly yet firmly.

"Prem, give me the phone. I'll talk."

He hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering across his face, then handed it to her.

Dhanvi pressed the phone to her ear. "What happened, Dad?"

A deep exhale came from the other end, heavy and measured."What happened? Do you really need to ask that, Dhanvi? Have you forgotten that if I can approve your project, I can also reject it?"

Those words hit her like a slap. She knew her father's anger was justified-but that last line... it unraveled something inside her.

"What do you mean by that, Dad?" Her voice trembled, rising despite her attempt to keep calm. "I know you're upset with me, but that doesn't give you the right to talk to me like this. I know I'm at fault-but you can't just say things like that!"

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, sharp and heavy. And the moment silence followed, she realized she had crossed a line.

From the other end came the harsh scrape of a chair being pushed back, followed by a voice that boomed through the receiver-angry, echoing, and filled with restrained menace.

"Is this how you talk to your father, Dhanvi Mehra? Is this what I taught you?"

Her heart pounded painfully. Shame flickered across her face. She had never spoken to him in that tone-but his words about her project had stung deeper than she could bear.

"Dad, I'm sorry for my harsh tone-" she began, but he cut her off, his voice low and strained, like a man forcing calm through frustration.

"Come home. Now. We'll talk there. And I don't want to hear another word."

The line went dead.

Dhanvi stared at the phone, her hand tightening around it until her knuckles turned white. Her jaw clenched, as though holding back a storm inside her. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them down.

Prem, standing beside her, took a cautious step closer. "What happened, Dhanvi? What did he say?"

She blinked rapidly, pushing the moisture away, then handed him the phone. Her lips curved into a faint, trembling smile.

"Nothing... We should return now."

Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the crack beneath.

Prem saw it, but he didn't press. He simply nodded. "Okay... let's go."

And together, they turned away from that place-each carrying their own silence, heavy and unspoken.

Dhanvi’s face carried a quiet storm—worry mixed with a strange indifference, as if a thousand unasked questions lived behind her eyes. Each step she took pulled her farther from where she stood, and deeper into her thoughts.

Her gaze wandered aimlessly… until it caught something that made her feet slow. At the ghats, bodies wrapped in white lay ready for their final rites. Smoke curled faintly into the sky, the sorrowful cries of families echoing across the stone steps. Every detail etched itself into her mind.

Prem observed the scene too. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel, yet something within him shifted—raw, unfamiliar, and painfully real.

Still lost in thought, Dhanvi accidentally stumbled into an old man. He wore a saffron dhoti, his upper body draped only with an orange shawl. A wooden stick supported his trembling steps.

He wavered, about to fall—Prem instantly steadied him. Dhanvi’s hands rose to help, but Prem had already lifted the frail man back to his balance.

The old man looked disoriented at first. Then he slowly raised his eyes—first to Prem’s worried expression, and then to Dhanvi. The moment his gaze met hers, something shifted in the depths of his eyes. A recognition? A memory? A truth buried too long?

He stared a moment longer than expected. Dhanvi, confused, asked softly, “Baba… are you okay?”

Prem let go when he felt the old man had regained control of his stance.

But the man’s gaze did not leave Dhanvi. If anything, it deepened—like he was seeing something in her that even she didn’t know existed.

“What happened, Baba? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

For a while, he said nothing. Then, in a frail whisper, he murmured, “Never believe blindly in anyone…”

Dhanvi’s brows drew together. She looked at Prem, who mirrored her confusion, and then back at the man.

“Kya matlab hai aapka, Baba?”

(What do you mean?)

The old man opened his mouth to explain—then abruptly stopped, as if something behind Dhanvi had caught his attention. His eyes flickered past her, just for a heartbeat, before returning to her face.

With a calm, final tone he said,

“पुत्री, अपने आस-पास के लोगों पर कभी अंधा विश्वास मत करना।”

(Never trust blindly to the people around you)

Dhanvi blinked. “Why?”

His reply came slowly, as though carved out of time itself:

“नियति से कभी पूछा है कि वह अपना रुख क्यों बदलती है?”

(Ever asked the fate that why wind change it's Direction?)

