Assalamu Alaikum... I am Babu. Welcome everyone to this terrifying episode of Horror World Global. Tonight is going to be a little different. Because the story I am going to tell you today is not fiction. It is reality. Today I will present before you such a true event involving geographical locations, scriptural rules of the Sanatan religion, and a cursed night, that after hearing it, you might have to think twice before stepping out of your house alone in the dark of the night. Turn off your room's lights. If you are alone, close the door properly. And put your headphones on. Let's begin. Today's hair-raising and bone-chilling incident was emailed to us by Sourav Da. The incident is an experience of a cursed night from his own grandfather's life. The incident was so terrifying that Sourav Da's grandfather never stepped out of his house alone on the night of that specific lunar phase until his death. However, before getting into the main story, I want to clarify one thing. Since the story is absolutely true and the locations still exist today, at Sourav Da's special request, we are keeping the real name of that specific Mahashmashan (great crematorium), his grandfather's name, and the real names of some other characters hidden. Instead, we will use some pseudonyms, so that no unwanted curiosity is generated about that crematorium or family. But I promise you—the geographical locations, the rules of the Sanatan calendar, and the horror of the incident have been kept one hundred percent accurate. For the sake of the story, we are naming Sourav Da's grandfather Bhabatosh Banerjee. The year was 1968. The place, Arkandi village in Baliakandi Upazila of Rajbari district. An ancient settlement built along the banks of the Chandana River. At one end of the village lies a century-old Mahashmashan. Perhaps many of you have already guessed which crematorium we are talking about. But for security reasons and to prevent unwanted curiosity among people about that place, we are not using the real name of this crematorium. For the sake of the story, we are using a pseudonym for this crematorium—'Buro Shibtala Mahashmashan'. Legend has it that many years ago, Tantriks used to perform occult practices here. And women who died unnatural deaths, especially those who died pregnant, were cremated at the cremation ghat right next to the river. Right next to the crematorium was a vast, dense bamboo grove. Even during the day, people used to get the creeps walking alone on the path beside that crematorium. The night of the incident was no ordinary night. According to Hindu scriptures and the Sanatan calendar, that night was the most terrifying and inauspicious night of the year—the fourteenth lunar day of the dark fortnight in the month of Kartik, popularly known as 'Bhoot Chaturdashi' or 'Narak Chaturdashi'. The night right before Kali Puja. According to Hindu mythology and scriptures, the gates of Hell open on the night of this Bhoot Chaturdashi. Yamaraj permits the souls of 14 generations of ancestors to descend to the mortal realm. But along with those holy souls, countless unsatisfied ghosts, ghouls, Dakinis, Yoginis, and witches rise from the underworld. To protect the house from these evil forces, 14 earthen lamps (Choddo Pradip) are lit in every Sanatan household and 14 types of leafy greens (Choddo Shak) are eaten. It is believed that if anyone steps out of the house alone on that night, especially around a crematorium or graveyard, evil spirits possess them. On that winter night in Arkandi, the fog was so dense that things even two hands away couldn't be seen properly. In the freezing wind of the Chandana River, it felt like the marrow inside the bones would freeze into ice. Bhabatosh was a vibrant young man of twenty-four or twenty-five then. At home lived him, his elderly mother, and his wife Kalyani (pseudonym). Kalyani was eight months pregnant at the time. Following the scriptural rules of Bhoot Chaturdashi, Bhabatosh's mother had lit 14 earthen lamps at the threshold of the house, beneath the Tulsi plant, and in every nook and corner, so that the ancestors could find their way and the evil forces would stay away. It was around 11 PM. Suddenly, a gust of ice-cold wind carrying a rotten stench blew in from the direction of the Chandana River through the gaps in the window. And in the blink of an eye, all the lamps in the house blew out together! At that exact moment, Bhabatosh's heart trembled at Kalyani's ear-splitting scream. Sitting up startled, Bhabatosh saw Kalyani thrashing on