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#BookBiteByGB A PDF that will have one chapter from each of the book listed. This will help the readers choose better.

Compiled by Ganga Bharani Powered by b00kr3vi3ws If you want to promote your book with GB LAND drop a mail to gangabharaniv@gmail.com

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Books, Authors and Sample Chapters BookBite By GB ........................................................................................................1 #BookBiteByGB ........................................................................................................2 A Minute To Death ....................................................................................................5 Author: Ganga Bharani Vasudevan .................................................................16 He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him ........................................................................17 Author: Shikha Kumar .......................................................................................22 FORBIDDEN ...........................................................................................................23 Authors: Mike Wells and Devika Fernando ....................................................34 Without You .............................................................................................................35 Author: Preethi Venugopala ..............................................................................44 Pradyumna, Son of God ...........................................................................................45 Author: Usha Narayanan ....................................................................................48 The Archers Revenge ...............................................................................................49 Author: Destination Infinity .............................................................................54 THE ROSE BUSH ...................................................................................................55 Author: Priyanka Lal ..........................................................................................61 HIDDEN HUSBAND ..............................................................................................62 Author: Shikha Khanduja Kaul ........................................................................72 I don’t wear SunScreen ............................................................................................74 Author: Kavipriya ...............................................................................................77 Among the stars .......................................................................................................78 Author: Dhasa Sathyan .......................................................................................87 #IAm16ICanRape ....................................................................................................88 Author: KIRTIDA GAUTAM ...........................................................................96 Masters of Lygrenn ..................................................................................................97 Author: Arjun Pawar ........................................................................................108 EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED .................................................................................109 Author: Vishal Anand ......................................................................................119 Go to top

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#BookBiteByGB CULT OF CHAOS.................................................................................................120 Author: Shweta Taneja .....................................................................................136 The eight FBian hearts ...........................................................................................137 Author: Harsha Shastry ....................................................................................148 Hidden Passion .......................................................................................................149 Author: Summerita Rhayne .............................................................................158 The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer ................................................................................159 Author: Laxmi Hariharan .................................................................................162 The PERFECT DILEMMAS .................................................................................163 Author: Zahir .....................................................................................................170 The Shaadi Brouhaha .............................................................................................171 Author: Anjlee Shah .........................................................................................179 Love, Again ............................................................................................................180 Author: Shrruti Patole Clarence: ...................................................................187 Book List ................................................................................................................189

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A Minute To Death

A Minute To Death Ganga Bharani Vasudevan

Flipkart Amazon Chapter 2: The rays of the sun swept away the darkness that ruled the night. Sunlight, which crept through the corner window of the police station struck Rohan’s face that was half buried in his elbow over his desk.

As the warmth of the dawn sunk into his bones, he woke up blocking the intensity of the sun with his palm and shrunk his eyes. He wiped his eyes, stretched his arms up in the air and yawned. He looked at his watch which read 7:25. He was still a little sleepy and wanted to doze off. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

‘Rohan…Rohan,’ the door swung open as Riya barged in with a constable.

‘Sir, Madam did not listen to me,’ said the constable, reluctantly.

‘That’s okay Ram. I will handle it,’ said Rohan. Ram left Riya and exited the room.

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A Minute To Death ‘Rohan, what’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you attend my calls?’ Riya yelled at him with an unhappy, angry face.

Rohan lazily picked up his phone and fiddled with it.

‘128’ Riya said.

‘What?!’ he exclaimed, and continued ‘a hundred and twenty eight?’ Rohan asked quizzically, still looking at his phone. ‘Oh my God! Hundred and twenty eight missed calls in a night? Anything serious Riya?’ asked Rohan worriedly.

‘I had called you throughout the night and you ask me now if I was in trouble. You are the best boyfriend a girl can ever dream of,’ she said.

‘Boyfriend? So, you finally admit it,’ he smiled.

‘Shut up! Don’t even imagine such a scene. I was just worried about the girl who will get married to you,’ she snubbed. She banged her bag on his desk and sat on the chair opposite him.

‘Okay, Calm down,’ he paused. He breathed in and out with his hands moving up and down on both sides of his face. Riya’s temper rose to a new high. She looked away, turning red.

‘Sorry. The phone was in silent mode. I was doing some paperwork and I had to focus on it. So I put the phone aside and allowed my attention to dive entirely in the work. I dozed off somewhere in between,’ he said.

‘You are a strange cop. People hate doing boring paper work and you love doing it. You are one of a kind,’ she said, as the redness of anger reflected in her sharp tone.