His gaze softened, turned heavy with meaning, and he added,

“किसी पर पूर्ण रूप से विश्वास न करना तुम्हारी नियति है… न जाने कितने राज़ छुपाए बैठे हैं लोग।”

(Never trust anyone fully, don't know what truth and how much they had hidden from you.)

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away—each step unhurried, each breath uncertain. Dhanvi watched him until his figure dissolved into the haze of the ghats.

“What… was that, Prem?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Prem replied quietly, still processing what had happened.

Something in the air felt altered—mysterious, unfinished, like a door had opened somewhere inside her without her permission.

Just then, Dhanvi’s phone buzzed again—her father’s name flashing on the screen. With one last uneasy glance around, she turned away and walked on.

✷✷✷✷

The room felt heavier than usual, weighed down not by silence but by the sharp, restless flutter of pages being turned in anger. Each ruffle of paper carried a frustration that had been building for years. His jaw tightened as he flipped through another article, his eyes sharpening with every word he read.

All of it—every line, every photograph—was about that forest.

The same forest where only a handful had ever dared to go, and none had returned. He despised that place. Not merely because it was dangerous—though that was reason enough—but because his daughter, at one point, had been obsessed with uncovering its secrets.

He had never liked her dream of becoming an archaeologist. He had fought it for years, but in the end, he had lost to her determination.

The doorbell rang, snapping him out of his spiralling thoughts. His hands stilled over the papers. His expression hardened back into that cold, authoritative mask as he adjusted his glasses and rose from his chair. Straightening his blazer, he strode out of the library and into the hallway.

The first person he saw was his wife.

For a brief second, his gaze softened—just a fleeting crack in his stern exterior. Then his eyes shifted to his daughter standing beside her, clutching her bag like a guilty secret. In an instant, his softness was gone.

His polished shoes struck the marble floor as he approached them, each step echoing with restrained fury.

Meera—his wife—read the tension in his posture immediately. She looked at Dhanvi, who already stood rigid, her eyes carrying the shadow of fear. Meera exhaled softly, disoriented but understanding.

He stopped in front of them. His eyes moved from his wife to his daughter, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp enough to slice through the air.

“Library. Now. We’re discussing something… unacceptable.”

Dhanvi’s jaw clenched as she nodded.

Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the library. Meera and Dhanvi were left standing together for a moment—one worried, the other desperately trying to invent an excuse that might save her plan to explore the forest.

With a deep breath and the small, encouraging squeeze of her mother’s hand, Dhanvi began the slow walk toward the library.

The moment she reached the door, the heavy silence inside pressed against her like a warning. She knocked gently.

“Come in,” came her father’s curt reply.

She stepped in, eyes lowered, her heartbeat rushing past her ears. When she glanced at the table and saw the spread of articles—the same ones she hoped he would never see—her breath caught.

For a second, she closed her eyes, squeezing them shut.

“Shit…” she whispered under her breath.

She moved to the other side of the table, standing stiffly. Her father sat in the large chair facing her, its high back hiding his expression, making the tension even worse.

“What did I tell you years ago?” he asked quietly. He lifted his gaze to her, his expression carved in stone, fingers tapping a sharp, impatient rhythm against the marble table. Dhanvi stood frozen. She swallowed, her throat dry, but no words came out.

The silence snapped.

Her father rose abruptly. With one swift, furious motion, he swept the papers off the table. They fluttered helplessly before crashing onto the floor.

Dhanvi flinched.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU, DHANVI MEHRA?” he roared. “HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY YOUR FATHER? IS THIS WHAT I RAISED YOU FOR?” His voice thundered through the room, forcing her to stumble back a step. Her hands shook, betraying the fear she was trying so desperately to hide.

“Dad… please listen to me—” she began.

“No!” he cut her off sharply. “No excuses. No explanations. You are not going anywhere. End of discussion.”

Her heart dropped.

The words pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating. She knew she should stop. She knew she should remain silent. But she couldn’t—not when the truth of that forest had become her breath, her reason for waking up every day.

If truth wouldn’t save her, then lies would.“Dad…” Her voice cracked, unplanned and real. “Won’t you listen to your daughter even once?”

