They hunt when we sleep.

****

Life, to Shiroshini, felt like a bird without wings after the death of her daughter Kamala. She passed her days creating lakes of tears, fasting and mourning, wishing to die like her daughter. She had even thought of committing suicide a couple of times, but the cold touch of the dagger on her wrist made her cower. Perhaps sleeping pills would have been a better option.

She had not felt this distraught after losing her husband, the sole reason behind it being Kamala. She knew she had to live for Kamala and see her grow up. Kamala was a tender eight when Shiroshini's husband had died, and Shiroshini didn't want to lose to fate.

But now, when that reason was no more, she had to think about how to go on with life. It led to no success. Activities were a mere mechanical repeating of tasks backing the raw instinct of survival– wake up, bath, cook, eat and sleep. The chime of girly gaiety left an abyss behind in its eternal absence. A bereaved mother she was, unable to think that the creature of her womb got extinct before her own time had dried up. She sat on a mattress and stared at the window, watching people on the street continue their daily chores, as if nothing was sinister about Khatra. Her tangled locks were open and she wore a plain white saree, resembling Dhumavati.

Her eyes failed to discern the movement outside her window; she was lost in reenacting the scene of her daughter dancing. Did that talent of hers led her to death?

Shiroshini shivered. The devadasis didn't appear to be of good nature. In her eyes, those devadasis knew nothing but lechery and vice. Kamala was a lotus in the mud. Tears fogged Shiroshini's eyes. They fell on her tattered, dirty saree. For a moment she imagined she saw red stains on it. Maybe Kamala's blood, or maybe her own end had come and she was coughing and spitting out blood. But then it went away, and all she was left with were wet spots on her simple saree.

When there was a knock at the door, she didn't hear it. The second time, she thought she was dreaming. She convinced her heart to not think of Kamala's arrival back from the temple after her dance practice. She took a bunch of her tresses in her grip and wrung them like some soggy fabric. The pain that spurted diluted her hearing capability.

But the knock was only persistent. This time, Shiroshini knew she wasn't hallucinating. She got up and opened the door. It was a woman, and by the looks of it a very unusual one. Shiroshini had not seen anyone with an unlike pair of eyes– one blue and another brown. Her complexion was bright as bronze and glowing in daylight. Probably she hailed from a well-to-do family, and definitely from a town or a city. "Yes?"

The woman joined her hands in a namaskara. "Namaskar, I am a newcomer in the village."

Shiroshini had seen this woman somewhere, perhaps even heard a thing or two about this newcomer, words rolling around the tongues of the people, but she never paid much attention to gossip. "What do you need me for?"

"I have come to offer help." The woman craned her neck. "Won't you let me in?"

Shiroshini was embarrassed. She welcomed the lady. She had no place to offer her to sit, not even a khatia. "I am poor, as you can see. I am not good enough to entertain guests."

The woman smiled. "I have no problem sitting on the ground."

Shiroshini slowly sat across this woman, her eyes never leaving the human in front of her. This lady with sparkling eyes... Who was she? What motive did she have?

Immediately a jolt ran down Shiroshini's spine, a bizarre sensation that left her feeling frigidly numb. She pointed her quivering finger at the lady. "Did Manihar send you?"

The woman looked flummoxed, and after a brief string of speechless moments, narrowed her eyes. "No? I know him and his family, though not closely. But he didn't send me here. I have come here for a purpose which possibly won't match his perspective."

Shiroshini's feet curled inward. Her gaze flickered nervously. The shades of colour in her vision often went hazy. "I don't understand."

"I was there in the crowd when, err, your daughter died."

Shiroshini flinched. "You were?"

"Yes, and, let's say, I am here with a purpose."

"What purpose?"

"Tell me the names of the other four victims."

"You... you don't know?"

"How would I? I-I am new here."

Shiroshini gulped. "So Manihar didn't send you," she whispered. Her breaths turned shallow. The woman's gaze softened, a ray of sympathy in her eyes. Shiroshini rubbed her temples. "The first one to die was Bhanu. She was the daughter of our village cobbler. The second one was Leela, an orphan who lived here with her aunt Meena. The third one was Rakhi, and the fourth one was Damini."

The woman intently listened to all the names and memorised those. She tapped her fingers on the cold floor. "Can you tell me something about Rakhi and Damini?"

Shiroshini pursed her lips. "I don't understand why you want to know."

"Listen, I can always go and ask someone else, but since I came here, I guess I should ask you only."

"Why didn't you go to someone else?"

"I don't know whom to trust. But you cannot lie to me."

"Then promise me one thing."

"Yes?"

"You won't tell anybody what I shared with you."

The woman pinched her throat. "Promise."

Shiroshini heaved a sigh. "Rakhi belonged to a family of weavers. Her father, Uttam, died from grief after her death. Their family is now run by her uncle Ravi. Damini's father and older sister still live, but the man is always very ill. He has been since Damini's death."

"What is the name of Damini's sibling?"

"Maina."

The woman stood up. "Thank you so much for your help. I promise to keep your name a secret. No one will know that you shared this information with me." She gave a look of pity to the frail widow. "You are afraid of Manihar, aren't you?"

Shiroshini didn't have the strength to stand up. Invisible claws scratched at her neck. A miasma of blood and black soot filled her mind. The crackling fire erupting from the pyre, eating away at the woods and the bones, the red saree turning to ashes, and the distant shriek of the Das family... The pieces of memory haunted her like a ghost. They never ceased to come and lose the chance of breaking her little by little. "Why do you ask?"

"Do not tell him that a woman like me has come here. Both of us will be in trouble, then. You need me to keep quiet, and I also need you to keep quiet. Forget that someone had come to you today."

"Forget, just like that?"

