Whispers Beneath the Backwaters - The Backwater Path - Part 4

 “Meenu!”

Arjun lunged forward just as the little girl stepped into the rain.

The cold wind outside smelled of wet mud and rotting leaves. Coconut trees bent violently under the storm. Somewhere far away, temple bells rang through the darkness.

But Meenu kept walking.

Slowly.

As if someone invisible held her hand.

“Amma says not to be scared,” she whispered.

Devika ran behind them, crying.

“Please stop her!”

The muddy path behind the house led toward the backwaters. Old stone lamps stood broken on both sides, swallowed by weeds and moss.

And then Arjun noticed something horrifying.

More footprints.

Tiny wet footprints.

Dozens of them.

All heading toward the water.

Not one returning.

Thunder flashed.

For a second the entire backwater shore lit up.

Women stood in the water.

Half-submerged.

White sarees floating around them.

Watching silently.

Arjun blinked in terror.

Gone.

Only dark water remained.

Meenu pointed ahead excitedly.

“There! She’s waiting!”

Near the crooked boat shed stood the little black-eyed girl again.

Still holding the cloth doll.

This time she smiled.

A smile too wide for a child.

Kuttappan suddenly appeared behind Arjun carrying a burning torch.

“Don’t let her reach the water!”

His voice cracked with fear.

“The spirits call children first!”

The little ghost girl slowly began walking backward toward the water, never taking her eyes off Meenu.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Until the dark water reached her knees.

Then waist.

Then chest.

Still smiling.

Meenu tried pulling away from Arjun.

“She’s lonely, Achaa…”

The water suddenly bubbled violently.

Something moved beneath it.

Long strands of hair floated upward from the depths.

Then came the crying again.

Not one woman.

Many women.

Crying together beneath the water.

Devika collapsed to her knees, covering her ears.

Arjun’s torchlight fell upon an old wooden boat near the shore.

Words were carved into it in faded Malayalam.

“She takes back what belongs to her.”

Before Arjun could react, Meenu screamed.

Not in fear.

In pain.

She grabbed her head tightly.

“Mummy… too loud… too many voices…”

Then she spoke in another voice.

Older.

Broken.

“Where is my child?”

Everyone froze.

The voice did not belong to Meenu.

Her small face slowly turned toward the black water.

“They lied to me…”

The surface of the backwater rippled.

A pale hand emerged.

Then another.

Then dozens.

Women crawling upward from beneath the water.

Hair covering their faces.

Bodies swollen and grey.

Devika screamed.

Kuttappan threw burning camphor into the water while chanting prayers loudly.

The figures stopped moving instantly.

But one remained.

A tall woman rose slowly from the center of the backwater.

White saree drifting unnaturally.

Head bent sideways.

Long hair touching the water.

And in her arms…

A dead child.

Meenu began crying uncontrollably.

“She found her baby…”

The woman slowly lifted her face.

Arjun’s blood turned cold.

It was his mother.