That wasn’t acting. That wasn’t strategy. It was the fragile, wounded honesty she showed only in moments like this. For a split second, guilt flickered in his eyes. Just for a moment. Then he buried it beneath authority and anger.

“No,” he said coldly. “Enough. Leave. Now.”

Something inside Dhanvi snapped.

Fire flashed in her eyes as she straightened her spine. “No, Dad. You will listen to me,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “You know very well that uncovering the truth of that forest was the only purpose of my life. And what did you do? You took it away from me.”

Her breath hitched, but she pushed forward.“I bled for it every single day,” she continued. “And in the end… I let it go.”

A lie.

A painful one.

Her father stared at her, disbelief etched across his face. But she didn’t stop.“I know what you’re thinking,” she said softly. “That I’m lying. But I’m not, Dad. I stopped chasing the truth of that forest a long time ago.”

She kept her eyes lowered. She couldn’t meet his gaze—not when she was betraying both him and herself in the same breath. Her heart ached, but the truth remained locked behind her teeth.

Silence followed.

Then—

“Then what are these?” her father asked, his voice dangerously calm.

He pointed toward the scattered papers on the floor, his eyes narrowing as they searched her face for answers.

“These are just articles, Dad,” Dhanvi said softly. “Yes, I let go of the dream of that forest—but how could I erase everything connected to it?”She took a shaky breath, her fingers curling into her palms.“These papers carry too much within them. History. Truth. And I—I couldn’t allow them to fall into the wrong hands.” Her voice trembled as she continued, the words spilling faster now. “You already took away my chance to chase the forest’s truth. And now you’re taking this project away too?”

She looked up at him at last, tears blurring her vision.“Why, Dad?” she whispered. “Why are you being so hard on me? What did I do to deserve this?”Her voice finally broke, and the tears she had been holding back slipped free, tracing silent paths down her cheeks.

Her father studied her for a long moment. Guilt returned to his eyes, unmistakable this time—but he stood his ground, his posture rigid, his expression guarded.

“You know very well,” he said after a pause, “that I never wanted you to become an archaeologist.”

His jaw tightened. “Yet… you did.”

He faltered, words tangling on his tongue. “And—and I…” He exhaled sharply, frustration giving way to restraint. “Leave it.”

When he spoke again, his tone was calmer, controlled. “Fine. Continue with your project.”

Hope flickered in Dhanvi’s chest.

But it died just as quickly.

His gaze shifted to the scattered articles on the floor, hardening once more. When he looked back at her, his voice left no room for negotiation.

“But make sure,” he said coldly, “that I never see these articles again.”

The command hung heavy in the air.

Without another word, he dismissed her.

Dhanvi stood there for a moment, her heart torn between relief and loss, before turning away—knowing that some truths were never truly let go, only hidden deeper.

Dhanvi gathered the scattered articles and left the study without looking back. Only when she reached her room did she realize how close she had come to forgetting them there.

She shut the door behind her and locked it.

Crossing the room quickly, she went straight to her closet. Slipping her hand between neatly hung clothes, her fingers found a small, hidden button.

She pressed it.

With a soft mechanical turn, the back of the closet shifted. A narrow passage revealed itself, and Dhanvi stepped inside. She waited until the panel slid shut again, sealing the space behind her, before allowing herself to breathe.

She was greeted by her world.

Articles filled the room—some pinned across the walls, marked with circles, notes, and faded symbols. Others lay spread across a table, weighed down with stones and folders. A few were stacked carefully in a corner, preserved with almost reverent care.

She moved toward the corner and placed the articles in her hands among the rest, aligning them with practiced precision.

The Andheri Forest.

She hadn’t fallen into this obsession overnight. It wasn’t magic or coincidence that had pulled her in—it was one article.

Before she was derived by the mysteries of that forest but what caught her attention most and  changed her passion into obsession was that Article.

One that stood apart from all the others. Unlike the rest, it bore the quiet weight of age, as though it had been handled long ago and then forgotten by time itself. Its paper had faded to a pale yellow, the edges fragile, whispering of decades past.

