Mridul Sharma
Chapter 1:
Arrival in Jatinga unfolds with an air of subtle unease, as Ranjit Barua makes his way into the mist-laden village nestled deep within the hills of Assam. From the moment he arrives, he senses the unusual stillness that hangs over the place, a quiet that seems almost unnatural. The village is small, with narrow winding lanes that vanish into dense forests, where thick fog curls around ancient trees like spectral fingers. Ranjit is there to report on the recent installation of 5G towers, a technological intrusion into a landscape steeped in mystery and superstition. Yet, as he walks past clusters of bamboo huts and small market stalls, he cannot ignore the stories whispered by the wind—or by the villagers themselves—about the inexplicable deaths of birds in this region. Jatinga has long been notorious for the phenomenon where birds, for reasons unknown, plunge to their deaths during certain nights. The forest, both enchanting and threatening, holds a quiet menace. Shadows of gnarled trees stretch across the paths as if to warn him that the land keeps its secrets close, and that the modern machinery he has come to document might awaken something older than technology, something rooted in folklore and fear.
The villagers themselves are wary of outsiders, and Ranjit quickly realizes that he cannot approach his work casually. He observes small groups huddled together in whispered conversation, eyes darting toward the forest, as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the mists. Old men speak of spirits calling at night, voices of the dead echoing through the darkness, especially near the hills where the birds meet their tragic fate. Children play near the water channels, yet their laughter carries a tinge of fear, as if they are aware of unseen presences. Ranjit attempts to capture these stories with his notebook, but he senses the villagers’ hesitance, the invisible boundary between their world and the prying curiosity of the outside. Every conversation seems layered, each word chosen carefully, as if saying too much might summon the forces they have long feared. The juxtaposition of advancing technology—represented by the sleek towers now rising above the treetops—and the ancient, almost ritualistic fear of the forest creates a tension in Ranjit’s mind. He is caught between a scientific curiosity and an almost instinctive unease, aware that in Jatinga, the line between the natural and supernatural is not easily defined.
Amidst this quiet tension, Ranjit meets Meera Hazarika, the schoolteacher, whose presence offers a fragile bridge between the modern world and the village’s enduring traditions. Meera is intelligent, articulate, and deeply rooted in the customs of Jatinga. When Ranjit introduces himself and explains the purpose of his visit, she listens patiently, her eyes betraying both concern and curiosity. She warns him not to treat the village’s stories as mere folklore or to dismiss the warnings casually. “Respect the forest, respect the spirits,” she tells him, her voice soft but firm. Her words linger, underscoring the delicate balance that Jatinga maintains between human habitation and the mysterious forces that have long governed the hills. She speaks of the nights when the birds descend in confusion, the strange sounds that float from the forest, and the villagers who claim to hear voices of the departed calling out from the shadows. For Ranjit, this is both intriguing and unsettling; it challenges his rational understanding of the world. As night begins to fall, he looks out from the edge of the village toward the thick, misty forests, feeling a mix of awe and apprehension. The forests of Jatinga are beautiful, yet there is a palpable sense that beneath their quiet exterior lies an ancient, watchful presence. In this chapter, the stage is set not only for a story of technological intrusion but for an encounter with the unknown, where the ordinary and the supernatural might collide in ways that Ranjit is only beginning to comprehend.
Chapter 2:
The First Call begins with an ordinary evening in Jatinga, yet the ordinary quickly dissolves into the uncanny. Anjali Bora, a bright and curious teenager, is sitting in her small bamboo house with the soft glow of a lantern illuminating her room. She is scrolling idly through her phone when it rings unexpectedly. On the screen, the name displayed is one she had long stopped expecting—her grandmother, who passed away several months ago. Hesitating at first, she answers, thinking it must be a prank. But the voice that reaches her ear is unmistakable, tender yet urgent, filled with the familiarity of a loved one. “Fly into the night,” the voice whispers, fading in and out like a message carried on the wind. Anjali freezes, her pulse quickening, unable to reconcile the logic of death with the reality of the call. The forest outside, already draped in evening mist, seems to lean closer, as if the shadows themselves are listening. The words reverberate in her mind, a haunting echo that refuses to be dismissed. At first, she convinces herself it must be a network error, a glitch in the new 5G system that has only recently arrived in the village, yet a creeping unease begins to take root. Even her parents, when she recounts the incident, frown with worry, sensing that this is no ordinary technological malfunction.
