The Last Light of Diwali

Sameer never had much patience for superstition. Yet, with Diwali in the air, even he could feel the electric tension lurking just beneath the surface of all the lights and laughter. His family home buzzed with chatter, the spicy scent of homemade snacks, and the sparkle of diyas flickering across every surface. Seventeen Diwalis he had celebrated, but none like this. “Sameer, are you coming?” his sister Ana called from the doorway, her bangles jangling in their haste. “We need to start the fireworks if you want to get the best view!” Sameer glanced at the clock. 8:29 PM. Exactly when it always happened. Bracing himself with a breath, he grabbed the matches and followed her outside. The lush garden danced with shadows, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder. And there, crouching beneath the old neem tree, he saw the cat. A scrawny little creature with fur as black as coal—eyes gleaming like embers. The cat meowed—a sound slightly off-pitch and jarring against the jubilant noise around it. Ana stopped. “Oh, Sameer, I wish you'd leave that cat alone," she huffed. "It's creepy." He shrugged, lighting the wick of a rocket before stepping back to watch it soar. Same detached ritual, same blinding shower of sparks against the night sky. He couldn’t shake the eerie sensation creeping up his spine, though. It was the same every year since his tenth Diwali. The first flicker of discomfort had touched him as they packed up after a rich Diwali meal. Everyone was in high spirits, but the moment he saw the charred imprint of a cat's paw on the doorstep, a chill settled over him. A distant thunderous boom sent crimson lights cascading through the evening. Ana squealed with delight. Yet Sameer's thoughts retreated, burrowing deeper into memories he’d often tried to brush away. ** The legends his grandmother used to tell. Stories of displaced spirits lurking between worlds during this sacred festival. The Cycle of Kalratri—a cursed night where the soul of the lost had crossed wrongly into this world. But that was just kiddie tales, right? These memories felt all but forgotten until seven Diwalis ago. Sameer had woken to the sound of low murmurs in his bedroom on Diwali night, his eyes flipping open to meet the gaze of a long-dead ancestor glaring from the ceiling's corner. He’d tried to shrug it off, like ephemeral dreams, but the visions grew bolder with each festival, marked by the burnt paw print. The way they looked, nothing else mattered that night. The long pitch black hair from the ashen visage with their eyes sunken deep into their hollow sockets whispered haunting secrets he couldn't make sense of. Now, the clock ticked towards midnight—as if tempting fate with each beat. Finally, as if answering some cosmic call, the power died. A ripple of gasps followed, and the garden lost its shimmer. Darkness filled it like ink into spilled water, swallowing conversation and laughter in one sturdy gulp. Before Sameer realized what he was doing, he ran to the sacred family shrine inside the house, heart pounding. Inside, the diyas still glowed fiercely, illuminating the old, dusty family portraits arranged around it. There he met the eyes of his great-great-grandfather, the face from his own dreams. "A child's Diwali is one of light when the past is at rest," a voice whispered, echoing from lands forgotten. "But when the core of kin falters the truth turns to sight. Family is truth. Unwilling lessons enrich those who heed moments like these. Speak not, but learn, find and mend." Sameer felt his pulse slow. The vision he took for trance awoke a sense of reclaimed power within him. He felt a translucent thread weaving through moments and memories, falling into the palm of his hand in imagined silver light. He turned, facing the garden with its knowing dark. Casting a glance at the old neem tree, Sameer stepped forward, brushing against whispers carried by the wind. In his hand, warmth and light emerged as a trident—all knowledge flowing into his stance like old friends. The clock struck midnight. Firecrackers announced victory, but their sound did not drown out the collective sigh embracing the garden, nor would his fears stifle the glow washing through veins as they ended states both seen and unseen. A last starlike flicker danced on the paw just near his feet, the mark fallen into drops of evaporating light. Underneath, perhaps erupting from gidar, the eyes of a startled child stared back at Sameer. No malefic spirit, only unparalleled mystery cast as a child's innocent gaze. As vibrations faded and a distant diya flickered out of view, his heart dawned a peace altogether new.