Monsoon Veil: Between Dreams and Reality

I always wanted to be a writer — an author, to be precise. Even as a child, I knew my imagination was different, maybe more vivid than usual. I could take a single thought and build an entire world out of it. It was a blessing.

I remember being in the 8th standard, just a teenager like any other, with a head full of dreams and a heart ready to explore the endless possibilities of life. Back then, daydreaming wasn’t a choice; it was just part of being that age. My friends and I, like all teenagers, were always lost in our world of fantasy — prince charming, soulmates, the perfect love story — it was all we could talk about.

One lunch break, while sitting in the schoolyard with my closest girlfriends, we drifted into one of our usual conversations about love. We giggled about crushes, teased each other about imaginary weddings, and painted pictures of our dream lives. Then one of the girls, out of nowhere, asked, “What if we fall in love with someone, and he… dies?”

The thought gave us all goosebumps.

But I couldn’t leave it there. “And what if…” I added dramatically, lowering my voice to a whisper, “he comes back to take you with him?”

Everyone froze for a moment, and then the laughter started. Nervous, uneasy laughter. That one line stayed with me like an itch I couldn’t scratch. It was the spark — the beginning of something that I just couldn’t let go of.

When the bell rang, and the day finally ended, I ran home. I barely even stopped to change out of my school uniform or finish my snacks before grabbing my journal. It wasn’t just any notebook — it was my handmade journal, the one with rough, uneven pages and a peacock feather tucked inside. There was a silly myth we all believed at the time, that if you kept a peacock feather in a book, it would magically double.

With that feather pressed between the pages and my pen in hand, I let my imagination take over. I poured everything into the story — love, loss, and the eerie feeling of something unfinished, lingering like a shadow at the edge of your vision.

That was the moment I knew. Writing wasn’t just a hobby; it was a part of me.

The Story of Rajbadi, and the Dream!!!

A very long time ago, in the heart of the countryside, stood a magnificent villa, known far and wide as Rajbadi, the house of royals. Surrounded by a lush mango orchard and a serene lake, the villa exuded both grandeur and an eerie stillness that only ancient places carry. Its sprawling courtyard could accommodate thousands, and its 13th to 14th-century architecture — intricate carvings, towering arches, and expansive halls — stood as a testament to the time of its glory.

Rajbadi was isolated. The nearest railway station, recently introduced by the British, was three hours away. The local post office and police station were even farther away, making it a world unto itself. This isolation, combined with its grandeur, gave it a charm few could resist, but also a certain mystery that whispered of the past.

The Chakrabarty family, the current inhabitants of Rajbadi, were descendants of Zamindars from the Mughal era. Mr. Chakrabarty, a respected figure in the community, and his wife were deeply involved in charity work, often hosting events that brought together people from distant towns. Their children, Naimesh and Nikita, were as graceful as their lineage. Naimesh, the elder son, carried himself with poise and responsibility, while 19-year-old Nikita, a stunningly beautiful and gifted Kathak dancer and violinist, charmed everyone who saw her perform.

That fateful day began as any other. Mr and Mrs Chakrabarty had set out early to attend a reception hosted by the city’s new commander, leaving Naimesh in charge. Before leaving, Naimesh had made a quick, whispered request to Nikita.

“I’ll be home late tonight. I’m meeting some friends,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure the butler wasn’t nearby. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

Nikita, always a supportive sibling, nodded with a mischievous smile. “Your secret’s safe with me. Just make sure you don’t get caught.”

By evening, the monsoon season had unleashed its fury. Heavy, dark clouds blanketed the sky, and the first drops of rain began to fall as Nikita returned from her violin class. The carriage clattered up the driveway, the sound of its wheels fading as the driver, a kind old man, dropped her off.

“Thank you, Nikita,” he said, tipping his hat. “If you need anything, just call out. I’ll be in the servant quarters.”

Nikita waved him off and hurried toward the grand entrance, where the butler stood waiting. His face was grave as he looked up at the stormy sky.

“It’s going to be a rough one tonight,” he said. “I was worried you’d get caught in the rain.”

Nikita brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. “The thunder’s louder than usual. I hope Naimesh gets back before it worsens. And my parents… they might be delayed too.”

The butler nodded. “They’ll manage, I’m sure. But you should come inside. Let’s get the house secured before the storm hits.”

As the wind howled and the rain lashed against the villa, the windows began to rattle loudly. The maids rushed from room to room, struggling to close the heavy wooden shutters. Nikita joined them, her heart thumping as the sound of the storm filled every corner of the house.

“I’m sure Naimesh and my parents will be stuck out there,” she said, her voice tinged with worry as she struggled with a particularly stubborn window latch.