‘Paperwork is the beginning of any misled investigation. Once you think you are done with the investigation of a case and you think you have zeroed down to the reason behind the crime, start Go to top

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A Minute To Death your paperwork. That’s when the actual investigation starts,’ he said with the pride of being a righteous cop.

‘Genius! Do all that in a brilliant way, but don’t pick calls from your girlfriend,’ she said that chewing away the last word. She regretted uttering the last word which had slipped from her mouth.

Rohan raised his brows with a naughty smile. He winked at her. She was still stuck with the awkwardness of the word that had slipped out of her mouth involuntarily. She tried to distract him before he could get a hold of what she had meant.

‘I have started writing my book,’ she said enthusiastically as she pulled out her laptop. She opened it as a wide smile spread over her chubby face. She was very fair and a dimple shined up her cheek every time she smiled.

‘I love your smile. It is priceless,’ he said stretching his arms in mid-air and yawning widely.

‘I still didn’t even start to narrate my story and you yawn on purpose just to insult me!’ She said.

‘What did I do now?’ he smiled.

She froze in her chair as she looked at him smile. He was a very handsome cop; well-built, six-foot tall, fair complexioned and his pink gums showed up every time he smiled with perfect dental arrangement.

‘Riya?’ he called her as she did not even blink. He waved his hands in front of her face and called out to her again ‘Riya?’

‘What happened?’ he asked, smiling again, even wider this time.

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A Minute To Death ‘Don’t smile again,’ she warned.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ he said and smiled on purpose.

‘This smile, this is the one. Don’t show that to me again,’ she tried to look away as she realised the number of times she had lost herself to his manly smiles.

His smiles clamped her respiratory system creating cyclones inside her ribs. It made her forget to respire; she had contained enough carbon dioxide inside, that she could bloat up like a balloon any moment. She breathed out all the carbon dioxide at once. He kept smiling when she brought back her focus on him.

‘Please, I request you not to smile..,’ she said. He raised his brows understanding what his smile did to her. She continued ‘or yawn or disrespect me in anyway when I narrate the story. I am a writer and I love what I write more than…’ she abruptly stopped and completed it with ‘You’ in her mind.

‘Okay,’ he understood the kind of cyclone she had managed to hide from him and the intensity of it. He was personally going through his dose of torture within his ribs whenever she smiled. He loved the way she tried her best to hide her love for him from him.

‘I am all yours,’ he looked at her with romantic eyes and stretched arms.

‘This is an office,’ she moved back a little and said. ‘You can’t do all that here,’ ‘Do what? I said I am all ears. You have very naughty ears which interpret everything in a ‘very’ wrong way,’ He said.

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A Minute To Death He added ‘Also, you have a very sexy,’ he paused and dropped his sight below her neck.

‘Come on,’ she raised her voice, hugging her laptop against her chest, covering it.

‘I meant, very sexy eyes,’ he looked into her eyes as he said that.

Silence prevailed for a few seconds.

‘Here is the story. I have named the girl Jiya and you as Roshan. The cops get to know that a girl had committed suicide by hanging herself in her house. They rush to the spot. They click pictures and note down her details. Later, the hero of the story, Roshan, sits down to investigate the case. He looks at the details and the pictures, one after another just like how you do,’ she looked at him, paused and continued with her animated narration. ‘The height of the hanging body from the roof was less than the height of the stool from the roof. So he becomes suspicious. He then checks the stool. It was pushed to its top facing the front. But when someone commits suicide, one stands on the stool, puts one’s head inside the knot, tightens the knot and pushes the stool backwards. But here the stool was facing the front, which means the stool was not pushed by Jiya, but by someone else. There starts the investigation!’ She said, animatedly, all in one breathe with overflowing excitement. She looked at him and waited for him to respond. He just gave her an iced stare.

‘Rohan? Did you even listen to me?’ she asked with her tone dipping in excitement.

‘Do you know that some people, in a hurry, push the stool in the front when they commit suicide?’ he asked with a smile.

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A Minute To Death ‘No, no way. Don’t confuse my story. That is impossible. If you commit’ she paused. ‘..No No.. If I commit suicide I would push it back because we can thrust the chair not with our heel, but with our toes,’ she said.

He laughed and said ‘Alright’. He showed her the picture taken at the suicide spot. ‘Do you see that? The stool was pushed backwards. Also, we have confirmed that there is no issue with the height of the foot and the stool. Also, the forensic confirms that the rope has Avanthika’s finger prints. By the way, her name is Avanthika. All these evidences confirm that she hung herself and no one else had even touched the rope,’ he said.

