Varadharajan Ramesh's Blog

Darkness

Darkness never scared her. As a child, she had spent countless hours in the narrow, dark space between her parents’ old washing machine and the adjacent wall. With her toys for company, she was an insect frozen in the dark amber until, usually, her mom dragged her back into their house.

The light scares her now. It makes the scars on her skin visible. It bounces off their jagged edges, taunting her. It spares her no place to hide. She loads her blood-stained clothes into the washing machine.

He’ll be back home soon.

Word Count: 93

This short piece of fiction was written in response to the weekly Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is courtesy of Na’ama Yehuda. To read other entries written for this prompt, please click this link.

Ghost

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‘Your usual, ma’am?’

She nods like she does daily – head tilted half an inch to the front and her left, an almost imperceptible movement in the affirmative, her grey locks waving like a curtain in the gentle breeze. I smile and leave her to her own devices, as usual.

Fifteen minutes later, I serve her a glass of red and a caesar salad. She mumbles thanks, as usual, and vanishes into a world within her head.

She’s almost like a ghost. Around her, the world buzzes about too busy to notice.

I understand. I’m partially a ghost too.

Written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields . This week’s image is courtesy of Dale Rogerson. Please read other stories written for this prompt here .

The Thirsty Ghost

Unfortunately, there are no supernatural entities in India starting with the letter ‘T.’ There are mentions of the monstrous creature ‘Timingala’ in Srimadh Bhagavatam, Mahabaratha, and Ramayana. These Timingalas are huge aquatic creatures that are capable of swallowing whole whales. The mentions about these creatures in the epics are in just passing, so I couldn’t garner enough information to spin a yarn about them. Maybe the Timingalas are similar to the extinct Megalodons and Icthyosaurs that were recorded in the ancient Hindu epics. So today, I bring to you a story that I heard a long time ago. 

My friend, Pradeep, traveled to Chottanikkara Bhagavathi Amman Temple in Kerala along with his extended family. He was twelve years old at that time. The Chottanikkara temple is famous for its exorcism rituals. According to Pradeep, the family landed in the city of Kochi late in the afternoon and decided to hire a taxi to Chottanikkara which was located some twenty kilometers away. The year was 1993 and the roads were not good, especially in the mofussil areas. By the time the party reached the small suburb, it was around 8:00 in the night.

As the last pooja for the day was scheduled at 8:45 PM, they decided to proceed to the temple immediately after checking into the lodge. By the time they had dumped their luggage int heir rooms and had freshened themselves up, the time was 8:30 PM. The temple was only a five-minute walk from the lodge, so they decided to reach the temple on foot.

The children in the party were munching on chips and slurping 7-Up as they walked. The road leading to the temple was quite dark and was eerily calm. As they crossed a tamarind tree, they became aware of someone following them and hence picked up their pace. A minute later the smell of cigarette smoke hit their nostrils and a voice piped up from behind.

‘Anna! I’m very thirsty. Please give me something to drink.’

Someone in the party had been to Chottanikkara before and had heard about this particular voice. That person asked everyone else not to turn around and walk forward as quickly as possible.

‘Anna! Will you please give me something to drink?’ The voice kept asking. The cigarette smoke was also keeping them company.

The moment they left that particular road and stepped into the road where the temple was located, the voice faded away. When they narrated the incident to the temple priest, he nodded and said that they had shown sense in not turning around or replying back to the ghost. Yes, it was a ghost that was said to have taken residence in the tamarind tree. The priest gave them sacred threads that would ward away any evil spirit.

While walking back to the lodge, they walked with caution and muttering prayers but didn’t encounter anything. They did see a cigarette that was in its last embers at the end of the street with the tree.

Thus ends the story about the thirsty ghost narrated by my friend Pradeep when we were studying in the sixth standard. It was quite thrilling to hear the story at that time, but sometime later I did brush it off as something he had imagined, or heard from someone else. Thirteen years later, in 2006, I heard my colleague in Brakes India narrate a very similar experience that his sister’s family had gone through in Chottanikkara. Now, this gentleman and Pradeep are no way related, nor have they come across in their lives. Yet the stories they narrated were eerily similar. I have been to Chottanikkara once but never heard any ghost asking for something to drink. Maybe there is a ghost, maybe there isn’t. But the lore is real. 

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Fade Away

I had always been interested in photographs. No, not the images captured on the photo paper, but the way chemicals reacted to bring out the images and colours on them. I used to experiment too; using a brush to apply nail polish remover on the faces of people in the photographs. I used to wonder how the faces dissolved away leaving nothing but whitish smudges on the photographs.

