Grief, mystery, and dark forces collide when Viji, mourning the loss of her twins, becomes the prime suspect in the drowning of her best friend’s baby. ASP Kanika uncovers a twisted web of black magic, leading her to question if she’s chasing a murderer or something much darker. Is she hunting a twisted killer, or has she awakened an ancient, malevolent force? And if so, how long before it comes for her?
Read the excerpt below to know more.
Vijayalakshmi
January 2001
Ajmer, India
‘You should have booked a taxi to Chandigarh,’ my mother-in-law suggested, her voice tinged with concern. ‘Travelling on a train with twins isn’t a good idea, especially in this cold weather,’ she added, observing as I packed the nursing bag for my three-month-old twins in the kitchen.
A few months ago, my husband Ankit convinced me to have our twins at his ancestral home in Ajmer, with his mother keeping a hawk’s eye on us. Being an orphan, I reluctantly agreed, knowing I lacked the experience and support to navigate the chaos of newborn twins alone. Little did I know, what was meant to be a supportive stint turned into a never-ending exile.
While Ankit, the mastermind behind the plan, coded programs for clients in Chandigarh, I spent my maternity leave grappling with my mother-in-law’s relentless advice, feeling like a wrestler in an endless match, nodding along as if it were my only move.
Now, as I hastily packed the twins’ nursing bag in the kitchen, itching to make my escape, my mother-in-law deftly tucked her saree like a pro wrestler gearing up for a title match. With theatrical flair, she motioned for me to hand over the pan and the water bottles.
‘I’ve got this,’ I declared with newfound bravado, causing her to pause. It was high time I asserted myself and showed her who the true mother of the twins was. As I poured boiling water into the thermos, her eyes tracked my every move, like a goalie defending a penalty shot. A splash here, a splash there—more than a few drops found their way on to the counter, allowing her to assert her dominance. Adjusting her gold bangle with the finesse of a queen surveying her domain, she graciously offered, ‘Come, let me lend a hand.’ I believe she meant: Come, let me belittle you. Because what followed couldn’t be described as lending a hand.
‘Back in my day,’ she remarked with a bitter edge, ‘my esteemed mother-in-law would have flipped the entire house over at the sight of such a spill, especially considering we live in a desert where every drop counts. Yet here I am, graciously helping you clean the counter without batting an eye.’ She served her daily dose of ‘you-know-nothing’ and ‘how lucky you are.’
The whistle of the pressure cooker caught her attention, prompting her to turn off the gas. Instead of preparing the aloo puri Ankit had requested for our journey, she continued her relentless track of ‘count your blessings’ detailing the hardships of raising twins and recounting the sleepless nights she endured with my colicky newborns over the past three months. According to her, every problem and every cry from the twins boiled down to hunger or the evil eye. Amidst her sugar-coated advice, her subtle jabs at me and my daughters never missed their mark.
Another one came my way, catching me off guard before I could even brace myself for the impact.
‘Better keep Kavya’s pacifier within arm’s reach. Her wails could resurrect the dead. It seems she inherited that booming voice from your side of the family, given that we could barely even hear Ankit’s cries as a baby,’ she quipped, effortlessly sliding in another jab with her ‘your side of the family’ dagger that seemed permanently lodged in my chest. Oblivious to the verbal wreckage she left behind, she unzipped the nursing bag, meticulously arranged the milk bottles I had carelessly tossed inside earlier and said, ‘You should have resigned or taken unpaid leave. We could have assisted in raising the twins. It is not that you earn a fortune. From what I gather, our estate manager earns a similar salary.’
‘Well, I guess I’m in the wrong line of work. Maybe I should resign from my job as a software engineer in an MNC and apply to become an estate manager, managing the inheritance bestowed upon someone by the Almighty who clearly picks his favourites,’ I replied, my tone laced with sarcasm, hoping she would end this ordeal then and there. But like me, she seemed to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed, dragging the conversation further. ‘The point you seem to overlook is that you’re no longer an orphan who had to fend for herself. Your husband can more than provide for you, and let’s not forget that everything we own belongs to Ankit as well. So, I fail to comprehend the urgency of dashing off to Chandigarh with three-month-old twins for just a couple of thousand rupees,’ she said.
I should have kept my sarcasm on a tighter leash, a skill I’ve been refining for half a decade, delicately sidestepping certain boundaries with my mother-in-law.
***
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