Diwali of Shadows

Ravi had always loved Diwali. The buzz, the decorations, and the endless symphony of crackers going off across the city were like music to him. Each year, he would climb the tangled wire-strewn terrace of his modest apartment building and watch the sky bloom into color. Yet, this year was different. His wife, Neeta, had passed just six months before, and though it weighed heavy on Ravi's heart, he was determined to keep the festival cheerful for the sake of his daughter, Pihu. She was only six and deserved a Diwali as bright as the ones they once shared together as a family of three. “Pa, is it true that every diya we light keeps a shadow monster away?” Pihu's innocent question registered as background noise as they walked through their lane, festooned with vibrant strings of saffron marigolds. Scrambling for a response that wouldn't hint at his apprehensions, Ravi murmured, “Yes, beta, it is. That's why we have so many.” That evening, Ravi and Pihu placed a row of diyas along their balcony, sharing giggles while struggling with the cautious flick of lit sticks. By 7 pm, the festivities were in full swing. Echoes of laughter and sparkle rolled through the neighborhood, reverberating off the cluttered apartment facades. Ravi should’ve been immersed in the ambience, but shadows lurking at the edges kept prying. "Pa, who's that?" Pihu whispered, pointing beyond the rails. Ravi squinted. Focusing on the space between streetlights, he noticed a peculiar shadow," a dark, amorphous blob," seemed to hover around Pihu's pointed finger, before spreading out toward the neighborhood procession of luminescence. A cold shiver brushed along his spine. “Did it just move?" Ravi hissed, struggling to shake off the sense of dread that crept over him. Pihu clutched the edge of his sleeve. "It doesn't have feet, Pa. Can it float?" Ravi had no answers. As the shadow flickered momentarily before vanishing, he managed to divert Pihu's attention back to their diyas. "We'll light two extra," he feigned laughter. "For extra protection." Later that night, Ravi laid silently in bed, staring at the dancing shadows on their ceiling. The panic gnawed at him as he recalled flickering apparitions behind windows and around street corners, visible only to him. Was grief driving his mind ablaze? Over the next few days, the shadowy figure seemed to follow him, lurking in dark alleys and beneath unlit porches. "Some old spirit legend," the neighbors said, chuckling like it was nothing more than folklore. But the wasn’t laughing. Sitting alone on the terrace evenings, staring into twinkling lights surrounded by impenetrable darkness, Ravi felt a curious sense of kinship with these outcast shadows. If he couldn’t protect his own spirit, how was he meant to safeguard another's? At his wits' end, he sought guidance from the neighborhood wise lady. “She’s alone,” she spoke cryptically. "Lost spirits flock to others like her." Confused, Ravi returned home and realized the lady didn’t mean Pihu; she meant Neeta. Laying out a fresh plan, he placed Neeta's treasured diya near Pihu's bed while her paintings stood nearby like protective sentinels. As the twilight crept, he lit it for the first time, "a beckoning for her spirit to cease rivalling," a signal of joyful surrender in this liminal Diwali of shadows. Flitting shadows swayed in and out of his vision, like old rhythm drumming for a return to wholeness. The apartment filled with gentle whispers of Neeta's favorite lullabies, spilling over into a long-awaited family reunion. That night, the darkness couldn't rival the light, nor could shadows thwart the resolve of those gathered under its wings.