Morning arrived, but it didn’t feel like a new beginning.
The Rane mansion stood under a pale sky, the kind that carried no warmth, only a strange stillness. The events of the previous night had left everyone unsettled, even though no one openly spoke about it. The silence in the house felt heavier than words—like something unseen was sitting between them, listening.
In the courtyard, anxious whispers floated among the gathered villagers. The search for Aniruddha’s son had gone on all night, torches flickering against the darkness, voices calling his name into the empty hills. Fear had slowly crept into every corner of Devgad.
And then—
A shout broke through the morning air.
“They found him!”
Everyone rushed toward the voice. Near the edge of the fields, a group of villagers stood gathered. In the middle of them, sitting quietly on the ground, was the missing child.
Alive.
Safe.
Unharmed.
Aniruddha ran forward, falling to his knees and pulling his son into a tight embrace. Tears streamed down his face as he checked him again and again, as if afraid the boy would disappear if he blinked.
“Are you okay? Say something!” he cried.
The child looked dazed, his eyes unfocused for a moment before settling on his father. “Baba… I just went to play,” he said softly, as if nothing had happened.
The tension broke.
A collective sigh of relief passed through the crowd. Some people laughed nervously, others shook their heads, blaming it on childish wandering.
Back at the mansion, the mood shifted.
Madhavi stood near the entrance, watching as Aniruddha carried his son inside. The tightness in her chest slowly eased. For the first time since the previous night, she allowed herself to breathe.
“He’s fine…” she whispered under her breath.
But her eyes flickered—just for a second—toward the distant wada.
Raghav stepped forward, clapping Aniruddha on the shoulder. “See? I told you. Kids wander off all the time. There’s nothing to panic about.”
His voice carried confidence, almost forced, as if he was trying to convince not just others—but himself.
Sunanda nodded slowly, though her face still held traces of unease. “Maybe… maybe we were overthinking.”
Tanvi stood slightly apart, watching everything in silence. Her expression was calm, but her fingers were tightly clasped together. She looked at the child carefully—as if searching for something beneath the surface.
For a brief second, the boy’s eyes met hers.
And something about that look made her heart skip.
But then he smiled faintly, like any normal child would.
And the moment passed.
The house gradually returned to its routine.
Voices filled the corridors again. Utensils clinked in the kitchen. Preparations resumed with renewed urgency. After all, the mehendi ceremony was just around the corner, and no one wanted fear to overshadow the celebration.
Flowers were brought in, strings of marigold hung across doorways, and bright fabrics were spread out in the courtyard. Women gathered to discuss designs, laughter slowly replacing the earlier tension.
Yet, beneath it all, something remained… unsettled.
Like calm water hiding a storm beneath.
Later that afternoon, Raghav stood in the main hall, watching the preparations.
“See?” he said, turning to Tanvi. “Everything is normal. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We just let our minds get carried away.”
Tanvi looked at him, her gaze steady. “Normal?” she repeated softly.
Raghav exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. The child is safe. No one is hurt. Whatever happened—it’s over.”
She didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, her eyes drifted toward the window.
Toward the wada.
Standing silent. Watching.
“Nothing is ever ‘over’ that easily, Raghav,” she murmured.
He frowned slightly but didn’t argue further. He didn’t want to start another discussion—not today.
Not when things had finally calmed down.
Evening approached, and with it, a strange quietness returned.
The sky darkened faster than usual, clouds gathering without warning. A faint wind moved through the trees, carrying a coldness that didn’t belong to the season.
Inside the house, the elders sat together, discussing the final arrangements.
“That reminds me…” Raghav suddenly said, looking around. “Where is Rohit?”
The room fell silent.
Madhavi’s hands, which had been busy sorting flowers, froze mid-motion.
Sunanda looked up. “Rohit?” (Rohit Rane Madhavi's elder brother)
“Yes,” Raghav continued. “He hasn’t arrived yet, right? Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
A shadow passed over Kaka’s face.
“He… will come,” he said after a pause.
Raghav frowned. “Will come? The wedding is so close. He should already be here.”
No one replied.
Madhavi slowly lowered her gaze, her face unreadable. The room, which had been filled with conversation moments ago, now felt suffocatingly quiet.
Tanvi noticed it.
Every reaction. Every hesitation.
Something was wrong.
And everyone knew it.
Before the silence could stretch further, a voice echoed from the entrance.
“He has not come yet… because the time is not right.”
All heads turned.
An old man stood at the doorway—draped in saffron robes, his presence calm yet commanding. His eyes were sharp, observant, as if he could see beyond what was visible.
The Baba had arrived.
Without another word, he stepped inside.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Even the air seemed to grow heavier.
Kaka stood up immediately. “Baba… we were waiting for you.”
The Baba nodded slightly, his gaze moving across the room before settling—briefly—on the window facing the wada.
Then, without explanation, he turned and walked toward the courtyard.
“Come,” he said simply.
Everyone followed.
The wada stood in the distance, silent and unmoving.
But something about it felt… aware.
The Baba stopped at the gate. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if listening to something no one else could hear.
Then, slowly, he began chanting.
Low, rhythmic mantras filled the air, each word vibrating with an intensity that sent chills down the spine. Kaka joined him, their voices overlapping, growing stronger with each passing second.
The wind picked up.
Leaves rustled violently.
For a brief moment, the door of the wada trembled—almost as if something inside was resisting.
But the chants continued.
Unbroken. Relentless.
The Baba stepped forward and placed his hand on the door. With deliberate movements, he sealed it again—tying the sacred thread firmly, marking it with vermilion and turmeric.
“This must not be opened again,” he said, his voice firm.
No one dared to question him.
The chanting stopped.
And with it, the wind died down.
Silence returned.
But this time, it felt heavier.
Darker.
Back at the mansion, no one spoke much.
Dinner was quiet. Conversations were short. Even the laughter from earlier had faded into something distant and hollow.
Raghav tried to ignore the unease creeping back into his mind.
“It’s nothing,” he told himself again.
But deep down, something didn’t feel right.
Standing near the window, Madhavi looked out at the wada.
The sacred thread shimmered faintly under the dim light.
Locked.
Sealed.
Controlled.
For now.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
Not relief.
Not peace.
Something else.
Something darker.
“Good…” she whispered under her breath.
Her eyes glinted as she turned away.
Because she knew—
This was not the end.
This was only the first crack.
