The flickering oil lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the mud-plastered walls of old Devi’s hut. Outside, the monsoon rains lashed the village of Jhumri Telaiya, a relentless drumming that amplified the oppressive silence within. Tonight, the air was heavy with more than just humidity; it was thick with fear.Just a week ago, young Rina, vibrant and full of life, had fallen ill. A fever that burned like embers, followed by a terrifying wasting away. The village elder, a man revered for his wisdom, declared it the work of a ’chudail’ – a witch. All eyes, heavy with suspicion, turned.......