These days, I don’t remember much. I cradle the old photograph in my trembling hands as I try to recall the faces that once were in place of the white smudges.

Thank you, Rochelle, for hosting Friday Fictioneers. To read other stories, please follow this link.

Skondhokata

The last train of the night slowed down to a stop in the Keshabpur railway station. Amar yawned and waved the green flag as the train trundled on after depositing a solitary passenger on the platform. Amar was still getting used to the general lack of activity on a rural railway station in the nights. He was the Assistant Station Master and was expected to take the night shifts. He knew that the job wouldn’t be as glamarous as its title, but he didn’t expect such a mundane start to his career.

‘Master babu!’ Amar turned towards the direction of the voice. It was the passenger who had alighted. He was an old man of about seventy and was clad in a simple dhoti and kurta. A muffler was wrapped around his head and a taped-up black sunglass was perched on his crooked nose. The man shuffled forward and held a cane in his left hand. It was obvious that he was visually impaired.

‘Yes,’ Amar said, ‘How may I help you?’

‘Could you please call a taxi for me? My son was supposed to pick me up, but he had to travel to Kolkata on urgent business. As you can see, I’m blind.’

‘Where is your place?’

‘Quite close by. Not more than two kilometers from the station.’

‘In that case, I’d be happy to drop you.’ Amar said, ‘As it stands, my work for the day is done and I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.’

The old man smiled, ‘Thank you, babu!’ 

Once his job was done, Amar led the old man towards the parking lot and retrieved his scooter. Unfortunately, the old Vespa refused to start. Amar sighed and apologised.

‘It’s ok, babu! We could walk. My son’s place is very close to the railway quarters. I can tell you the route.’

They started walking. Amar learned that the old man’s name was Durgaprasad Das and he was coming from Bosepukur. He shared a few anecdotes about the sleepy little village to Amar as they walked.

‘Excuse me!’ Amar stopped on hearing a female voice calling out. ‘Could you help me, please?’

As he was about to turn around, Durgaprasad caught hold of Amar’s wrist tightly and shook his head in the negative. Amar looked puzzled.

‘What do you want?’ Durgaprasad asked in a harsh voice.

‘I’ve lost something very valuable and important to me,’ the woman spoke in flawless English. ‘Could you help me find it? I’m not able to find it in the dark.’

Amar was curious to hear someone speak in fluent English in a little village like Keshabpur. He again made to turn around and was again thwarted by Durgaprasad.

What’s wrong with this old man? Amar thought irritably. He had no issues asking for help but when someone else, especially a woman asks for help in the middle of the night he is trying to stop me. Bloody selfish fellow!

Durgaprasad turned around and called out, ‘Come out, come out! I’ll help you.’

Amar was confused. What was the old man playing at? 

The woman replied from her place, ‘Please come here. I’ve lost my thing here, not there.’

‘You won’t find it there,’ Durgaprasad said, ‘It has been taken away by the garbage vehicle and dumped outside the village. Go search there. Go!’

Amar heard someone running away.

‘Uncle, why did you speak to that woman in such a harsh tone?’

Durgaprasad Das laughed gently and said, ‘Oh that! That was no woman, Amar babu! It was a Skondhokata.’

‘A what?’

‘Spirit of someone who had lost their head. The Skondhokata was searching for her head only. If you had turned and accepted to help, it wouldn’t have left you. But I’m blind and it cannot affect me. Also, they are quite easy to trick. Be careful when you comeback after your night shift, Amar babu. Skondhokatas usually haunt near railway lines.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, most people lose their heads when they commit suicide on railway tracks. That’s why. Now, shall we carry on?’

Amar realised he had goosebumps all over his skin. Whether it was because of the cold or his brush with the supernatural, he didn’t want to think.

Note: Skondhokatas are believed to be the spirit of those people who died by having their heads cut-off by train accident or by some other way. This kind of ghost always searches their missing heads, and pleads others to help them to find it. Sometimes they attack the humans and make them slaves to search for their lost heads. The legend of Skondhokatas is popular in West Bengal. 

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Ratha Katteri

‘Raja, please help us.’ The elderly couple fell at the feet of King Vikrama Varma.

‘Please get up and tell me about your troubles.’ The King said in a gentle voice.

‘Someone has killed our son, Sire!‘ The old woman wept, ‘Our only son.’

‘What happened?’

‘Sire, our son, Desingu, worked as a sentry in your city security,’ the old man said, ‘His duty was to stand guard outside the southern entry gate of the Kingdom.’

