Story 8 - EP 2 : Purush : The Ghost that isn’t! - The conclusion.

Hello listeners, this is Sarah from Kahani Suno with Kabir and Sarah podcast. Again, I am very excited to bring you the concluding episode of The Story Purush. This story has been very well received. We've had record listeners, record subscriptions, and I'm very happy to bring this concluding episode to you. I hope this is as well received as the part one seems to have been. So before I get on with the story, let's recap as to what happened to this point. So we have Jyoti, who is a young woman having trouble in her marriage. She has been contracted by the government to cover a remote area in the Western Ghats of India for about three months to make it a touristy kind of spot to research and make recommendations to the government. She takes it because she is trying to make sense of what's going wrong with her marriage. and she comes to this remote place. It's a mansion where she's supposed to live for the next three months. She faces a lot of odds there. First, a cobra invades her bedroom. Then she's confronted by the rumor that a person committed suicide in the house. And thirdly, she has to contend with the appearance of a ghost called Purush who comes and goes as he wills. She's very confused as to whether she should stay or go back. And it is one of those days. It's her second day and I think she sees the ghost and she's conversing with him. The electricity goes off and then the phone rings and the ghost kind of disappears. That is where we will continue our story. This is again part two, the concluding episode. I have titled it The Haunted and The Hunted. So let's get on with it. I walked over to pick up the phone and froze. In the last 24 hours, I had gone from thinking about Shekhar constantly to not thinking about him at all for the past 12. This new world was swallowing me whole. Everything outside the house felt blurred, distant, like I'd lost contact with life beyond these walls. I didn't even have the energy to check who had called. I laid down and drifted off. I woke up early again, oddly refreshed. I was starting to like this pattern, get drained by the eerie things around me, crash into sleep before the thinking monsters arrived. What shocked me most was the peace. It hadn't lifted, not even with a ghost in the house. I mean, I'd never met a ghost before, but here I was acting like it was completely normal to spot one in my kitchen and make conversation with him. Any other version of me would have been sprinting out of this mansion, suitcase or no suitcase. But I found that I was relaxed, calm, almost fine. The rain had eased. From the window, I could see distant houses scattered across the valley. Different shapes, sizes and colors. Rangamma and Raju had to be out there somewhere. I made a mental note to ask where they lived, maybe even visit, just so I'd have some place to run if this mansion collapsed or if another ghost showed up. Maybe a stri ghost this time, one who wasn't as gentle as Purish. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head. Looking at my life, I wonder if I'd see him again. I stepped out. He wasn't in the kitchen. But then I saw him, standing by the bay window that faced the backyard, staring out like he didn't belong to time. He didn't seem to notice me. And once again, I had no idea how you got the attention of a ghost. Aren't they supposed to sense when a human enters their territory? I coughed. Nothing. His back was to me. I found myself wondering what were the rules in the ghost world. Did physics apply? Biology clearly didn't. Maybe not even physics. Ghosts are supposed to float, right? So no gravity? But Purush somehow seemed normal. The only ghostly thing about him was how he appeared and disappeared whenever he felt like it. I inched closer wondering if I should put my hand on his shoulder Maybe that was the trick Before I could try he turned I was startled and shrank back He looked at me silently Good morning I blurted No response How are you today Purush sir I tried Purush is fine he said I couldn't tell if he was speaking in third person or asking me not to call him sir Before I could respond the front door opened Rangamma and Raju walked in relieved the weather had improved and worried about me being alone Good morning madam they said together Well finally a good morning for me too What will you have madam coffee or tea Rangamma asked Instantly sliding back into her role as a mother come housekeeper I stared at them I could still see Purush they couldn't they moved around as if he wasn't there at all but he was watching them carefully like he had the same question I did could they see him? we were worried about you being alone madam Raju said beaming so that was our answer I turned towards Purush he turned towards me he smiled and I tried very hard not to Rangamma and Raju already looked like they suspected I'd lost it. If they caught me smiling