THE WHITE BANGLES

A horror folk tale

It was a day full of chatter and fear in this Bengali village. The whole village had started making amends for the worship of the Goddess in the shashan (graveyard) and preparing ruti for dinner. Children shared ghost stories, and grandmas shared their experiences with encountering ghosts on this haunted day (it was a surprise that they remembered it after 40 years). Much to Rup’s disinterest, today was Ghost Day or Bhut Chaturdashi, which sent shivers across the village.

Today, the bizarre horror tales of his grandma were supposed to come true.

School was finished earlier than normal, like every year. He strode towards the pond with a rucksack on his back. His scowled face and Slytherin-worthy determination had made his classmates tease him all class.

He strode past the paved pathway towards the muddy tracks. It was twilight.

Unlike other days, the village was deadly quiet, as if all the people were holding their breath for something terrible to happen. Rup walked slowly as he passed bushes full of hibiscus flowers and the distant temple.

The evening finally draped its blanket over the pinkish sky. There was no hint of the moon in the sky. The stars were twinkling.

Rup was desperate to prove all their stories just myths. No ghosts existed. Gods and goddesses were out of the question.

Suddenly, he felt a cold breeze flicker on his face. It wasn’t the usual autumn air but the chilly cold that petrified anyone. He turned his gaze towards the dark pond.

It was fascinating how the mysterious night looked. How mysteriously the darkness fooled the familiar things to appear unknown. The clean water in the daylight looked dark and eerie on this new moon night.

But someone else was sitting there.

A teenage girl in a sari was throwing pebbles into the pond. The splashes of the water echoed in the woods.

His legs unknowingly trembling, Rup approached the girl with concern.

“Your parents must be worried,” said Rup. “You should go home now.”

The pebbles continued to fall into the water, but the girl made no sound. Her silhouette was perplexed in the same position.

Rup put a hand on her shoulder.

“These woods are not safe for girls,” he muttered. “Go home now.”

The cold breeze grew colder and colder. The eerie silence was now developing buzzing sounds in Rup’s ear. It was another sensation that didn’t feel right.

The girl turned around as her dark face was illuminated by the light that surrounded her.

Rup wanted to scream madly and loudly, but no words came out. His eyes popped out of their sockets. His stomach did complex somersaults until he totally blacked out.

When he woke up with the loud chatter of a small crowd gathering around him, he noticed an elderly woman holding out the white bangles his mother wore throughout her life.

But it wasn’t his mother’s or any other woman’s in the village.

Rup realized that they belonged to the goddess who had petrified him.

Author's Note

It is a folk tale