"So what was in those documents, Mother?" Diya asked, her voice edged with urgency. She couldn't shake the feeling that her mother had overlooked the most crucial part of the argument—the documents her father had read.
Her mother looked at her slowly, as if weighing her words. Then she said quietly, "It's about the land… acres and acres of it… and the house your uncle lives in."
Diya and Sumendu exchanged a glance.
"Your grandfather," she continued, "owned large parcels of land in the village. Before he passed away, he made it very clear to your grandmother that everything—the land and the house—should be divided equally between both brothers. But your uncle… he doesn't want that."
"Why?" Diya asked, almost instinctively.
Her mother sighed. "He believes your father has always had the upper hand in life. And now… he thinks it's his turn to claim what he believes is rightfully his."
Both Diya and Sumendu were stunned. They knew Diya's father well—there had never been any such advantage. Fairness had always defined him.
"But what made him think that way?" Diya pressed.
Her mother hesitated, then lowered her voice. "I have a feeling… there's some sort of agreement between your uncle and that village rowdy we saw on New Year's Day. I think they're planning to sell the land at a premium… and cash in on it."
She then turned to Sumendu. "What do you think? Do you feel the same?"
Sumendu paused. "I don't know enough to be certain," he admitted, "but it's clear there's some kind of strong connection between my father and that man."
A heavy silence followed.
Finally, Diya's mother spoke again. "After that incident, we had decided never to visit your uncle again. But now… he's invited us for the coming New Year—just two days away. And your father… he wants to go."
She shook her head slightly. "I don't have a good feeling about this."
Her voice trailed off, and the room fell into complete silence.
After a few minutes, Sumendu broke it. "Diya… let's go for a walk. We need to think this through."
Diya nodded. Together, they stepped outside, leaving her mother behind to gather herself.
As they walked through the quiet village, Sumendu turned to her.
"Do you see what I see?"
Diya looked at him, her expression tense. "Yes… it feels eerily similar to what happened yesterday—after that dart was thrown. Something isn't right. There's a pattern… and it's repeating."
Sumendu nodded slowly. "Exactly. It feels like we're stuck in a loop… like this has all happened before."
He paused, then suddenly said, almost involuntarily, "Karma."
The word hung in the air.
Both of them stopped walking.
"Unbelievable as it sounds," Sumendu continued, his voice quieter now, "it feels like we're about to relive the same story… even though our lives are different."
A chill ran through them. The realization was unsettling—too precise to ignore, too strange to accept.
They resumed walking in silence.
Soon, they reached the edge of the village. Ahead of them lay a narrow path cutting through a dense patch of trees—a path that led to the local Hanuman temple.
As they approached it, Sumendu felt something shift within him—a pull he couldn't explain.
He turned to Diya.
"Shall we go to the temple?" he asked softly. "Maybe… we might find some answers."