Lalit Kumar Tripathi The summer sun scorched the land with a vengeance, its fiery rays baking the cracked soil until it seemed the earth itself was thirsty. The dam that once brimmed with monsoon-fed waters now lay half-empty, its shoreline retreating day by day to expose what had been hidden for decades beneath its depths. From the muddy floor emerged strange, skeletal shapes—walls leaning against time, stones half-swallowed by silt, and the tilted shadow of a bell tower that once belonged to a village no one had seen in a generation. Fishermen, their nets dragging in shallow waters, muttered darkly…
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Rudra Sen The road to Blackmoor village twisted like a serpent through the mist, narrow and slick with rain, the headlights of Daniel’s car cutting pale arcs across hedgerows that seemed to lean in and whisper as he drove. He was late, later than he had planned, and the countryside had that unnerving quality of stretching endlessly, as though he were circling the same patch of earth again and again. His editor had sent him here on what was meant to be a small piece—an article on forgotten English villages, the ones people left behind when the railways stopped running…
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Prakash Nayak 1 The train had rattled away hours ago, leaving Dr. Ananya Menon with only the crash of waves and the whisper of palms for company as she entered the fishing village that would become her temporary home. She had come armed with her instruments, notebooks, and the absolute conviction that science could measure everything worth knowing. Yet on her very first evening, as the sea winds thickened with the smell of brine and the restless stir of a storm brewing beyond the horizon, she noticed how the fishermen paused in their work, speaking in hushed tones as if…
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অৰুণাভ দাস নদীৰ কাষৰ জোনাকী লাচিমুখ গাঁওখনৰ বুকুত, যেন এক আঁচলত গুজি থোৱা ৰত্নৰ দৰে, গুজি আছে হেমধাৰা নদী। সেই নদীখনৰ পানী শীতল, পানীৰ কলকলনিত যেন যুগ যুগীয়া সুৰেৰে গাওঁজনক জপাই ৰাখিছে। দুয়োফালে বাঁহৰ বন, মাজে মাজে মহুলী আৰু কদম ফুলৰ গন্ধেৰে ভৰা হাওঁৱা। হেমধাৰা কেৱল পানীৰ ধাৰা নহয়—ই গাওঁবাসীৰ জীৱনৰ মাৰ্গ, সপোনৰ কণ্ঠ, আৰু লোকগাথাৰ আঁতুৰঘৰ। লাচিমুখত একো মহান ৰাজবংশৰ ঘৰ নাছিল, একো বৈভৱময় ইমাৰত নাছিল। তথাপি গাঁওখনৰ লোকৰ বুকুত গর্ব আছিল, কিয়নো তেওঁলোকে বিশ্বাস কৰিছিল—তেওঁলোকৰ জীৱনক এখন গোপন শক্তিয়ে আগবঢ়াই যায়। সেয়া আছিল হেমধাৰাৰ কন্যাৰ গাথা। গাঁওখনত এজন মানুহ আছিল—হৰিদাস বৰুৱা। অতি সাধাৰণ মানুহ, কাষত ধানজমি, সৰু ঘৰ,…
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Ananya Dhar It was not on any map, and yet Netarhat had a railway station — a rusted signboard leaning sideways, with “NETARHAT” painted in half-faded red on flaking wood. Arohi Sen stepped off the narrow-gauge train with a dull ache in her temples, the kind that came from climbing too high, too fast. The cold air smelled of damp moss, like an old library buried in a forest. A single porter looked at her curiously, then turned away without offering help. She was used to that look — a mix of surprise and dismissal — as if a woman…
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शिवांगी तिवारी 1 मुंबई से लगभग 40 किलोमीटर दूर, समंदर के किनारे एक छोटा-सा गांव है—रॉकविले। यह गांव शहर की चकाचौंध से दूर है, लेकिन वहां की सबसे खास और डरावनी चीज़ है—’काली चट्टान’। हर शाम समंदर के बीचोंबीच उस काली चट्टान पर एक अजीब-सा नीला उजाला दिखाई देता है। कोई नहीं जानता वो रोशनी आती कहाँ से है। इसी गांव में पत्रकार आरव मेहरा आया था, एक स्टोरी की तलाश में। वो क्राइम रिपोर्टर था लेकिन इस बार उसने खुद चुना था रॉकविले आना। उसे किसी ने एक अनाम ईमेल भेजा था— “If you want the story of your…