vickramediwan
06-13-2014, 04:46 AM
Hi friends,
I am posting the first chapter of my Paranormal story set in India for your honest feedback. Depending on your interest I shall upload the subsequent chapters. Personally, I think that Paranormal stories are set only in Romania or the so called Western countries. Whereas Occult and Paranormal are world wide phenomena. To give voice to Paranormal tales from outside the White men's world, this is my humble attempt.
Vickram E. Diwan, New Delhi, India.
Strange love with a succubus demon
Kusang was sitting on a wet iron bench in the park outside his house in Kurseong, the hill station in Darjeeling. In the wintry evening of dark rain clouds; the succubus or female demonic seductress named Uma approached him. “Did you miss me, my lover?” she said taking his hand unhesitatingly in her.
“Why don’t you leave me alone? Humans and demons do not mate; you are a curse that will ruin my health, sanity, riches and take away my life.”
“Why do you even listen to the stupid or illiterate people, who have not experienced me the way you have?”
“How can I trust you? You constantly change your face and figure; you trapped me by using the figure of my long dead girlfriend and then of the various woman I have desired over the years. I don’t even know who is the real you?”
“Is that the reason for your anger? Don’t all men like to constantly change their partners? Why are you angry, when your inner most desires and fantasies have come true?”
“You are a malevolent being who is using me, sucking energy out of me like a vampire.”
“I can get any man I want; but will you get another woman like me? Touch me here – on my face, on my lips, on my breasts; feel me…do you still think I am not alive; not someone you desire? Can you live without me, sleep without the warmth of my body in your bed besides you?”
“You...You are a debilitating obsession that I must get over…somehow!”
“You torture yourself needlessly; if that is your wish I’ll go. But do not hesitate to call me whenever you want; I’ll be waiting.”
She did not vanish, as Kusang half expected but walked away majestically with seductive movements of her bottom into the fog that was beginning to envelop the hill town. Kusang fumbled his way to the door of the house on the hill build by a long forgotten Englishmen. He poured himself a glass of whiskey with shaking hands, after switching on the table lamp in the large drawing room with high ceiling, dominated by the heads of boars and cheetahs that the European, who had made the ‘Land of the White Orchids’ his second home, had collected as trophies.
“Dinner will be ready in about a hour malik (master); the cook has made this roasted chicken and boiled eggs for starters,” the old maid said putting the plates on the heavy wood table in front of Kusang. After a pause she added, “Beta (son), you were two or three years old; when your mother, my late malkin (mistress) hired me and I have seen you grow up a child; I cannot bear to see that Pr-et (ghost) troubling you; using your sadness and loneliness to entrap you.”
“You think I was crazy as a child? Or am I slowly becoming mad?”
“No beta; it’s a passing phase; as long as I am alive I will not let that demon take away your life.”
----------------------------------------
A few hours later, the old woman walked to the modest house of a Bengali woman further up the hill in the downpour. The room she was led to was overcrowded with books, souvenirs, talismans and black & white photos of the strikingly beautiful woman with her husband.
As she sat by the window that overlooked the town below with innumerous flickering yellow lights, Sreyashi, who was in her early forties, picked up her glass of whiskey and said half apologetically, “My late husband was an army-man; he insisted that I joined him for drinks in the evening. And we Bengali women are so devoted to our spouses that we can never say no to them; for anything. People condemn us for being dominating and promiscuous, but they do not know the real Bengali woman; how soft, gentle and devoted she is!”
“I came here to seek your help to rid my malik of the Pr-et bhadha (ghost haunting).”
“We are all Pr-ets or spirits - some alive and some dead inside, although they appear to be living outside. Somrajeet, my husband; when he died, I died with him. When you love your husband like a child, nurture him and he leaves you suddenly one day; you cannot find a man who can replace him.”
“All I want is my malik to be saved from that Pr-et.”
“Let me make clear from the onset that I am not a ghost hunter or even an occultist; I have very modest knowledge and capabilities, if at all. Do you know mai that even the great western occultist like Alastair Crowley and Madame Blavatsky came to India to learn Tantra and other dimensions of existence? What we see is mithya (make believe), what lies beyond our six senses is the great underworld, where spirits exists. But many a times the two worlds meet and there are several ‘cross-overs’. It is only when a cross-over happens that we see a ghost, demon or Jinn. I still think you ought to find a temple priest or a tantric.”