a thin hair, they might lose it too. I heard Rangamma head to the kitchen, Raju muttering something under his breath. I glanced at them and when I looked back, Purush was gone. Just like that. Did he perhaps have a switch? Maybe a button? I know how that sounds, but these tiny details were driving me mad. Where did ghosts go when they disappeared? another dimension, some invisible room? Did they return to their haunting like humans return home when they're homesick? Rangamma placed a cup of coffee in front of me, full milk, full sugar, whipped and cold, exactly how I hated it. I took it anyway and forced gratitude onto my face. The black, bitter, hot coffee I left felt like a thing of the past here. Days passed by quickly. I threw myself into work. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was my job. And the place, God, it was beautiful. Swaying chinat trees, wild rose bushes heavy with flowers, dense forest with towering trunks, valleys thick with coffee plants, reds and greens peeking through dark stiff leaves, black pepper vines snaking up shade trees. I learned coffee needs shade and pepper climbs those shade trees, efficient land use, less soil erosion and two harvests for the price of one. A win-win situation all around. A stream cut through mountains, valleys, villages, clear and stunning, the most beautiful water I'd ever seen. Capturing nature for tourists felt easy. Capturing human nature, making it palatable, that was the real challenge. Connecting with people was hard. Connecting with nature seemed so much more easier. I knew the language, but the dialect was so different it felt like a wall. And most villagers seemed in awe of me, or I don't know what it was, so they kept their distance. The children, though, had the time of their lives running behind my car whenever I went down to the village. Everyone else seemed to stay away. Halfway through my three-month gig, I still hadn't captured the culture the way I wanted. I was at my wit's end. Normally, Evda reached out to shake her, but I couldn't this time. We had barely spoken after the first few days. I didn't feel the need, and neither did he, it seemed like. A week had passed since we last texted and it hit me like a slap. Not long ago, we'd text non-stop, only stopping when we were on the phone or together. How did things change so drastically in just a few years? How had we let that happen? Or rather, why had we let it happen? Why had I let it happen? That night, I burst into tears at the dining table alone. Rangamma and Raju had left hours earlier. I'd been typing feverishly, pushing through anxiety until it finally broke me. And when I looked up, he was there. Purush stood watching me, concerned on his face. By then, I'd even normalized his sudden appearances. What's going on? he asked, direct, like he had been holding the question back for days. I shook my head, wiping my face. finding it hard to continue? he asked he always spoke in dual meanings like every sentence had a second door hidden inside of it I gave a small helpless smile yeah, you could say that I might be able to help, he said I've been there, done that kind of person try me that made sense of course he understood this place he'd lived here, haunted here forever. I exhaled, words spilling out the way they would have if I called Shekhar Except I hadn It not easy I can get to the people I tried so hard but they don want to talk to me It like they saying go away the moment I step into the village. Purush went still, thoughtful, even more than usual. When you say you step into their village, how do you get there? I drive. In your car? I nodded suddenly defensive for no reason. Hmm, he tilted his head. Do you realize how intimidating that must be to look someone who has never seen the inside of a car, let alone being in one, seeing you drive it as you owned it? Then without a pause. And what do you wear when you go there? Jeans, trousers, a top, depending on the weather. I felt ridiculous, like I was being interrogated by a ghost. And I was. Do you understand how alien it must be, he said gently, to see a woman arrive in a machine they don't understand, dressed in what could be seen as a light manly clothes. Ah, I finally saw it. So what do you think I should do? I said half laughing, half joking. Walk there in a saddy? Why not? He counted, calm as ever. Then he said it, simple, blunt, true. It's not enough to empathize from a distance. If you look distant, they won't respond. If you want trust, you have to show you're part of them. It clicked so hard in me. I was ashamed that I hadn't thought of this before. If a man in medieval armor came galloping towards me with a sword, my first instinct would be to run. I wouldn't wait around to see if he was the knight in shining armor or not. I wouldn't be waiting around to figure out his intentions. I'd be so intimidated by the sight, by his arrival, by the entire spectacle. That's how