Saturday Evening
Parth leaned his head against the car window as streetlights blinked past. His father hummed quietly to a song on the radio, fingers tapping the steering wheel. The roads were half-empty, and the city wore its dusk like a tired coat.
At the red light, Parth turned slightly. "How's Ma?"
His father glanced at him, smiled faintly. "She's counting down the minutes till we get home."
Parth didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He already felt her — that aching warmth pulling him homeward.
---
Home
The moment the front door opened, she was there.
"Parth!" his mother gasped, wrapping her arms around him before he could take off his shoes. "You've lost weight! Are you even eating properly?"
He smiled against her shoulder. "I'm fine, Ma."
She pulled back and looked at him — really looked. Like she was trying to memorize his face. Maybe she was. Her elder son had moved out, married an American girl, settled oceans away. Kaliyug, Parth had once heard her whisper under her breath. Now Parth was all she had left — and she held on too tightly because of it.
That night, she made all his favourites. Khichdi with ghee. Steamed fish the way he liked. She stayed in the kitchen far longer than needed, peeking out just to make sure he hadn't vanished.
Parth didn't tell her about the dreams. Or Room 3B. Or the boy who'd died on campus.
What good would it do to speak of shadows?
---
Sunday
They spent the day quietly — a walk around the old temple road, cleaning out the balcony pots, helping Ma with her new phone.
But there was something different in the air.
The neighbour's dog, usually noisy, stayed oddly silent. Crows circled overhead, refusing to land. The milkman arrived late and shook his head.
> "Cows, bhaiya. They're giving less and less. Small in size now. Something's wrong with their feed… or the air. No one knows."
Parth noted it but didn't react. A seed of unease sprouted.
That evening, Parth sat on the terrace alone. Distant sirens wailed. The city skyline pulsed faintly in the dark, like it was breathing heavier.
He could feel it again — that static. Not in his ears, but in his blood.
---
Monday Morning
Over breakfast, the news anchor spoke too fast, voice clipped with urgency.
> "Another case of temple robbery—priest found unconscious. In other reports: two gangrape cases in East Delhi, one broad daylight theft in South Extension… increasing violence in schools—"
Click. His father muted the television.
"Eat," he said quietly.
His mother stirred sugar into her tea. "It wasn't this bad last year."
Parth stared at the silent screen. Behind the muted footage, red text flashed:
> "Mysterious power disruptions continue across select hospitals. Energy drain? Sabotage? No answers yet."
---
Back at Hostel
Monday afternoon.
Aarav sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes wide, notebook forgotten on his lap.
> "Bro," he whispered to Parth. "I saw something last night."
Parth raised an eyebrow. "You always do."
"No, listen. It wasn't just a dream."
Aarav's voice had lost its usual mischief. There was a tremble there, something fragile.
> "I saw Krishna. I think it was Krishna. Not a painting Krishna. Real. Tall. Wearing something golden. He was…glowing."
Parth stilled.
> "We were on a battlefield. I could feel it. He turned to look at me. Smiled. Said: 'Remember, the wheel turns.'"
Parth's breath caught.
But Aarav wasn't done.
> "But then—he changed. For a second, just a second, he wasn't Krishna anymore."
Parth frowned. "Changed?"
Aarav nodded slowly. "White horse. A rider. Sword. Eyes that weren't human — they burned. I don't know what it was. But it felt like… the end. Like everything would burn clean."
Parth felt his skin go cold. His heart stuttered.
He knew who that was.
But Aarav? Aarav couldn't have known. Not unless—
Neel, who had been sitting quietly by the window, spoke for the first time.
> "A vision of what's to come."
Parth turned.
Neel's eyes were calm, distant. "He saw the next avatar. Just for a second. The blade that follows the flute."
---
The Darkness Moves
That evening, in a hospital not far from campus, a nurse stepped into a storage room to fetch extra IV sets.
The lights flickered. Once. Twice.
Then they went out.
A cold wind blew in, though no windows were open.
The nurse screamed.
They found her three minutes later, unconscious. Her vitals unstable. Her hands trembling violently.
Nearby machines had short-circuited.
The CCTV footage showed only static.
---
That Night
Neel sat on his bunk, scribbling quietly into a black notebook.
Words spilled out: "A vow beneath the stars."
A broken bow. Blood in the soil. A king with lion-eyes.
He didn't know what they meant. Not yet. But he remembered.
Meanwhile, Aarav flipped through his class notebook and stopped.
In the margins, he'd drawn a spiral of horses. Chariots. Flags. Weapons.
He didn't remember sketching any of it.
---
Parth's Window
The wind was restless. He sat alone, watching the peepal tree outside sway like it was whispering to something below.
He hadn't told them about what he'd seen on TV this morning.
Not the static on the hospital footage.
Not the EMF burst reports flashing behind the news anchors.
Not the way one of the hospital scanners showed the human silhouette—but with something extra, like an echo of another form.
Not the sudden collapse of another student. A second-year nursing intern. No wounds. No cause of death.
Just like the file in Room 3B.
---
From a rooftop high above, the crow returned.
It watched the boys through electric eyes.
Then turned its head toward the east, where the fog pulsed.
Somewhere far beneath the Yamuna riverbed, something ancient stirred — a heartbeat without a form, a hunger without a name.
The white horse had been seen.
The wheel was turning again.
---