Whispers Beneath the Roots

The sun in Delhi that afternoon was merciless, beating down on the narrow lanes and rooftops until the air shimmered. Even the stray dogs lay sprawled in the shadows, tongues hanging out, defeated by the heat.

But I wasn’t inside my house where the cooler hummed lazily. I was out by the banyan tree.

The banyan had stood there longer than any of us could remember, its roots dangling like thick ropes, its branches spreading across half the playground. Old people in the colony said the tree was haunted, that strange things happened around it at night, but to me, it was my secret escape. Whenever I wanted to be alone, I came here with a notebook and a pencil.

That day, though, I wasn’t writing. I was digging.

Not for treasure—I wasn’t that lucky. I was simply poking around with a broken stick, scratching at the dry earth because I was bored. My friends had gone inside, my mother had forbidden me from playing cricket in the burning heat, and I had nowhere else to pour my restless energy.

I pressed the stick harder into the ground, sweat dripping into my eyes. Then—clink!

The sound was sharp, different from stone. I froze.

I bent down, scraping away the dirt with my hands, nails filling with soil. A small patch of metal gleamed beneath the dust. My pulse quickened. Carefully, I pulled it out, shaking off the dirt.

It was a watch.

Not like the digital watches my classmates wore. Not even like the golden wristwatch my grandfather kept locked in his cupboard. This was older, heavier—a pocket watch. Its surface was decorated with swirling designs, almost like the carvings I had seen on old temples. When I tilted it, the patterns seemed to shimmer faintly, as if alive.

The glass over the dial was strange too. It didn’t reflect properly. It glowed faintly, like moonlight trapped in glass.

And the hands inside?

The second hand wasn’t moving forward. It was moving backward.

I stared, my mouth dry.

A watch that runs backward.

I rubbed my eyes, looked again. The longer hand ticked steadily in reverse, each click echoing louder in my ears than it should have. I felt as if the banyan’s roots had tightened around me, as if the tree itself was watching me hold this strange object.

“Shivansh!”

The voice broke my trance. It was Raghav, my best friend, standing at the edge of the playground. He was taller than me, always wearing that cricket cap tilted sideways like some film star. His face was flushed from running.

“What are you doing here, yaar? It’s like fifty degrees!” he shouted, jogging toward me.

I quickly shoved the watch into my pocket. My instincts told me this wasn’t something I should show immediately.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just… wasting time.”

Raghav squinted at me suspiciously. He knew me too well. “Wasting time under a haunted tree? You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

Before I could reply, another voice joined in.

“Of course he’s hiding something. His face always gives it away.”

It was Anaya—my cousin. She was two years older, sharp-eyed, and carried books everywhere. Today, she had her history textbook tucked under her arm, because of course she did. While Raghav only cared about cricket and pranks, Anaya loved knowledge like it was oxygen.

“Shut up,” I muttered, standing up and brushing the dirt off my T-shirt.

Anaya tilted her head, examining the ground where I had been digging. “What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She smiled knowingly. “Your ears always turn red when you lie.”

I cursed silently. I could feel the heat rising in them now.

Before I could come up with an excuse, something happened.

The watch in my pocket… ticked.

But not like a normal watch.

Tick… tick… tick…

Each sound was heavier, deeper, like the strike of a clock tower. And with each tick, the air around me seemed to tremble. I could feel the vibrations in my chest.

“Did you guys hear that?” I whispered.

“Hear what?” Raghav asked, frowning.

But Anaya froze. She was staring at my pocket. “What’s that sound?”

Panic surged through me. I pulled the watch out.

The glass glowed brighter now, symbols dancing faintly across its face. And then—before any of us could react—the second hand spun wildly, faster and faster until it blurred.

The world around me shifted.

The banyan tree melted. The playground, the colony, even the hot afternoon sun—all dissolved into nothingness.

And in the blink of an eye, I was standing somewhere else entirely.