‘I know. I don’t care. How boring will it be if I write about a straight forward suicide case?

Once upon a time there lived a girl named Avanthika and she blah. Finally, an unfortunate event happened to her and she committed suicide. Poor her! Pity her! Isn’t that a boring story? Let me write the story this way. You did not take me to a proper interesting crime, but instead you took me to a boring stupid suicide,’ she said dramatically.

‘There is a watch that was found beneath the hanging body,’ he said and paused for her to react.

‘How does that make the story any interesting?’ she asked.

‘The watch had stopped working,’ he said.

‘So? Makes no sense to me. It might have fallen from her wrist and it must have stopped working when she was choking to death. Simple,’ she said.

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A Minute To Death ‘The watch had fallen in a tied position with its strap neatly rounded. The radius of it was too small to have fallen from her hand,’ he said.

‘So what? She might have wanted to hang herself at a particular time. She had the watch in her hand, waited for the time she wanted, and then she hung herself. In pain, she lost grip of the watch, when it must have fell and stopped working,’ she said.

‘Good story. But the watch did not stop working. It was stopped from working. The side knob was pulled out so that the watch stops ticking. It was set exactly to 5:00 am,’ he said.

‘Really? Why would she do that?’ she asked.

‘Did I say that Avanthika did it?’ he asked.

‘Then?’

‘I’m guessing that someone else must have done it,’ he said.

‘How can you be sure?’ she asked.

‘Look, this is an album I took from Avanthika’s place,’ He gave Riya a photo album.

Riya turned to each and every page of the album. ‘She looks so cute. I just can’t accept that this beautiful, flawless face had turned into something like that. Ew!’ she said, pointing at the picture of the hanging Avanthika, that lay on the table.

‘Look at her eyes; beautiful; symmetric. Her smile, so natural!’

‘Why are you showing me these photographs anyway?’ she asked.

He walked to her side and sat on the table. He turned the album to the first page and said ‘See this,’

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A Minute To Death ‘What? It’s her birthday and she is cutting a cake. I guess she must have been a school student when this picture was taken,’ she said.

‘Do you see that she is cutting the cake with her left hand?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ He quickly turned a few sheets of the album and stopped at another one. ‘See this picture here. She is writing with her left hand,’ he pointed at another picture.

‘Yeah, so she is a left hander,’ she said.

‘Exactly. And the watch was down to her right. A person with a dominant left hand would have naturally used the left hand to hold anything at first. And she was in a hurry to die, wasn’t she? So I think it must have been someone who had placed the watch there on purpose,’ he said.

‘Why would someone do that? I mean, if someone wanted to kill her and make it look like a suicide, why would he or she place something at the crime scene?

‘Hold. Hold. Hold,’ he rushed in a threatening tone with a glass of water in his hands.

She was frightened and confused with the sudden rise in his voice and his hand gestures.

She immediately got the glass. She didn’t know what was happening.

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A Minute To Death ‘I might be wrong, Riya,’ he said with a frown.

‘Why? What happened?’ she asked.

‘You are a right handed person, but when you were holding your bag in your right hand, you had no choice but to use your left hand to get this glass,’ he said.

She looked at the glass filled with water for a few seconds. She quickly placed it on the table. She realized why he had given her the glass. ‘But,’ she began.

‘Maybe she was holding the rope, which she had considered as a priority with her left hand and the watch with her right. Quite possible,’ he said.

‘Wait. Am I missing something? Isn’t this supposed to be a clean and straightforward suicide? Why are you looking at it like a murder? I think your primary assumption is what is leading to all these wrong conclusions,’ she said with a proud smile. She thought that she had made a brilliant comment.

He picked up a marker from the pen holder and walked to the whiteboard. He started writing the gist of the entire case as he spoke.

‘Point number one. Avanthika was happy till 11:30 pm, the night previous to her death.

Her Facebook activities confirm this.

Point number two. She was on a call with her classmate Deepthi, from 11:30 pm to 12:30 pm.

Point number three. It’s strange to see a watch neatly wrapped and stopped, fallen on the floor just below the hanging body.

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A Minute To Death Point number four. There was a Kindle that was put to charge in the room we stood and spoke in.

Point number five. She had accepted the Facebook event invite of a ‘club meet’ that was to happen the following week. And this, she had accepted at 11:25 pm on the night previous to her death.

Point number six and the most important point. The autopsy report states that she had died around 5:00 am.