the bed in agony. Her entire body was drenched in sweat. Premature labor pains had begun! But not just that, Kalyani's eyes had grown unusually large. Staring blankly at the ceiling, she groaned in a hoarse, unfamiliar voice, "They have arrived... the gates of Hell have opened... they want blood... give my baby to me, Bhabatosh..." Bhabatosh's mother rushed in. Seeing Kalyani's condition, she shuddered. An elderly Daima (midwife) from the village was staying at their house that night. Daima checked Kalyani's pulse and recoiled in terror. Trembling, Daima said, "Bhabatosh... this isn't just labor pain, my boy! Today is the night of Bhoot Chaturdashi. Since the lamps blew out, an evil Pishachini (ghoul) has possessed your wife. She wants to kill your baby right inside the womb! Go, immediately! Shibnath Kabiraj Moshai (pseudonym) lives in the next village from Arkandi. Shibnath has the ashes of Mahakal and a root that, if not given tonight, neither your wife nor your child will survive. Go son, run!" But the problem was, the shortcut to that village ran right along the banks of the Chandana River, straight through the Buro Shibtala Mahashmashan. On this cursed night of Bhoot Chaturdashi, crossing that crematorium in such thick fog meant inviting certain death. But Bhabatosh had no time to think about anything else. Before his eyes, his wife and unborn child were battling death. Bhabatosh lit a large hurricane lantern. Wrapping a thick woolen shawl around himself, and silently chanting the Gayatri Mantra, he set out, piercing through the dense blanket of fog. Today, he was alone. There was no one with him. The entire Arkandi village was as silent as a graveyard. Apart from the crunching sound of his own footsteps and the strange, ominous hoot of a wakeful owl far away, there was no other sound. Walking, he came close to the boundary of the crematorium. In the wind, the bamboo stalks rubbed against each other, creating a 'creak-creak' sound. In the darkness, it felt as if hundreds of skeletons were chewing on each other's bones. As soon as he crossed the bamboo grove, the main section of the crematorium began. The fog here seemed even denser, almost like smoke. A biting cold wind was rushing in from the direction of the Chandana River. And floating along with that wind was a strange, nauseating stench. Burnt flesh, stale ghee, and old rotting flowers—all combined into a hellish odor. A narrow dirt path ran through the crematorium. Scattered haphazardly on both sides of the path were half-burnt bamboo biers, broken shards of earthen pots used in final rites, and piles of ashes. Suddenly, Bhabatosh stopped in his tracks. Right in the middle of the crematorium, near the riverbank, a pyre was blazing! According to Hindu scriptures, cremation is strictly prohibited on the night of Bhoot Chaturdashi. So who had lit a pyre so late at night? Bhabatosh's heart skipped a beat. He raised the light of the hurricane lantern a little. What he saw in the dim light of the fire made his blood run cold. Right next to the pyre lay a half-dead, sacrificed goat, its blood dripping into the fire of the pyre. And sitting just on the other side of the fire was a woman. She was wearing a white saree with a red border, traditionally worn by Hindu widows. But surprisingly, her hair parting was smeared with bright red vermilion, glowing like blood even in the dark. The woman was poking and stirring the flesh in the pyre with a half-burnt human femur. And in her left hand, she held a vessel made from a human skull, known in Hindu scriptures as a 'Kapalpatra'. Bhabatosh realized this was no ordinary cremation. This was an extremely forbidden occult practice—'Shabsadhana' (corpse ritual). To appease evil forces on the night of Bhoot Chaturdashi, some Bhairavs or Tantriks perform this terrifying ritual. Bhabatosh's feet rooted to the ground. He desperately tried to recite the 'Hanuman Chalisa', but no sound came out of his throat. Suddenly... the woman stopped stirring the bones. Slowly, snapping her neck, she looked towards Bhabatosh. Bhabatosh felt as if his heart had stopped beating. The woman's face was grotesque. The skin on her cheeks was sagging, her eye sockets were completely hollow—there were no eyeballs, just deep black holes. And peeking through her parted lips were coal-black, razor-sharp teeth. Staring at Bhabatosh with those empty sockets, the woman suddenly burst into a cackling laugh. The sound of that laughter shattered the dead silence of the crematorium. In an inhuman, raspy voice, she