Fangs of Fate: A Night in Rajauli's Forest

     Night had fallen thick and silent over the dense forests of Rajauli. The faint hum of cicadas and the distant hoot of an owl were the only sounds breaking the oppressive stillness. Under the starlit sky, Santosh Lohar, a sturdy railway worker of 35, stretched out on his makeshift bed near the tracks, his muscles aching from the day's hard labor. The scent of damp earth and fresh pine filled the air, a stark contrast to the suffocating humidity. He had just begun to drift into a restless sleep when a sharp pain jolted him awake.

     A hiss, almost imperceptible, followed by the burning sting in his leg, shot adrenaline through his veins. His eyes snapped open to the sight of a snake coiled around his calf, its fangs embedded deep into his flesh. Fear and pain seared through him, but his reaction was immediate. His hand shot out, fingers gripping the snake's rough, scaled body. In a surge of primal instinct, he pulled the snake to his face, the flickering campfire casting eerie shadows over his determined expression.

     "Bite it back, Santosh! Bite it back!" The urgent whisper of an old superstition echoed in his mind. Eyes wide with a blend of terror and resolve, he sank his teeth into the snake's sinewy flesh. The taste of bitter venom and iron filled his mouth as he bit down again, harder this time. The snake's body convulsed, a final desperate attempt to escape, but its movements grew weaker until it lay limp in his grasp.

     He spat out the lifeless creature, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The acrid taste lingered on his tongue, mingling with the metallic tang of his own blood. His vision blurred, the world tilting as he struggled to remain conscious. He felt the cold sweat bead on his forehead, the venom working its way through his system despite his desperate actions.

     "Help! Someone, help!" His voice, hoarse and strained, barely carried through the still night. Moments later, the distant sound of hurried footsteps grew louder, his colleagues rushing towards him, their faces etched with concern and fear.

     They lifted him gently, careful not to jostle his bitten leg, and carried him through the forest. The rustle of leaves underfoot and the snap of twigs were the only sounds breaking the tense silence. The scent of fear was almost palpable, mingling with the musty aroma of the forest. They reached the Rajauli subdivision hospital, the dim lights casting a ghostly glow over the grimy walls.

     Dr. Satish Chandra Sinha, a man with a weary yet determined expression, met them at the door. He examined the bite with practiced eyes, his touch gentle but firm. "We need to act fast," he muttered, leading them inside. The antiseptic smell of the hospital mixed with the faint scent of the forest clinging to Santosh's clothes.

     As the antidote was administered, Santosh's breathing slowed, the panic in his eyes fading to exhaustion. The night's ordeal had taken its toll, but he clung to consciousness, his grip on reality slipping in and out. He felt the prick of the needle, the cool liquid coursing through his veins, battling the venom.

     The hours passed in a blur of pain and fevered dreams. The ghostly whispers of the forest seemed to follow him, mingling with the sterile beeps and hums of the hospital machinery. By morning, his condition had stabilized, the venom's grip on his body weakened by the antidote and sheer willpower.

     Dr. Sinha watched over him, the lines of worry on his face slowly easing. "You were lucky," he said quietly, more to himself than to the sleeping man. The forest outside began to stir with the sounds of dawn, the promise of a new day breaking through the night’s horrors. Santosh Lohar, scarred but alive, would carry the marks of this night forever, a testament to his will to survive against the odds.