The Enigma of Chitterpari

Chapter 4 - "The Night of Zarmath" (Part 1)

Ali stirred awake, his head pounding with a dull, persistent ache that settled behind his eyes. A groan slipped from his lips, his fingers pressing against his temples, the action doing little to alleviate the discomfort. The pale light of dawn crept through the worn curtains, painting his room in a faint, silvery haze. He blinked a few times, disoriented by sleep, the remnants of his dream clinging to his mind like smoke. "That dream again" its presence gnawed at the edge of his thoughts, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. With a resigned sigh, Ali swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet met the cool, creaking wood beneath him, a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the sheets. He sat there for a moment, letting the chill of the floor ground him as his mind slowly pieced together the previous day. Daniyal's excitement and cryptic promise of a surprise flickered through his memory, though the thrill of it had dulled, overtaken by the relentless throb in his skull. He could feel the weight of exhaustion clinging to his bones, thick and heavy, but the day beckoned.His muscles protested as he stood, the stiffness of sleep still settled deep in his joints. He stretched, arms reaching toward the ceiling, a series of faint pops echoing through his body. Shuffling across the small room, Ali entered the narrow bathroom. He splashed cold water over his face, the icy shock jolting him into sharper awareness. For a moment, he stared at his reflection, droplets clinging to his skin, eyes blurry and unfocused. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, more out of habit than any real desire to tame it, before brushing his teeth with deliberate, almost mechanical movements.
Ali made his way downstairs into his kitchen then he reached for the kettle, filling it with water and setting it on the stove, the rhythmic ticking of the burner the only sound breaking the stillness. As he waited for the water to boil, he leaned against the counter, his gaze wandering over the familiar space. The kettle whistled, its sharp cry snapping Ali back to the present. He poured the steaming water into his cup, the scent of tea slowly filling the room. He cradled the mug in his hands, savouring the warmth that seeped into his skin, its heat a soothing balm against the lingering fog in his head. Each slow sip seemed to melt away the tightness in his throat, the taste rich and grounding. As the tea worked its magic, clearing the haze of sleep and pain, he found himself thinking once more about Daniyal's surprise.
"What could it be?" he thought to himself.
Finishing the last drop, Ali placed the cup in the sink with a soft clink, rinsing it quickly before setting it aside. The day stretched ahead of him, full of chores and tasks that needed tending, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his friend. Whatever Daniyal had planned, it was only a matter of time before he found out and deep down, he knew that today might be more than just another ordinary day.
The summer sun blazed down relentlessly, casting a shimmering heat over the village. The air hung thick and heavy, each breath warmer than the last, carrying the faint scent of dust and sun-baked earth. Daniyal, Ali, and Hamza sought refuge beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient chinar tree, its wide leaves offering a welcome shield from the oppressive heat.
Beneath the shade of a tall tree, they shipped cold lemonade, the tartness and chill of the drink offering a brief escape from the oppressive summer heat. Ali took a long, deliberate drink, savouring the sharp tang as it slid coolly down his throat, providing a fleeting distraction from the sun's relentless glare. As he drank, his gaze wandered, settling on an old carpenter's shop just across the way. The shop looked ancient, its wooden beams weathered and grey, as if it had stood for decades without so much as a fresh coat of paint. An elderly man, heavyset and wearing a sweat-stained shirt, was busy working in front, his thick arms moving with a practised rhythm as he hammered away.
Suddenly, the man's gruff voice rang out, cutting through the air. "Daniyal! Get over here and give me a hand!"
"Coming, sir!" Daniyal called back, shooting Ali and Hamza a quick grin before jogging over to help his father with the woodwork.
As Daniyal left, Ali lowered his glass and turned his attention to the village. The villagers moved about with purpose, yet there was a celebratory air in their steps. They were decorating the village, draping every corner in vibrant colours. Yellow and red flowers adorned the streets, transforming the once dusty pathways into something magical. Golden marigolds, their petals glowing in the afternoon light, were strung along doorways and fences, their earthy fragrance filling the air. Himalayan poppies and deep red roses clustered together, their vivid hues fluttering like delicate silken flags in the breeze.
Ali's gaze lingered on the saffron lilies, their orange-tinted blooms so radiant they seemed to capture the very essence of summer. The sight was breathtaking, beautiful and almost surreal in its vividness. He had never seen the village so alive, so drenched in colour, and for a moment, he felt as if he were standing in a dream, where every shade and every scent was more intense than reality itself.
Curiosity pricked at Ali, his brow furrowing as he glanced at Hamza. "What's with all the flowers and decorations?" he asked, his voice filled with a childlike wonder.
Hamza lazily stirred his lemonade, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You mean to tell me you don't know?"
"Know what?" Ali asked as he exchanged a questioning glance with him, hoping for more clarity.