‘Continue.’

‘It was only his first week on the job, Sire. He was very excited to go to work. But everything changed after the first two days.’

The King nodded in understanding.

‘His Captain changed his shift on the third day. Desingu was moved to the night shift as one of the regular guards had fallen ill. That’s when things started to go wrong for my son.’

The King was intrigued, and so was the entire court.

The old man continued, ‘After his first night shift, Desingu came home looking shaken. He kept mumbling something incoherently. I thought that he was tired as he has never been awake past midnight before and didn’t pay much attention to it. But my boy was totally out of his wits after the second night.’

‘What happened on the second night?’

‘He said that he was chased by a giant bird with red eyes, Sire!‘

The occupants of the court started laughing at the statement. The King had a slight smile on his lips but one look at his Chief Minister’s ashen face and he knew that the old man was not rambling.

‘Giant bird? Where did he see it?’

‘He said that the bird came out of the pipal tree outside the graveyard and started to chase him…’

‘Was he alone?’

‘Yes, My King! The guards walk separate beats in the neighbouring streets once every hour,’ the Chief Minister butted in.

‘Desingu was terrified because of the episode and he raised a huge fuss with his captain the next morning. The captain was not impressed and called my son a coward…he put him on solitary duty for the next ten days. Now, my son is dead and we have no one to take care of us.’

‘How did he die?’

‘I don’t know, Sire! He was found lying dead on the very road he claimed that he saw a giant bird. His skin had lost all its colour and he had the look of utmost terror frozen on his face…The Captain of the Guards once again called my son a coward, this time to my face…’

The King raised his hand and the old man shut up and bowed in obeisance. He looked at the royal treasurer and nodded once. He called the old couple forward and said, ‘Your son was not a coward. He served his King and died while on duty. I will not forget that. You will be taken care by the throne until your last days. Now, go mourn your son in peace.’

The couple thanked the King profusely and left the court. King Vikrama Varma proceeded to hear other petitions until late in the evening. Throughout the day he kept glancing at his Chief Minister who continued to look glum. Once the court duties were done, King Vikrama stood up and beckoned his Chief Minister.

‘Walk with me.’

‘Yes, your majesty!’ The man was silent as they walked through the corridors of the palace.

‘What’s on your mind, mantri? Silence doesn’t suit you.’

‘The case of the dead guard bothers me, Sire. It bothers me greatly.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll show you tonight, Sire. Please join me in the royal crypts tonight. I have some arrangements to make before our meeting.’

With that mysterious proclamation, the Chief Minister left leaving behind a very confused Vikrama.

Few Hours Later…

King Vikrama Varma pulled the silk robe around him as he walked into the royal crypts. The cavernous place had the bronze figurines of the deceased members of the royal family. In addition to the hundreds of the bronze figurines, the crypts had another occupant – the body of King Vikrama’s younger brother, Prince Aditya Varma, who had died due to a sudden bout of illness. The queen mother was heart-broken on her youngest son’s death and had requested Vikrama to bury Prince Aditya in the crypts, instead of the usual procedure of burning the corpse.

King Vikrama stood silently next to the pedestal and ran his finger over his dead brother’s face. He sighed in misery as he contemplated the vagaries of life.

‘Sire, Please move away.’ Vikrama was startled by his Chief Minister’s voice. He turned around to see the man walk into the crypts followed by an aged man. The second man clearly looked like a learned scholar.

‘What is it now, mantri?’ 

‘Sire, I come bearing grave news. Our kingdom has an unwanted visitor.’

‘Unwanted?’

‘Yes, your majesty! What the dead guard Desingu saw was no bird, but a very evil entity which has made its way into this world and our kingdom.’

‘What are you blabbering about?’

‘A Ratha Katteri, Sire! A creature with an unquenchable bloodlust. That’s what chased Desingu.’

King Vikrama looked stunned, ‘Aren’t these just old wive’s tales?’

‘Unfortunately, no! I spent the last few hours checking and rechecking various details pertaining to this strange case. Let me prove it to you.’ The Chief Minister clapped his hands and four men walked briskly carrying a padai made of the leaves of a coconut tree. On it was placed a dead body.

‘This is the body of the dead guard Desingu, Sire!’ The Chief Minister said, ‘I took the liberty of commandeering the corpse before they cremated it.’

‘But why?’

‘Please note,’ The Chief Minister said and produced a sharp knife from his hip-holster. ‘Look at the corpse, Sire! The dead man was just twenty years old and according to his Captain and rest of the guards in his squad, he was extremely healthy. He’s been dead for little over twenty hours but the body looks like that of an old man who was completely malnourished.’

