The sun had barely risen, casting golden rays over Ashwyn village, but the day had already stirred into life. Crows cawed, buffaloes mooed, and somewhere a goat was busy munching leaves with unbothered innocence. Meanwhile, Zoya stormed into the small mud hut where Harun was sitting cross-legged, sipping tea from his cracked clay cup with the calm of a village sage.
Her face was pale, eyes wide and twitching like a cornered cat. "Harun..." she whispered, voice trembling, "where's the toilet?"
Harun raised one eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "Behind the buffalo."
"Behind the buffalo?" She blinked, incredulous.
"Yes. Take a left after the mango tree, then a right at the banyan. You'll see a wooden door with... character."
"Character?"
He nodded solemnly. "It creaks when the wind blows. Sometimes it even sounds like an owl. Brave it, warrior."
Zoya looked as if she had just been handed a challenge by fate itself. She gripped her little plastic bag of essentials—sanitizer, wet wipes, the whole arsenal—like a soldier preparing for battle.
As she stepped outside, the village was alive with its usual symphony: laughter from children playing tag, distant barking of a dog, the rhythmic clinking of the blacksmith's hammer. Zoya marched toward the dreaded door, the wooden plank standing crooked and leaning as if begging for mercy. A large green lizard lounged atop the frame, eyes gleaming like a tiny judge ready to pass sentence.
Taking a deep breath, Zoya pushed the door open.
Inside was a scene of pure horror.
No seat, no porcelain, no throne fit for royalty. Just a pit — a yawning abyss sunk into the earth, dark and foreboding, daring her to approach. Beside it was a single bucket, half-filled with murky brown water that rippled ominously.
She froze.
"Nope," she muttered and slammed the door so hard the lizard leapt off and darted into the bushes.
Back inside the hut, Harun hummed an old folk tune, peaceful and oblivious.
Zoya burst in, voice cracking. "There's a HOLE, Harun!"
"Yes," Harun said sagely.
"No toilet seat!"
"There's a bucket."
"The water is muddy!"
Harun shrugged. "It builds character."
She grabbed the bucket like a shield and marched back to the battlefield.
With nerves steeling her, Zoya pushed the door open again and stepped inside. Carefully, she adjusted her stance, channeling every yoga pose she'd ever learned.
And then her foot slipped.
"SPLAAASHHH!" she fell in with a thud, soaked from head to toe.
In the distance, a goat sneezed as if mocking her defeat.
Back inside, Harun didn't flinch. "She's gone," he whispered, staring deeply into the swirling steam of his tea like a mystic foretelling doom.
Ten minutes later, Zoya emerged, soaked, broken, and questioning all her life decisions.
"I've fought gods," she muttered. "Slayed beasts. Survived magic storms... but this... this pit of horror has defeated me."
Harun strolled by, chewing a sugarcane stick. "You good?"
Her dead-eyed glare could freeze the sun. "I feel violated by gravity."
He offered her another bucket. "You'll be stronger tomorrow."
"I want a flush."
"That's not a thing here."
---
The village gossip mill went into overdrive. At the water well, a small kid tilted his head and asked, "Didi, why do your slippers smell weird?"
Zoya stared blankly. She hadn't cleaned them since her bathroom encounter.
Her scream pierced the air. Birds exploded from the nearest tree. Harun dropped his sugarcane stick in shock and burst out laughing.
"Village life, baby," he said grinning.
---
Later that day, curious neighbors gathered, each offering their own twisted version of the ordeal.
Old auntie Meera shook her head, wagging a finger. "This is why I built a potty on the rooftop. Best air, no monsters."
The butcher chuckled, "Harun, you should've warned her! That pit's got a history — some say the last person who fell in never came out!"
A group of kids teased, "We should put a swing over it and call it the 'Splash Ride'!"
Zoya tried to ignore the mounting teasing, but even the village dog kept giving her suspicious looks.
---
Harun, meanwhile, had his own inner commentary.
"Look at her, the mighty Zoya, felled by a hole in the ground. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe the village's true challenge isn't demons or magic — it's surviving the toilet. Maybe that creaky door holds secrets. Or maybe... just maybe... tomorrow I'll finally fix it."
---
That night, as Zoya lay on her thin cot, she heard the infamous door creak open. The green lizard was back, now perched like a tiny guardian of doom.
She sighed. "Tomorrow... I conquer you."