News of Anjali’s encounter spreads through the village like ripples on water, carrying with it a sense of fear that was previously simmering beneath the surface. The villagers, many of whom have lived with the shadow of the mysterious bird suicides for decades, are unsettled by the idea that the dead might be attempting to communicate directly with the living. Whispers fill the narrow lanes and market areas: the spirits are restless, the forest angry, and something ominous is brewing. Children no longer dare to wander near the edges of the forest, while older residents mutter about curses and the folly of ignoring tradition. The sense of dread is tangible, wrapping the village in a cloak of anticipation and anxiety. Ranjit Barua, who has now begun his reporting, watches the unfolding reactions with professional curiosity, though even he cannot entirely suppress the chill that creeps up his spine. What begins as a single phone call now threatens to expose a fracture between the villagers’ ancient beliefs and the modern intrusion of technology, revealing that the threads of superstition and rationality are far more entangled than he had imagined. The forest, the towers, the whispers of the past—they all seem to converge around Anjali’s experience, transforming a personal encounter into a village-wide phenomenon.
Biren Saikia, the village elder, emerges as a voice of authority amid the rising panic. Known for his knowledge of Jatinga’s folklore and history, Biren is not quick to dismiss the incident as mere coincidence or technological error. Sitting in his small, dimly lit home, he recalls the ominous parallels between Anjali’s experience and the long-documented bird suicides that have haunted the hills for generations. He warns the villagers that the call is a bad omen, a sign that the natural order is disturbed and that the spirits of the departed are trying to send a message before a calamity strikes. His words carry weight, steeped in the accumulated wisdom and fear of countless elders before him. As night deepens, the forest outside seems to pulse with a life of its own, shadows shifting and whispering in the wind, echoing Biren’s grim pronouncement. The villagers, caught between disbelief and dread, find themselves unable to ignore the strange convergence of technology, death, and superstition. Anjali, still shaken, clutches her phone tightly, aware that her encounter has altered not only her life but the fragile sense of security in the entire village. By the end of the chapter, the stage is set for an escalating mystery where the boundaries between the living and the dead, the modern and the ancient, begin to blur, leaving Jatinga suspended in a tense, haunting anticipation.
Chapter 3:
Investigating the Towers opens with a crisp morning in Jatinga, where the mist clings stubbornly to the hills and the sun struggles to pierce the dense canopy. Ranjit Barua, still unsettled by the previous night’s events, decides to confront the source of the phenomenon directly: the newly installed 5G towers that loom over the village like silent sentinels. He meets Arjun Deka, a young and confident telecom engineer who has been overseeing the installations. Arjun is practical to a fault, dismissing the villagers’ claims as technical glitches or signal interference. As they climb the narrow, rutted paths toward the first tower, Arjun explains the mechanisms, frequencies, and expected behaviors of the network, peppering his speech with technical jargon meant to reassure Ranjit that everything is under control. Yet, despite Arjun’s insistence on rational explanations, Ranjit’s instincts tell him that something deeper is at play. From the base of the tower, he scans the surrounding forest and the village below, noting the eerie quietness that seems to amplify the weight of the air. It is not just a question of technology failing; it feels as if the towers have pierced an invisible barrier between the living and the dead, creating a conduit that responds selectively to grief and memory.
