The Narasimha Swamy temple shimmered with the golden warmth of twilight as the trio staggered into its stone-floored sanctum, still breathless from the chase that had led them there.
Chitrakala leaned against a cool pillar, scowling. "Okay. What. Just. Happened?"
Agastya sat down cross-legged with a dramatic thud and began to weep again. Not in a messy way—he was a composed crier, dignified even in despair.
Anagha perched next to him and patted his shoulder solemnly. "It's okay, bro. Let it out. You saw something traumatic. Cry it all out."
Chitra squinted at her. "Bro?"
Anagha shrugged and nodded to herself. "Emotional adoption. Very spiritual."
"Pull yourself together," Chitra snapped at Agastya. "You are not a heroine in a Bhansali movie. Stop crying under temple bells!"
"Let him cry," Anagha snapped back. "He's fragile right now. Like a soggy samosa."
Agastya sniffled. "Thank you."
"I gotchu," she said, offering him a half packet of Good Day biscuits from her bag like it was a peace treaty.
They sat there under the gaze of lion-faced Narasimha, sipping water from the temple tap and scrolling through the internet like ancient mystery solvers with access to 4G.
"Okay, so what do we even search?" Chitra asked, typing awkwardly with one thumb. "'Three people saw weird creatures'?"
"No, no, we should be specific," Anagha said, snatching the phone. "'How to survive supernatural encounters in broad daylight.'"
They spent the next fifteen minutes deep in Quora rabbit holes. One post from 2013 simply read: You must have eaten curd rice and slept in class.
Another led to a forum filled with tips that sounded like a DIY vampire hunter starter kit:
Rock saltPeeled garlicCrystalsSage. Lots of sage.
"Do vampires look like that? I don't think so," Chitra muttered.
"Yes, our resident vampire expert," Agastya deadpanned.
"Hey, no sass—those things didn't pass the vibe check, okay?" Chitra defended herself.
Anagha sighed. "Vibes, she says…" She blinked. "This feels like a recipe for scaring your neighbours, not spirits."
Chitra frowned. "Do you have a better idea?"
"We can just stay in the temple," Anagha offered, hopeful. "Holy place. Safe vibes. Plus prasadam."
(Holy offerings like rice pudding, spiced chickpeas with coconut, etc., given to devotees.)
"We can't live here," Chitra said flatly. "We have classes. And I need to shave my legs."
Agastya nodded sagely. "Same."
After a long sigh, they made a truce with reality and ran—literally—to the nearest supermarket. Like overgrown Scooby-Doo characters, but brown and overdressed for the humidity.
At the spice aisle, they stared at the shelves in despair.
"No sage," Chitra muttered.
Agastya, ever the optimist, emerged triumphantly with a big green-labeled bottle. "Italian herb seasoning."
Chitra and Anagha looked at him like he was assembling IKEA furniture during a thunderstorm.
"It has sage in it," he defended himself. "And thyme. And oregano. Maybe ghosts are allergic to Mediterranean cuisine. Is that even a ghost?" he muttered.
Chitra and Anagha sighed in unison and nodded. It's not like they had better options.
Next stop: the jewelry shop. Chitra convinced a confused sales assistant to sell them a fistful of cheap quartz crystals. "Decor project," she lied.
Then they bought kilos of garlic—peeled, unpeeled, even powdered, just in case. And bags of rock salt that made them look like they were preparing to pickle a whale.
Back at Chitra's house, they dumped everything on the living room floor.
"You're staying here tonight?" Anagha asked, suspiciously eyeing Agastya.
Chitra sighed. "He looked at me with puppy eyes and said, 'I can't sleep alone tonight, what if the creatures show up again?' I caved."
Anagha rolled her eyes fondly. "Softie."
Agastya was already making a careful boundary on the floor with salt, garlic cloves, and a dramatic sprinkle of Italian seasoning like a Michelin-starred exorcist.
Anagha blinked. "If someone walks in right now, they're going to think we're either doing forbidden rituals or cooking the world's worst pasta."
"I vote we do both," Agastya said solemnly.
They lit candles—because of course it rained heavily that evening, the power cut happened, and the inverter chose violence and didn't charge. They sat inside their makeshift circle, lamenting their fate.
"Why us?" Chitra asked, forehead on her knees.
"We're good people," Anagha muttered. "We recycle. We return our library books."
"I wash my feet before getting into bed," Agastya offered.
Then—BOOM.
Thunder cracked.
Lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Darkness.
The three screamed and huddled together, clutching garlic and salt bags like security blankets.
Another flash—and the room lit up. Not with electricity, but something else.
A light too rich. Too ancient. Too much like childhood stories you never thought were true.
And then, they appeared.
Two beings stood before them—glowing but solid. Regal, yet weirdly familiar.
One was tall, green-skinned, with long silky hair and gold embellishments.
The other was stout, reddish-grey, with two heads, both wearing small jeweled crowns.
Their dhoti-style garments were wrapped with elegance, and thick gold belts cinched their waists. Armlets gleamed with precious stones.
They looked at the garlic-salt-seasoning boundary on the floor and… frowned.
The three friends sat frozen, wide-eyed and bug-like.
The taller one cleared his throat and said in perfect Telugu:
"Namaste. You seem to be in the middle of something... are you preparing for a welcome?"
The three of them blinked.
Then slowly, robotically, Anagha stood up, walked over to the pile of supplies, and handed the tall one a bag of Italian herb seasoning.
He took it like someone had handed him a half-eaten samosa at a wedding.
She then presented a packet of salt.
He exchanged a look with his stout companion, who had raised both heads in identical expressions of confusion.
Lastly, Anagha held out the peeled garlic.
The creatures frowned.
Panicking, she dropped it and shoved the unpeeled bag forward. "These are fresher. We ran out of sage. This is all we have."
Then she scurried back into the circle like a raccoon returning to its nest.
Agastya whispered, "That was our ammunition."
Anagha hissed back, "Look at them. That wouldn't have worked."
Chitra nodded. "Yeah, they even asked us if we're preparing for something. That's taunting. We can't win this."
"So we… what, surrender?" Agastya asked.
"We appeal to their pity," Anagha declared.
So they sat—three terrified mortals in an apartment that smelled like a haunted pizza kitchen—clutching their seasoning packets and trying to look as pathetic as possible.
The two beings looked at each other.
Then at them.
Then back at each other.
Slowly, in sync, both heads of the shorter being tilted.
There was… pity in their eyes.
Actual pity.
The tall one sighed and said something to the red one that suspiciously sounded like, "Are these our welcome gifts? They are so poor."
The shorter one added sagely as if imparting wisdom, "Even poor can prosper."
Anagha looked at Chitra and Agastya in confusion.
What?