croaked— "Going to get medicine for your wife, Bhabatosh? Today is Bhoot Chaturdashi... the gates of Hell are open! No one survives today! Go... go... but your wife will burn with me on this pyre today... hee hee hee..." Bhabatosh didn't stay there a second longer. Clutching the hurricane lantern tightly, he started running blindly. Behind him, the woman's monstrous, echoing laughter and the 'crack-crack' sound of the splitting wood in the pyre shook the crematorium. Running like a madman, Bhabatosh crossed the crematorium and reached the neighboring village. Going to the door of Shibnath Kabiraj's house, he started banging on it frantically. "Kabiraj Moshai! Oh Kabiraj Moshai! Open the door! My wife is going to die!" After quite some time, the wooden door opened with a creaking sound. Shibnath Kabiraj stood there holding a small oil lamp (kupi). But Bhabatosh was a little surprised to see him. Kabiraj Moshai's body looked somewhat pale, with deep dark circles under his eyes. He looked extremely exhausted and ill. A mixed scent of camphor and incense emanated from his entire body, exactly the smell that lingers after a person dies. Panting heavily, Bhabatosh explained everything. Shibnath Kabiraj didn't say a word. He just let out a deep sigh. Then, walking slowly into the house, he brought out a small pouch wrapped in an old red cloth. In a very solemn and whispering voice, Kabiraj said, "Bhabatosh, my body is very unwell today. I won't be able to go. This pouch contains the ashes of Mahakal and the root of the white Akanda plant. Go home, mix this with Ganges water, and feed it to Kalyani. She will recover." Taking the pouch in his hand, Bhabatosh burst into tears of gratitude. Just as he was about to take a step to return, Kabiraj Moshai suddenly grabbed his hand. Kabiraj's hand was as cold as ice! Kabiraj Moshai whispered, "Bhabatosh... remember one thing. Today is Bhoot Chaturdashi. On your way back, absolutely do not look at the water of the Chandana River at the Mahashmashan ghat. Today, a gathering of unfulfilled 'Dakinis' and 'Petnis' takes place at that ghat. If someone calls your name from behind, even in the voice of someone very close to you... do not look back, even by mistake. If you turn back... they will drag your soul straight into the underworld through those open gates of Hell!" Nodding his head, with a heart full of courage, Bhabatosh set off towards home. On his way back, the fog seemed to have multiplied several times. Everything was engulfed in pitch-black darkness. Bhabatosh's hurricane lantern flickered repeatedly, threatening to go out. Clutching the pouch tightly in his pocket, he walked briskly. Crossing the bamboo grove, he entered that Mahashmashan once again. Surprisingly, the burning pyre under the banyan tree and that terrifying Tantric woman he had seen on his way there... nothing was there now! Just absolute, impenetrable darkness. No fire, no ashes. Bhabatosh felt a wave of relief. But right before crossing the cremation ghat... the wind suddenly died completely. And right in the midst of that extreme silence, a sound floated in from the direction of the Chandana River. 'Splash... splash...' It sounded as if someone had stepped into the ice-cold water of the Chandana to bathe in this bone-chilling cold, at half-past two in the morning! Accompanied by the heavy sound of anklets... 'Jingle... jingle...' Bhabatosh remembered Kabiraj's words. Lowering his eyes, he quickened his pace. He desperately started chanting 'Om Namah Shivaya'. But right then... a voice called him from behind. "Bhabatosh..." Bhabatosh's legs felt as if they were glued to the ground. This voice! He could recognize this voice even among a crowd of thousands. It was Kalyani's voice! His wife's voice! "Bhabatosh... I can't bear the pain anymore... the water is very cold... they dragged me here... won't you pull me up a little..." The voice was incredibly pitiful, agonizing in pain. Bhabatosh's heart broke. How did Kalyani get here? Had she died? Was her soul trapped in this cremation ghat? Did the ghouls really... his wife... on the night of Bhoot Chaturdashi? "Do not look back..." Kabiraj's warning echoed in Bhabatosh's head. But how long can a human mind remain steadfast when his own wife calls out from behind in such a pitiful tone? "Bhabatosh... our son is drowning in the water... look..." Hearing this, Bhabatosh couldn't hold himself back anymore. Turning his head, he looked towards the ghat of the Chandana River. The light of the hurricane lantern fell on the river ghat. What