Nidhi was recording on her phone. She held it below the table, not wanting to break the spell.
"Aur phir?"
"Phir... kuch dino baad awaaz aani band ho gayi. Pehle din dulhan chilla rahi thi andar se. 'Darwaza kholiye, darwaza kholiye.' Doosre din rona. Teesre din... gaana. Ek gaana jo koi nahi samajh paya. Chauthe din se khamoshi. Tab se khamoshi hai."
For the first days, the bride screamed from inside. Open the door. The second day, weeping. The third day — singing. A song nobody understood. From the fourth day — silence. And silence ever since.
"Dulha ka kya hua?" What happened to the groom?
Ram Swaroop's jaw tightened. "Dulha andar tha. Dulhan ke saath. Jab kamra band hua, dono andar the."
"To dono... andar hi hain? Saath saal se?"
"Kamra nahi khula. Kabhi nahi khula. Na police ne khola, na pandit ne khola, na tantrik ne khola. Har kisi ne koshish ki. Darwaza nahi khulta. Tala nahi tootta. Deewaar mein se surakh khodne ki koshish ki — auzaar toot gaye. Ek aadmi ne ceiling se ghusne ki koshish ki. Woh... woh neeche aa gaya. Seedhi toot gayi thi, kehte hain. Lekin seedhi theek thi. Maine dekhi thi."
Everyone tried. The police, the priest, the tantric. The door doesn't open. The lock doesn't break. They tried digging through the wall — tools broke. A man tried entering through the ceiling. He fell. They said the ladder broke. But the ladder was fine. Ram Swaroop had seen it.
"Aur uske baad?"
"Uske baad Pandey sahab pagal ho gaye. Apne bete ko andar jaante the, lekin kuch nahi kar sakte the. Unki patni — dulhe ki maa — woh ghar ke saamne baith gayin. Roz. Subah se raat tak. Kamre ki khidki ki taraf dekhte rehti thin. Ek saal baad unki maut ho gayi. Kehte hain suhaag raat se pehle hi margayin — andar se. Seene ka dard." She died from inside — chest pain. But the implication, the way he said "andar se," was that something other than a heart had stopped.
"Pandey sahab?"
"Woh bhi gaye. Do saal baad. Ghar walon ne ghar chod diya. Shaher chale gaye. Koi nahi aata. Koi nahi jaata. Kamra band hai. Ghar band hai. Bas."
Nidhi sat in the plastic chair, in the cement room, with the news debate murmuring on the television and the afternoon light slanting through the window, and felt the story settle into her the way water settles into dry earth — completely, irreversibly.
"Pradhan ji, ek aur baat. Ek shaadi ki photo hoti hai — jismein dulhe ka chehra kata hua hai. Scratched out. Woh photo —"
Ram Swaroop stood up. The chair scraped against the floor with a sound like a short scream.