The King nodded. Desingu looked like all the life forces had been sucked out of him. His ashen skin was stretched taut over his bony frame. The Chief Minister used his knife to make a sharp cut on Desingu’s thigh.

‘No blood!’ He exclaimed and then used his fingers to dig deeper into the flesh. ‘Look at this, your majesty. All flesh and no blood at all. Now look at this.’ He pointed to a strange mark on Desingu’s chest. ‘It’s teeth marks, Sire! The Ratha Katteri had sucked all the blood right from the man’s heart.’

King Vikrama felt sick to his stomach. ‘What do we do?’

‘This is a very delicate subject for me to broach, my king! I know what needs to be done, but I don’t know how to get it done.’

‘Our Kingdom is not safe with such a monstrous entity around. Do whatever that needs to be done.’

‘Sire! In order to get rid of the Ratha Katteri, you need to disappoint your mother.’

‘What?’

‘Your brother, Aditya Varma is the Ratha Katteri!’

King Vikrama roared, ‘How dare you!’

‘I’m sorry, your majesty. But what the minister says is the truth.’ The old scholar spoke for the first time. ‘I’m the father of your royal astrologer and I had the pleasure of serving your father. I have gone through the horoscope of your brother and there is no doubt – he is the Ratha Katteri.’

‘How?’

‘Prince Aditya had chevvai dosham, my king. He was born under the mal-influence of Mars. Anyone who has chevvai dosham and dies unnaturally will be reincarnated as a blood-sucking Ratha Katteri. The only solution is to burn his corpse.’

‘How can I believe in your words?’

The Chief Minister passed his knife to King Vikrama. Sighing, the King took the knife and used the tip to make a small incision on his brother’s left index finger. Fresh blood started oozing from the cut. With a stunned expression, King Vikrama made a much bigger cut on his brother’s chest and threw the knife away as a stream of blood started gushing out. Somewhere an unearthly howl emanated and made its way into the crypts.

King Vikrama wiped away his tears and said, ‘Take the body outside the kingdom and burn it.’

Note:  The legend of Ratha Katteris, a blood sucking vampiric entity, is famous in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu. This story is inspired by Tamil author Puthumaipithan’s short story ‘Chevvai Dosham.’

Glossary: 

Raja – King

Chevvai Dosham – A person born under the influence of Mars is said to have Chevvai Dosham. Also known as Khuja Dosham or Manglik Dosha. 

Padai – A stretcher made of coconut leaves weaved across two bamboo poles used for carrying the dead

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Qliphoth

‘Majestic! Absolutely majestic!’ Vishal Kapur exclaimed on seeing the scenic vistas from the balcony of the Skyline apartments. His daughter and son-in-law beamed with pride on hearing his approval. They had spent a mini-fortune in buying the penthouse that was located on the thirty-ninth floor of the swanky new apartment complex.

‘I’m glad you like this, papa!‘ Vishal’s daughter, Naina, said. ‘If only mom was alive…’

She let the words hang in the air as the trio relapsed into a melancholic silence. Vasudev’s wife, Sheela, had committed suicide by consuming poison fifteen years ago. The Kapurs were suffering heavy losses in their family business and Vishal had been jailed for a week due to the number of high-value cheques he had issued being dishonoured by his bank. Somehow, Vishal managed to clear his debts and his name and had risen like a phoenix. His son-in-law stood by him like a rock and Vishal owed his life to him. Unfortunately, his wife had become a casualty.

The Kapurs moved into their apartment a month later. They did a lavish house-warming ceremony and the who’s who of business were guests. That night, Vishal was sitting on an easy chair on the balcony, sipping a glass of his favourite whiskey while looking at the waves that were playing a shy tango with the shore. His daughter and son-in-law had left for a well-deserved night out on the town.

‘Jaan…’

The voice came in wafting through the salty breeze in a whisper. Vishal turned so fast that he cricked his neck. Even though the word was whispered he knew who it belonged to.

‘Sheela?’ He asked with incredulity etched in his voice.

‘It’s me, jaan!’

‘How?’

‘It’s been too long…’

‘How is this possible? Where are you?’

