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Jokha: A Treasure Warrior

It was the witching hour, 1:00 am, in Raghurajpur, a village famed for the art of pattachitra, when my grandma, along with a fellow villager, embarked on a bone-chilling journey. Their destination: the Kali Puja nearby, but their path, a shortcut through the jungle, was shrouded in an inky blackness, pierced only by their flickering oil lamp. The air hung heavy, thick with the cloying scent of decay and the unsettling silence broken only by the occasional rustle in the unseen undergrowth. Looming ahead, a dilapidated palace, a skeletal silhouette against the starless sky, whispered of a bygone era of opulence. It was here, amidst the crumbling grandeur, that they spotted a flicker of light in the distance. Relief washed over them – perhaps other devotees on their way to the puja. But as they drew closer, a surge of primal terror coursed through their veins. The light emanated not from a fellow pilgrim, but from a creature of nightmare. A monstrous entity, a giant fireball with no eyes,...