Varadharajan Ramesh's Blog, page 3

Chir Batti – the ghost lights

The great salty landscape of the Rann of Kutch stretched like a huge white canvas under the stars. Talhah pedalled his bicycle with measured movement of his legs; there was no need to hurry. The tinny beep from his watch indicated that the time was 2 in the morning. According to his calculations, Talhah was a good 3 hours away from his destination – the village of Hodka in India.

Talhah was a seventeen-year-old Pakistani who had slipped through the Indo-Pakistan border under the cover of the night. It was his first day on the job – he had been promised two thousand rupees by Umair bhai, the local opium dealer, if he managed to cross the border and deliver a cache of drugs to a buyer in Hodka.

‘Talhah, pay attention.’ Umair had said, ‘Once you are in the Rann, you have to be extremely careful. You could easily lose your way there, especially around Banni grasslands. Get the maal to the buyer before sunrise and stay there. Follow the same procedure tomorrow night to return. Ok?’

‘Ok, bhai.’

‘Talhah, don’t follow any lights. Please be careful.’ Umair had added cryptically.

Talhah hadn’t understood what Umair had warned him about. He was excited about the opportunity to earn some cash. It was a silent night, even the insects had stopped chirping. Talhah’s bicycle was brand new and it didn’t make a single creak. The silence and the unending stretch of white salt unnerved him. He started whistling softly as he continued pedalling.

Half an hour later, Talhah stopped and referred the crude map Umair had drawn on a piece of paper. The realisation that he was lost dawned on him. He looked around and couldn’t figure out the direction he was supposed to follow. Talhah’s heart started beating wildly with fear. He muttered a quick prayer begging for some guidance.

Suddenly, he spotted a flicker of light in the distance. His hopes rose like a freshly inflated balloon. He started pedalling towards the light. It was orangish and bounced up and down as it moved away from him.

‘Someone’s smoking a cigarette,’ He thought to himself and started pedalling faster. The light moved away from him even faster. Suddenly, it vanished.

‘Hello…’ Talhah shouted into the darkness. ‘Where are you?’

As a reply, the light reappeared and Talhah started pedalling furiously towards it. Few minutes later, he realised that the light had reappeared in a completely different direction from its original position. Umair’s warning suddenly popped back into his mind and he started sweating profusely. But he didn’t stop pedalling. The light kept moving away from him.

‘Stop! Wait for me!’ Talhah screamed as the cycle hit a rock and he was thrown into the swampy terrain. He stood up and started running towards the light, which had turned into a bright ball of blue and was moving away from him with the speed of an arrow.

Talhah’s corpse was discovered the next day by the Border Patrol in the marshes. The doctor said that the boy had died due to a heart attack caused by panic and exhaustion. The locals said that the Chir Batti had claimed another unsuspecting victim.

Note: 1. Chir Batti or ghost lights (in Kutcchi-Sindhi language) are mysterious lights that have been spotted in the salt lands of the Rann of Kutch and in the Banni grasslands in Gujarat, India. The locals claim that these lights have been spotted for centuries and often play hide and seek with unsuspecting travellers. 

2. These lights are said to be caused by the oxidation of phosphine, diphosphine, and methane that are generated by the swamps. 

3. This phenomenon is prevalent all over the world and is known by many names such as ‘Will – o – the – Wisp,’ ‘Hinkypunk,’ ‘Jack-o’lantern,’ and ‘Friar’s lantern’ in Europe, ‘Min Min Light’ in Australia, ‘Naga Fireball’ in Nagaland, ‘Aleyaa’ in West Bengal/ Bangladesh and ‘Kollivai Pei’ in Tamil Nadu etc. 

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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.

Brahmarakshasa – part scholar, part demon

The fierce afternoon sun scorched the parched earth, leaving cracks and dead plants in its wake. The couple labored along the road towards their destination – anywhere away from their doomed village. Their clothes were tattered and their bare feet were covered with blisters. Their earthly possessions were inside a basket that was being carried by the heavily pregnant woman.

‘We are doomed,’ fumed her husband and slowed down, frustration and defeat written on his sunburnt face.

‘Keep faith, husband. Our God will not desert us.’ She muttered as she reduced her pace of walking to match his.

‘Pah!’ he spat and said, ‘Your God has done nothing for us. He has taken away the water from our well, the plants from our soil, even the cows and goats. Now we are running away from our own place like a couple of rats.’