‘Come to me…I’ve been waiting for fifteen years…’

Vishal stood up as if he was in a trance and walked towards the balcony…

XXXXXXX

The Police were perplexed. This was the ninth suicide that had taken place in the Skyline apartments in six months. All the victims had taken their life by jumping to their death from the balconies. What stumped them were the profiles of the victims. They found nothing common between two cases. Most of them owned apartments in the complex while an Israeli couple who had jumped were renting a tenth-floor apartment. A security personnel who went to inspect strange lights on the rooftop jumped in full view of his teammates. A beautician, in front of the lady who had hired her services, stopped manicuring and ran towards the balcony before taking a swan dive in broad daylight. People started murmuring about ghosts and a few of the owners had already put up their apartments for sale.

XXXXXXX

Inspector Satish Kadam sighed in exasperation. The Skyline apartment complex had witnessed yet another suicide…three suicides. A young couple had leapt to their death while holding their toddler in their hands. He couldn’t understand what the hell was going on in the infernal apartments. He was getting tremendous pressure from the top to solve the cases.

How the fuck do I solve these serial suicides, Kadam thought. People have issues in their lives and off themselves. What else can we do other than write a case report and close the damn file? 

His train of thoughts was broken by a man with a long beard walked into his room. His eyes were brimming with knowledge and he had a sliver of a smile dancing on his lips.

‘Yes,’ Kadam nodded at the visitor, ‘How can I help you?’

‘On the contrary, Inspector.’ The visitor said and sat down, ‘I’m here to help you.’

‘Sir, I don’t have time to waste…’

‘Qliphoth!’ The visitor said, ‘That’s the answer.’

‘What is it? Some new app like tik-tok?’

The visitor grinned and said, ‘No, inspector. Qliphoth are the representation of evil or impure spiritual forces in Kabbalistic traditions.’

‘The what of the what in the what?’

‘Kabbalah, Inspector, is a school of thought in the Jewish mysticism. According to Kabbalah, Qliphoths are the manifestation of evil forces. The sudden spate of suicides in the Skyline apartment complex is due to the Qliphoth.’

‘Sir, I don’t understand. Why are you talking about Jewish ghosts here? This is India. We have bhoots, churels, and a lot of other stupid superstitions.’

‘Not superstitions, Inspector!’ The visitor said, ‘The world works on duality. Do you believe in God, Inspector?’

‘Of course!’

‘If God is the manifestation of everything good, then he should have a counterpart right? Like how night complements day, lies complement truth, evil complements good. In the Kabbalah, Sefirot is everything holy and its counterpart, Qliphoth, is everything evil.’

‘Ok, I’ll play along. Why are you bringing in the Kabbalah here?’

‘Because, Inspector, all the victims have Jewish blood in them.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. I’m Rabbi Moses and I have studied the profiles of the victims in detail. Each victim has been affected by a Qliphoth.’

‘You mean there are multiple Qliphoths?’

‘Ten, inspector. There are ten. I’d be happy to discuss them with you in detail but I know that’s not something you’d be interested in.’

Kadam scratched his head, ‘Are these like ghosts?’

‘No, Inspector. The Qliphoths are something bigger, grander, and much more complex to understand. All you need to know is that the victims have been affected by them.’

‘How is it going to help me?’

‘It’ll give you some inner peace, Inspector. Your mind has been boiling with conflicting emotions and confusion. You need the little peace I can offer you, lest you become affected by a Qliphoth yourself.’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t you know? Your grandmother was a Jew.’

Note: Several liberties have been taken by the author to twist the Qliphoth within the parameters of his tale. 

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1. Tales With A Twist – A collection of my short stories.

2. Route 13 : Highway to Hell– An anthology of horror short stories.

 

Pisasu – the flesh-eating demon

Inspector Mudassar Basha was stumped. Nothing made sense in the case. There was a crime and there was an accused, but he just couldn’t understand the situation. He looked at the demure girl slumped over the rickety wooden bench in a corner of the Police Station and sighed. She looked frail, certainly incapable of committing the crime she was accused of; at least in his eyes. Of course, his experience had proved more than once that reality is much weirder than fiction.

Inspector Basha kneaded his forehead with his knuckles; a headache was starting in more ways than one. Outside the station, the chants were increasing in pitch and becoming a crescendo. The PCs and CRPF were standing at the ready, their batons and shields in position. He needed to do something to ease the tension that was building. He could see the media vans starting to line up in the street corner. Yet another reason for his headache.

Basha walked over to the girl and knelt next to her. He nodded to the WPC who shook the girl. The girl got up and looked at him, the look sending shivers through his soul. There was no malice or anger in those eyes. Actually, there was nothing there. She looked blank, almost devoid of a soul. He knew at that moment that there was no point in trying to talk to her.