“Don’t worry,” the butler reassured her. “They’ll find shelter if needed. You should eat something and rest. The storm will pass.”

But the unease in Nikita’s heart didn’t fade. The villa, so large and magnificent, felt unusually empty that night, its halls echoing with the creaks of old wood and the pounding rain.

Nikita dressed in her silk nightgown, settled near the fireplace, its flames flickering warmly, a comforting contrast to the tempest raging outside. A book lay open in her lap, but her attention wandered. Every flash of lightning drew her gaze to the window, her worry for Naimesh growing with each deafening roll of thunder.

The butler entered suddenly, his expression tense. Behind him stood the driver, drenched to the bone, water dripping onto the polished floor.

“The rain and a landslide have delayed them,” the driver said breathlessly, his voice almost drowned by the storm outside. “I dropped them safely at the commander’s house, but they asked me to fetch an expensive bottle of whiskey from the city. When I tried to return, a landslide had blocked the road. After waiting hours for my turn to make a trunk call, they told me to come back and inform me that they were safe. They asked me to return in the morning, once the rain stops, to bring them home.”

The butler closed the heavy door behind him, muting the storm’s fury. Nikita rushed over, her heart pounding, hoping it was Naimesh or her parents. When she saw the driver, relief mingled with worry.

“I’m glad to hear they’re safe,” the Butler said, his voice understanding.

“Thank you for the message. Please go change and warm yourself before you catch a cold.” Nikita added.

The driver nodded, shaking the rain from his cap. “Yes, miss. Don’t worry; I’ll bring them back at first light.” He disappeared into the servant quarters, vanishing into the stormy darkness.

The butler turned to Nikita. “You should finish your supper and get some rest. It’s past your bedtime, and worrying won’t change anything tonight.”

Though reluctant, Nikita allowed herself to be guided back to the dining table. She ate sparingly, her thoughts still on Naimesh and her parents, before retreating to her room. The storm outside showed no signs of abating as she lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. Finally, exhaustion overtook her.

A loud crack of thunder shattered the silence, jolting Nikita awake. She sat upright, disoriented, as the clock struck midnight. The rain continued its relentless dance against the windowpane, and the wind howled like a mournful spirit. She leaned toward the window, peering into the storm’s chaos when a sharp, insistent knock echoed through the house. Heart racing, Nikita grabbed her shawl and rushed downstairs. She paused, expecting the butler to appear, but the house was eerily still. Realizing he was likely asleep, she hesitated only a moment before hurrying to the door herself.

The knocking grew louder, more urgent. She pulled the heavy door open, the force of the wind nearly pushing her back. Lightning illuminated the figure before her, and she gasped, stepping away instinctively.

“You?” she stammered, her voice trembling. “What happened? Why are you bleeding?”

The man staggered forward, collapsing into her arms. “Shekhar!” Nikita exclaimed. She helped him to a chair near the fireplace, her hands shaking as she lit the logs to stoke the flames. Moments later, the butler appeared his face a mix of confusion and alarm. “What’s going on?” he asked, rushing forward when he noticed the blood staining Shekhar’s shirt. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

Nikita knelt beside Shekhar, her hands fluttering helplessly. “What happened? Why are you here in this state?”

Shekhar winced as the butler returned, carefully cleaning his wounds with warm water and a muslin cloth. “I heard your parents were stranded and Naimesh wasn’t home,” Shekhar began, his voice strained. “I thought I’d come and keep you company. But my carriage slipped in the storm and tumbled down the hill. The driver passed away, I barely made it out alive.”

Nikita clutched his hand, her eyes wide with shock. “Why did you climb up here in this weather?”

Shekhar gave a weak smile, though pain etched deep lines on his face. “I couldn’t leave you alone tonight. Something… something didn’t feel right. So I walked from the hill.”

The butler worked silently, the flickering fire casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the storm continued to rage, and as Nikita looked into Shekhar’s eyes, a shiver ran down her spine — not from the cold, but from a strange, unshakable unease.

The butler returned, carrying dry towels and clothes for Shekhar. Nikita, her voice trembling, turned to him. “What’s happening today? I’m so worried for Naimesh. Anything could’ve happened to Shekhar. He barely made it out alive.”

The butler, an old and loyal family servant, offered her a comforting, fatherly hug as she wept. “What could happen to Shekhar? He’s your love. He had to return. He loves you enough to fight back from hell itself to come back to you.”

Just then, Shekhar entered, his presence commanding attention despite his wounds. “Yes, he’s right. I fought death today. I’ll always fight to get back to you, Nikita,” he said, grabbing her hand and looking deeply into her eyes.