As Ranjit and Arjun run diagnostic tests, they begin to notice an unusual pattern. The anomalous calls are not random; they are being received almost exclusively by villagers who have lost close family members in recent years. The data from the towers shows no malfunction, no spike in signal interference, yet the phenomenon persists. Ranjit cannot shake the feeling that the forest itself is influencing the results, that the very air of Jatinga carries an imprint of the departed. Meanwhile, the village reacts with a mixture of awe and terror. People whisper in hushed tones about ancestral spirits and restless souls, while others attribute the events to the arrival of modern technology disturbing forces better left undisturbed. Arjun, frustrated by his inability to provide a concrete technical explanation, begins to question his own assumptions, wondering if there is a variable he cannot measure—a force beyond the scientific instruments he relies on. The forest surrounding the towers seems to watch, the treetops swaying in an imperceptible rhythm, echoing the bird migrations that have historically claimed countless lives. It is a reminder that nature, memory, and the unknown often intertwine in ways that modern technology cannot fully comprehend.
Amid this growing tension, Meera Hazarika steps forward with a methodical approach. She begins documenting each reported call, noting the time, frequency, and content of the messages. Her observations reveal an eerie synchronicity: the calls align disturbingly with known patterns of bird migration over the hills of Jatinga. The villagers, who have long feared the mysterious deaths of birds, now face a new layer of dread, as if the spirits of the deceased are somehow mimicking the migratory instincts of the forest’s creatures. Meera’s meticulous notes show that the messages are not random; they seem to follow the movement of certain currents in the valley, like invisible trails connecting the living to the dead. Ranjit, watching her work, feels the chilling weight of the connections forming before him: technology, memory, grief, and the ancient rhythms of the forest are converging in a way that defies explanation. The chapter closes with Ranjit looking at the 5G towers, their steel skeletons towering over the mist-shrouded forest, realizing that his investigation is no longer just about documenting a technological development. It is about uncovering a hidden force that binds the village, its people, and the restless spirits in ways that may soon spiral beyond anyone’s control. The stage is set for a collision of science and the supernatural, where every call carries a message, and every shadow in the misted hills hints at secrets yet to be revealed.
Chapter 4:
The First Victim begins with the village of Jatinga wrapped in a tense, uneasy calm, the kind that precedes a storm. Anjali Bora, still haunted by the mysterious call from her grandmother, spends the day with her friends, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy. But the forest, shrouded in evening mist, seems to thicken with an almost tangible presence, whispering promises and warnings alike. That night, one of Anjali’s closest friends, Ritu, receives a call eerily similar to Anjali’s, a soft voice urging her to “fly into the night.” At first, she hesitates, dismissing it as a trick of the network, but the persistence and emotional weight of the message begin to break through her rational defenses. Driven by a strange compulsion and a mix of fear and fascination, she slips away from the safety of her home, venturing into the forest. The path is narrow and treacherous, the fog curling around her legs, the shadows of twisted trees reaching like dark fingers. The forest that had always been a place of awe and mystery now transforms into an active force, guiding her steps toward the cliffs where the birds have historically plunged to their deaths.
The morning reveals the horrifying aftermath. Villagers gather near the cliffside where Ritu’s body is discovered, pale and lifeless, eerily positioned in a way that mirrors the suicides of the birds that have long haunted Jatinga. Panic spreads like wildfire, and the once-quiet streets hum with whispers of spirits, curses, and impending doom. Anjali is paralyzed with grief and guilt, the memory of the voice on the phone echoing relentlessly in her mind. Parents pull their children indoors, doors are bolted, and the forest that had seemed merely mysterious now appears malevolent, a living entity capable of luring the unwary to their deaths. Even the older villagers, accustomed to the inexplicable bird suicides, are shaken by the tangible presence of human tragedy linked to the same strange forces. The air carries a palpable weight of fear, and shadows seem to linger longer than they should, as if the cliffs themselves hold onto the memory of the fallen. Ranjit, notebook in hand, observes the scene with a growing sense of helplessness. His journalistic curiosity collides violently with the raw reality of loss, and he realizes that this story has grown far beyond the scope of technology reporting.
