In the crumbling ruins of Sundara, where stone monkeys grinned from vine-choked pillars and the air smelled of overripe mangoes, there lived a creature the monks called "Hanu the Cursed."
He was a macaque—or had been once. Now his fur grew in patchy silver threads, his too-long fingers ended in black nails like carved obsidian, and his laughter echoed with the voices of everyone who'd ever mocked him. The villagers left offerings of stolen things at the temple gates: a merchant's gold ring, a bride's lost earring, a judge's wig. Because Hanu didn't want fruit or nuts.
He wanted secrets.
The monkey-king perched atop the broken Buddha statue, peeling stolen memories like lychees. A whispered confession tasted like salt. A child's hidden shame was bitter as unripe persimmon. But lies—oh, lies were sweetest of all, and Hanu grew fat on them.
One monsoon season, a mute girl named Leela entered the temple with empty hands. Hanu chittered down from his throne of stolen trinkets, tail twitching.
"No secrets?" he signed in the old temple gestures, fingers moving like spider legs. "Then why come?"
Leela pointed to her throat, then to Hanu's necklace of knotted hair and teeth.
The monkey-king went very still.
That night, as rain drummed on the temple roof, Hanu pressed one clawed hand to Leela's neck. When he withdrew it, a shimmering thread of sound clung to his fingers—the ghost of her stolen voice, coiled like a serpent. He popped it into his mouth.
And screamed.
The voice wasn't mute at all. It was old , older than the temple, older than monkeys. It sang a single word in a language that made the stone monkeys cover their ears.
At dawn, villagers found Leela sleeping peacefully in the offering hall... and Hanu curled in the dusty lap of the Buddha, his fur now snow-white, his paws clamped over his own mouth. His eyes begged for something no one understood.
Now the offerings at Sundara have changed. No more stolen goods—just bowls of salt, left by those who wish to forget. And if you listen at sunset, you might hear not laughter, but a monkey's muffled sobs...
...and the distant, echoing click of something uncoiling in the dark.