That night, Ananya dreamed standing inside the sanctum.
The idol wasn't stone anymore.
It breathed.
Its matted hair moved like snakes underwater.
Its eyes opened—
Empty black caves.
The voice shook the temple:
"Tumne mujhe yaad dila diya."
(You reminded me.)
Chains of old prayers hung from the ceiling like bones.
Villagers knelt around her, faceless, chanting backward.
The idol stepped down.
Each step cracked the floor.
Its shadow crawled into her mouth, nose, ears.
She tried to scream.
But the mantra came out instead.
She woke up bleeding from her nose.
On her palm was written in ash:
रहोगी।
(You will stay.)
From outside, the temple bell rang once.
Slow.
Satisfied.