পূৰ্ণিমা || Purnima

poo-ř-nee-ma

It was well past midnight, and the village lay wrapped in silence. But Purnima, as always, was wide awake. Sitting by the window, she was lost in a book about time-traveling witches. The oil lamp flickered, casting strange shadows on the walls.

Then- knock, knock, knock.

Purnima frowned. Who would knock at this hour? A wandering ghost? A lost traveler? Or maybe a very polite thief? She grabbed her lamp and tiptoed to the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

This time, it was louder. Heart pounding with curiosity, she flung the door open- nothing.

She stepped outside, shivering slightly as the cool night breeze rustled through the trees. The street was empty, the sky speckled with stars. The village temple bell chimed softly in the distance.

“Hmph,” she muttered, rubbing her arms. “Maybe my brain is finally haunted.”

But as she turned to go back inside- KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

Now, this was suspicious. Determined to catch the culprit, Purnima grabbed a stick (because every good mystery solver needs a stick) and stormed into the darkness.

“Sagoli, if this is you, I swear-”

A rustle.

Her eyes darted to the mango tree. The branches trembled slightly. She narrowed her eyes and took a step forward.

“Sagoli, I know you’re there.”

Silence.

She crept closer, her feet barely making a sound. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow dart behind a pile of firewood. Purnima lunged, only to find nothing but a half-eaten banana peel.

“Alright, you sneaky little criminal,” she muttered. “You want to play?”

She turned back towards her house, pretending to give up. And just as expected- another rustle.

Purnima spun around just in time to see Sagoli, her neighbor’s mischievous goat, crouched behind a stack of clay pots, chewing on her favorite red shawl. His wide, guilty eyes stared back at her.

“SAGOLI!” she shrieked.

The goat panicked. Shawl still in mouth, he bolted- zigzagging between houses, leaping over fences, knocking down a basket of onions. Purnima chased after him, stick in hand, yelling, “You woolly menace! Drop my shawl!”

Finally, she cornered him near the village well. Sagoli, realizing his grand escape had failed, dramatically spat out the shawl and gave her an innocent blink.

Purnima groaned, snatching it back. “You knocked on my door just to lead me on a wild goat chase?”

Sagoli sneezed.

She sighed. “I should’ve let the ghost take you.”

Grumbling, she trudged back home, her shawl covered in goat slobber. She sat down with her tea, now completely cold, and shook her head.

“Nights are supposed to be peaceful,” she muttered. Then, after a pause, she chuckled.

“But what fun would that be?”