I must have looked to them. They didn't realize I wanted to be a knight in shining armor. The problem was, however, I wasn't used to saris. I wore them only on special occasions. But I had packed one, though, because someone had mentioned there might be a celebration at the end of my assignment and apparently wearing a sari was recommended. The next day, I walked to the village on foot. The sari wrapped tight, moving with more control, more elegance than I was used to. I hoped I looked harmless, human. And they responded. Women especially warmed up. Some stared in shock. Some looked startled. But many smiled. A few even spoke to me. The eyes had finally cracked. And once it did, it shattered. I borrowed Rangamma's saris, I brought more at the Sunday fair, and by the end of the week, I could say it with pride. They were welcoming me as one of them. It was like the floodgates opened. They invited me to eat with them, to drink coffee with them. They shared their meager provisions, their problems, their stories. They helped me with my research. They fed me honey so sweet, it felt unreal. They showed me what I had missed alone, even when I was with nature. The hidden waterfall here. The remote viewpoint there. A tree rumored to be over a hundred years old. At night, I recorded their dance around the fire. Women holding each other by the waist. Stepping in unison, hypnotic in its simplicity. Someone pulled me into the line. I fumbled, then I found the rhythm. I laughed until my stomach hurt. Tears came too, of course. Tears of pure joy. The kind you feel only when you've forgotten yourself completely. The way I must have felt as a child before life taught me to hold back. Walking home in the dark with a lantern in my hand, I didn't fear snakes anymore. I didn't fear roars or big cats. I'd learned how to navigate the land and its people. It felt like left, beauty, right, more beauty. Rangamma and Raju welcomed me with dinner, a hot bath, and a warm bed almost every day. And something in me shifted. Maybe Raju was right. Maybe I'd been led here for a reason. The villagers seemed to have basics, but education, healthcare and technology were distant dreams. Miles away, almost inaccessible. I began making mental notes for my report. How better facilities could improve lives and how even tourists would come more readily if there was a clinic nearby. It excited me how much could be done, how much I could recommend to the government make them do it. I planned it out. Two more weeks to gather material, then two weeks to compile the report and presentations, recommendations to improve tourism in Minimaluru. Two weeks later, it was my last day in the village. I went to say goodbye. By then, I was family. Everyone had something for me. Handmade gifts, sweet and simple. A beaded bracelet. A black thread necklace with a tiny pendant. A necklace made of coins. I felt honored, almost overwhelmed by their love. I addressed them in the village center, thanked them, promised them that I'd do my best to improve their situation. I think I've seen and experienced everything Menemuluru has to offer because of all of you I've finished. And then I walked off alone, trying to take it all in one last time, like a politician making promises every five years and disappearing after elections. Only, I wasn't running for anything. You haven't seen everything yet, a tiny voice whispered. I looked up. A teenager stared at me. And you are? I asked. Ramayya, he said. And what have I missed? You missed the Ammavari Pooja. What's that? I asked him. He pointed towards a hut and ran away. I walked over and peeked in. People sat around a small round platform. Fire burned at the center. A woman sat in front of it, head loose, long, thick, stunning. The ritual was already underway, hands folded in namaste, faces reverent. A man chanted and poured oil into the fire. I'd never been particularly religious, so this yajna, this puja, whatever it was called, was new to me. I slipped inside quietly, pulling my paloo over my head and face, the way the woman did. It gave me anonymity. I smiled at myself, acting like my fame followed me even here. Everything was fine until the woman in question began to shake. Convulsions like something overtook her. Her hair, which was limp a moment ago, suddenly whipped around her head as she hummed, turning the hut into a charged living thing. The boy was right. I had never seen anything like it. Here or anywhere else for that matter. People lined up and passed by her Some she whispered to Others she touched on the head Blessing them And strangely the conversions Seemed to leap directly into the ones she touched My mind flashed to a stupid perfect movie line Salman Khan in Andaz Apna Apna Yeh Bimari Chhune Se Pheelti Hai This disease spreads by touching I smiled despite myself and then I did something that would have shocked the old me. I considered getting in line. Two months ago, I'd have