he saw made the blood in his veins freeze. Kalyani was standing in the knee-deep water of the river! She was wearing that same white saree with a red border, exactly like the woman he had seen at the pyre. Water was dripping continuously from her body. Her stomach was completely flat. And in her arms was a small bundle wrapped in a white cloth. Looking at Bhabatosh, Kalyani gave an enchanting smile. On her forehead was bright red vermilion. She said, "Look Bhabatosh... we have a son... won't you see?" Like a hypnotized man, Bhabatosh took a step towards the ghat. Kalyani slowly removed the white cloth. Bhabatosh's eyes were on the verge of popping out of their sockets. There was no human child inside the cloth! Instead, there lay Bhabatosh's very own dead, blood-soaked severed head! The open eyes of his own grotesque face were staring blankly right at him! Suddenly, Kalyani's enchanting face began to melt and fall apart. The skin peeled away, revealing a hideous, rotting skeletal face. Her shell and coral bangles clinked loudly. And with its jaw wide open, letting out a demonic, ear-splitting cackle, that grotesque face lunged at Bhabatosh! Bhabatosh could only let out one horrific scream. Then the hurricane lantern slipped from his hand, and he lost consciousness, collapsing onto the ground. The next morning... the villagers rescued Bhabatosh in an unconscious state from the road beside the crematorium. He was running a high fever and was delirious. There was a look of absolute terror on his face. When he was carried home, Bhabatosh regained consciousness. He screamed like a madman, "Kalyani! Where is Kalyani? Where is my baby?" Crying, his mother embraced him. Bhabatosh saw Kalyani lying on the bed. She was alive! And right beside her, a beautiful newborn boy was sleeping peacefully! His mother said, "Just half an hour after you left last night, your wife gave birth to a boy. By God's grace, both are healthy, Bhabatosh. That wicked wind that blew out the lamps never returned. But why were you lying unconscious in that crematorium?" Bhabatosh couldn't understand anything. If Kalyani and the baby were completely fine, then who did he see at the Chandana ghat that night? And what about Shibnath Kabiraj's medicine? He reached into his pocket. Yes, the red cloth pouch was there. He pulled the pouch out. Bhabatosh said, "Mother, Shibnath Kabiraj Moshai from the neighboring village gave this medicine. Feed this to Kalyani, she'll feel better." Bhabatosh's mother suddenly froze. Her eyes widened in shock. She said in a trembling voice— "Bhabatosh... have you gone mad? Whose medicine are you talking about on the night of Bhoot Chaturdashi? Shibnath Kabiraj from the neighboring village died of a snakebite the night before yesterday! Only yesterday afternoon, his cremation was completed in that very Mahashmashan!" It felt as if lightning had struck Bhabatosh's head! Shibnath Kabiraj was dead? But Daima herself had told him to go to Kabiraj. Then who had given him the medicine in the neighboring village last night? And that pyre in the crematorium...! Bhabatosh's hands began to tremble. Slowly, he opened that red cloth pouch held in his fist. There were no ashes of Mahakal or roots inside the pouch. Instead, there was... a handful of fresh, grey pyre ashes! And sitting right in the middle of those ashes was... a broken piece of a conch shell bangle and a red coral bangle! A muffled groan escaped Bhabatosh's throat. He realized that last night he hadn't actually encountered a single living human being. Because the gates of Hell opened on the night of Bhoot Chaturdashi, the newly departed soul of Shibnath Kabiraj, or some ghoul of the crematorium taking his form, had tried to lure him into a death trap. And the entity calling him from the river ghat in Kalyani's form was that cursed Pishachini of the crematorium, who had died during pregnancy. If Bhabatosh had stepped into the waters of the Chandana that night, he would not be alive today. And another thing, Daima didn't know that the Kabiraj had died either. Today's story ends here, my listeners. Science may explain many things, but hidden within the layers of these ancient settlements, that flowing Chandana River, and the century-old crematorium, are mysteries, ominous lunar phases, that wait just for us behind the veil of darkness. Those of you who are sitting alone listening to the story right now... take a look around you once. Do you really feel you are alone? Or is a pair of invisible eyes watching you from some corner of the darkness? If someone calls your name in the middle of the night... do not look back, even by mistake. Because not all calls are meant to be answered. I am Babu, I was with you on this terrifying journey from Horror World Global. Stay well, stay safe. And yes... before going to sleep tonight, did you close the doors and windows properly? Good night. Allah Hafez.

