In the heart of Madhya Pradesh, where dense forests swallowed the sunlight, lay a village named Chanderpur. It was an ancient settlement, untouched by modernity, where traditions ran deep and superstitions deeper. But one place in the village was feared above all—the old banyan tree on the outskirts.
It was said that anyone who heard whispers beneath that tree at night never returned the same. Some lost their voices, some lost their minds, and some… were never seen again.
The Return
Amit, a 26-year-old journalist from Bhopal, scoffed at such superstitions. He had returned to Chanderpur after nearly a decade, visiting his ailing grandmother. The village had not changed—narrow lanes, mud houses, and oil lamps flickering in the night. But the stories had only grown darker.
"Daadi, do people still believe in that banyan tree nonsense?" Amit asked as he helped her with dinner.
His grandmother, frail yet sharp, looked at him with worried eyes. "Amit, never mock what you don't understand. That tree… it watches. It listens."
Amit chuckled, shaking his head. "It's just an old tree, Daadi. Nothing more."
That night, as he lay in bed, he overheard murmurs from his grandmother and their neighbor, Ramlal Kaka.
"The boy shouldn't stay out after dark," Ramlal whispered.
"He won't believe until he sees," Daadi replied grimly.
Amit smirked. He decided he would prove them wrong.
The Dare
The next evening, he met his childhood friends, Deepak and Riya, both still living in Chanderpur. Over tea, he brought up the banyan tree.
"Still haunted?" he teased.
Riya frowned. "Amit, don’t joke. Last month, a man named Shankar went missing after walking past that tree. His wife swears she heard him scream, but no one found him."
Deepak nodded. "Even those who return… they change. My uncle stopped speaking entirely after he spent a night near it."
Amit laughed. "So if I spend an hour there, will I vanish?"
Riya paled. "Don’t, Amit. Please."
But it was too late. Amit had made up his mind.
The Banyan’s Curse
At midnight, armed with a flashlight and his phone, Amit approached the ancient banyan tree. The air was thick, heavy, as if the night itself were watching him. Crickets chirped, but beneath their sound, he thought he heard… whispers.
His laughter faltered. "Wind through the leaves," he told himself.
The tree’s roots coiled like serpents, and its massive trunk seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. He stepped closer, placing a hand on the rough bark. It was warm. Too warm.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
Soft, broken.
"Amit…"
His blood ran cold. He spun around, flashing the light. Nothing.
His breathing grew ragged. "It’s just in my head."
Then, from the darkness, a voice.
"Amit… help me…"
His pulse pounded. "Who’s there?" he called, stepping back.
From behind the tree, something moved. A figure. Shadowy. Wrong.
It looked human but wasn’t. Its eyes were hollow pits, its skin stretched unnaturally, mouth open in a silent scream. It took a step forward, its feet barely touching the ground.
"Amit… don’t… leave…"
Amit stumbled back, heart hammering. The air around him grew freezing, his breath visible in the warm summer night. The whispers multiplied, surrounding him, echoing in his ears.
Then he felt it.
Cold fingers brushing against his neck.
He screamed.
The Escape
Amit bolted, running blindly back to the village. The whispers chased him, slithering into his mind.
He crashed into his grandmother’s house, slamming the door shut. His body trembled as he gasped for air.
Daadi rushed to him. "You went to the tree, didn’t you?"
He couldn’t speak. Could only nod.
She grabbed a small pouch of black ash and smeared it across his forehead, chanting in a language he didn’t understand. Slowly, the whispers faded, the cold lifted.
"Who… was it?" Amit finally managed to ask.
His grandmother’s face darkened. "The lost ones. The ones who never returned."
The Truth
The next morning, Ramlal Kaka arrived, his face grim. "The tree marked him," he told Daadi.
Amit, still shaken, demanded answers.
Ramlal sighed. "Years ago, before you were born, that tree was used for… punishments. People accused of crimes were hung from its branches. Many were innocent, but their cries went unheard."
His voice grew lower. "They say their souls never left. They whisper, calling out, seeking justice, or revenge. And once they call your name…" He met Amit’s eyes. "They don’t stop."
Amit’s blood ran cold.
"Is there a way to break it?" he whispered.
Daadi hesitated before answering. "You must never acknowledge the whispers again. No matter what they say, no matter how real they sound—ignore them. If you respond, they will claim you."
Amit nodded. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t over.
The Final Whisper
Days passed, but Amit couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. At night, he’d hear faint murmurs outside his window, always just beyond understanding.
One night, as he lay awake, the whisper returned.
Soft. Gentle.
"Amit… let me in…"
His breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, repeating Daadi’s warning in his mind.
The voice grew urgent. "Amit, please… I’m cold… I’m lost…"
Tears pricked his eyes. It sounded so human. So real.
He clenched his fists. Don’t respond. Don’t respond.
The whisper lingered. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it faded.
Morning arrived, and Amit knew he had survived.
But as he left his room, his grandmother’s face told him everything.
She had heard it too.
And she knew… the whispers would never stop.