To be continued...
I am posting the first chapter of my Paranormal story set in India for your honest feedback. Depending on your interest I shall upload the subsequent chapters. Personally, I think that Paranormal stories are set only in Romania or the so called Western countries. Whereas Occult and Paranormal are world wide phenomena. To give voice to Paranormal tales from outside the White men's world, this is my humble attempt.
Vickram E. Diwan, New Delhi, India.
Strange love with a succubus demon
Kusang was sitting on a wet iron bench in the park outside his house in Kurseong, the hill station in Darjeeling. In the wintry evening of dark rain clouds; the succubus or female demonic seductress named Uma approached him. “Did you miss me, my lover?” she said taking his hand unhesitatingly in her.
“Why don’t you leave me alone? Humans and demons do not mate; you are a curse that will ruin my health, sanity, riches and take away my life.”
“Why do you even listen to the stupid or illiterate people, who have not experienced me the way you have?”
“How can I trust you? You constantly change your face and figure; you trapped me by using the figure of my long dead girlfriend and then of the various woman I have desired over the years. I don’t even know who is the real you?”
“Is that the reason for your anger? Don’t all men like to constantly change their partners? Why are you angry, when your inner most desires and fantasies have come true?”
“You are a malevolent being who is using me, sucking energy out of me like a vampire.”
“I can get any man I want; but will you get another woman like me? Touch me here – on my face, on my lips, on my breasts; feel me…do you still think I am not alive; not someone you desire? Can you live without me, sleep without the warmth of my body in your bed besides you?”
“You...You are a debilitating obsession that I must get over…somehow!”
“You torture yourself needlessly; if that is your wish I’ll go. But do not hesitate to call me whenever you want; I’ll be waiting.”
She did not vanish, as Kusang half expected but walked away majestically with seductive movements of her bottom into the fog that was beginning to envelop the hill town. Kusang fumbled his way to the door of the house on the hill build by a long forgotten Englishmen. He poured himself a glass of whiskey with shaking hands, after switching on the table lamp in the large drawing room with high ceiling, dominated by the heads of boars and cheetahs that the European, who had made the ‘Land of the White Orchids’ his second home, had collected as trophies.
“Dinner will be ready in about a hour malik (master); the cook has made this roasted chicken and boiled eggs for starters,” the old maid said putting the plates on the heavy wood table in front of Kusang. After a pause she added, “Beta (son), you were two or three years old; when your mother, my late malkin (mistress) hired me and I have seen you grow up a child; I cannot bear to see that Pr-et (ghost) troubling you; using your sadness and loneliness to entrap you.”
“You think I was crazy as a child? Or am I slowly becoming mad?”
“No beta; it’s a passing phase; as long as I am alive I will not let that demon take away your life.”
----------------------------------------
A few hours later, the old woman walked to the modest house of a Bengali woman further up the hill in the downpour. The room she was led to was overcrowded with books, souvenirs, talismans and black & white photos of the strikingly beautiful woman with her husband.
As she sat by the window that overlooked the town below with innumerous flickering yellow lights, Sreyashi, who was in her early forties, picked up her glass of whiskey and said half apologetically, “My late husband was an army-man; he insisted that I joined him for drinks in the evening. And we Bengali women are so devoted to our spouses that we can never say no to them; for anything. People condemn us for being dominating and promiscuous, but they do not know the real Bengali woman; how soft, gentle and devoted she is!”
“I came here to seek your help to rid my malik of the Pr-et bhadha (ghost haunting).”
“We are all Pr-ets or spirits - some alive and some dead inside, although they appear to be living outside. Somrajeet, my husband; when he died, I died with him. When you love your husband like a child, nurture him and he leaves you suddenly one day; you cannot find a man who can replace him.”
“All I want is my malik to be saved from that Pr-et.”
“Let me make clear from the onset that I am not a ghost hunter or even an occultist; I have very modest knowledge and capabilities, if at all. Do you know mai that even the great western occultist like Alastair Crowley and Madame Blavatsky came to India to learn Tantra and other dimensions of existence? What we see is mithya (make believe), what lies beyond our six senses is the great underworld, where spirits exists. But many a times the two worlds meet and there are several ‘cross-overs’. It is only when a cross-over happens that we see a ghost, demon or Jinn. I still think you ought to find a temple priest or a tantric.”
To be continued...