Assalamu Alaikum listeners... I am RJ Babu... from Horror World Global. In the deep of this night... I will take you to a place where the waters of the Padma don't just make waves... they call. They call people by their names. They call out of a lust for flesh and blood. This story was sent by Ibrahim Morshed... heard from his grandmother. The approximate year is 1945. Kalyanpur Char in Charbhadrasan, Faridpur. Surrounded by black water, dense catkin fields, the darkness of the new moon feels alive. At that time, the fire of poverty was burning in Kalyanpur Char. Majid Mia—around forty years old. The shadow of hunger in his eyes. His wife Rahima, seven months pregnant. Her body is so weak that her legs tremble when she walks. A child in her womb, but no food in the house. At night, Rahima would cry and say, “Majid, I can't take it anymore... just so the child doesn't die.” The only other person in the house is Rafiq—Majid's brother-in-law, only twenty-five years old. They shared a close brother-in-law relationship. That night, a new moon. The wind is dead. The earthen lamp in the room is flickering. The two of them are sitting and whispering, making a plan. Rafiq said, his voice trembling— “Brother-in-law... there is no other way. If Rahima doesn't eat, the child won't survive. I have seen... her eyes are sinking.” Majid was silent for a long time. Then he slowly said— “It's a new moon night... out of fear, no one will go down to the Padma today. If we go to the Padma today, we will catch a lot of fish. There are huge Boal fish deep in the Padma. Let's go. Whatever happens, we have to do something.” Rahima, holding Majid's clothes with weak hands, said while crying— “Don't go... the river is not safe during a new moon. Today... I saw in a dream... a dark shadow following me.” But no dream can stand against starvation. The two of them set out with a net. As soon as they reached the middle of the river... everything stopped. The wind died down. Even the splashing sound of the water seemed to be suppressed by someone. Only the whispering of the catkin field all around. Rafiq's throat went dry. He whispered— “Brother-in-law... I feel uneasy. Someone is watching us from under the water. Let's go back.” Majid smiled while casting the net—but that smile was terrifying. “Quiet. The fish will come right now.” Suddenly, a massive pull on the net. The boat shook. The two of them pulled together. A huge Boal fish breached the water—almost three cubits long. But... this wasn't an ordinary fish. Its two eyes were like a human's. Round, black, covered with a thin membrane. And in those eyes... a horrifying expression. As if saying— “Eat me.” Rafiq screamed— “Brother-in-law! Throw it away! That's not a fish... that's... something else!” But Majid's eyes had changed. A bizarre smile was on his face. He grabbed the fish with both hands... and took a vicious bite out of it raw. Blood was dripping down his beard. He was tearing the fish apart and eating it. Rafiq screamed like a madman— “For Allah's sake! Stop!” Majid looked up. His eyes were completely black. No white parts. He said, his voice wet and dripping— “You come too... they are waiting. Can't you hear their call?” Right then, the boat came to a dead stop. As if hundreds of hands were holding it from below. Voices echoed from all around—countless, wet, deep voices: “Come down... come down to the bottom of the Padma... we have given you food... now give us our food...” Suddenly, a massive wave. Rafiq fell into the water. He was swimming for his life. Looking back, he saw—black hands, just hands... wrapping around Majid's neck, chest, legs, and dragging him down. Majid screamed for the last time— “Rafiq... run! Save Rahima... their call... they don't let go!” Then... the water went calm. Only a single bubble rose up. Then, sudden silence. Rafiq returned home. But he was no longer normal. After this incident, having lost her husband, Rahima broke down and became like a madwoman. Rahima said that Rafiq would whisper in his sleep at night— “They are calling... from under the water... they are calling me...” But Rahima understood nothing. If she asked Rafiq what happened that