And somehow… it still waited.

Dhanvi moved toward one of the secured drawers and carefully unlocked it. As the drawer slid open, her breath caught.

There it was.

The same forbidden article—the one that had stirred something restless within her, something that had slowly transformed into obsession, then purpose.

She lifted it gently, as if afraid it might crumble in her hands. The very first words met her eyes: The Tribe.

Yes. The tribe.

That single heading had changed everything. It was for them that she had studied relentlessly, sacrificing sleep, comfort, and expectations. The day she first read about them, curiosity had taken hold of her—and when she uncovered their connection to the forest, curiosity turned into resolve.

The Andheri Forest.

Not just mysterious—the most mysterious of this century.

Countless stories surrounded it. Whispers of disappearances, forbidden paths, truths buried under generations of fear. But Dhanvi had never believed in borrowed tales.

She didn’t trust rumours.

She trusted pursuit.

Because stories, she believed, were not meant to be repeated.

They were meant to be chased.

She knew far more about the forest than most ever dared to.

The legends spoke of hidden treasures buried deep within its heart, of rare stones unlike anything found elsewhere, glowing faintly under moonlight. There were stories of untamed wilderness—of creatures that did not exist in ordinary landscapes, animals shaped by isolation and time.

Yet one question haunted her more than the rest.

Why did no one ever return?

There were whispers of two… perhaps three people who had emerged from the Andheri Forest alive. But their names were unknown, their faces forgotten. They vanished into silence, taking the answers with them. And so, the mysteries remained buried—sealed by fear and time.

Then there were the spirits.

Every record, every warning hinted at the same truth: the Andheri Forest was not merely land—it was a living masterpiece of nature. Divine and terrifying all at once. It sheltered sacred energy within its depths, yet somewhere in its shadows lingered something darker—evil that breathed with the trees and moved with the wind.

And Dhanvi?

Dhanvi was ready.

Ready to uncover the truth hidden beneath centuries of silence. Ready to face the wild, the danger, the unanswered questions. But above all—She was ready to find the Tribe.

Because this was not just a journey into a forest.

It was a journey of love and wilderness, of betrayal and pa

in, of secrets and survival.

And mystery—waiting to be claimed.

And she had received the legal permission to start this Investigation just some day ago at the headquarters of Archaeologists..

.

.

.

Some days ago at the ASI (Archeological Survey of India.)

“Good morning, Professor Dhanvi.”

One of the fellow archaeologists greeted her. She gave a brief nod and continued walking forward.

The interiors of the headquarters were adorned with photographs of ancient discoveries—silent proofs of years of research into lost times. The walls were completely covered with images from different eras: some captured dense forests, some showed layers of soil, and others preserved the fragile remains of plants. Each photograph carried its own story, its own wisdom.

Huge shelves of books stood along the sides, filling the wide hall with knowledge. The upper walls were painted white and decorated with ancient designs inspired by Indian kings. A staircase connected the upper floor to the ground level, its steps worn smooth by years of movement.

Some shelves were arranged in a way that left narrow paths for people to pass through, placed carefully at measured distances in the corners of the hall.

Dhanvi walked with a confidence that did not speak through words, yet ensured that everyone noticed her presence.

Silence ruled the place, as it always did. People were deeply absorbed in their work and greeted Dhanvi quietly as she passed by.

She made her way upstairs toward her cabin.

Her cabin stood at the corner, waiting for her like a familiar refuge. Shelves lined the walls, filled with freely placed articles and research notes. The table was scattered with documents and stationery. The room was painted in a dim shade of brown, softened by golden-yellow patterns that gave it a warm glow.

Dhanvi made her way toward her chair, just as sunlight fell across her face. She glanced at the articles placed on her table and moved them carefully to one corner. Placing her bag on the chair, she took out a set of records—files the other professors had sent for her analysis.

The door of her cabin opened, and her assistant walked in.“Good morning, Professor Mehra.”

“Good morning, Shreya,” she replied, already returning to the files.

“Professor, the leaders have arrived and the meeting will start in some time,” Shreya informed her.

“Okay. You go. I will come in some time,” Dhanvi said.