avoided attention like it was fire. Now, I was tempted to walk straight into the spotlight in the strangest situation imaginable. If being in Minimaluru taught me anything, it was this. Seize the moment. Hesitate once and the moment and whatever it was meant to teach you is gone forever. The line shortened. The woman's intensity rose and fell with it. My heart thudded. I stood at the end of the line, and as I waited, my mind, of course, drifted to Shekhar. Our communication had become a daily cut-and-paste ritual. Good morning, Jyoti. Good morning, Shekhar. All good? All well? He texted. I replied. Proof of life. Nothing more. No questions. No calls. Except when he had some practical responsibility to confirm. brief, pointed, and controlled. At first it hurt. Those waves of sadness would crash against my heart when I felt his coldness. But slowly the waves began to recede. The intensity began to lessen. There was too much going around me, too much living to analyze every silence, every sentence. The longing still came sometimes, a sharp, soaking, but most days I could hold it back. The line moved fast. Suddenly, I was in front of her. Villagers bored, offered gifts, money, food, flowers. I took the coin necklace I had been given earlier and placed it before her. I curtsied. The man beside her gestured frantically, four hands, sit. I sat down. And the convulsions, almost gone, returned with vengeance. She swayed side to side, hair flaring wildly, a few strands brushed my face. It felt like an electric shock. I sat there, frozen, fidgeting, silently cursing myself. A memory hit me, my father's voice, grim. You need to control your impulsiveness. One day it'll cost you big time. I spent my whole life trying. maybe I'd managed 35% to become less impulsive. This stunt, it must have dropped the score by double digits. My throat went dry. I swallowed her and then she opened her eyes. She hadn't done that with anybody else. Big brown eyes lined thick with kajal like a khatakali dancer, fierce, fire bright. And when she spoke her voice was calm sweet almost gentle Your work here is not done she said Your purpose is not finished yet My stomach dropped What do you mean? I blurted out. Shh! The man beside her hissed, finger to his lips, like I was in fourth grade or something. I scowled at him. When I looked back at her, her eyes were closed again. She slumped, like she had fallen asleep. I waited stubbornly She couldn't just drop a line like that and vanish into silence I needed details If I had to wait all night, I would But I didn't have to Five minutes later, as people find out and the man gathered offerings She opened her eyes, yawned and sat up It was eerie, like she had gone to sleep an older woman And woken up 20 years younger Wide-eyed, almost childlike And that's when I realized she was a child Maybe even a teenager. Hey, I called. She looked at me like she had never seen me before. What did you mean? I demanded. What do you mean? What did I mean? She snapped. The intimidating goddess figure was gone. This was just a sharp, confused girl throwing my questions back at me. What you said to me five minutes ago, I insisted. She stayed blankly at me, then called out Nana, meaning father in her language. a man, her father, came over. She murmured to him. He turned to me. She won't remember, he said. Why won't she remember? It happened like seven minutes ago. She won't remember because it wasn't she who was speaking. I blinked at him, but she said it with her mouth. I was right here. I heard her. Yes, he said firmly. Her voice delivered it, but the message came from someone else. My mind scrambled for logic. Some hidden device, some trick. Surely they could not be so sophisticated. I searched her ears with my eyes like an idiot. What do you mean? I asked again. Because that's all I seem to be capable of saying that night. What do you mean? Again and again. Ammavaru was speaking through her. He said, hand to his ear, a sign of reverence. Ammavaru, the village deity. That was my cue to shut up. I walked home with one thought looping like a chant. left what was my purpose right what was my purpose that night sleep didn't come I tossed until I couldn't toss anymore and wandered into the kitchen hoping Purush would appear he always had a knack of showing up when I needed him I wanted to see that silhouette again long hair, white clothes a presence that was ghostly but somehow more alive than anything I had known not in the kitchen not by the bay window. I sighed and my gaze fell on the ornate closed doors. That room, the one I'd avoided. At first it had been fear. Later I simply forgot it existed. But tonight felt different. Like something was pulling me into darker, murkier waters. I walked to the doors. They opened easily with a push. No creak, no dramatic horror movie warning. Just silence. The room smelled musty, unopened. I switched on the light. Bright, instant, no flicker. Raju