night, Rafiq wouldn't say a word. He would only say this much, “It won't let any of us live.” A few weeks later, on another new moon... Rahima woke up at night to find Rafiq wasn't in the room. A suspicion crept into her mind that perhaps he had gone to the river. Thinking this, Rahima quickly gathered the people around their house and rushed towards the river. But by then, it was too late. Everyone arrived to see Rafiq walking into the middle of the river. Seeing this, a few men took two boats and set off to catch him. But just as they reached him, Rafiq himself jumped into the river. And right then, a storm blew in, they couldn't catch Rafiq. But a boy from among them, named Nazrul, also jumped in to save him. But he couldn't catch Rafiq, right then some black hands dragged Rafiq beneath the water. But even then, the waves hadn't calmed down. Nazrul suddenly felt something pulling his legs. When he forcefully kicked his legs, the people on the boat realized something was happening to him. He was quickly pulled onto the boat. The wind grew even fiercer then. After that, they slowly returned to the shore. But the people on the shore still didn't know what had happened. They heard the whole story later. But the bizarre thing was, with so much wind and chaos out there, apparently no one standing on the shore felt any wind or waves! After this incident, Nazrul came down with a severe fever, and in his fever, he kept whispering something— “We have given you food... now give us our food...”. After this, Rahima's condition also kept getting worse. A few days later, in the afternoon, Rahima went to the river to fetch water. But she stepped into knee-deep water and didn't come back up. Her face wasn't normal either, it looked somewhat deathly pale. And she kept whispering, “They will take me too.” Whatever else she said couldn't be understood. The person with her, out of sheer terror, left her there and ran up to the shore to gather people. But by then, she was speaking in a terrifying voice, “We have given you food... now give us our food...”. Then she fainted and fell. Everyone carried her back up, but after that, her condition worsened too. Meanwhile, Nazrul hadn't recovered either. The village people fell into deep anxiety over whose turn it would be next. The whole village collectively decided to go to a Kabiraj (spiritual healer). But there wasn't a good Kabiraj on that char. Over here, Nazrul and Rahima's conditions were also deteriorating. Their greatest fear was that the next new moon was approaching. But no one understood what to do or how. Then, some people from the village went to Kafiluddin Kabiraj in the neighboring village. He came and, upon seeing Rahima and Nazrul, became terrified. He said, “This is impossible for me.” Then the villagers grew even more worried. Everyone asked Kafiluddin Kabiraj, “What can we do now?” Then he said, “I know someone, his village is Salepur Char, Malek Kabiraj.” So everyone brought Malek Kabiraj. Upon seeing Nazrul, Malek Kabiraj was somewhat startled inside, though he didn't show it on his face. In a grave voice, the Kabiraj said, “Listen, this task is not easy. And it's not possible for me to do this alone. To do this, I need a very brave man who is not afraid of death.” But no one agreed. Suddenly, a boy said, “I can do this job.” His age must have been 18 to 19, just starting to grow tall. He said, “Tell me what I have to do.” Then the boy's mother said, “Kabiraj Saab, please don't mind him. My son spoke without thinking, he is not that brave.” Crying, she strictly forbade her son. But her son had a straightforward answer, “Since I am born into this world, death is certain one day. Two lives are already gone, and two more are at death's door, how can I just sit around? Besides, if this problem isn't solved, there's no telling how many more lives will be lost.” Saying this, the boy said, “Kabiraj, I am not afraid. You give me the responsibility.” At this point in the story, let me mention something—many of you might be wondering, who are this mother and son? Where did they suddenly come from? I will tell you that at the end of the story, keep listening. Then the Kabiraj gave him the task. The Kabiraj said, “You must buy an earthen pot at a fixed price, absolutely no bargaining allowed. If you bargain, its spiritual power will be destroyed.” Looking at the flames of the fire, the Kabiraj continued, “You have to uproot seven young saplings of the Swet Shimul—that is, the white Mandar tree—from seven different villages. But there is a