Biren Saikia emerges as the voice of authority and ancient wisdom amidst the chaos. With solemnity, he addresses the villagers, insisting that these calls are not mere glitches or coincidences but the voices of spirits actively luring the living into danger. Drawing chilling parallels between the first human victim and the long history of bird suicides, he warns that the forest has become a conduit for forces beyond human comprehension, forces that are drawn to grief and vulnerability. Ranjit and Arjun, standing beside him, struggle to reconcile this belief with their scientific understanding, combing through signal data, network logs, and tower diagnostics in search of a rational explanation that remains stubbornly elusive. Meanwhile, Meera continues to document each occurrence with meticulous care, her notes growing increasingly complex as patterns begin to emerge linking the timing of the calls to both migratory movements of birds and the emotional states of those affected. The village is gripped by fear, and the line between superstition and reality begins to blur. In this chapter, the stage is set for escalating terror, as Jatinga’s residents are forced to confront the possibility that the forest, the 5G towers, and the restless spirits are intertwined in a way that threatens not only their sense of security but the very boundary between life and death itself.
Chapter 5:
Secrets of the Past begins in the dimly lit room of Jatinga’s small schoolhouse, where Meera Hazarika has gathered old village records, yellowed with age and frayed at the edges. The air is thick with dust and the faint scent of aged paper, as if the past itself is pressing in on the present. Meera spreads the documents across the table, revealing meticulous records of bird deaths spanning decades, accounts of sudden human disappearances, and notes on strange voices heard in the night. Each entry is accompanied by the name of the affected family, the dates, and the circumstances, painting a pattern of uncanny repetition. She explains that these incidents were once dismissed as natural anomalies or the result of harsh environmental conditions, but the similarities to the present events are impossible to ignore. The villagers, drawn in by the discussion, begin to share their own recollections—tales passed down through generations of ancestors who, they say, “heard the dead” before tragedy struck. There is a reverent hush as the stories unfold, a mixture of fear, awe, and resignation. For Ranjit, each record is a puzzle piece that hints at a continuity between the village’s historical tragedies and the current events, challenging his understanding of reality and demanding a consideration of forces beyond empirical evidence.
As the session continues, the villagers recount eerie anecdotes of forewarnings: a grandmother’s whisper heard in the middle of the night, a sudden compulsion to leave the house only to avoid disaster, or the unsettling appearance of shadowy figures in the forests. The emotional resonance of grief, loss, and memory seems to act as a magnet for these phenomena. Ranjit begins to notice a recurring theme: the voices, both historical and contemporary, appear most often to those who are emotionally vulnerable, often grieving recent losses. He observes that the tragic bird suicides, which have long been a natural mystery, coincide suspiciously with these accounts of auditory visions and night-time visitations. Meera, with her careful documentation, draws attention to subtle patterns: the timing of the incidents, the location of the victims, and, remarkably, the possible alignment with migratory bird routes and natural energy currents in the valley. Slowly, an unsettling hypothesis begins to form in Ranjit’s mind. Perhaps the 5G signals, rather than causing the phenomenon directly, act as an amplifier for preexisting supernatural currents, a bridge between the unresolved grief of the living and the lingering presence of the dead.
Ranjit discusses his observations with Arjun, who remains reluctant to concede anything beyond technical malfunction. Yet the growing weight of evidence challenges even his scientific certainty. Together with Meera, they map the correlations between the calls, the victims’ emotional states, and the historical records of Jatinga, constructing a disturbing narrative in which grief and memory interact with environmental and technological forces in unpredictable ways. The villagers, listening intently, feel both fear and validation; the tales of ancestors suddenly take on new significance, suggesting that the village’s collective memory and spiritual intuition have been warning them for generations. The forest, too, takes on renewed significance—its dense canopy and shifting shadows appear almost sentient, as if aware of the emotional currents flowing through the village. By the end of the chapter, Ranjit is forced to confront a chilling possibility: the 5G towers, while scientific in design, may have inadvertently opened channels for forces long dormant, allowing grief, memory, and ancestral warnings to manifest in ways that blur the boundary between the living and the dead. Jatinga is no longer simply a village of superstition; it has become a focal point where history, emotion, and technology converge, setting the stage for a confrontation with mysteries that cannot be explained by science alone.
