In the heart of Assam, India, lies the ancient and mysterious Kamakhya Temple. This sacred place, perched on a hill in Guwahati, Assam (though often linked to Bengal’s cultural roots), is famous worldwide for its tantric rituals. Tantrics from across Asia gather here to perform powerful ceremonies, invoking spirits and harnessing hidden energies. The temple buzzes with energy during the day, as devotees from various states arrive to offer prayers and sacrifices. They believe that Goddess Kamakhya fulfils all wishes if prayed to with a pure heart. But at night, the atmosphere turns eerie and dangerous. Only a few brave souls dare to stay, surrounded by whispers of ghosts and dark forces. Long ago, the temple was infamous for ‘Nar Bali’ or human sacrifices, now banned. Today, people offer animals like male goats, hens, or buffalo instead.

Under a large banyan tree near the temple sat a wise old tantric guru. His face was lined with years of secret knowledge, and his eyes gleamed with mystical power. In front of him were two young disciples, Mehul and Chandresh. They were close friends from a nearby village, eager to learn the arts of black magic, sadhana, and tantric procedures. Mehul was tall and curious, always asking questions, while Chandresh was bold and quick to act. That evening, as the sun dipped below the hills, Mehul asked, “Guruji, besides black magic, is there something like a ‘Magic Wand’ or ‘Jadui Chhadi’ in this world?”

The guru smiled mysteriously. “Yes, my child, why not? Such things exist in ancient legends. The mighty king Ravana from the Ramayana used a powerful magic wand. It could grant wishes, control elements, and defeat enemies with a single wave.”

Chandresh’s eyes widened with excitement. “But Guruji, can we get this magic wand? Where is it hidden?”

The guru’s face grew serious. He warned them, “To seek the Jadui Chhadi, you must first purify your body and mind from all evil thoughts. Build inner strength through meditation and discipline. Only then might you succeed. But it’s extremely difficult. Many have tried and failed—some lost their minds, others their lives. My advice: don’t chase it. Focus on your studies here.”

But Mehul and Chandresh were young and adventurous. Challenges thrilled them, and the idea of owning a magic wand was too tempting. Ignoring the guru’s warning, they pressed for details. Reluctantly, the guru revealed, “The wand is hidden in Sri Lanka, on Trikuta Mountain, at a place called Sigiriya. It’s said to be the ruins of Ravana’s palace. Climb the mountain at midnight, dig in the centre of the ancient site, and you’ll find it in a box. But beware—it’s protected by layers of boxes: iron, bronze, silver, and finally gold. Deadly snakes guard it, including a king cobra that can’t be killed. If you cut it, it rejoins and lives again. And remember, never trust women on this quest; they might lead to your downfall.”

The friends’ hearts raced with anticipation. They thanked the guru and began planning their journey. They packed simple bags with clothes, some money, and tantric amulets for protection. First, they took a train south from West Bengal, passing through lush green fields, rivers, and coastal towns. The journey was enjoyable; they marvelled at the changing landscapes—palm trees swaying in the breeze, colourful markets, and the salty sea air as they reached Tamil Nadu. From there, they boarded a plane to Sri Lanka, landing in Colombo amid excitement and a touch of fear.

In Sri Lanka, they checked into a small hotel near Trikuta Mountain. Sigiriya, known as the Lion Rock, loomed like a giant fortress from ancient times. Locals whispered stories of Ravana’s glory and the curses that protected his treasures. Mehul and Chandresh spent days exploring, gathering information from guides and villagers. They learned that Sigiriya was indeed linked to Ravana in folklore—a massive rock plateau with ruins of pools, gardens, and frescoes of beautiful women.

To dig at night, they needed help. No one in the village agreed; the place was considered haunted. But they heard of Manil, a strong local man who lived on the outskirts. Manil was built like a bull—tall, muscular, with a thick beard and long hair. He was known for his bravery and love for adventure. When Mehul and Chandresh visited his farmhouse, they found him relaxing with his girlfriend, Shalika. She was stunning, like a celestial nymph from myths—slim figure, rosy lips, and a face as radiant as the full moon. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her smile could charm anyone.

Manil welcomed them warmly. Over tea, the friends explained their quest. “We’re seeking an ancient magic wand hidden here. We need your strength to dig and fight any dangers,” said Chandresh.

Manil laughed heartily. “Sounds like a wild tale! But I love challenges. I’ll help—for a share of the treasure.” They agreed, sealing the deal with handshakes. Shalika listened quietly, her gaze lingering on the handsome visitors.

That night, under a starry sky, the trio climbed Sigiriya. The path was steep and rocky, lit only by moonlight. Winds howled like spirits warning them away. They reached the top plateau, once Ravana’s grand palace, now overgrown with vines. In the centre, they started digging with shovels and picks. Sweat poured down their faces as the hole deepened. Suddenly, a metallic clang echoed—they hit the iron box!

As they pulled it out, hisses filled the air. Snakes slithered from the shadows—venomous vipers and cobras, eyes glowing like embers. The largest was the king cobra, hood flared, ready to strike. “Fight!” yelled Manil, swinging his shovel like a warrior.

The battle was fierce. Snakes lunged, fangs bared. Chandresh chanted tantric mantras for protection, dodging bites. Manil crushed several with powerful blows. But Mehul’s mind wandered darkly. “If Chandresh dies, the wand is mine alone,” he thought greedily. In that moment of betrayal, a snake struck his leg. Venom coursed through him like fire. Mehul collapsed, gasping, his life slipping away. “Brother… forgive…” he whispered before going still.

Chandresh and Manil fought on, finally defeating the snakes. The king cobra, true to legend, reformed after being sliced but retreated into the darkness, defeated for now. Panting, they grabbed the iron box and fled down the mountain. Inside were nested boxes: bronze, silver, and gold, just as the guru said. The golden one hummed with ancient power.

Instead of the hotel, they went to Manil’s farmhouse for safety. Dawn broke as they arrived. Chandresh, exhausted, rested in a guest room of farm house with the box.

Manil said, “I must check my farm quickly. Stay here.” He left, leaving Chandresh alone with Shalika.

Shalika entered the room, her beauty even more alluring in the morning light. “You were so brave last night,” she purred, sitting close. Chandresh looked into her eyes, feeling a pull he couldn’t resist. The guru’s warning echoed faintly—never trust women—but desire overpowered him. They talked, laughed, and soon embraced passionately.

Manil returned unexpectedly. Seeing them together, rage exploded in his chest. “Traitors!” he roared, grabbing a revolver from his drawer. Shots rang out—first Chandresh, then Shalika. Both fell lifeless, blood staining the floor.

The police arrived soon after, alerted by neighbours who heard the gunfire. Manil was arrested, confessing in fury. The golden box, untouched, was returned to Sigiriya by authorities, buried deeper with warnings. Now, no one dares seek Ravana’s magic wand. The mountain stands silent, guarding its secrets, a reminder that greed, betrayal, and forbidden desires lead only to ruin.

Mehul and Chandresh’s adventure started with dreams of power but ended in tragedy. The guru’s words proved true: purify the heart first, or face doom. Kamakhya Temple continues its rituals, and Sigiriya whispers ancient tales to those who listen. Perhaps the Jadui Chhadi waits for a worthy soul, but for now, it’s a legend buried in time.