Nikita quickly broke away, her worry evident. She sat down on the couch, and Shekhar followed. The butler smiled at the pair, stepping back to leave them alone. “Soon, you two will be married. Enjoy this time together,” he murmured before disappearing.

“Sit up, Shekhar. You’re hurt,” Nikita said, her eyes scanning his injuries.

“I’m fine, as long as you are,” Shekhar replied with a small smile.

Shekhar was no ordinary man. He was the son of a wealthy Zamindar family with a rich heritage. He had first seen Nikita during one of her stage performances, and it was love at first sight. A man of charm and kind disposition, Shekhar had also studied law in London alongside Naimesh, his close friend. Their families had wasted no time. Upon discovering Shekhar’s feelings, they approached Mr. and Mrs. Chakrabarty with a marriage proposal for Nikita. Overjoyed, the Chakrabarty-s agreed, and the couple became engaged. From then on, Nikita and Shekhar spent many happy days together, laughing and dreaming of their future.

They often reminisced about their first meeting. Nikita giggled as she teased Shekhar. “You stammered so much that day. I thought something was wrong with you.”

Shekhar laughed. “How could I not? You were looking right at me with those curious eyes. I couldn’t think straight.”

“And you fell in the courtyard,” Nikita added, laughing even harder.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” Shekhar confessed. “You looked like an angel in that attire. To me, you already looked like a bride.”

Her laughter softened, and she gazed at him tenderly. “You love me so much, don’t you?”

Shekhar nodded silently, and Nikita slid closer to him. Resting her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “I love you too, Shekhar.”

“What if I die?” Shekhar asked suddenly.

“Don’t say such things!” Nikita retorted, her tone sharp.

“I want to know,” he insisted.

She hesitated, then replied softly, “I’ll come with you.”

Shekhar’s demeanour shifted. His face grew pale. “Then come with me,” he said, his voice eerily calm.

Nikita forced a laugh, but unease crept into her. “Shekhar, what’s gotten into you?”

Before she could press him further, the butler reappeared. “It’s late. You both should rest,” he said, his tone firm but kind.

Reluctantly, Nikita rose. Shekhar’s grip tightened on her hand before he let go. “Goodnight,” she said softly, retreating to her room as the butler escorted her.

But the night held no peace. A loud knock startled Nikita awake. When she ventured downstairs, she found the main door wide open, rain pouring in with the storm. Fear gripped her as she called for Shekhar. Together, they searched the house and found the butler’s lifeless body, drenched in blood.

Nikita screamed, her tears flowing uncontrollably. Shekhar calmed her as best he could, leading her back to her room. “Stay here,” he instructed, ignoring her pleas about his injuries. He was determined to find the intruder.

Unable to sit idle, Nikita grabbed a candle and ventured downstairs, her heart pounding. A pained voice stopped her in her tracks — it was Naimesh, barely alive, covered in blood. “Nikita,” he gasped, “Shekhar… the carriage… we fell from the hill.”

Panic set in. “What are you saying? Shekhar is here. He’s alive!”

Naimesh clutched her hand with his last strength. “Shekhar is dead,” he whispered. I love you.” With those words, he succumbed.

Shekhar appeared, his expression unreadable. “Naimesh? What happened?”

Nikita sobbed, her mind raced, connecting dots “How did you know Naimesh wasn’t home? How did you know my parents were away? Shekhar stood still.

“Tell me…tell me the truth Shekhar,” Nikita commanded.

Nikita, trembling, wiped away her tears. She hesitated, her voice breaking. “Tell me the truth… Did you and Naimesh fall from the hill together?”

Shekhar’s silence was suffocating. His eyes locked onto hers, unblinking. Then, his lips curled slightly, his tone chilling. “Yes, we fell.”

The words struck Nikita like lightning. She stumbled back, her heart racing. “Naimesh said you…you…died…Nikita was ready to face the truth.

“Yes, I died.” His voice chilling.

Nikita’s mind spun as memories connected in horrifying clarity. Her voice cracked as she stammered, “The butler… you… it was you who killed him, wasn’t it? It was no intruder, it was Naimesh and the butler knew you were dead and…you killed him, my brother?”

Shekhar’s expression darkened, his face twisting with unrestrained emotion. “Yes!” he thundered. “I killed them both. I love you, Nikita! I loved you from the moment I saw you on that stage. From the moment I fell in the courtyard trying to impress you. My love for you is stronger than death, and I will not let anyone — living or dead — keep us apart!”