"For your own welfare."

"I would never tell the Das family about you. Not after whatever I told you." Shiroshini's face twisted and she laughed like a lunatic, a deafening scream that could burst eardrums. "I don't know anything about you, anything!"

The woman's steps were quick and calculated. She went back the same way she had come, vanishing from the sight of Shiroshini, disappearing like a mirage.

She knew what she had to do now– visit the family of each victim. Even if Shiroshini couldn't recognise this sharp lady, this daughter of Kalika, Khatra knew her very well. After all, she was the namesake of the Devi, who had come to Khatra.

Maya.

****

Visiting the three victims' families couldn't fetch intricate details about the death. What she understood from their cries and reluctant answers, were that all were dumped around the temple. All were pale and bloodless. These were common points with all the murders.

Ravi, late Rakhi's uncle, doubted if Maya was sent by Manihar. Even when she denied it and showed only a noble interest for gaining justice, Ravi was very hostile towards her. She didn't remain there for long. Now, she headed for the house of the fourth victim. The villagers gave her easy directions to Maina's house. Upon reaching the hut, she saw a pair of men's sandals kept outside. And of a really big size. Maina's father was sick and the shoes looked like they were recently bought.

So some other man is there inside?

Maya didn't know if it would be wise to enter now...

"God kill me, please!"

She heard the very pain-stricken plea of an old man, the voice cracked and ancient. It pushed her adrenaline levels up, and she stepped in.

Inside, Maina was standing near a wall while her father was on the khatia. The man was nothing but a heap of bones and loose skin sticking to it. His eyes had almost sunk in the sockets and his cheeks were sullen. A bony finger pointed at the ceiling, and then his arm landed on the khatia with a thump. Beside him, kneeling on the ground was Raktim, his palms gently rubbing the man's chest.

Maina was the only one who noticed Maya coming in. "Who are you?" she asked.

Raktim turned to see who had come. "Maya?"

Maya went and stood beside him. "I am sorry if I came at the wrong time."

Out of all the families she visited till now, the condition of Damini's father was the worst. He was completely broken beyond repair. Maya's eyes flooded when she heard him moaning. Raktim offered her a handkerchief. Maya wiped her eyes with it. Raktim completed his diagnosis and gave some medicines to Maina. The girl didn't even try to offer him money, and neither did Raktim ask. The doctor gestured to Maya to come outside. After putting on his shoes and going a distance, he asked, "Why were you here?"

"I wanted to know about Damini."

Raktim sighed. "She was the fourth victim. She was of a very free spirited nature, always chirping around, arguing and what not. She was the life of this house. And now... " Raktim massaged the bridge of his nose. "Everything has come to an end. There's no hope left. Maybe it was her golden heart that killed her."

"Was her body found in the same bloodless state?"

Raktim frowned. Maya shook her head. "Understand me, Raktim! I need these details. It's not like I am not feeling the sadness of these people, but I need to get to the root."

"Her body... it was shredded to strands." Raktim's eyes glowered in untamed wrath, a mysterious black veil engulfing his irises. He towered over Maya akin to a looming darkness. "Just like the body of Abhinoy."

"Oh..." Maya staggered back, putting her hand over her heart. She couldn't grow weak. Her knees failed to give her balance, but Raktim held her by the elbow on time.

"It is a sin to even live with the Das, and you are investigating the case of their family murder." Raktim bit his tongue. "Anyways, since we have met, I guess I have some things to give. Keep them with you always."

He rolled up the sleeves of his kurta and unfastened a silver amulet he was wearing, with a ruby studded in the centre. He gave it to Maya. "Keep this close to you. This is silver. It will keep you safe. Also, buy some garlic from the market and hide it in your room. Whenever you are talking with anyone from the Das family, keep the garlic and the amulet inside your clothes."

Maya looked at the amulet, the puzzle pieces slowly falling into place. "I-I see."

Raktim's eyes widened. "What?"

"Nothing. I will give this amulet back when I leave Khatra."

Raktim blushed. "Yo-you don't need to. Take it as a souvenir."

Maya's heart skipped a beat when she saw him gazing lovingly at her. "Thank you," she muttered.

He hurried back to his home, a dozen thoughts swirling in his head. Was it alright for him to be so friendly towards her?

Raktim couldn't help it. He had never seen someone as beautiful as Maya, and that name itself was enough to sum up the effect she had on him. It was foolish to fall for a woman of her standards. He was just a doctor of a village so less in glory to the evergreen Calcutta, while she was an established woman from a reputed family, who had a bright future ahead.

Was he aiming for the moon? He chuckled. "It's so obvious. Who if not me?" But I should not...

He knew more than her, and that allowed him to guide her to things better. For instance, he didn't want her to engage in the intricacies of Abhinoy's death.

But from what he had seen, he had sensed, she was a soul very stubborn and determined. It was what won his heart.

Raktim stopped walking. He felt as if his feet were going down in a quicksand. He couldn't move even an inch. His lips were sealed with wax, rendering him unable to speak. His hands were tied.

No... That was all he could think of. Justice shall be served.

****

The clock struck one, and the foxes howled in the forest.

Maya smelled the garlic in her hands and played with the amulet. Fortunately she also had brought a silver bangle with her. These were going to be elevated to protective charms from simple pieces of jewellery.

She wondered if this amulet would hurt Manihar more than her silver bangle... After all, it was infused with elements of affection. She smiled to herself, remembering his fair face.

She wouldn't trust Raktim completely though, he could have his own ulterior motives. Everyone here was a mystery. And yet, the doctor very subtly told her where she was living, and with whom.

"The dead bodies, garlic, silver, glassy skin and dwelling in the dark... I know it now, I know it."

She was, after all, in a mansion of vampires.