‘You should work hard, human, instead of blaming your Gods!’ A booming voice reverberated, making them jump. The woman tracked the direction and spotted a pipal tree in the distance. Unlike the dead vegetation in the land, this particular tree was green and thriving. The man ran towards the tree.

‘Who is speaking?’ He asked with trepidation.

‘How does it matter?’ the voice answered before continuing, ‘The Gods desire him who offers worship and works hard. Haven’t you heard of the story of Yavakrita who became a scholar through hard work?’

‘This must be a deva or yaksha,’ the man thought to himself. ‘He is testing me.’ Coming to a quick decision, the man prostrated on the ground before the tree. ‘Bless me, O! Celestial being,’ He chanted.

‘What do you want, human?’

‘Lady luck has deserted me, Sire! Please bless me with all the luck in the world.’

‘What do you have to offer me?’

‘I have nothing to offer you except my obeisance,’ the man mumbled.

‘I’m hungry,’ boomed the voice. ‘I will grant your wish if you offer me what your wife is carrying.’

The woman’s eyes went round with shock and fear. She started mumbling No, but her husband said yes.

‘No!’ She gasped. ‘What have you done?’

‘Huh!’ The man looked confused. ‘I offered the contents of your basket.’

‘You fool! You fool!’ She started shrieking, holding her stomach as the hideous form of the Brahmarakshasa materialized before them.

Note: Brahmins are a class in Hinduism. They are traditionally well-learned scholars, teachers, priests, and the protectors of the sacred learnings across generations. According to Hindu mythology when a Brahmin does evil or misuses his knowledge when he’s alive, he’s cursed to exist as the demonic Brahmarakshasa until he attains salvation. Brahmarakshasas, while being carnivorous ogres, retain the knowledge of the brahmin when he was alive as well. They grant wishes to those who please them and prey on innocent people and children.

Glossary:

Brahmarakshasa – the demonic spirit of a brahmin (a scholar)
Deva – Gods/ Angels
Yaksha – benevolent spirits

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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.

Asura – Indra vs Vritra

The sky’s blackish-indigo canvas was peppered with flashes of lightning. The sound of the crashing thunder was drowned by the sound of clashing swords and grunts and roars that reached all three worlds. Gods, humans, dwellers of svarga and naraka stood still and witnessed the spectacle that was unfolding before them.

On one side stood Indra, the King of the devas and the ruler of svarga, atop his magnificent white elephant Airavata and facing him was Vritra, the King of the asuras and the purveyor of drought. The two sworn enemies had been engaged in a fierce fight for 359 continuous days – a battle between good and evil.

‘Give up, Vritra!’ Indra bellowed. ‘Your path of destruction is unholy. Surrender and I’ll give you a swift death.’

‘I have defeated you before, Indra!’ thundered Vritra. ‘My sole existence is to end you and I would have done it already if not for the Gods’ interference. Don’t worry, I will finish the job today.’

‘You are evil and need to be destroyed,’ Indra said and let loose a volley of arrows towards his adversary.

‘What’s good and what’s evil?’ Vritra deflected the arrows and growled. ‘My nature is to be violent, but you are hedonistic, adulterous, and drunk in your own pride. Yet you are the champion of all that is good and I represent evil? You came to me waving the flag of friendship, yet it was all a ploy to find out my weakness. Yet I’m evil, and you are good?’

Indra didn’t, couldn’t reply. What Vritra stated was true, yet he had a moral obligation to kill this personification of evil. After all, that’s what the Asuras were – evil. He muttered the spell to invoke his special weapon – the mighty Vajrayudha, and with a hoarse cry fell on his enemy.

Note: 1. According to Hindu mythology, Vritrasura was created by an enraged sage whose son was killed by Indra. 

2. Vritra resembled a gigantic serpent. The myth of a Storm God battling and slaying a serpent is prevalent in many cultures. Thor vs Jörmungandr (Norse), Zeus vs Typhon (Greek), Susano’o vs Yamata-no-Orochi (Japanese)

Glossary: 

Asura – Fallen Gods, demons (Hindu mythology)

Deva – Gods

Svarga and Naraka –  Heaven and Hell 

Vajrayudha – Indra’s weapon made from the bones of the sage Dadhichi.

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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.

AtoZ 2020 – Theme Reveal

I have a love-hate relationship with the AtoZ challenge. In 2018, I participated for the first time, wrote a bunch of short stories that were well-received, and even published a selection from them as an ebook. (If you want to check it out, please click here.)

