As she stepped out to look at the clear blue sky, she could see an ominous cloud cross a hill and suddenly a raven shot out of the cloud. The shriek of the raven pierced her deaf ear. Ravens always carried a message from her ancestors? What was she trying to shout out? A pulsating headache began. The strange thing was there were no smells around. Just before a storm, the smells disappear.

As she sat back in the car, a nursery rhyme started playing in her head:

A single magpie – One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy.

She laughed until the laughter died in her throat; she spotted a single lone magpie on the bonnet of her car. She was going mad. Where did the rhyme come from? Why were the winds putting it in her head?

As the car resumed its rhythm, Rajjo forced herself to focus on the future, the village, the deity, Harsh. By now, Rajjo knew it was no accident she picked this place. She did not believe in God, religion or faith, but she definitely respected this voice inside that guided her through many a disaster, warned her of impending calamaties and she was sure now that she was heading into one. The question was, what was the message? She had to evaluate everything in her mind before it was too late.

As the car cruised forward to tackle the narrow twisting road, Rajjo spotted a cloud, the same cloud she left behind at the last stop. Its shadow, menacing and dark, loomed overhead as the car slowed down near a curve. From someplace beyond the curve, a giant eagle flapped mighty wings and soared towards the cloud, its beak a deathly clasp for the dead rat it carried. She wondered how it trapped its prey. How the rat was blind to the swooping shadow that came its way. She suddenly remembered the persuasion. People were telling her to meet him one last time to talk to his wife because they were hurting each other. Was she being blind too? Unable to read the swooping shadows? Was it the expressionless face of her brother, the sad Karam, or the restless Rano? Was she being paranoid?

Rajjo glugged down a bottle of water boiled with a tinge of tulsi to heal the burns inside. She settled back in her seat as the lore played out in her head again. The villagers’ voices reached her from the temple, ‘Some who have tried to steal have died vomiting blood within minutes of their act and before they could cross the boundary. Many others are said to have received varied punishments such as being ill for many days, suffering from mental imbalance, etc.’