The girl was seventeen. She had just given her school final exams. She was accused of digging up a grave and eating a portion of the corpse inside. She was a Hindu and the corpse belonged to her best friend who had committed suicide. The dead girl was a Muslim. More than the actual crime itself, the community had occupied itself with the identity of the two girls and worked itself into a frenzy. Basha sighed, no one gave a second thought about the girl’s psyche.

Sub Inspector Karthik stepped inside and saluted him.

‘Sir, things are getting ugly outside. We might have to use tear-gas.’

Basha sighed and said, ‘Wouldn’t that be a great spectacle for the waiting media vultures!’

‘We have to do something, Sir!’ Karthik was young, and restless. ‘Why don’t we tag this one as a mental patient and send her off to the hospital?’

‘Can’t do it, Karthik. This is a small area where everyone knows everyone. This girl and the dead girl were best friends. Both were very smart and extremely kind. We need to find out what actually happened.’

‘Sir, while we worry about the girl we might end up having more than a few murders right on our doorstep.’

A harsh laugh stopped their discussion. It was laced with pure evil, and it was clear that whoever was laughing was mocking them. Basha turned around and noticed that the girl was the one who was laughing. He noticed something else; her eyes had turned red – like there was an unholy fire burning inside.

‘You are all idiots!’ A gruff voice emanated from her throat.

Basha was taken aback. Yet he approached her, slowly.

‘Why did you dig the grave?’

‘You are dealing with something you can’t fathom, pitiable creature!’ She laughed that harsh laugh again.

Constable Muniratnam fell to his knees and started sobbing, ‘Sir, this girl is possessed!’

‘Possessed?’ Baasha said, ‘What are you saying?’

‘By a Pisasu, Sir!’ Muniratnam said between his sobs, ‘No wonder the girl dug the grave and ate the corpse.’

‘Listen to the whimpering fool,’ the girl said cruelly, ‘He’s right!’

‘Nonsense!’ Karthik said, ‘I think this girl is suffering from split personality or DID type shit. Let’s take her to the mental institute now, Sir!’

‘Can a personality disorder change the voice or the colour of her eyes?’

‘Sir, it’s a pisasu. I’ll get our village kodangi. He’ll know what to do!’ Muniratnam said.

‘I’d like you to try.’ The girl said and started laughing again. Her laughs echoed around the station like an ominous thunderclap. Outside, the crowd’s frenzy was increasing. A sudden crash indicated that someone had started breaking the windshields of vehicles on the road. Full-blown violence was about to begin.

Baasha went to the window and saw that the CRPF personnel were proceeding towards the crowd with their batons raised. Chaos had begun. The laughing continued. He was perplexed and had no idea what to do next.

A sudden gunshot rang. Baasha turned around and saw the girl lying slumped on the ground. Crimson blood was pooling on the floor around her head. SI Karthik was holding the pistol that was still smoking.

‘Karthik, what have you done?’

The crowd had heard the gunshot and started throwing things at the Station and at the Police personnel.

‘Karthik, why?’

Karthik started laughing maniacally. His hand that held the pistol moved and centred on Baasha. Baasha looked at the SI’s eyes. They were red.

Notes: Pisasu/ Pishach/ Pishacha  are supernatural entities from the Hindu mythology. They are described as flesh-eating demons that are capable of possessing a human being and alter their thoughts and emotions, driving them insane. The pishachas are said to consume the life force of human beings and they usually reside in burial/cremation grounds and on trees. They have huge, bulging veins and red eyes. 

Kodangi –  a shaman

Pischachas are a part of folklore from Thailand too. 

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Are you a writer? Here’s a great opportunity to get published. The Hive is inviting submissions for their next anthology. To know more details,  click here .

My previous AtoZ20 entries:  A ,  B ,  C ,  D ,  E ,  F ,  G ,  H ,  I ,  J ,  K ,  L, M, N, O

My books are available on Amazon: Please click the links to buy them and support a fellow writer. Thank You.

1. Tales With A Twist – A collection of my short stories.

2. Route 13 : Highway to Hell– An anthology of horror short stories.

 

 

Odiyaan – the animagi hitmen

It was a dark, moonless night. Somewhere an owl hooted and a stray dog howled. The man walked with brisk steps towards his destination – the back gates of a huge compound that housed the palatial tharavad of Madhavakutty Menon. He reached the back gate, knocked the iron gate twice and merged into the shadows.

Few minutes later, an old man dressed in a silk mundu and angavastaram made his way towards the back gate. The old man wore an assortment of rings around his fingers and a clutch of gold chains around his neck. He walked with a pronounced limp and a permanent sneer was housed on his lips. He was Madhavakutty Menon, the elder of the family.

