On the desolate slope of a mountain—where local villagers dared to go only to cut wood and always hurried back before dusk—an old, crumbling hut stood silently beneath the shadow of ancient trees. Few people knew that, eight years ago, this very place marked the beginning of a tragedy that still sent shivers through the entire village when remembered.
Lakshmi Devi, now ninety years old, had once been the strongest and most agile woman in the area. She had raised her three sons single-handedly, nurturing them into adulthood. But irony is cruel—when old age arrived and her strength faded, she became a burden to the very people for whom she had sacrificed her entire youth.
Among her three sons, the second—named Naveen—was the one she trusted the most. He had once been simple, hardworking, and always claimed that he would “never abandon his mother like society does.” But after his marriage, everything changed.
Naveen’s wife, Priya, was not a bad person, but she was overly calculative. She constantly complained about the effort required to care for her mother-in-law, the high cost of medicines, and the lack of time for their business. These whispers were like termites, slowly gnawing away at the heart of a man whose resolve was already fragile.
On a stormy, rain-soaked day, Naveen drove his car toward the mountain, saying,
“I’m going to look for some herbal medicine for Mother.”
Lakshmi Devi sat in the back seat, holding the old woolen shawl that her daughter-in-law had knitted years ago. When the car stopped in the middle of an empty clearing, Naveen said:
“Mother, rest here for a while. I’ll go up ahead and see if there’s anyone selling herbs.”
As always, she nodded innocently, not suspecting a thing. Naveen got into the car, looked at his mother once—and then pressed the accelerator hard, disappearing into the fog.
When night completely swallowed the forest, she understood that her son… would never return.
News of Lakshmi Devi’s disappearance stirred the village for months, but eventually everyone assumed she had not survived the cold, deserted mountain. One thing remained strange: her body was never found.
Naveen and his wife moved to the city, as if trying to erase every trace of the past. But every night, whenever the wind slipped through the cracks, Naveen heard his mother’s whisper echo in his mind:
“Naveen, my son… it’s getting dark…”
Priya often saw her husband waking up in terror in the middle of the night, his body drenched in sweat. Frustrated, she snapped:
“It’s been so many years—are you still haunted by that?”
Naveen never replied.
Eight years later.
Due to a land dispute, Naveen and Priya returned to their old village. As they passed the road leading up the mountain, a sudden chill ran down Priya’s spine.
“Should we go up there?” she whispered. “I… I just want to know what really happened that year.”
Naveen’s face turned pale.
“What’s the point? By now, there must be nothing left but bones.”
But Priya was strangely insistent. Perhaps she wanted to see it with her own eyes—to put an end to the guilt that had haunted them for eight long years.
The car stopped at the familiar slope. The sharp mountain wind made both of them shiver. They walked slowly, each step feeling like it was crushing memories of a guilty past.
When they reached the small hut hidden among the trees, Priya suddenly grabbed her husband’s hand and whispered:
“Naveen… do you hear that?”
The wind rustled—but clearly… there was a sound.
A faint cough. And then—
“Who… who is there?”
The voice trembled, but it was unmistakably familiar.
Naveen stood frozen. Priya’s face went pale, as if her entire body had turned to stone.
That voice… it couldn’t be wrong.
It was Lakshmi Devi’s voice—the voice of the mother they had abandoned on the mountain eight years ago.
Priya began trembling and hid behind her husband. Naveen’s face drained of all color; every breath felt stuck in his chest.
From inside the hut, a thin, frail figure emerged—white hair, a small body wrapped in an old, torn woolen shawl.
Her eyes were dim, yet she recognized the person standing before her instantly.
“Naveen… my son. You’ve come back?”
Just four words. Four words powerful enough to shatter both husband and wife.
“Mother… you’re alive… how is this possible?” Naveen stammered.
Lakshmi Devi smiled—the same gentle smile with which she had raised her three sons.
“I’m here… I knew you would come back one day… at least once.”
Naveen collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Priya stood behind him, her legs shaking as if they no longer had life in them.
“Mother… how did you survive all these years?”
She looked toward the mountain slope.
“By God’s grace. Villagers sometimes came into the forest, saw me, and gave me food. Sometimes no one came for weeks—but I got used to it. I was only waiting for the day you would return… so I could know that I hadn’t been forgotten.”
Priya broke down completely. Never in her life had she felt so small, so guilty.
Naveen held his mother’s skeletal hand—the same hand that had supported him through years of poverty, now reduced to bones.
“Mother… I made a mistake… a terrible mistake…”
He buried his face in her hands like a small child. She stroked his hair, her voice as soft as the wind.
“You made a mistake… but you came back. That is enough.”
Naveen and Priya brought her down from the mountain. In that moment, they understood that the ghost that had haunted them for eight years was not a spirit or a curse—it was their conscience. And hearing their mother’s weak yet forgiving voice finally set them free.
After years in the cold mountains, Lakshmi Devi finally saw what she had hoped for the most: her son realized his mistake and returned.
And sometimes—just turning back once—is enough to change an entire lifetime.