Morning came…
but it was not like morning.
There was light, but no sun. A kind of light that lets you see things, but does not let you recognize them. The cremation ground was the same, yet the ground felt lower, as if someone had pressed it down through the night. The shadows of the trees were falling in the wrong direction. Where there should have been shadow, there was none. And where there should not have been any, it clung stubbornly.
I thought the night was over.
But something inside me said, only the layer has changed.
I raised my hand to let my eyes adjust to the light, when a sharp burning sensation flared up in my wrist. Not mild. A burn that stings first, then turns into memory. I looked.
The same mark.
The one that had been on the ground at night now seemed to be breathing beneath my skin. The lines had risen, as if someone had poured ink between my veins. Panicked, I began rubbing it. The moment my attention fully fixed on it, the mark calmed down. The lines sank back, as if nothing had happened.
I understood then.
This was not just a stain.
It was a bond.
I turned around.
The figure was still there, but it was different.
Not as terrifying as the night. Not dissolved into darkness. Its shape now looked more human. Feet planted on the ground. Shoulders straight. The face was still unclear, but no longer hollow. The eyes… the eyes were the same. Old. Still. As if they were tired of counting time.
"You had forgotten it," the voice said.
This time there was no anger in it.
Only fatigue.
"I do not know anyone," I said.
"I am trapped here. That is all."
The figure lowered its head slightly.
"Being trapped and returning are often the same thing."
Something shifted inside my mind. Like the lock of an old cupboard jolting open. An image flashed. A hand filled with ash. The faint heat of a dhuni. And the eyes of an elder who was not looking at me, but into me.
The image shattered.
"Are you a guardian?" I asked.
"To keep me here?"
The figure replied softly,
"I am not a guardian. I am Memory."
That word forced me to bend slightly, as if something heavy had been placed on my chest. Memory. Remembrance. But why was this memory not mine?
"Your duty was to remember," Memory said.
"But you chose to forget."
"Am I lying?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Or are you breaking the truth?"
Memory did not answer.
It only spoke a name.
It was not my name.
But the moment that name fell into the air, a sharp pain struck the center of my head. Smoke clouded my vision. I dropped to my knees. No one held me, yet I did not fall. The ground felt as if it already knew me.
Dhuni.
Ash.
And a voice, "If you remember, you will survive."
"Who was he?" I gasped.
"Guru?" The word slipped out on its own.
For a moment, Memory's eyes softened.
"For the first time, you chose the right word," it said.
I stood up. My legs were still shaking.
Then I felt another presence from the edge of the cremation ground.
An old man was approaching. Very slowly. As if he had to count every step. His back was bent, but his eyes were sharp. He looked at me, then his gaze fell on the mark on my hand.
He immediately lowered his head.
"The second turn has come," he said.
"Which turn?" I asked.
The old man did not look at me.
"The one that was never completed the first time."
A cold ran through my spine.
"Listen," the old man said, now looking straight at me,
"if memory does not return today, life will be taken tomorrow."
His words were not a threat.
He was only counting.
"This is not happening for the first time," he added softly.
"This village has seen it before."
Before I could say anything, Memory raised its hand. The old man fell silent, as if his part ended there.
"By tonight," Memory said,
"you must bring one thing."
"What thing?" I asked.
Memory did not give a complete answer.
"That which once burned, but never ended."
The matter was finished.
Memory slowly dissolved, into the air, into the light, beyond my attention. As it left, the mark burned again, as if reminding me, I am still here.
I was left alone.
Yet I did not feel alone.
A whisper fell near my ear, not of wind, not of sound.
"Guru is waiting for you."
This time, my body did not want to run.
There was fear, but stronger than it was a pull.
And I understood then.
Tonight, I cannot run.
Tonight, I will have to go.