Hamza's eyes gleamed as he placed his empty glass down with a soft clink. "Zarmath," he began, his voice filled with intensity. "It's not just any night. Imagine the summer solstice, but with a convergence of celestial phenomena that defy the very laws of nature. Zarmath marks the longest day of the year, but it occurs only when conditions beyond our understanding align. Tonight, those conditions are set. As dusk falls, the stars normally distant and indifferent will burn brighter and larger than ever before, as if the night sky itself is collapsing inward, bringing the heavens closer to Earth. These stars will not twinkle or shimmer but pulse steadily, casting their light down in beams as sharp as moonlight. It's said that their brightness is caused by an inexplicable distortion in the fabric of space, bending light in ways we can't comprehend.  And then there's the moon. Not the soft, pale orb we know, but something far more immense. They say on Zarmath, the moon swells to many times its usual size, filling the sky with an oppressive, almost terrifying presence, glowing with a cold, ethereal light that casts no shadow. Some claim the moon appears closer than it ever should be, close enough that you can almost sense its gravity tugging at the very atmosphere, altering the tides, making the air itself heavy.
But it's not just the sky that changes.
The Earth too reacts to this cosmic convergence. The winds will grow still, unnaturally still. Trees won't sway, and not a leaf will stir. The air will become unnervingly silent, as if the world is holding its breath. And then, in a way no one can explain, the ground will tremble not enough to be a quake, but just enough to feel like something vast and unseen is shifting beneath the surface, as if the Earth itself is responding to this cosmic event."
Hamza paused, his eyes shadowed with a mix of awe.
"Tonight is that night. And when darkness finally falls, the village will come alive not with the ordinary hum of festivities, but with something elemental. They say there's a force, a rare energy, that awakens only on Zarmath. Some call it magic, but... maybe it's something far more"
Ali felt a thrill of anticipation course through him, his intrigue growing by the second. "Sounds incredible."
Just then, Daniyal finally returned, "What are you two talking about?" he asked.
Hamza glanced at him and replied, "Zarmath."
Daniyal's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. "Oh, it is," he said, his grin widening. "Especially this year."
Ali raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "What makes this year so special?"
Daniyal leaned in, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret. "Because it's the first time I'll actually get to witness it."
Ali chuckled, but then his thoughts turned to something Daniyal had mentioned the night before. "And what about that surprise you hinted at last night?" he asked, leaning in closer as Daniyal smirked, rolling his eyes in playful exasperation.
"Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about that," he said, his voice dripping with feigned nonchalance. Hamza chuckled, giving Daniyal a light shove. "Come on, don't keep him in suspense."
With a mischievous grin, Daniyal stretched, the casualness in his posture doing little to hide the excitement brewing beneath the surface. "Alright," he said, brushing off his clothes. "Follow me. It's time to show you what I've been keeping under wraps."Ali's heart quickened with intrigue, his mind racing with possibilities as he exchanged a glance with Hamza. The three friends moved in unison, Daniyal taking the lead as they followed the twisting path that wound its way out of the yard and into the village. The streets, once cloaked in the soft hues of dawn, now gleamed under the full embrace of daylight. Their footsteps echoed against the weathered cobblestones, a rhythmic tap that mingled with the distant hum of village life.Ali felt the heat of the day settling in, a bead of sweat tracing a line down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, but his mind was elsewhere, focused on the growing sense of curiosity that tugged at him with every step.
They walked in silence for a while, the village unfolding around them in familiar scenes: an old well standing sentinel by the roadside, rows of modest houses with gardens neatly trimmed, their flowers bright against the earthy tones of the stone walls. The villagers were out in full force, busy stringing up lanterns, hanging colourful flowers and setting tables laden with fruits and sweets. The air buzzed with a sense of anticipation, the kind that made Ali's heart beat just a little faster.
As they rounded a corner, the bustling streets gave way to a quieter lane, one shaded by tall, ancient trees. Their thick canopies knitted together above, casting a cool, dappled light that danced across the ground. The air here was different, carrying a hint of something forgotten, a whisper of the past that brushed against Ali's senses. Daniyal led them down the narrow lane, his pace steady, his gaze fixed ahead. Ali's eyes followed, tracing the line of trees until they landed on a house at the end of the lane. It was unassuming, its stone walls weathered and ivy-covered, the roof sloping gently under the weight of years. Yet something about it tugged at Ali's memory, a flicker of recognition that stirred deep within him. He slowed his steps, his brow furrowing as he tried to place where he had seen it before, but the memory danced just out of reach, teasing him with its familiarity.
Ali squinted at the house, the feeling of familiarity gnawing at him. He turned to Daniyal, who was watching him with that telltale smirk.
"Daniyal, this place... Why does it feel like I've been here before?" Ali asked, confusion lacing his voice.
Daniyal's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You have, Ali. But don't worry, it'll all come back to you once we're inside."
Without another word, Daniyal led them up the stone path. The doorbell's chime echoed softly from within the house, the sound mingling with the thick, summer air. Ali and Hamza lingered behind, their anticipation growing as they waited. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a man standing in the doorway.