Chapter 6:
Conflicting Theories begins under the oppressive weight of a clouded sky, the village of Jatinga cloaked in an uneasy tension that has only grown since Ritu’s tragic death. Ranjit and Arjun set out to investigate the 5G towers with a sense of urgency; the latest reports suggest that more calls have been received by villagers still mourning lost loved ones. Arjun, armed with technical expertise, is convinced that the phenomenon is entirely mechanical—a glitch in the network, signal interference, or unexpected harmonics caused by the towers’ proximity to the dense forest. He proposes a radical solution: shutting down the towers temporarily to test whether the calls cease. However, when he contacts the telecom company, he is met with bureaucratic resistance. The executives insist that the towers are fully operational, generating profit and connectivity for the region, and refuse to consider shutting them down. Frustration gnaws at Arjun, whose confidence in scientific explanation begins to clash with the increasingly unexplainable events around him. Meanwhile, Ranjit documents the villagers’ experiences, caught in the uncomfortable space between journalistic rationality and the chilling evidence of human and avian tragedies repeating in eerie synchrony.
As the day unfolds, Ranjit grapples with the mounting uncertainty. On one hand, he recognizes patterns that suggest a scientific explanation may exist: the calls are linked to signal transmission, often occurring at specific times and aligning with the 5G frequencies. Yet, the selective nature of the calls—targeting primarily those who are grieving—defies straightforward logic. The possibility of supernatural influence, long dismissed in his own worldview, creeps into his consciousness, fueled by Meera’s meticulous documentation and the villagers’ accounts. Meera reveals a crucial insight: some villagers, who consciously refuse to answer the calls, do not experience subsequent tragedies. Their deliberate choice to ignore the mysterious voices seems to interrupt the pattern of deaths, suggesting that the phenomenon may be influenced not solely by technology, but by the emotional and psychological state of the listeners. This observation unsettles both Ranjit and Arjun, introducing the notion that grief, belief, and human attention might act as catalysts in a process that transcends conventional understanding. The forest, as always, remains a silent observer, its shadows lengthening as evening approaches, blurring the line between reality and something far more elusive.
Tension escalates as fear begins to eclipse rationality within the village. Families barricade their homes at dusk, children are recalled from the edges of the forest, and whispers of spirits and curses grow louder with each passing hour. Ranjit, torn between documenting events and protecting the villagers from panic, realizes the fragile balance between reason and belief is tipping. Arjun, though initially dismissive of superstition, begins to notice that even his technical instruments behave unpredictably in the presence of certain emotional states, raising questions he is unprepared to answer. Meera continues her methodical recordings, correlating emotional responses with the timing and content of the calls, producing a data set that hints at a complex interplay between human psychology, ancestral memory, and the inexplicable phenomena surrounding the towers. By the end of the chapter, it becomes clear that Jatinga is no longer merely a site for technological observation or folklore study; it has transformed into a crucible of conflicting forces, where fear, rational inquiry, and supernatural possibility collide. The villagers are caught in this maelstrom, and Ranjit realizes that uncovering the truth may require navigating not just the physical infrastructure of the towers, but the emotional and spiritual currents that have defined this enigmatic village for generations.
Chapter 7:
Lured Into the Night begins with an unsettling stillness that grips Jatinga as darkness falls. The forest surrounding the village seems to pulse with a life of its own, shadows stretching unnaturally across narrow trails and the wind whispering through the trees with an almost sentient cadence. That night, several villagers—including young and old—receive calls that echo the voices of their deceased loved ones, urging them into the woods. The compulsion is irresistible, as if the calls awaken a memory too deep and painful to resist. Ranjit and Meera, anticipating the possibility of mass movement, scramble to reach as many homes as they can, warning villagers to stay inside and avoid the forest. Despite their efforts, the eerie allure of the calls proves too strong. One by one, individuals slip away from their homes, guided by the invisible force of the messages. Lanterns bob in the distance as people wander down mist-laden trails, their silhouettes swallowed by the darkness. Ranjit’s heart pounds with dread, realizing that the tragedy of Ritu may be repeating on a larger, more uncontrollable scale.
