She started with the old people. That was always the right call in villages — the young were on their phones, the middle-aged were busy surviving, but the old ones sat on charpais in the sun like libraries waiting to be opened.
Satish, grudgingly, took her to three elders. He set up the interviews in a neutral space — the panchayat building's porch, with chai and biscuits and the reassuring presence of other people. He'd made it clear: no ambushes, no mention of the Pandey house unless they brought it up first. "Agar woh khud bolein, to theek. Aap mat poochiye." If they say it themselves, fine. You don't ask.
The first elder was Dadi Savitri — eighty-three, nearly blind, with a memory so sharp it made your own feel defective. She'd been fifteen when the wedding happened.
"Poonam raat thi. Kaartik ki poonam." It was a full moon night. The full moon of Kartik. "Dulhan bahut sundar thi. Naam tha Chandrakanta. Chandrakanta Devi. Benaras ki thi — dulhe ke pitaji ne rishta karaya tha. Bade ghar ki ladki. Gori, lambi, aur aankhein..." She trailed off. Touched her own eyelids. "Aankhein aisi thin jaise koi diya jal raha ho. Chamak thi."
The bride was beautiful. Named Chandrakanta. From Varanasi. A good family. And her eyes — like a burning diya. A glow.
"Dulha kaisa tha?"
Dadi Savitri's face changed. The warmth of the memory cooled, like chai left on a windowsill.
"Dulha achha ladka tha. Pandey sahab ka iklota beta. Naam tha Virendra. Padha-likha. Shaant swabhaav. Lekin..." She hesitated. "Lekin kuch tha usme. Kuch alag. Bachpan se. Woh aksar us kamre mein baithta tha — upar wala kamra, jharokha wala. Ghanton. Kisi se baat karta tha."
The groom — Virendra Pandey. Educated, quiet. But something different about him. Since childhood. He'd sit in that room for hours. Talking to someone.
"Kisse?"
"Kisi se. Lekin kamra khaali hota tha."
To someone. But the room was empty.
Nidhi felt the hair on her arms rise. Not from fear — from recognition. The room that was now locked had been Virendra's room before the wedding. He'd spent his childhood talking to something in it.
"Shaadi ke din kya hua?"
Dadi Savitri pulled her shawl tighter, though the morning was warm. "Shaadi theek se hui. Pheriyan. Sindoor. Sab vidhi. Raat ko dulhan ko kamre mein le gaye — Virendra ke kamre mein. Woh kamra. Darwaza band hua. Sab sone chale gaye. Subah darwaza nahi khula."
The wedding was fine. All the rituals. At night, the bride was taken to the room — Virendra's room. The door closed. Everyone went to sleep. In the morning, the door wouldn't open.
