The Ghost of Kalyani River

 

Once upon a time, in a small, peaceful village named Kalyani, there lived a young boy named Suman. Kalyani was surrounded by lush fields, whispering winds, and a river that ran through the heart of the village. The river was known for its serene beauty, but also for the strange tales that had been passed down from generation to generation. It was said that the river held many secrets—some beautiful, some dark. Suman, however, was unaware of these stories, or perhaps he simply did not believe them. He was just a boy, fresh out of school, with dreams of adventure and a love for the outdoors.

One bright, warm afternoon, Suman decided to take his bicycle and head toward the river. He had just entered college and was eager to enjoy the peace and tranquility the river offered. Fishing was a hobby he had loved since childhood, and the river, about seven kilometers from his house, was the perfect spot. He packed a small bag with his fishing rod, a few baits, and some snacks, and set off.

As he pedaled down the winding path, the sun was high in the sky, and the air was thick with the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers. The path leading to the river was familiar to Suman; he had ridden it countless times before. But today, the air felt different. It was a stillness, an odd quiet that he couldn’t quite shake off. He shrugged it off, attributing it to the heat of the afternoon.

After about 30 minutes, he arrived at the riverbank. The water shimmered in the sunlight, its gentle waves kissing the shore. Suman smiled to himself. This was what he had been looking for: a peaceful, solitary afternoon by the river, fishing in the cool shade of the trees.

As he set up his fishing gear, something caught his attention. Behind him, in the distance, there was a small, weathered Muslim graveyard, barely visible through the thick foliage. The graves were old, some of them moss-covered and forgotten by time. The place had a certain eerie silence about it, one that made Suman feel uneasy for a brief moment. But he dismissed the feeling, focusing instead on preparing his fishing line.

As he cast his bait into the water, the wind began to pick up, rustling the leaves in the trees. The sky, once clear, started to darken ominously. Suman felt a sudden chill creep up his spine, but he told himself it was just a change in the weather. The storm, however, came faster than he expected. The clouds rolled in quickly, darkening the sky, and soon the gentle breeze turned into a fierce gust of wind.

Suman glanced at the sky. It seemed as if the entire atmosphere was charged, heavy with energy. His stomach turned as a sense of unease grew stronger. He had caught only one fish so far, but it seemed like a sign—perhaps it was time to leave. But the storm hadn't fully arrived, and Suman was stubborn. He told himself to wait just a little longer.

That’s when it happened.

The wind howled around him, and suddenly, from behind him—near the graves—a soft, eerie wail echoed through the air. The cry was unmistakable. It was the sound of a fox, but it wasn’t just a normal cry. There was a deep, mournful tone to it, almost like a warning. Suman felt his heart race. His breath quickened as he turned around, half-expecting to see something he couldn’t explain.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

An old man, dressed in white, was slowly walking toward him from the graveyard. The figure moved with an unnerving slowness, his steps deliberate and calm as though he were floating above the ground. Suman's heart stopped for a moment. The man’s face was hidden in the shadows, and his posture was hunched, as if he had lived too many years and seen too many things.

The wind whipped around Suman, and his phone rang suddenly, breaking the eerie silence. The ringtone blared in his ears, loud and jarring, but he didn’t move. His body had turned to stone, frozen in place. He stared at the approaching figure, his breath shallow, his heart thudding in his chest.

The old man continued to walk, his pace never quickening, but his presence seemed to fill the space around them. Suman couldn’t look away. It felt as if something beyond the man’s appearance was calling to him. His mind buzzed with confusion, and for a brief moment, he forgot everything—his fishing rod, his bicycle, even the very world he was in.

The old man was close now, just a few feet away. Suman, in a trance-like state, whispered the name of Lord Krishna, hoping for some comfort in the face of the unknown. His lips moved on their own, chanting the sacred name repeatedly. The world around him felt surreal, the colors of the river and the sky blending into one dark hue.

And then, as if summoned by the incantation, two foxes suddenly crossed the path in front of him. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling intelligence, and they moved without making a sound. As if on cue, an owl cried out from the trees above, its call sharp and piercing. Suman’s heart raced even faster. It was as though the night had come alive around him, the air thick with the weight of unseen forces.

The old man was now standing directly before him, and Suman could feel the heat of his breath, cold as ice. The figure finally spoke in a voice so low, it was barely audible, but its words cut through the air like a blade.

"Leave this place, child. This river is not meant for you."

Before Suman could react, the old man turned and began to walk away, disappearing into the darkness of the forest. The wind died down as quickly as it had risen, and the world around Suman seemed to return to normal. But the unease remained.

With trembling hands, Suman grabbed his fishing rod and began to pack up his things. He wanted nothing more than to leave this cursed place. But as he looked down at the river one last time, he saw that the fish he had caught was no longer on his line. It had vanished, as if it had never existed.

A voice in his head urged him to leave, to go home before it was too late. He didn’t need to be told twice. Without a second thought, Suman mounted his bicycle and started pedaling away from the river. The sun had now set, and the world was engulfed in the deep hues of twilight.

As he rode down the narrow path toward the village, his mind raced with questions. What had just happened? Who was that old man? Why had he appeared, and why did the foxes and owl seem to be part of something beyond his understanding? But no answers came, only silence. The night was heavy, pressing in on him from all sides.

It was 8:00 p.m. when Suman reached the main highway, the familiar lights of the village just a few kilometers away. As he approached, he saw a figure standing by the roadside. It was a man, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, looking as if he had been waiting for him.

"Are you lost, young man?" the man asked in a warm, friendly voice.

Suman nodded, his voice shaky. "I—I think I am."

The man smiled kindly and offered to help him get home. He spoke of nothing but the weather and the evening, and his presence seemed oddly comforting. Suman, still feeling the weight of the encounter at the river, gratefully accepted the help.

As they walked together, the strange feeling that had clung to Suman all afternoon slowly began to dissipate. By the time they reached his house, the man had disappeared into the night, leaving Suman standing on the doorstep, alone once again.

The next day, Suman awoke with the memory of the old man, the foxes, and the owl lingering in his mind. He tried to brush it off as a bad dream, but deep down, he knew something had happened that he couldn’t explain. He would never go back to that river, not alone, not ever again. The stories of Kalyani’s river were not just stories—they were warnings. And Suman had learned that some places, some moments, were best left undisturbed.

From that day on, Suman never went fishing by himself again. He had learned a lesson he would never forget: that the world is full of mysteries, and sometimes, it’s better to leave them unsolved.