Two days after their arrival, as the village prepared for the festivities, Arindam's curiosity was piqued by an old story he overheard from the village elders. They spoke in hushed tones about the Karn Pisach, a demon bound to the old temple in the forest - a place few dared to visit.
"It's an old wives' tale," Arindam scoffed when Thakurmoshai, the village priest, mentioned it during dinner. "Surely, these legends are just meant to scare children."
Thakurmoshai's face darkened. "Some things are better left untouched, Arindam Babu," he said quietly. "That temple has a history, one that the elders have guarded for generations. You may not believe in the Karn Pisach, but that does not mean it isn't real."
Arindam wasn't convinced. But Sharmila, who had always been more sensitive to the supernatural, felt a chill run down her spine. She had heard the whispers too, but it wasn't just the villagers - there were whispers in the wind, in the rustling leaves, and in the distant cries of jackals that echoed from the forest every night.
Against Thakurmoshai's advice, Arindam persuaded Mukherjee Babu to organize an excursion to the old temple. They would document the ruins, uncover any historical significance, and perhaps even dispel the superstitions that had kept the place shrouded in mystery for so long.
The villagers watched in silence as the small group set out for the temple early one morning. The path leading to the forest was overgrown, the trees arching over them like a dark canopy. Sharmila stayed behind, unsettled by the thought of entering the forest, but Arindam was eager, his camera slung over his shoulder, ready to capture whatever secrets the temple held.
The temple itself was a crumbling structure, overrun with vines and moss. Broken statues of gods and goddesses lay scattered around, their faces eroded by time. In the center of the temple stood a large stone platform, upon which sat an earthen pot, sealed with wax and covered in ancient Bengali script. The pot was eerily out of place, as though it had been carefully preserved amid the decay.
Mukherjee Babu, ever the curious soul, broke the seal despite Thakurmoshai's protests. As soon as the pot was opened, a sudden gust of wind blew through the temple, rattling the trees and sending birds screeching into the sky.