‘Is everything set?’ Madhavakutty Menon barked out a question.

The man in the shadows came out with his head bowed. He looked like a granite statue with his dark colour and chiseled features. He nodded and said, ‘Yes, swami. Waiting for your command.’

Menon growled, ‘You have it now. Get it done, none of my rivals should see the sunrise tomorrow.’

‘It will be done, swami.‘

‘Good, here’s something for your troubles.’ Menon removed one of his chains and flung it in the general direction of the other man and walked back into the house. The man picked the chain and hurried back to meet his sons.

‘Achha! We are ready,’ His first son showed the marunnukoottu prepared for the odividya. He nodded and looked towards his second son – a lad of fifteen. He nodded his head vigorously. The house had been marked.

‘Show me,’ The man said and the lad started running. The man walked briskly towards the house marked by his second son.

‘Are you sure?’ He asked once they had reached their destination.

‘Yes! I saw the woman of the house. She’ll suit our purpose.’

The man sat outside and started chanting the spells of odividya. A few moments later, the door of the house opened and a woman walked out. She was heavily pregnant and appeared to be in trance. The man stood up and walked ahead, chanting the spells and the woman followed him. They reached their initial location where his first son was waiting.

They sat down and started chanting a different set of spells. The woman walked over to a marked spot and lay down. The man took a piece of bamboo, one end sharpened to a knifepoint, and used it to pierce the woman’s stomach. Soon, he had removed the foetus from her stomach. The woman, still in a trance and now bleeding heavily, stood up and walked towards her home. He knew that she’d lie down in her bed and bleed to death.

The man hung the foetus from a pole and harvested the fluid from it, which he used to mix with other ingredients to prepare the marundhu. They buried the foetus, got rid of all their other items and walked away towards their next target – the enemies of Madhavakutty Menon. 

Outside the tharavad of Suryanarayana Pillai, the man and his sons took place and applied the freshly prepared marundhu behind their ears. Around four in the morning, the men of the house came out to perform their morning ablutions. They saw a bull and two calves standing just outside their gates. Without paying heed they started walking towards the river. As they passed the animals, the grandson of Pillai called out.

‘This calf has only three legs, and the bull doesn’t have a tail.’

His words sent a collective shockwave through the party as they realised what was happening.

Someone screamed, ‘Odiyaan…’

The bull and its calves charged and started attacking the men. Soon all the men of the Pillai household were murdered in cold blood by the Odiyaans sent by Madhavakutty Menon. Their job done, the odiyaans switched back to their human forms and went back to their own village.

Madhavakutty Menon was enjoying a cheerful sunrise when his son-in-law came running in.

‘Lakshmi…’ he gasped. Lakshmi was the daughter of Madhavakutty Menon.

‘What happened?’

‘She’s dead!’ His son-in-law started weeping. ‘Someone entered our house in the night and slit her stomach…’

Note: The legend of  Odiyaans is popular in Kerala’s vibrant folklore. Usually, odiyaans are lower caste people who are said to practice dark arts that gives them the power to take the form of any animal or inanimate object like a wall or a rock. The Odiyaans are hired by the people belonging to the higher castes in order to take revenge against their enemies. This can also be viewed as a commentary on the social hierarchy. 

The ‘marunnukoottu’ is the technique for preparing the ‘marunnu’ (oil/medicine) which an odiyaan applies  behind his ears, thereby getting his shape-shifting powers. Odividya is the art/knowledge used by Odiyaans in their endeavours. 

Usually, the forms taken by odiyaans have inherent flaws – like a 3 legged buffalo, or a dog without ears. People who know to look for such flaws can spot the odiyaans much before they could cause damage. 

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1. Tales With A Twist – A collection of my short stories.

2. Route 13 : Highway to Hell– An anthology of horror short stories.

 

Naale Baa – Come Tomorrow

‘Sujith, how are you coping up man?’ Ravi’s beaming face filled up one of the four squares on his mobile screen. The other three squares had the faces of his colleagues and friends – Chris, Avi, and Maya.

‘I’m stuck, guys!’ Sujith lamented, lying on his bed. ‘It’s been ten days since the lockdown was announced and I’m losing my mind.’

The global Covid-19 pandemic had led to a nationwide lockdown. Sujith, who was from Delhi was staying in a rented house. His roommate, Avi had skipped town a day before the lockdown was announced and was now comfortably settled with his family in Hubli. Ravi, Chris, and Maya were from Bangalore and they lived with their families.