had taken precautions. Don't go in and if you do, don't fall kind of thing. Instead of anions, I felt warmth. The lens they went to looking after me touched something in my chest. I was softening here more than I like to admit. I looked around. Everything, good or bad. seemed to have an expiration date. I didn't know if that was comforting or tragic, but I knew I'd enjoyed my time here. I remembered my first night, how desperate I had been to leave. But the exit was far, the weather had trapped me, and then Purush had appeared, and I couldn't leave without solving the mystery. Because I still hadn't. Who was Purush? Why did he haunt this place? And what about the woman rumored to have died in this room? Villager accounts were inconsistent Young, middle-aged, old, suicide, accident, natural death I'd stopped asking because none of it sounded like fact No one seemed to know exactly what had happened But at least no one said she'd been murdered That was the one ending I hadn't heard The room felt serene and also suffocating Only one window that was slammed tightly shut The air was still Then I heard it. A slithering sound. The cobra. The one that had disappeared under my room weeks ago and was never found. Had it made a home here in this room? My instinct screamed yes. A quiet room, rarely disturbed. Perfect. I switched off the light and backed out carefully. Suddenly exhausted. Maybe now I could sleep. Still no purish. I returned to my room and checked my phone. Nothing beyond the ritual. Good morning, Jyoti. Good morning, Shekhar. All good, all well. Cut, paste, repeat. Sleep still refused me and an idea sharp and unwanted formed in my mind. Maybe this was the purpose. Maybe I was here to resolve the Purushan's three mystery. The man who haunted the house and the woman who died inside it. If so, I had no clue how to achieve that noble purpose. Morning came. I heard Rangamma and Raju moving about. I did the customary text exchange with Shaker, dragged myself up, still groggy. As I walked out, I pointed toward the closed doors. Raju, that room needs cleaning. He looked at me, eyebrows rising. Oh really, madam? And how would you know? Earlier, I would have been offended by the question. Now I just smirked. I had a dream about it, I said cheekily. He made a face. I had managed to ruffle Mr. Poker face. The day was off to a great start. after breakfast I went back to my makeshift study and tapped furiously then I heard it Raju dragging the vacuum cleaner he was cleaning the room something in me stirred this was the moment to find out more about the woman Rangamma asked anything to eat madam I waved her off and hurried to the room Raju had everything pulled apart drawers out sheets stripped furniture moved no cobra hiding now thankfully Hello, madam, he said stiffly. I chuckled. Yes, I'd managed to hurt his feelings. He was dusting a pile of brittle, ancient papers. Be careful, I said. They look like they'll fall apart. Why don't you do it yourself then? He snapped and handed them to me. I thank the good Lord I only had to deal with this man for a couple more weeks. I untied the bundle slowly, painstakingly. The papers were dated from the 1950s. Receipts, invoices, handwritten notes, nothing immediately interesting. I retied the knot, disappointed, but at least I knew the mystery woman belonged to the 50s. And then I saw it, a small box, the kind meant for knickknacks, memories. Raju noticed my gaze and handed it over without a word. I took it and walked out, heart thumping. Something told me this was going to change everything. I heard Rangama call out, lunch is ready ma'am. But I wasn't ready to open that box with them hovering around. It needed my full attention, alone. So I waited. I worked as much as I could, let the day crawl into evening and watch for the moment they'd finally leave. Rangama never left without finishing every last chore. In the first couple of weeks, she had made such a fuss when I told her not to spend the night. Best ashtish of my life, I should say. No more hot milk before bed. No more midnight snack offers if I so much as twitched in my sleep. After dinner, they finally headed out. And the house went quiet. I walked into the kitchen with the box. Sat down facing it like it was an altar. A strange reverence washed over me. A box from almost seven decades ago. Precious to someone once. Precious enough to survive time. and now somehow precious to me. I unclasped it. I don't know what I expected to find in it, but what I found made my throat tighten. A leaf, large, delicate, everything eaten away except the veins, preserved like lace. A handkerchief with the letter Z embroidered on it. A pair of earrings. A single small pearl. A safety pin, ornate, old, slightly rusted. A woman's small treasures. My eyes filled as I stayed at those objects. Onesly, things stay. Waiting to be discovered or discarded. The cycle, or is it the circle of life? And then I