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The Cursed Ones of Gadchiroli |
Rajesh, a middle-aged man with sun-resistant skin, lived on the outskirts of the village. His lonely reality fueled the rumors. He was isolated, spending his days tending a small plot of land and muttering conjurations under his breath. Townspeople avoided him, crossing themselves as they passed his humble cabin.
One cataclysmic evening, a young woman named Meera fell seriously ill. His fever skyrocketed and his body shuddered with invisible forces. With no hope of answers, his family turned to the village clerk. He refocused a thrilling chop on Rajesh, accusing him of casting spells on Meera. The townspeople gathered together, their eyes filled with fear and rage.
Meera’s condition worsened and the whispers became louder. They called Rajesh a witch, a conjurer who danced with demons in moonlit groves. The mob descended on his cabin, burning insects, fueled by superstition and anger. Rajesh proclaimed his innocence, but his words were lost in the bowwow of the abomination.
The mob dragged Rajesh and another woman, Kavita, out of their house. Kavita was a widow and her sorrowful eyes hid secrets. She had been seen conversing with Rajesh near the ancient banyan tree – the same tree where village elders believed the spirits floated.
The crowd led them to the hill overlooking Meera's grave. There, under the cold aspect of the moon, they tied Rajesh and Kavita to stakes. The darlings jumped eagerly, licking each other's skin. Rajesh's eyes were a mixture of defiance and anguish, while Kavita cried softly.
As the fire consumed them, the residents sang prayers, asking forgiveness for their sins. But the darlings have not purified themselves; they only devoured. The wind carried their agonizing riots across the hills, and the earth shook as if in protest against this act of atrocity.
By dawn, all that remained was ashes and charred bones. The villagers dispersed, visited by the horror they had unleashed. Meera's fever subsided, but the guilt eroded in their hearts. They wondered if they had really gotten rid of evil or if they had just perpetuated it.
Several times later, the banyan tree appeared as a silent vindication. Its gnarled roots reached deep into the ground, absorbing the pain and memories of that terrible night. Some reported hearing whispers on moonless nights – Rajesh's voice, Kavita's lamentations and the wind carrying their curses.
And so, Gadchiroli's cursed friends continued to flutter, casting darkness on the souls of the townspeople. They learned that true magic lies not in spells but in compassion, in understanding the darkness that lies dormant within them.