‘Sucks, bro!’ Avi tutted, popping a Lays chip into his mouth. ‘You should’ve listened to me and split before shit went south.’

‘What are you doing to while away your time?’ Maya asked. ‘Netflix? Prime?’

‘Done with those, re! I’m bored of watching TV. Been reading books on KU.’

‘You and books? Ha!’ Chris chortled, ‘Now, that’s a match made in hell.’

‘Yeah, yeah! Laugh,’ Sujith rolled his eyes. ‘I read this book called Route 13: Highway to Hell. Scary as shit, man!’

‘Horror?’

‘Yeah! Full of creepy stories. You guys should check it out.’

‘Sure!’ Ravi said, ‘I love horror. Just ping me the link, na?’

‘Done!’

‘I’m shit scared of horror,’ Maya said. ‘Can’t stomach it.’

Everyone laughed. Sujith said, ‘Yeah, I used to think like that too. But turns out, I love horror.’

‘Sujith, you love horror?’ Ravi smiled and said, ‘Do you know that there’s a ghost story connected to the very house you stay in?’

‘What!!!’ Sujith and Avi shouted in unison.

‘Don’t tell me you guys didn’t know! Thought your landlord might’ve told you…’

‘No!’ Avi said, ‘The old rascal never mentioned a thing.’

‘What’s the story, Ravi?’

‘Well,’ Ravi cleared his throat and said, ‘This incident happened some thirty years ago. It was widely reported in the media as well.’

‘I’ve never heard of anything like that,’ said Chris and Maya in a chorus.

‘When I tell the name of the story, you’d know. But now, shush!’ Ravi said and began the story, ‘It was 1992/3 types. A young couple lived in the very house you guys stay. The man was working in Railways, I think and the wife worked at the Post Office. The Bangalore of those days was much different from the monstrosity it has become now. Trees used to grow on both sides of the road, forming a canopy that would make even middays feel like pleasant evenings. Traffic and pollution was less, children used to play on the streets…’

‘Yeah…yeah… story of every bloody city before IT companies came in. Get on with it.’

‘Sorry, got carried away. The city used to go to sleep by 8:30 – 9:00 PM those days. The street lamps weren’t powerful – mostly mercury vapour, and hence it used to be terrifying to venture out into the streets after dark. So, the story goes like this. The wife traveled to her mother’s place for delivery of their child and the guy was living alone. One night, there was a knock on the door and the guy hesitated to open the door. He asked who it was. The voice from outside was his wife’s. She said that she had decided to return early as she missed him. The guy opened the door and that’s where they found him – dead on the doorsteps, with a look of utter horror on his face.’

‘And his wife?’ Maya asked in a squeaky voice.

‘Was in her hometown the whole time.’ Ravi said with a flourish and paused for effect.

‘So who was outside calling the guy’s name?’

‘A koogu maari…a ghost that calls one’s name.’

‘Don’t bullshit me, dude!’

‘Nope! Zero bullshit, my friend. After this incident, similar events started happening sporadically. It was always a woman’s voice calling the name of a guy who lived inside a house. The whole city was freaked out and figured out a way to cheat the koogu maari. They started writing…’

‘Naale Baa!‘ Chris and Maya said. ‘I remember, now! People used to write Naale Baa in front of their houses every evening.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘Come tomorrow! It was said that the ghost read the words and got tricked into leaving.’

Sujith started laughing, ‘So, your awesomely awesome story was nothing more than the story of Stree?’ 

‘Dude, the director of that movie has stated that he was inspired by the Naale Baa story.’

‘Nice. Chalo, guys!’ Sujith yawned. ‘It’s getting late. I’ll have my dinner and hit the sack. Thanks for helping me while away the time.’

‘What’s for dinner, bro?’

Sujith rolled his eyes, ‘Don’t ask! Maggi again. I’m missing my mom’s food, man. Anyways, goodnight guys.’

‘Night, night! Don’t forget to write Naale Baa outside the house.’

Sujith laughed and ended the call. He went to the kitchen and prepared himself a plate of Maggi. As he was about to sit down to eat, the doorbell rang.

‘Sujeee…open the door! I’m here.’

Only one person in the whole world called him Sujeee. It was his mother. Sujith was overjoyed and ran to the door. As his hand removed the latch and started opening the door, he remembered that the flights and train services had still not resumed.

Note:[image error]– Naale Baa written in Kannada (the language spoken in Karnataka, India)

The Hindi movie ‘Stree’ was inspired by the legend of Naale Baa

Koogu Maari – the ghost that calls. 

Ps: Sorry for the cheap plug of my book in the story