Jyotsna and the ghost of the lost traveler

In the heart of rural Bengal, where ancient schools whisper forgotten secrets and dense forests hold unseen terrors, young Jyotsna and her inseparable friend Anwar find themselves ensnared in a chilling mystery. Children are vanishing, whispers of a phantom king haunt the night, and strange, glowing lights dance in the forbidden Madhuban forest. Is it merely local superstition, or has the spectral 'Bhulo' truly returned to claim its next victim? Unravel the truth behind the disappearances, navigate the treacherous world of childhood rivalries, and brave the darkness that lurks beneath the surface of their seemingly peaceful village. Every shadow holds a secret, and every whisper could be a warning. Will you dare to discover what truly hunts in the night?

Jyotsna and the ghost of the lost traveler

In the heart of rural Bengal, where ancient schools whisper forgotten secrets and dense forests hold unseen terrors, young Jyotsna and her inseparable friend Anwar find themselves ensnared in a chilling mystery. Children are vanishing, whispers of a phantom king haunt the night, and strange, glowing lights dance in the forbidden Madhuban forest. Is it merely local superstition, or has the spectral 'Bhulo' truly returned to claim its next victim? Unravel the truth behind the disappearances, navigate the treacherous world of childhood rivalries, and brave the darkness that lurks beneath the surface of their seemingly peaceful village. Every shadow holds a secret, and every whisper could be a warning. Will you dare to discover what truly hunts in the night?

It was mid-April in a small village in Bengal, some forty kilometres from Kolkata. Jyotsna Sharma was sitting in one corner of a classroom, overlooking the field outside. Purple flowers adorned the grass here and there and a small sparrow sat in ambush, perched atop a small bush, waiting for the juiciest grasshopper to wander its way.

Something hit Jyotsna on her forehead and brought her back to the classroom. It was a piece of chalk. The teacher, Mr. Mukherjee was sleeping on his desk, legs atop the table, his white shirt, unbuttoned and sailing in rhythm with the ceiling fan. She looked around and saw Anwar sitting atop his desk with a slate in hand, rocking back and forth, a wide grin on his face biting his lower lips waving at her.

“What?” She jerked her head.

Anwar waved his hand and pointed the sparrow outside. “Let’s go”

“No”, she nodded and pointed to the sleeping master and made a gesture of hitting her hand with a finger.