It was a dark, stormy night in Savai Vere, Goa. The decaying Portuguese-era mansion on the hill was shrouded in grey clouds and sheets of rain, and the wind creeping in through the cracked stained-glass windows made eerie, whistling sounds. Chhaya, on a visit to see her cousin Sadu and his family in this, her mother’s ancestral home, shivered in the stringed charpoy that was her bed for the night. The room was cold and damp and the air inside was stifling and still. The people closest to her were several rooms away, fast asleep.
It was close to midnight when she fell into a restless sleep, only to awaken what seemed to be just minutes later. It was a soft sound, a voice calling her name. She sat upright in bed, sweat breaking out across her forehead. A beautiful young woman was standing just a few feet from her, smiling sweetly, dressed all in white….