As the forest closes in around the wandering villagers, its density disorients them. Paths twist unexpectedly, familiar landmarks vanish into the fog, and the sounds of the night amplify every rustle and crack of branches. Ranjit and Meera pursue the group, calling out names, their voices swallowed by the oppressive silence of the towering trees. Panic and confusion ripple through those who have ventured into the woods, some stopping as though pulled by an invisible tether, while others are drawn further into the shadows. A few manage to resist the calls at the last moment, collapsing on the ground in exhaustion and fear, narrowly escaping what could have been a fatal plunge into the cliffs below. Others are not so fortunate; by dawn, small search parties find them missing, their fates uncertain. The repetition of the bird suicides among humans mirrors the forest’s ancient pattern, and the village reels at the scale of the night’s events. Ranjit, torn between reporting and rescue, begins to understand that Jatinga’s landscape—its forests, cliffs, and mist—is not merely a backdrop but an active participant in this unfolding mystery, bending perception and amplifying the lure of the calls in ways he cannot yet comprehend.
Meanwhile, Arjun stations himself near the towers, running continuous diagnostics in a desperate bid to rationalize the chaos. What he observes shocks him beyond measure. Streams of energy, faint but distinctly unnatural, ripple around the towers, fluctuating in patterns that correspond almost perfectly with the moments villagers report receiving the calls. His instruments register no interference by conventional standards, yet the readings suggest some form of energy amplification far beyond standard 5G operation. Arjun’s scientific certainty begins to fracture as he watches, understanding that the towers may be interacting with forces beyond the measurable—forces that somehow connect grief, memory, and the forest itself. Back in the village, Ranjit and Meera regroup with the survivors, documenting their experiences and noting recurring themes: emotional vulnerability, ancestral memory, and sudden, irresistible compulsion. By dawn, Jatinga is left in an eerie, exhausted silence. The forest holds its secrets close, the missing villagers’ fates unknown, and the interplay of technology and the supernatural has been demonstrated in a stark, terrifying reality. The chapter closes with an uneasy realization: whatever is occurring in Jatinga cannot be explained by science or superstition alone. The village, its people, and the towers have become entwined in a force that defies conventional understanding, leaving both observers and participants on the precipice of a mystery that grows ever more dangerous with each passing night.
Chapter 8:
Confronting the Mystery begins at dawn, with the first pale light filtering through the dense canopy of Jatinga’s forests. Ranjit and Meera, armed with Meera’s meticulous notes and Ranjit’s observations of the recent calls, set out to trace the source of the phenomenon. They follow the faint patterns left behind by the villagers who were lured into the forest the previous night, noting where the calls seemed most insistent and where the forest’s energy—an almost palpable vibration in the air—was strongest. As they trek deeper into the mist-shrouded wilderness, the forest becomes increasingly alive with movement: flocks of birds stir and circle overhead, their behavior unnervingly synchronized, echoing the patterns documented in historical records. Finally, after hours of careful navigation through twisted paths and shadowed clearings, they discover a hidden glade, a secluded hollow where countless birds gather before their sudden, inexplicable deaths. The place is eerily silent, with only the occasional rustle of wings and a low hum that seems to vibrate in harmony with the emotional resonance of grief carried by the village below. The sight sends a shiver down their spines; it is here, they realize, that the forest’s ancient patterns intersect with the modern intrusion of the 5G signals, creating a lethal resonance that humans are now beginning to feel.