Tears streamed down Nikita’s face. She shook her head in disbelief, her voice quivering. “This isn’t love, Shekhar. You’re not the man I loved. You’re something else now.” With that, she escaped upstairs and closed the door out of fear. She couldn’t stop the soul.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator closing in. “I am what your love made me. I’ve defied death for you, Nikita. I’ve returned for you because you promised… you promised you’d come with me if I died. Don’t you remember?” Her breath hitched, and her voice barely escaped her lips. “Shekhar, please… you’re scaring me.”

Thunder clapped violently, shaking the walls as the window burst open, and cold rain drenched the room. Nikita moved backwards, her steps faltering. The storm seemed to echo Shekhar’s rage as he followed her, relentlessly.

“You said you loved me, Nikita!” His voice roared over the storm. “You said you’d follow me to the ends of the earth, even into death. Well, now’s your chance. Come with me!”

“This isn’t love,” she whispered, shaking her head. “This is wrong, Shekhar. You’re not you anymore. I loved you… I always will… but this — this is not what we were.”

Shekhar paused, his expression softening for the briefest moment as if her words reached some distant fragment of his soul. But it passed quickly, replaced by the shadow of obsession.

Her back hit the window’s edge. She glanced over her shoulder at the sheer drop below, then back at Shekhar. His face was no longer the kind, loving man she knew. His eyes were dark voids, his presence suffocating.

“You said you’d never leave me,” he said coldly. “And now, you won’t.”

“Forever, Nikita,” he whispered. “You promised,” he murmured. “And now… we’ll be together.” The room fell silent, save for the storm’s fury. Nikita stood at the window, watching as the rain poured down. The last thing she saw was his hollow smile as he pushed her. She plunged into the storm, her scream swallowed by the abyss below.

Nikita jolted awake, gasping for air, her body drenched in sweat. She sat upright in bed, her heart racing as the echoes of her fall still rang in her ears. Her trembling hand reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, and she gulped it down, her mind spinning. She jumped out of bed, her instincts screaming to confirm whether it was a nightmare or reality.

She rushed downstairs, her footsteps hesitant yet hurried. Her eyes scanned the room where Naimesh had been lying lifeless in her dream. The floor was spotless — no sign of blood, no sign of him.

Her gaze darted toward the butler, who was snoring peacefully in the corner chair, completely unharmed. She felt a wave of relief, but it didn’t quell her dread. Her feet carried her, almost involuntarily, toward the guest room. Her hand trembled as she pushed the door open. Empty. No trace of Shekhar.

She stepped back, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. It was just a dream. Just a horrible dream.

But its vividness gnawed at her. She could still hear Shekhar’s voice, feel the cold rain, and see his hollow eyes. Her legs felt weak as she turned to go back upstairs.

And then came a knock at the door.

The sound reverberated through the silent house, freezing her in her tracks. Her blood ran cold, and her breath caught.

The knock came again, louder this time. Nikita’s body shook as if she were back in the nightmare.

The butler stirred awake, startled by the noise. “Nikita, what happened?” he asked, noticing her pale, terrified face.

“Don’t open it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… don’t.”

The butler frowned, confused but firm. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. I’m here to protect you.”

The knocks persisted, echoing like thunder. The butler called out, “Who is it?”

A muffled voice came from outside. “It’s me! Naimesh! Open the door!”

Nikita’s breath hitched. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The butler glanced at her. “It’s just Naimesh. See, there’s no need to worry.”

Before she could protest, he unlocked the door. Naimesh stepped inside, drenched from the rain, his face drawn with exhaustion.

Nikita didn’t wait for an explanation. She threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. “Oh my God, Naimesh! You’re alive! You’re okay!”

Naimesh, startled but relieved, patted her back. “Of course, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

A voice interrupted from behind him. “How could something have happened to him when I was with him?”

It was Shekhar.

Nikita froze and slowly looked up. Her blood chilled as she recognised the voice.

Nikita’s eyes darted between them, searching for any signs of the horrors from her dream. Both of them looked unharmed, alive, and perfectly normal. She stepped back, still trembling, inspecting Shekhar’s face, then Naimesh’s.

She turned toward the door. Outside, Shekhar’s car sat parked in the driveway. A servant stood nearby, holding an umbrella.

For the first time that night, Nikita allowed herself to breathe. Relief washed over her like the rain outside.

She shook the thought away. It was just a dream. Wasn’t it?
 

The End!!!

Perhaps the story ends here, or perhaps Nikita’s nightmare is only beginning. But let me confess something. As I was writing this, I often wondered: What would I do if I were Nikita? Would I open the door to Naimesh? Would I be able to face Shekhar again, knowing what I saw in my dream?