condition! You must uproot the saplings entirely intact with their roots, and you must hold your breath while uprooting each one. You have to pull out one tree from the ground in a single breath. If you let out your breath midway, all your effort will go to waste.” The Kabiraj paused for a moment, looked at him with a burning gaze, and added, “When you have seven saplings in your hands after roaming seven villages, you must come and stand under that old banyan tree near the cremation ground in the southern part of this village, exactly in the dead of the new moon night. Remember, on your way back, even if someone calls out to you from behind, you must not turn your head. If you lose your courage and look back even once, both your determination and your life will be in grave danger. Will you be able to do it?” Without any hesitation, he nodded and said, “I can do it. Before the sun sets tomorrow, the seven Mandar trees from seven villages will be in front of you.” The Kabiraj then instructed, “On the upcoming new moon, do not let Rahima and Nazrul out of your sight, and do not let them leave their rooms on the night of the new moon. Everyone must stay awake and keep an eye on them.” After that, everyone kept the two of them in one place to pass the night. But that night was not normal. Nazrul and Rahima just kept whispering. Suddenly, around 2 AM, a fierce storm with heavy wind and rain began. Over there, Malek Kabiraj was in deep meditation; he hadn't left that brave boy entirely alone. Sitting in his trance, he saw that the boy was in grave danger. He then sent two powerful jinns. But the boy knew nothing about this. When he crossed the sixth village and reached the seventh, his body could no longer keep going. Uprooting the Mandar trees in a single breath across six consecutive villages had left his lungs on the verge of bursting. His body was soaked in sweat, and his eyes were as red as hibiscus flowers. As he reached the specific Mandar tree next to the cremation ground of the seventh village and reached out his hand, a dark, shadowy figure suddenly stood before him. A horrifying, booming laughter shook the surroundings, as if even the wind had stopped. The moment he held his breath and tried to grab the tree, an invisible force shoved him violently, throwing him far away. His stubborn mind refused to give up, but his body was no longer cooperating. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness and the previously collected trees were slipping from his grasp, the two powerful, good jinns sent by Malek Kabiraj appeared. When that dark shadow figure tried to attack him again, the first jinn extended its massive, Noorani (radiant) hand, blocking the evil force like a solid wall. Changing the direction of the wind, it created a protective shield around the boy, so that no outside obstacle could touch him anymore. The second jinn whispered some sacred words into the boy's ear with utmost affection. In an instant, all the exhaustion vanished from his body, and a new life force surged into his lungs. He felt as though the strength of ten men had possessed his arms. Empowered by that boundless strength granted by the jinn, he held his breath for the last time and lunged forward. The roots of that stubborn Swet Shimul tree were trapped deep within the earth like iron chains, but this time, with one sharp pull, he tore the ground open and uprooted the tree. As soon as the tree came into his hand, he did not scream out in a single breath, but rather stood up calmly. He did not know that Malek Kabiraj was watching over him, but those two invisible guards standing in the distance smiled gently and vanished into the wind. After that, when he hurriedly returned to Malek Kabiraj's den with the seven Swet Shimul (Mandar) trees from the seven villages, a bizarre smile of satisfaction was on the Kabiraj's face. Staring intently at him, the Kabiraj said in a grave voice, “Well done, my son! You did it. But do you know, at one point when you were almost out of breath, you were not alone?” He looked at the Kabiraj in astonishment. The Kabiraj smiled gently and said, “Your determination impressed me, so to save your life, I sent two of my loyal, powerful good jinns. Without them, you would have lost both your life and your honor today.” He stood there stunned. Placing a hand on his shoulder, the Kabiraj continued, “But son, don't think the job is done. The real game hasn't even started yet! On the upcoming full moon night, we will sit again with Rahima and Nazrul. On that day, all dark