The Sundarbans Shadow Curse

Six months.
They had returned to Kolkata, but for Amber, the night in the Sundarbans never ended. It was an insect in his head, a nightmare that had become real. Dipu? He was a walking corpse now. The fear in the corner of his eye was permanent. The adventurous boy was dead, replaced by a corporate servant. The expensive camera was sold. Adventure? He could only laugh, a hollow, crazy sound. Now, when Robin Khatua called, the only answer was, “No, brother, no more.” Their Facebook group was dead silent.
Amber alone could not find peace.
Not even in his study. A picture hung on the wall—the last one from that night. A sailor standing by the water. The picture was a whip, lashing his back every moment, reminding him that something had come back with them. It was here, in the city.
The beginning was small. Very small.
The sound of dripping water at midnight. Drip… drip… then it would stop. A cold breath next to his ear. A shiver. And that salty smell, the unmistakable stench of a Sundarban creek. Amber thought it was a mistake of the mind. Trauma. He needed to see a doctor.
But one night, everything changed.
He was working in his study when the house suddenly turned ice-cold. Hima, his pet cat, arched her back, hissing, and disappeared under the bed. Amber looked around, surprised. The brass compass on the table, the one he had taken on the trip, was spinning wildly like a lost sailor’s frantic heart.
And right then…
In the corner of the room, the darkness grew heavy, forming a tall, stooped shadow.
The same shadow that had peered from behind the temple pillars. Amber’s blood ran cold with fear. He closed his eyes. A few seconds passed. He opened them. Everything was normal. But the damp odor of rotten leaves hung in the air.
Amber understood. He was not alone.
The curse had come to the city.
2.
The next morning, he phoned his friend.
“It’s trauma, Amber. We went through something horrible. Hallucinations. See a psychiatrist,” his friend’s voice was mechanical, like a robot’s.
Amber didn’t stop. He went to Dipu, who was now a gaunt art college student. Amber saw his face; it was pale, white.
“You too… you’ve seen it?” Dipu’s voice was like dry, broken wood. “I thought I was going crazy.”
Dipu said it was happening to him, too. He would paint in a trance, and when he snapped out of it, he would see that he had painted the broken temple on the canvas. The mangroves. Distorted faces in agony. He would see a glimpse of a shadow in his hostel mirror.
The wall of rational argument collapsed. This was not a coincidence.
The danger had followed them. The power of that temple, the insatiable spirits of those sailors, had latched on. But why? They hadn’t touched anything. They hadn’t brought anything back.
Amber opened his grandfather’s diary, shaking off the dust. He flipped the pages. His eyes froze on one entry.
Written in trembling ink.
“The one who awakens the wrath of that endless power, a particle of its energy clings to his soul. As the sailors were the temple’s guards, the intruders are now its new carriers… the curse is infectious.”
Amber’s head spun. The entity wanted to spread through the city using them? And that sailor? Was he a warning? Or a carrier himself?
He remembered. The picture. That’s what they brought.
A photograph that captured a moment.
Had the camera lens captured not just a picture, but a piece of a soul?
3.
The phone call went to Robin Khatua.
Robin heard everything in silence. For a long time, he just listened. Then he said with a heavy voice, “I am coming to Kolkata. This needs a proper resolution. Some things from the forest must be dealt with by the forest’s ways.”
Robin came, but not alone.
With him was an old, lean man. He wore a simple white dhoti, a rudraksha garland on his neck. His eyes were quiet, but deep like the dark water of a pond.
“This is Damodar Ojha. He has the wisdom of the forest.”
Damodar Ojha looked towards the three of them. His vision was like an X-ray, piercing deep inside them. He entered Amber’s flat and stood in front of the picture.
For a long time, he just looked.
Then he closed his eyes, his lips moving, muttering an inaudible mantra.
“The shadow is not the source,” Ojha said, opening his eyes. “The one behind it fears the light. But it feeds on the greed, fear, and weakness of people. You have broken its sleep. Now it is looking for new victims.”
“How do we get free?” Karmakar’s voice was desperate.
“What belongs there must be returned there,” Ojha said quietly. “You must take back what you came with. But this time, you go not with fear, but with resolve.”
On the next new moon, they had to go again. With the camera’s memory card. And the photograph. A special ritual must be done to free the entity on the grounds of the temple.
“But,” Ojha warned, “it will interfere. It will make a weapon of your own mind’s fear. If one of you breaks, all is over.”
Dipu’s face was pale and drawn. That hell again! But he knew he must go. There was no other way to live.
Climax: The Return of the Curse
On the night of the new moon, the air felt thick as blood. They entered the creek again, with Damodar Ojha. The environment was suffocating, but this time, their fear was matched by their determination.
The ferry ghat. The temple. It felt like it was waiting to swallow them.
The moment they stepped inside, a cold stream washed over them, an icy feeling in their minds.
Ojha sat in the middle of the temple, with the three forming a circle around him. The camera memory card and the photo print were in the middle. Ojha took out dried roots, leaves, and mantra-infused water from his bag. The ritual began.
Immediately, the environment changed.
Whispering came from inside the temple. Hiss… hiss… The shadows on the walls began to dance, this time clearer, more alive.
Dipu saw a shadow of his father calling to him. “Come, my son, come…”
Karmakar saw his old boss, a termination letter in hand. “You are fired!”
Amber saw his ancestors, scorning him. “Disgrace! You have shamed the clan’s name!”
“Keep your minds tight!” Damodar Ojha screamed. “This is Maya! Its trap!”
Suddenly…
From the temple’s secret room, a concentrated darkness poured out. Coiling. Now stronger. More angry. The vile entity was approaching.
“Amber! Put the picture in the fire!” Ojha’s voice burst with urgency.
Amber trembled as he grabbed the picture, but the darkness was trying to get into his head. He was sinking into despair.
“I can’t!” he shouted.
“You have to!” The shout came from Dipu. There was no fear in his eyes, only a strange insistence. He stood up and grabbed Amber’s hand. “When we face the fear together, we can win together!”
Dipu’s courage surged into Amber. Together, they and Karmakar threw the picture and the camera memory card into the small ritual fire.
The fire blazed.
An intense, sickly green light swept through the temple. The malevolent entity burst into a horrible, painful scream, like thousands of glass shards breaking at once. The shadows of the sailors were ripped from its body and scattered, mixing back into the temple walls. For a few moments, the temple trembled violently.
Then…
All was still.
There was only the smell of burnt paper. And release. A release from the cold.