Manik and his enchantress horse -Md Sazzadul Islam

Manik had always believed that horses could understand secrets.

He lived at the edge of a small village. Most afternoons, he would sit beneath the old banyan tree and watch the clouds float over the hills. But everything changed the evening he found the horse.

It was the color of moonlight.

Manik first saw her near the dried canal behind his grandfather’s house. The air was strangely still, and even the crickets were quiet. The horse stood alone, her silver mane glowing faintly as if tiny stars were tangled in it. She was unlike any animal he had ever seen. Her eyes were deep blue, bright and clever.

Manik felt no fear. Instead, he felt as if he had been waiting for her all his life.

He stepped closer. The horse lowered her head gently, and for a moment, Manik thought he heard a whisper inside his mind. Not words exactly, but a feeling. A warm, glowing feeling that said, Trust me.

From that day on, Manik visited the canal every evening. The horse would appear just before sunset. He named her Jyoti, because she shimmered like light. Whenever he touched her mane, the wind would rise softly, even on calm days.

But soon strange things began happening in the village.

First, Rahim’s uncle’s mangoes disappeared overnight. Then the old clock tower stopped working at exactly midnight. Chickens refused to enter their coops after dusk. Even the river seemed to change direction for a few hours each night.

The villagers whispered about ghosts. Some said a magician had come to curse the land. Others blamed the forest beyond the hills.

Manik kept silent. Deep inside, he felt the mystery was connected to Jyoti.

One evening, as he brushed her shining mane, he noticed something unusual. Tiny sparks of light fell from her hair and touched the ground. Wherever they landed, the grass glowed briefly before fading back to green.

Suddenly Jyoti stamped her hoof and looked toward the forest. Her eyes flashed brighter than ever before.

Manik understood. She wanted him to follow.

Without hesitation, he climbed onto her back. The moment he did, the world seemed to tilt. The air grew colder, and the path toward the forest stretched longer than it should have. Jyoti galloped silently, her hooves barely touching the earth.

The forest swallowed them.

Trees loomed tall and crooked. Shadows moved where no wind blew. Manik’s heart pounded, but he held tight. Jyoti did not slow down until they reached a clearing glowing with an eerie green light.
In the center stood the old clock from the village tower.

Manik gasped. The clock had been stolen.

Beside it was a thin man wearing a dark cloak. His beard was long and tangled. Strange bottles surrounded him, filled with swirling smoke. He was chanting softly, his hands hovering over the clock.

Manik suddenly understood. This man was drawing power from time itself. The stolen fruits, the frightened animals, and the shifting river.

Jyoti neighed loudly. The man spun around, eyes wide.

For a moment, everything froze.

Then the man laughed. He said the village had forgotten the old ways. They no longer respected the forest. So he would remind them, by bending time and confusing their days until they feared every sunrise.

Manik’s hands trembled. He was only a boy. How could he stop a magician?

Jyoti lowered herself slightly, as if urging him to stand tall. Her mane flared with silver light. The clearing filled with brightness that pushed back the green glow.

Manik remembered the feeling he had when he first touched her. Trust me.

He stepped forward. He did not shout. He did not threaten. He simply said that fear would not teach respect. It would only create more fear.

The magician sneered and raised his hands. The clock began spinning wildly, its hands whirling faster and faster. The ground shook.

Jyoti galloped straight toward the clock.

Manik clung tightly as she leaped into the air. Her hooves struck the spinning clock face. Instead of breaking, it burst into a shower of golden sparks. The bottles around the clearing shattered, releasing clouds of smoke that vanished into the sky.

The green light flickered and faded.

The magician stumbled backward. Without the clock’s power, he seemed smaller, almost ordinary. The forest grew quiet again.

Jyoti stepped between Manik and the man. Her eyes glowed fiercely. The magician lowered his head. He muttered that he only wanted the village to remember the forest spirits.

Manik looked around. The trees no longer felt threatening. They felt ancient and patient.

He told the magician that scaring people was not the same as teaching them. If he truly cared for the forest, he could speak to the villagers instead of stealing their time.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then the magician sighed. His cloak seemed to lose its darkness. He nodded slowly and disappeared into the trees, leaving behind only the broken frame of the clock.

The forest brightened as if morning had arrived early.

Jyoti carried Manik back to the village just before dawn. The stolen mangoes were back on the trees. The chickens clucked peacefully. The river flowed normally again.

And the clock tower chimed.

Manik slid off Jyoti’s back and hugged her neck. He wanted to thank her, but words felt too small. She touched her nose gently to his shoulder.

That evening, when he returned to the canal, she was gone.

Days passed. Weeks passed. The silver horse did not return.

But sometimes, when the sun sets and the sky turn pale gold, Manik feels a soft wind brush his hair. The banyan leaves rustle though the air is still. And in the corner of his eye, he glimpses something shining near the water.

The villagers never learned the full truth of what happened in the forest. They only know that the strange events stopped after that night. They have begun planting more trees and cleaning the riverbank. They speak kindly of the forest now.

As for Manik, he carries the secret quietly.

He knows that somewhere beyond the hills, an enchantress horse watches over the village. And if darkness ever tries to twist time again, she will return like moonlight on silent hooves.

And next time, Manik will be ready.