As Ranjit and Meera study the glade, they begin to connect the dots. The birds’ behavior, long a natural mystery, mirrors the compulsion humans experience when receiving the calls. Each call, they hypothesize, is not merely a technological anomaly but an amplifier of latent emotional energy, drawing on the grief and unresolved loss within the villagers. The forest itself appears to act as a conduit, a medium through which this energy manifests, guiding both avian and human actions toward the cliffs and the hidden glade. Meera’s detailed records reveal that those who resist the calls, who consciously suppress the urge to answer, are less affected—a revelation that underscores the interplay between mind, memory, and the supernatural forces present in Jatinga. Ranjit begins to see the phenomenon not as a simple case of scientific malfunction but as a convergence of natural instincts, emotional resonance, and technological amplification. The realization is both thrilling and terrifying: modern 5G signals, when interacting with the forest and its latent spiritual energies, are capable of triggering behaviors in humans similar to those in birds, essentially turning grief into a compulsion that can have deadly consequences.
With the evidence mounting, Ranjit and Meera return to the village to share their findings with Biren Saikia. The elder listens intently, nodding gravely as they outline the interaction between technology, forest, and human emotion. Biren warns that breaking the cycle will require more than technical fixes; it demands an understanding of both the spirits that have long been part of Jatinga’s lore and the way modern infrastructure interacts with these forces. He recounts ancestral teachings: the dead, when restless or wronged, communicate through subtle signals, and ignoring or disrespecting these energies invites tragedy. Ranjit struggles to reconcile his rational journalistic instincts with the growing evidence of supernatural influence, while Meera emphasizes the importance of community awareness and disciplined response—villagers must be taught to resist the calls, to respect the boundaries between life, death, and the forest. The chapter closes with a tense mixture of hope and dread: they have uncovered the source of the deadly pattern, but understanding it fully requires navigating the delicate balance between grief, memory, technology, and the unseen forces that have governed Jatinga for generations. The forest waits, patient and watchful, as the village begins the delicate work of confronting a mystery that is as much spiritual as it is scientific.
Chapter 9:
The Last Call begins as twilight descends over Jatinga, casting long, wavering shadows across the village and its surrounding forests. The previous nights’ horrors linger in every whispered conversation and wary glance. Ranjit sits alone in his temporary room, notebook open but untouched, when his phone rings. The display shows a name that makes his heart freeze: his late father. Hesitation grips him; the rational part of his mind insists it is a glitch, an echo amplified by the forest and the towers, yet the voice on the other end is unmistakably familiar, warm, and filled with quiet urgency. “Come, it is your turn to see,” the voice whispers, weaving an almost hypnotic thread through his consciousness. Ranjit struggles to resist, clenching the phone tightly and reminding himself of the village’s fate, of Ritu and the others drawn into the forest before. The pull of grief, memory, and longing is immense, but he steels himself, realizing that giving in could mean death. Every fiber of his being fights the urge to step outside, to follow the invisible path guided by the voice, and he finally sets the phone down, breathing shakily, aware that the moment has become intensely personal—the forest and the towers are no longer just affecting the villagers; they are testing him.
Meanwhile, Meera and Arjun work frantically to implement their plan to protect the village. Using portable generators and carefully calculated network interference patterns, Arjun attempts to temporarily disable the 5G towers, hoping to sever the link that amplifies the calls. Meera organizes the villagers, guiding them indoors, instructing them to avoid answering any calls and to stay in groups for mutual support. The forest beyond the village grows chaotic as night deepens, flocks of birds swirling in restless patterns above the cliffs, their frantic movements mirroring the escalating tension among the humans below. The calls intensify, seemingly aware of the interference, growing louder, more insistent, and emotionally persuasive. Shadows flicker at the edges of lantern light, indistinct figures seem to move in tandem with the forest’s energy, and the air hums with a strange resonance that makes every step feel unstable. Even those who are normally calm find themselves trembling, hearts racing with a primal fear they cannot name. Meera’s voice cuts through the panic as she directs villagers, her calm authority counteracting the compulsion the calls are generating, a human anchor amid the storm of supernatural influence and technological amplification.