Soon after, she made her way downstairs.

Dhanvi moved toward the meeting room—the place where the fate of her dream would be sealed. The dream she had worked so hard for.

Today was the meeting where the important leaders would decide whether this investigation would take place or not.

Either way, she was not the kind of person who would stop if they denied her permission. She would do it even if it cost her dearly. Giving up had never been an option, and hearing no had never been a thought.

She opened the door of the meeting room and was greeted by the sight of the leaders seated with thoughtful, steady expressions. A large projector stood at the center of the wall in front of them, displaying photographs of dense forests.

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted the Chief Wildlife Warden of Delhi, who nodded in return. Then she greeted the others as well—zoologists, ethnoarchaeologists, and geologists—who were present to offer her details and guidance for her investigation.

And then she took her seat at one of the chair. The Projector showed another photo and it continues for one more two times, A wild plant was there.

“So, Miss Mehra, are you ready for it?” the Chief asked.

“More than ever, sir,” Dhanvi replied.

“Don’t you think it will be dangerous if you go separately? You have even denied security and are going with just one person—that is Prem?” one of the women asked in a slightly concerned voice.

She pointed toward Prem, who was listening to everything with complete attention.

Dhanvi took a deep breath before replying. “Ma’am, I do understand your concern, but you are underestimating Prem. He is enough for me to start this investigation,” she said, pride ringing clearly in her voice.

Prem was a well-trained officer who knew how to use guns. Along with that, he was also the Principal Investigator of this project, while the Director would remain here and keep a close watch on everything from afar.

“We get that, Miss Mehra, but still—you know where you are going. That forest is more dangerous than the word ‘dangerous’ itself. We want you to rethink it once more,” the same woman said again, and a few others nodded in agreement.

“I have already thought about it more than I should, and yes, I want to carry it,” she said. Her voice was steady. Final.

The woman took a deep breath before nodding in agreement.

“Miss Mehra, we have taken permission from the Chief of Wildlife of Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and Gujarat. They have agreed on one condition—that there should be no harm to the forest or its animals during this investigation. The research must be conducted in a safe and respectful manner,” the Chief said.

Dhanvi nodded.

“Miss Mehra, I want you to submit the blueprint of the research—meaning from where you will start and exactly where you will conduct your research, so that we can know the site and it will be easier for us to stay informed,” one of the seniors said.

“Don’t worry, sir. You can ask whatever you want from the Director of this project—Mr. Shastri. Is that okay? Because he has all the details about this project,” she said with a steady smile and glanced toward Mr. Shastri.

Mr. Shastri nodded in agreement, and the others followed.“Miss Mehra, we had sent you some files about the wildlife—about wild plants, animals, and some necessary information. That also included details about the groups of people who live in forest areas, and information about the soil as well. So, did you read all of that?” the zoologist asked on behalf of the others, who now looked at Dhanvi, waiting for her answer.

“Yes, I did,” she replied.

“So, Dhanvi, what device will you use to see through the soil—to examine it without digging completely? The device that will help you scan dense covers and map the subtleties of earthwork?” one of them asked.

“LiDAR. I will use Light Detection and Ranging.”

Everyone nodded at her answer. Some let out quiet breaths of relief, while others still carried traces of concern in their expressions. Slowly, agreement settled in the room.

One of the men spoke, “Make sure that you do take GPS trackers and satellite phones so that we can stay in conversation with you.”

“Sure, sir,” Dhanvi replied.

Then all the officers stood from their seats and spoke one by one, “May you succeed in this project, Professor Mehra, Mr. Shastri, and also to Mr. Bajwa.”

______________________________________

How was it?

I am a Commerce Student, So yes I have little bit knowledge about this all which I am getting from the Google. So please don't mind me.😌

And from the entry of first chapter, get ready to dive into the journey of the wildness. And whatever that old man said-- You can take it as hint?😃

Please do let me know how was it. Your feedbacks really meant a lot to me.

And as you know I do never set targets, you also can check my other book-- I do never put targets but ju

st shower your love with comments and vote.

Till the bye.

With love and care.

~Risha Shah.