forces remain in fear.” That terrifying full moon arrived. Malek Kabiraj, holding those seven Swet Shimul or Mandar trees, looked at the boy and smiled a bizarre smile of satisfaction. But there was no time to waste then. The full moon was at its zenith. Outside, the howling of the wind, and inside the room, the groans of Nazrul and Rahima created a hellish atmosphere. Malek Kabiraj roared— “Everyone get out of the room! Only this brave boy and I will stay inside. Beware, do not knock on the door until the Fajr Azan, even if you hear any screams!” Everyone went outside in fear. The Kabiraj placed a large earthen bowl in the middle of the room. He filled it with river water and soaked the branches of those seven Mandar trees from the seven villages in it. Then, from his pocket, he took out an antique, copper-colored ring and some special roots and barks. Nazrul and Rahima's condition was at its peak— Suddenly, Nazrul stopped muttering and let out a hideous scream. His two eyes had turned pitch black, just like Majid Mia's. Sitting on the bed, rocking back and forth, he began to say, “Give us our food back... or else we will eat your hearts!” Rahima also started speaking in the same tone, in a bizarre language beyond ordinary human comprehension. Without panicking even a bit, Malek Kabiraj took those seven Mandar branches in his fist and started sprinkling the river water on Nazrul and Rahima. Unceasing chants on his lips. Every time he sprinkled the water, Nazrul and Rahima thrashed around in agony. As if blasts of fire were hitting their bodies. The Kabiraj then instructed that brave boy— “Hold this pot! All the evil forces must be trapped inside this very pot. When I say 'Close it', you will press its mouth shut with the earthen lid without delaying a single moment!” Suddenly, the lamp in the room went out. In the pitch-black darkness, the sound of hundreds of wet footsteps could be heard. As if those disembodied spirits had risen from the bottom of the Padma River to take their companions away. The walls of the room began to tremble. Striking his walking stick forcefully against the ground, Malek Kabiraj shouted— “Your time is up! Go back to where you came from!” The drums of an invisible war sounded inside the room. Something black like smoke started coming out of Nazrul and Rahima's mouths and was drawn towards that earthen pot. Both of them then became lifeless and fell to the floor. The pot was trembling violently then, as if something was thrashing around inside like a trapped beast. The Kabiraj bellowed— “Now! Close the mouth!” Without wasting any time, the boy closed the mouth of the pot with the earthen lid. Malek Kabiraj quickly tied the mouth of the pot with a red cloth and drew a special design on it with his own blood. Within moments, the storm outside stopped. The whispering of the catkin fields was no more. The suffocating atmosphere all around dissipated, and a holy tranquility descended. With a sweat-soaked body, the Kabiraj breathed a sigh of relief. Char Kalyanpur was saved today. The next morning, the village people were ecstatic with joy. Rahima and Nazrul were completely cured. The villagers and elders collectively decided to reward the boy and his mother, whose boundless courage had saved the village today. But... a startling event happened right then! The entirety of Char Kalyanpur was searched thoroughly. But no trace of that brave boy or his mother could be found! Then the villagers suddenly came to their senses— Wait, this boy and his mother had never been seen in this village before! No one even knew their names! Even before the night the boy voluntarily took responsibility in front of Kafiluddin Kabiraj, no one in this village had sensed their existence. Who were they? Where did they come from? And where did they vanish into thin air as soon as the job was done? The village elders started saying, “Perhaps they were not ordinary humans. By Allah's infinite mercy, perhaps they had taken human forms just to help the people of this unfortunate village.” What the truth is, no one has been able to find out to this day. The identity of that mother and son remains an unsolved mystery to the people of Char Kalyanpur even today. And that pot? Malek Kabiraj had taken it far away, to the middle of the river... and dropped it in such a deep place so that it wouldn't easily fall into anyone's net or reach. Today's Horror World ends here. You heard it, right? Beware... do not go near the Padma on new moon nights. They might still be calling... Assalamu Alaikum.