Tushar Deb 1 The night train rumbled through the sleepy heart of Bihar, its windows reflecting the ghostly blue of an almost-full moon. The Guwahati–Delhi Express was known for its long, uneventful journey through forests, fields, and forgotten towns, but no one paid attention to one particular stop: Dharmapur Junction. It wasn’t printed on any timetable. There were no signboards, no platform lights—just an old concrete slab, shrouded by neem trees and thick fog, where the train inexplicably paused for sixteen minutes every single year on the same day. On that cold February night, passengers were either snoring under woolen…