In 2019, I decided to write a series of stories about a theme that was (still is) close to my heart – The Vanarapuri Tales. Few people loved them, but unfortunately, I had a lot of people who weren’t interested in my stories but rather left a generic comment in order to get me to visit their blogs. Disheartened, I quit the challenge after H.

I was quite reluctant about returning for this year’s challenge but took the decision to take the plunge due to the recent story I wrote. My horror story ‘Old Macdonald Had A Farm’ was published as a part of a horror anthology called ‘Route 13 : Highway to Hell‘ and hit #1 in Kindle Hot Releases and #2 in Kindle Horror.

As a result, I decided to write a series in the same genre – Horror. My AtoZ posts of 2020 will feature 26 pieces of flash fiction (less than 200 words) featuring monsters and evil spirits from Indian mythology and folklore. Join me from April 1st onwards to read and enjoy my stories and also get an introduction to a taste of horror from a culture you might not have been exposed to.

See you on the 1st.

New Home

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The home we left had no doors or windows. That’s where we ate, slept, and procreated.  Anyone on the streets could peep into our lives. We felt like animals in the zoo.

Then they came, with a promise of salvation. All we had to do was to trust them.

Now, look at my new room – Solid wooden frames; mahogany, I think. Powder-coated steel mesh on the door and windows. Security outside the doors twenty-four bar seven. They even have dogs, scary ones capable of shredding anyone into meat.

The lock snaps shut. I miss my dusty old home.

Word Count: 98

Thank you for hosting Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle. Thank you, J. Hardy Carroll, for providing this week’s prompt. 

Please follow this link to read other stories written for this prompt. 

The Promised Land

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They alighted the rickety jeeps at midnight. The man to whom they had bequeathed their money pointed the way forward and quickly vanished.

They walked through the desert, wary and weary, under the cloud cover. Abuela was the first to die. Thirst. His wife had developed a septic wound and passed away next. His darling Nina, his hija, succumbed soon after to the cold.

They found him hugging his daughter’s body a mile from the border.

Miguel looks at the Red, White, and Blue flying proudly as he sips the cola provided by an ICE agent.

He doesn’t see any promises.  

Written for the picture prompt provided by J. Hardy Carroll for the weekly Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Please find other entries here. 

Box Office

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He left his home to become the first filmmaker of South India. He faced obstacles at every corner. He lied and schemed his way to learn filmmaking. He sold his land and set up his production house with the money.

Ten years later, his dreams came true. He made the first Malayalam film. He stood proudly in front of Capitol Theatre and saw his dreams become a nightmare. Higher-class people pelted stones at the screen just because a low-caste woman had acted in the movie. The film didn’t make money.

Vigathakumaran was released in 1928. JC Daniel died penniless in 1975.

Note: This is the real life story of JC Daniel, now heralded as the father of the Malayalam Film Industry. You can read more about him here, and his only movie here. 

Written for the picture prompt provided by Ted Strutz for the weekly Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. 

The Burden

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Usually, I’d have left long back. A honeymooning couple holding hands, whispering and giggling without a care in the world. A harassed young mother trying to feed, what looks like goop, to her bawling kid while her husband runs toward the smoking room for one last cigarette. An unkempt young man dressed in shockingly horrible ensemble playing the moonlight sonata on the piano. A swarm of beautiful air-hostesses with their perfectly coiffed hair and smiles walking towards the boarding gates.

I look at them and see a huge fireball in their immediate future.

This time, I decide to join them.

Written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here. 

The Kettle, The Iron Box, and The Ladle

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‘Ma, not these again!’ I cringed at the the old item trifecta displayed prominently on the showcase of our new home.

‘Why? What’s wrong with these?’

‘They are old and ugly!’

My mother smiled and said, ‘My arranged marriage was stopped by the groom’s mother because we couldn’t give these as dowry. My father had spent all his money on the wedding. Your father, who was my classmate, immediately purchased these for me. That was when I realized that he had been in love with me. We got married the same day and these are the symbols of our love.’

Written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. This week’s prompt is from Valerie J. Barrett. 

Sailfish

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Bart was supposed to be a star! Scratch that – a superstar!

Coach used to claim that Bart’s mother had somehow mated with a sailfish to produce him. That nickname stuck. He was that quick. Once, he lapped the person who finished second in the 1500m freestyle – thrice. The guy who lost wept openly due to the humiliation.

He’s the world champion now, with golds in Olympics.

Bart is confined to a wheelchair these days. A freak mishap in the pool had rendered him quadriplegic.

Sometimes, I’ve seen him stare into the pool. I don’t know whether its love or hate.

Written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. Please add your stories and read others here.