Raghav and Neelima's Tragic Tale
"Yes, my son," the old man said, his voice trembling slightly. "This Vetala is no ordinary spirit. Its story stretches back over five hundred years. My father told me, and he heard it from his father before him."
Neer and Agni listened intently as the old man took a deep breath. His eyes darkened with memory, yet there was a strange light in them—half fear, half reverence.
"The Vetala's tale begins with Raghav and Neelima," the old man began slowly. "Raghav was born into one of the most respected families of this village. From his earliest days, he served his parents with devotion and attended the Gurukul with unparalleled discipline. Among his peers, he was the most obedient and the most powerful student, his beauty so striking that many whispered it seemed as if Kamadeva himself had descended to Earth."
"He attracted attention from every maiden, yet remained chaste and disciplined. Duty, service to his parents, and obedience to his Gurudev defined him. Raghav had once defended the kingdom from invading armies, proving both his valor and intelligence."
"One day, his Gurudev sent him to the garden to fetch rare flowers. There, he saw her—an extraordinarily beautiful maiden. Raghav had never felt this before; his gaze could not leave her. She moved gracefully, gathering flowers, and Raghav, enchanted, followed her silently."
"Suddenly, Gurudev appeared, halting him mid-step."
Gurudev's voice was calm, yet firm:
"Raghav, where are the flowers? Today, for the first time, you have delayed your duty."
Raghav froze, snapping back to reality. He bowed deeply.
"Forgive me, Gurudev. I… I was…"
Gurudev smiled gently:
"No matter, Raghav. Go and complete your task."
Raghav obeyed, collecting the flowers, yet his mind was fixed entirely on the mysterious maiden. Day after day, he saw her again in the garden. Each encounter was brief, fleeting, yet the image of her beauty haunted him constantly.
One day, as Raghav followed her cautiously, she paused and bowed to a hermit standing nearby.
"Greetings, respected father," she said softly.
Raghav's heart pounded. Was she the Gurudev's daughter? The thought consumed him. From that day forward, he looked for her each morning, his heart yearning for a connection he could not yet name.
Finally, gathering courage, he approached her.
"Divine one, who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
The maiden lowered her gaze modestly.
"I am Neelima, daughter of the Gurudev."
Raghav's eyes widened, and he felt a strange, inexplicable pull.
"I see you in the garden each day… I feel… I am drawn to you. Your beauty, your grace… I have never seen its like."
Neelima glanced into his eyes for a moment, almost caught in his gaze, before stepping back, retreating toward the Gurukul with a shy smile.
Days turned into weeks. Slowly, their hearts opened to one another. They spoke quietly in the garden, shared small moments, and their love blossomed in secret.
Then, one afternoon, Gurudev arrived unexpectedly. His voice was stern, commanding attention:
"Neelima! What are you doing here?"
Neelima trembled, startled, and ran toward him.
"Come away, child," Gurudev said, taking her back to the Gurukul. "Raghav, you were sent for flowers, not… this."
Raghav bowed silently, his heart breaking, and returned to his task. Gurudev's eyes softened slightly but his words were firm:
"Raghav, this is inappropriate. Do not allow your heart to interfere with your duties."
Raghav nodded silently. Yet, love is not so easily quelled. Days passed in restraint, but fate would not allow them to part completely. One day, as Raghav walked through the garden, he found Neelima waiting.
Her eyes shone with hope.
"You've come, Raghav…"
"I found you, Neelima," he replied softly.
They talked for hours. Neelima's voice, trembling with emotion, confessed what her heart had long known:
"I love you, Raghav. I will live with you, die with you. Without you, my life is meaningless."
Raghav took her hands gently, feeling the weight of destiny and desire intertwined.
"I feel the same, Neelima. Soon, we shall be married."
But destiny had other plans. The very next day, Gurudev sent Raghav to battle. He fought bravely, and nearly a month later, returned, only to find Neelima gone. Confused, he learned that she had been married to another—her neck adorned with a mangalsutra, her forehead marked with sindoor.
Raghav's heart shattered. The betrayal, whether real or circumstantial, crushed him from within. He confronted her in the garden:
"Neelima… what is this? You swore love to me. You said we would be married. Why? Was any of it real, or was it a deception?"
Neelima's lips quivered. Before she could reply, Gurudev appeared.
"Neelima, you must obey your duties. Your marriage is done. Go to your husband."
Turning to Raghav, he added sternly:
"Raghav, you have disobeyed my orders. Leave the Gurukul."
Raghav bowed silently and left. His parents, bound by fear of societal scorn, refused him refuge. Alone, betrayed by all he trusted, he wandered the village.
Even his younger brother's tears could not console him.
"Brother… please don't go…" the child pleaded.
Raghav's hands rested on his sibling's head. He bowed to his parents one last time and walked away. Yet the villagers intercepted him, dragging him to the ancient Banyan tree. They bound him and beat him mercilessly, striking him with stones.
As he lay dying, Raghav's final words echoed in the wind:
"I… Raghav… who served my parents, my Gurudev, and this kingdom… all I wanted was love. Did I not even have that right? Those who once praised me… are now the agents of my death. Oh Lord… take me to your realm…"
Raghav's life ended in cruelty. No one performed his last rites, not even his parents. The injustice, betrayal, and tragedy bound his spirit, transforming him into the Vetala—cursed to wander, seeking liberation for his broken heart.
The old man's eyes glistened with tears.
"That, my son, is why he became the Vetala. Betrayed in love, abandoned by parents, scorned by his Gurudev, and cast aside by society… all he desires is release. Nothing else can free him… except a selfless act of love and devotion."
Neer's voice shook with emotion.
"Such cruelty… and his only fault was to love. Why did society do this to him?"
The old man shook his head slowly.
"No one can answer that, my child… only the divine knows."
Neer's resolve hardened, the fire in his eyes reflected in Agni's steady gaze.
"Then we will free him, Baba. We will perform the rites, complete what is left undone. No longer will he wander as a Vetala."
The old man's voice rose, trembling with warning:
"Stop! You are walking toward death! Do not go near that tree!"
Neer, stepping forward with unwavering determination, glanced at Agni. Agni's subtle care for him—steady hands guiding him, eyes always watching for his well-being—was a quiet anchor. Agni placed his hand over Neer's briefly, a fleeting gesture of warmth and protection, and whispered:
"Whatever happens… we face it together. You've already risked everything for me. Now let me stand by you."
Neer felt a surge of gratitude and silent affection, the bond between them deeper than words.
"We go, Agni. No matter what comes… we free him," Neer said firmly.
The old man watched silently, fear and awe in his gaze. He knew the courage of these two young warriors could challenge the centuries-old curse, yet he could not guide them further. The forest beyond the Banyan tree rustled, shadows stretching long, as if sensing the intruders.
Together, Agni and Neer walked toward the ancient tree, every step heavy with anticipation. Agni subtly supported Neer, steadying him when the air grew thick and ominous. Their breaths synchronized, the world around them fading into silence, save for the creaking of the old branches above.
The Vetala waited, unseen, yet palpably close. Its curse and anguish hung like a veil over the village. Every step closer, every heartbeat, resonated with the weight of centuries. Neer's grip on his sword tightened, his hand brushing Agni's only for reassurance, not release.
"Whatever awaits us… we do not fail," Neer said softly, eyes fixed on the looming silhouette of the Banyan tree.
Agni's calm, unwavering gaze met his.
"Then we wait, and we fight… together."
The wind stirred. The shadows thickened. The village fell silent, holding its breath, as the Vetala's presence made itself known.
Next chapter _The Vetala's Liberation