saw it. A flash of blue. The unmistakable, thin, folded inland letter. The old Indian postal one. My heart started to hammer. This could be it. I lifted it carefully, like it might crumble. The handwriting was beautiful, cursive, intimate. it. Zara, that was who it was addressed to and the address, the address of the house I was sitting in. My hands trembled as I unfolded it and began to read it out aloud. Dearest Zara, how are you? I wish I could tell you how happy I feel at this moment as I write this letter to you. I have been trying to locate you for years and to finally have your address is nothing short of a miracle. How long has it been? 20 years since I lost Sawyer? I wish I'd had the courage then to tell you how much you meant to me. I only understand how much I loved you after you walked out of my life. That was the biggest mistake I ever made, letting you go. After I was discharged from the military, I tried to find you, but you were gone. All I had was your first name and the fact that your father worked for the forest department. I searched for years and now, by God's mercy, here I am, writing your name and address on this paper. Eager as I am to come see you, I would not be a gentleman if I did not wait for your response first. I need to know you would not mind this man, still crazy for you, coming to visit. I don know who you are now what your life looks like and frankly I do not care For me you will always be Zara my first love Awaiting your response sincerely Romar I read it once, then again, and again. It didn't matter that I'd already absorbed every word. My eyes kept returning to the way he wrote her name, like writing it was a prayer. That's when I sensed him behind my chair. I stood up slowly and turned. He was there, close, very close, so close. I could feel the air change between us. Roman, I whispered. His gaze dropped to the letter, then lifted to my face, while searching desperate. You found her? He asked, voice thick. You found Zara? And then I saw it, impossible and undeniable, a tear shining on his cheek. So Ghost did cry. I pointed to the box. His breath hitched as I show him the little treasures one by one. The earrings, the handkerchief, the pearl, the pin. But it was the leaf that broke him. I remember, he said, voice cracking, giving her a leaf because a rose or any flower would arouse suspicion. My own tears spilled over. What happened to her? I asked softly. He looked at me like the question itself was torture. That's what I want to know, he said. What happened to her? Where is Zara? I thought I had found her and then I lost her again. I've been searching for her ever since. I don't even know how long, how far. And that's when it hit me. The ghost world didn't run on clocks. Time meant nothing. He didn't know decades had passed. To him, it might have been yesterday or last week or a long, endless dusk. I remember, he continued, words tumbling out as if I had held them for lifetimes, being so happy when she wrote to me, asking me to come. She said she'd been waiting all those years. She hadn't married. She hadn't moved on, just like I hadn't. He swallowed hard. That was the happiest day of my life. I listened, stunned. I'd never heard him speak this much, never with this kind of rawness. I left almost the same day, he said. I rode in a lorry to the nearest settlement. Then I was supposed to go by bullock cart or hitchhike to Minmuluru. He looked down as if seeing it all again. I did. I came here. But Zara wasn't here. The house was deserted. His voice dropped to a whisper. So I stayed hoping she'd return. He looked up helpless. she hasn't then he stepped closer and the desperation in him turned into something else almost like a plea so please he said please find out for me where is Zara please I nodded my throat tighter than ever I promise I said I will and I did I started my research the next day I went to the forest department headquarters dug through records asked questions followed paper trails the way I always did when my work demanded answers. And sure enough, I found her. Zara, the only daughter of a forest officer posted at Munumuluru in the 1950s. After her father died in the line of duty, she was allowed to stay in the house. She was given a clerical position in the department. She never married, no mention of family. And then the words on the file felt like ice. She had died in the throes of winter. She was asleep in her bedroom. A wooden stove had been used to warm the room. The windows and doors were shut tight. The fire died down. Smoke filled the room. She was found, choked to death. There were rumors that it was intentional, that she was depressed because of the death of a family friend. A man named Roman, who had supposedly met with a terrible accident on his way to visit her. Roman also had it they were engaged to be married I went home that evening with a weight in my chest that felt like stone and that night as if