The Distant Ghost
The stone path cracked under Gopal Ganguly’s weight, a jagged line of grey flint that marked the end of the village and the beginning of the dark. He was twelve, though he wore his height like a borrowed coat, and he carried the weight of a debt his family could not pay, a bride-price in arrears that sat on his father’s chest like a stone. The air smelled of wet ash and rotting palm fronds, a...
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