Seven thousand people live in the Sompur cluster. Not one of them is ever truly silent. In the deep green rot of the jungle, the air is thick with the scent of poppy and a sound that shouldn't exist. It isn’t the wind or the monsoon rain. It is a rhythmic, involuntary clicking—a cadence of teeth against teeth that has become the heartbeat of the village. Bada Horo bought a bus to buy a soul. He called it a "New Leaf," a way to drive his people out of the shadows of dacoity and into the light. But the road to Jashipur is long, the jungle is hungry, and the passengers are starting to notice the "shaking." Whatever is happening in Sompur is already on the bus. And it’s looking for a way out.