the house itself had arranged it he was waiting in the kitchen Purush, Roman whatever he truly was he stood very still watching me like he already knew the answer lived in my eyes I told him all of it he had died coming to her She had died waiting for him. And she wasn't here. If she was anywhere, she was in the afterworld waiting for him. Waiting the way he had been for so long. His face didn't change at first, like his mind refused to accept what his heart already understood. Then he blinked slowly and the grief finally arrived. Roman, I said gently, you need to let go of this house. She isn't coming back. She left this world forever. You need to follow her. He stared at me, beveled dirt. You mean I have to search for her all over again? He whispered. I hoped, I hoped this was it, that she would finally return to me. I stepped closer. Roman, I don't think you need to search anymore. Just go where your heart takes you. I'm sure you'll find her waiting at the end of the path. Like she always has. You've been looking in the wrong place. She's not here. My voice shook. Please let go. You are not Purush. You are Roman. Don't resist your departure. Let it be. For a long moment, he just stood there, and then like something finally unclenched inside him, he smiled. A small broken smile, but real. Thank you, he said softly. And then, with a sudden seriousness, as if he needed to leave me with a warning and a blessing at the same time. Remember, when you find true love, never let it go. This time, he didn't vanish instantly. He faded slowly like mist dissolving at sunrise. And as he did, his eyes lit up, bright, joyous, almost boyish. Zara, Zara, he breathed. And then he was gone. I stood there alone in the kitchen, shaking, and then I slid down onto the floor and cried tears of joy, tears of release, tears of something holy I couldn't name. It felt like he had found Zara after what seemed like lifetimes of waiting, both for him and for her. It seemed like in the end, love was all that had mattered. Love that refuses to die. Love that keeps searching across years, across worlds. I had witnessed it. I slept peacefully that night. I knew now what love is. I woke mid-morning, Sunday, Rangamma and Raju's day off. My report had already been sent a few days ago. I'd even received an offer from the government, an extension, six more months, more settlements, more work, more money. I wasn't sure what I wanted. I had forwarded the offer to Shekha two days ago. No reply, no good morning texts either. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was my cue to live my solitary life, right Zara? Quiet, self-contained and accepting. I made coffee and stood by the bay window. That's when I saw it, curled under the cabinet near the door. The cobra. Its hood wasn't flared, but its head was angled towards me. Like it was watching me. It had sensed me. I moved slowly, carefully and opened the door wide. The rush of air caught its attention. It slithered out, smooth, effortless, disappearing into the wild like it had never belonged to walls at all. And for a strange second, I felt a loss. Like I'd just watched a constant companion leave. The king had been near me all this time, my silent, terrifying proof that I wasn't alone. And now I was alone, completely alone. That's when the doorbell rang. I froze, then walked to the door, opened it and there he was, Shaker. Standing on my doorstep as if the universe had delivered him. Without warning, without permission and with perfect timing. I just stared at him. He looked at me for a beat and then said, flat and simple. The answer is no. You can't extend your contract any further. And something inside me, something that had been held tight for months, finally broke open. I threw myself into his arms. Relief, laughter and tears, everything came at once. All I could think was Dharmendra's ridiculous perfect line from Shole, Marna cancel. And suddenly it all made sense. Roman had crossed worlds for Zara. and Shekhar somehow had crossed his own distance to reach me, fought his own demons, his own monsters. The purpose wasn't Minimaluru. It wasn't the Cobra. It wasn't even Purush or Zara. It was me saving myself. And I finally had. The end. So viewers, I hope you like the story. Quite an emotional rollercoaster. I find myself also getting very emotional at this story. There was a lot to it, a lot to digest. I think I would want to hear it again to digest it completely. I, however, hope that you've liked it. Again, any feedback from you guys is greatly appreciated. Sara at Kahani Suno.com or Kabir at Kahani Suno.com. Once again, original story. Purush, you've heard it here on the Kahani Suno podcast with Kabir and Sarah. I'm signing off. Sarah here, guys. Again, I wish to receive feedback, questions, anything. And we'll have more information about our podcast going forward. Thank you, everyone. Have a wonderful day and a great weekend. Where tales re-die