In the eerie depths of the Western Ghats, Rahul's journey unravels into a realm of spine-tingling mystery. Whispering winds and the ethereal scent of jasmine accompany his every step, while a fleeting encounter with a spectral presence sends shivers...
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Amma, my grandmother, despite her rural upbringing, possessed a unique and commendable habit. In her household of ten, she consistently prepared enough food for twelve people. She always set aside extra portions for those in need, a practice she maintained year-round due to the frequent visits of hungry people knocking at her door. Her conviction was grounded in the belief that addressing hunger held greater spiritual significance than unending hours of prayer.Consequently, she devoted herself to ensuring no one left her doorstep with an empty stomach.This tradition had been passed down through generations in her family.
Amma's storytelling had a unique power to transport me to a different time and place, and I cherished those moments with her. It was in these stories that I found a deep sense of belonging and a connection to the generations that had come before me. And so, even though I had heard the story countless times, I knew that I would ask Amma to tell it again, and again, and again.
I chuckled as I settled beside Amma, feeling a bit restless. "Amma, could you tell me one of your stories again? The one about the Sadhu, perhaps?"
Amma's eyes twinkled, and she patted my head lovingly. "Ah, you never tire of that one, do you? But, of course, I'll tell it to you again." She took a deep breath, ready to transport me into another world with her words.