As the night reaches its crescendo, Ranjit, Meera, and Arjun converge at the base of the largest tower, coordinating efforts to protect the village while observing the forest’s chaotic response. Arjun monitors the energy spikes, noting patterns that seem almost alive, responding to the villagers’ emotional states in real time. Ranjit, still shaken by his father’s call, realizes that the balance between science and the supernatural is thinner than ever—the towers are amplifying grief and memory in ways he cannot quantify, yet the villagers’ discipline and mutual support appear to disrupt the cycle momentarily. Biren, moving silently among the villagers, chants traditional protective rites, his presence adding a spiritual counterweight to the technological intervention. The forest’s restless energy begins to abate slowly as the towers’ signals are interrupted, the birds settle into uneasy perches, and the remaining villagers retreat safely to their homes. By dawn, a fragile calm descends on Jatinga, leaving the team exhausted but aware that they have managed to break the immediate cycle of deaths. The chapter closes on Ranjit staring at the morning light filtering through the mist, haunted by the voice of his father but resolute, recognizing that confronting the calls required courage, restraint, and the delicate collaboration of science, tradition, and human will—an uneasy truce in a village where grief, technology, and the supernatural intersect in ways that remain perilously unpredictable.
Chapter 10:
Dawn Over Jatinga opens with a fragile serenity, the first pale light of morning spilling over the mist-laden hills. The 5G towers, once silent sentinels amplifying grief and memory into deadly compulsion, now stand dormant, their steel skeletons stripped of influence. The village itself is quiet, the eerie tension of recent nights giving way to a tentative calm. Survivors gather at the cliffs, the same precipice that had claimed so many lives and driven others into terror. Faces once pale with fear now carry the tentative weight of relief, though shadows of the past nights linger in their eyes. Families huddle together, sharing whispered words of comfort, while children cling to parents, still unsettled by the memory of the calls. Ranjit stands among them, notebook in hand, watching the flocks of birds that now return to the hills in a subdued, almost cautious rhythm. Their movements, once chaotic and harrowing, are now calm, as though the forest itself has sighed in relief. The interplay of grief, memory, and the forest’s mysterious energies seems momentarily balanced, offering the village a reprieve that feels earned and fragile.
As the sun rises higher, Ranjit begins the painstaking task of writing his report. Unlike his previous work, this story cannot be told purely through the lens of technology or superstition; it requires the delicate weaving of folklore, emotional resonance, and the uncanny influence of the towers. He records the villagers’ experiences, the patterns Meera documented, the reports of ancestral warnings, and the unsettling correlation between human grief and bird behavior. His words capture the tension between rationality and the inexplicable, blending scientific observation with the spiritual dimensions the village has long understood. Meera assists, organizing notes, verifying timelines, and correlating the surviving villagers’ experiences with historical records. Arjun, who had once insisted on a purely technical explanation, sits nearby, reviewing energy logs from the towers that now read like chronicles of a hidden, almost sentient force. Together, they attempt to make sense of what occurred, aware that some questions may remain unanswerable. The forest beyond the cliffs hums softly with life, its mist curling gently around the treetops, and the village breathes collectively, embracing the fragile hope of healing while remaining keenly aware of the forces that shaped their ordeal.
Biren Saikia steps forward to address the assembled villagers, his voice both solemn and grounding. He blesses the village, offering prayers for protection and gratitude, while cautioning that the delicate equilibrium between human grief, ancestral spirits, and the modern intrusions of technology must always be respected. His words carry the weight of generations, a reminder that Jatinga is a place where the past and present, the natural and supernatural, exist in constant dialogue. As villagers return to their homes, repairing both structures and spirits, the birds continue to soar quietly above, signaling a return of life to the hills. Yet the memory of the last calls lingers—a haunting echo in the hearts of those who survived, a reminder that grief and loss are forces not easily contained. Ranjit, watching the interplay of light and mist, realizes that the story he has witnessed is one of extraordinary complexity: a village shaped by ancestral memory, human emotion, and the subtle, often perilous interaction with modern technology. Dawn over Jatinga is both an ending and a beginning—a fragile moment of peace in a place where the boundaries between life, death, and the unknown remain ever-shifting, leaving an indelible imprint on all who call it home.
End
