Raghav wandered through the narrow, winding lanes of the small village, to know the actually story of the wadhathe air felt heavier with each step he took. The village, nestled deep within the hills of Devgad, was eerily quiet, almost as if the very land held its breath. His mind raced with questions about the old mansion and the unsettling presence that seemed to haunt him. But there was one thing that troubled him most—the cryptic stories he'd heard from the villagers.
One old woman, with deep lines etched on her face, had approached him earlier, offering a glimpse into the mansion's tragic past. Her voice had quivered as she spoke, like the wind whispering through the cracks of the walls. "Once, there was a married couple who lived there," she had said, her eyes distant, as though she were recalling a tale too painful to bear. "But they were not like the happy couples you see today. No, their lives were filled with sorrow. The groom… he was a cruel man, a drunkard who could never find peace within himself. He would drink every night, and the rage inside him would only grow. He beat his wife, day after day, for no reason other than his own misery."
Raghav had listened in silence, his heart growing heavy with each word. The woman continued, "The wife was gentle, innocent. She never fought back. She had only love for him, but he was blind to it. He couldn't see the goodness in her heart, only a target for his frustration. And then, one fateful night, the unthinkable happened. He was drunk, as usual. In his rage, he lost control. He struck their young daughter, their precious child. She died in his arms, her innocent life taken by the man who should have protected her."
Raghav could hardly breathe as the woman paused, her face clouded with sadness. He had heard enough, but the old woman was determined to finish her tale. "In his panic and shame, he burned his wife, trying to destroy the evidence of his cruelty. But it was not enough. She had died, and with her, the remnants of any humanity that might have still lingered in him."
She had stopped there, and Raghav, his mind reeling, had asked, "But what about the mansion? What happened to it?"
The old woman had looked at him, her gaze sharp, as though she knew he was more connected to the story than he realized. "The house… the house still holds their memories. The pain, the anger, and the sorrow linger in its walls. The wife, though gone, is still there—trapped in the mansion’s shadows, waiting for justice, for the man who took everything from her."
Raghav felt a chill run down his spine as he reflected on the woman's words. The tragedy of the past was intertwined with the very foundation of the mansion. The spirits of those who had suffered there seemed to remain, forever tied to the walls that once held their pain. And now, with each step Raghav took, he could feel the weight of their sorrow pressing closer.
"But what is the wadha n my family connection?" He asked she was about to say when his phone rang he picked up and he got panicked rushed to his car.
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Madhavi returned home, her face pale and eyes wide with panic. She burst into the living room where Vishwanath Kaka, Vedehi Kaki, and Raghav’s Aai Sunanda, were seated, laughing planning about the marriage, thinking that everything will be perfect like engagement.
Vedehi saw Madhavi she asked"What happened madhavi?"
"Tanvi... she took me to the mansion," Madhavi lied, her voice trembling. "I told her not to go. But she... she went in. And now… she’s locked inside. I couldn’t help her… I’m sorry."
Gasps filled the room. Kaki clutched her saree pallu in shock while Sunanda rose from the chair, her heart pounding. Kaka stood silently, but his jaw tightened.
"Tanvi is trapped?" Kaki whispered.
Without wasting another moment, they rushed to the ancient wada. Kaka led the way, muttering sacred mantras under his breath. As they reached the heavy, ancient wooden door, the air turned colder, as though the mansion was alive, resisting their presence. Kaka placed his hand on the lock and recited mantras louder. The rusted door creaked open.
Inside, shadows danced across the walls, and an eerie silence surrounded them. There, in the center of the hall, lay Tanvi—unconscious, her face pale and drenched in sweat. Kaki and Sunanda rushed to her side, tears welling in their eyes.
"Tanvi!" Kaki shaking her gently.
Sunanda helped lift her up. Kaka, maintaining his focus, finished his chants and once again sealed the door with a red sacred thread. His face was grave. He turned to them and said, "No one should step in here again. That spirit… it’s not at peace. And she’s waiting for something—or someone."
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