Point number seven and the confusing point. Both the rope and the stool has Avanthika’s finger prints and only her fingerprints,’ he said and took a deep breath in to compensate the number of times he had forgotten to breathe as the points had flown from his mouth.

‘A person who was happy till 11:30 commits suicide at 5:00 am in the morning, the next day. She planned to attend an event the following week as suggested by the acceptance of the event invite at 11:25 pm. She had put her kindle on charge. I don’t think that someone who was in a mood to die and was going to kill herself the next morning would put her kindle on charge. I mean, what’s the point? You only charge a kindle when you intent to use it later.

What made me more suspicious is the time at which the watch had been stopped, 5:00 am.

When we hang ourselves, do we really know when we will die? Will we be so clear that the moment I put my head into the knot, I will tighten it up, push the stool and die. No, right?!’ He said hitting his own head and sounding puzzled.

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A Minute To Death

‘Even if we assume that she had suddenly been confronted with unhappy news and it was an instantaneous decision to die, why was the watch there? Why will she want to stop it to 5:00 am exactly? I am so confused. Was she trying to tell the world something? Or was there a killer who wanted to give us a clue?’ he said.

‘I am confused too,’ she said unable to take any more words that would confuse her already ready to burst brain more!

‘I have sent the watch to the forensic department. Once the report reaches me, half the mystery should hopefully be solved,’ he said.

‘Can we go somewhere, maybe for coffee?’ she asked.

‘Sure. I need a break too,’ He kept everything aside. Picked his revolver and the laati and came out of the room.

A constable smiled at them sarcastically.

‘Nothing like what you had imagined happened inside, Ram,’ he said. Ram was very close to him. He was like an elder brother. Rohan never treated him like someone who worked under his supervision. They both confided in each other, just like friends would do.

‘OK. Ok,’ he smiled again sarcastically.

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A Minute To Death

Rohan blushed and walked out of the station with Riya.

‘What did he think happened inside?’ she asked with a cute face.

‘Nothing. Skip it,’ he said in a professor-like tone. He bit his smile.

‘I know what he thinks about us,’ she said.

‘What?’ he asked curiously as he sat behind her in the pulsar. When they went out on the bike rides, it was Riya who drove. She loved driving bikes and hated to sit behind. She justified it by saying that only if a man and a woman are lovers, the girl should sit behind.

‘What does he think about us?’ he wanted to drag the words out her mouth ‘Nothing. Skip it,’ she mimicked him again.

The bike roared and left the place.

Author: Ganga Bharani Vasudevan Author has two award winning short films to her credit.

She has published two books titled 'Just you, me and a secret' and 'A Minute to death'.

She was awarded the 'BEST URBAN CHENNAI BLOGGER' by Ecovme and Urban Tree.

She works with an MNC as an IT developer, makes short films for fun, and blogs at Scribbledbygb.blogspot.com. Follow here on Facebook and Twitter.

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He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him

He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him Shikha Kumar

Amazon Flipkart The Veil Is Lifted

Shreya received a grand welcome at the Kharbanda residence.

All the traditional ceremonies of welcoming a daughter-in-law were conducted in full. The house was decorated with flowers, lights and glittering fabrics draped over pillars and the banister of the staircase. Every corner of the house was illuminated. All the servants came running for a glance of their new mistress.

Shreya too was very excited to see her new home. It was indeed very close to what Madhav had narrated to her. As the clock struck 10, Ridhima escorted Shreya to Kunal’s room on the first floor. She helped Shreya to sit comfortably on the bed, and drew all the curtains of the room.

“Well, I’ll just ask Bhai to come over,” Ridhima teased.

Shreya kept looking down, not saying anything. Ridhima laughed and left the room. Shreya then raised her head to look around the room. It was very spacious and painted in light green. Next to the bed was a small side table and some steps away was the door to a balcony which was directly Go to top

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He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him opposite the main door of the room. Adjacent to the balcony door was a wall, which had two paintings. Further down the wall was the bathroom. Right in front of her about a The Veil Is Lifted few feet away the wall was covered with a big red cloth. How come repair work was still being done in the groom’s room? She thought. On the left of the room, starting from the farthest end was a dressing table. Next, there was an open door which led to another small room, a walk-in closet.

On the other wall was a 52-inch TV and a sofa set with a stylish centre table facing the TV. Then there was a rocking chair and a small bookshelf at the end of the room. Shreya was very impressed with Kunal’s taste.

She heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She felt shy and quickly pulled her dupatta down to cover her eyes. The sound of footsteps grew louder. Shreya could feel Kunal approaching. The footsteps stopped near the door and then Shreya heard the sound of a latch. She was nervous and excited at the same time, her heart beating fast and her face flushing pink. The footsteps came closer, and finally halted as he sat right in front of her.

He held the edges of Shreya’s dupatta between his fingers, and very delicately raised it. Shreya however continued to look down. He then placed his index finger on Shreya’s chin and lifted it up.

Shreya raised her eyes shyly to have a look at her groom. And as she did, her pink tinged face turned crimson and the expression of shyness changed to horror. Shreya screamed, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?” She got up from the bed, extremely agitated. “I beg you, please leave immediately. What is wrong with you? Who the hell are you?” He too stood up from the bed, looking right into her eyes. “See, you really need to leave. My husband could be here any moment.

I’ve already had much pain and trouble because of you; I beg you not to repeat it.” Shreya was almost pleading. He, however continued gazing at Shreya. She realised that her words had

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He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him had no effect on him. She ran towards the bedroom door, opened the latch and rushed down the stairs. Ridhima and Anuradha were still sitting in the living room. They were shocked to see Shreya hurrying down. They stood up to know what the matter was. Shreya was breathing very fast, and ran straight into Anuradha’s arms for comfort. Anuradha stroked her back. A minute later, he had also come down. Shreya was pointing to him, still stammering out of shock. Anuradha looked at him and asked, “What’s the matter, Kunal? What did you say which was so frightening to Shreya?”

Ridhima added, “What’s wrong, guys? It’s your first night, what kind of fireworks is this?”

“Trust me! I just showed my face.”

Shreya’s heart almost missed a beat. The voice was Kunal’s.

But the face…!

Shreya, however, unconsciously did point to him, and looked at Ridhima, “Kunal?” she stammered.

Ridhima jokingly answered, “Why, Bhabhi? Is he not Kunal?

Were you expecting some other Kunal?”

Anuradha held Ridhima’s hand and laughed too. “Shreya, what happened, dear?” Shreya stood gaping. And then she somehow managed to gain some strength, “Nothing, Mom, I was just hoping I could get a medicine for a headache?” Ridhima quickly pulled out some tablets from a nearby shelf, while Kunal turned and went back to his room.

Ridhima again escorted Shreya to the room, and then closed the door as she left.

Kunal was now standing near the balcony door facing outside, but he turned when he heard the door closing.

They looked at each other, the words they had said echoing in their minds.

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He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him But at times, very dear things are taken away from us due to the evil of a few frustrated souls. And that doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.

I did settle a score with someone. My way may not have been fundamentally correct, but then how else do you really teach a lesson?How else does someone really know how deeply it hurts?

Shreya glared furiously at Kunal. He was exactly as Madhav had described, but she knew he was no hero. Rather, he was a villain. Kunal moved few steps closer to her, staring hard. “I hope today was the first and last day that such an unwanted reaction came from you.”

“How can someone stoop so low?” She said whimpering.

“Really !! Well, I give you all credit there, my dear wife. You taught me that.”

“Don’t you dare call me your wife,” she shrieked.

“I repeat; I don’t want any unwanted reaction or nuisance.

You need to learn to keep your voice down." Shreya also moved a few steps closer to Kunal.

“Shut up! I am leaving right now.”

As Shreya turned to walk towards the main door, a strong grip clutched her arm. “Not so soon, my dear. You’d been really hard to find.”

“Let go of my arm right now,” Shreya said in a tight voice twirling her wrist. “Well, on second thoughts, you are more than welcome to leave.” Kunal’s tone changed dramatically. “Please go ahead, and tell them who I am and what this is all about.” He scowled harder.

“I must say, you are not only a great planner; but actually a schemer. Now I realize why you asked me to come over to the coffee shop, all alone. And the next time you actually met me as yourself, you ensured my eyes were shut!”

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He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him “See, even I can be a schemer.” Kunal narrowed his eyes. “I am indebted to your parents for putting your picture on the web.

And my mother for discovering it accidentally and suggesting you as a potential daughter-in-law.”

“And marriage is the only revenge you could think of?” She said fuming.

“Yes, indeed. The best way to ensure that you cry all your life.

To ensure that you live a life without love, like me.” Kunal pushed Shreya’s arm away in anger.

“Oh really! Only you had a heart full of feelings? I too had a beautiful life until your curse struck me.” Shreya blasted. “God dammit. You STARTED it!”

“You deserved it!”

They were glaring at each other like a bull and a matador.

“So !” Kunal said folding his arms and wearing a crooked smile.

“So, Mrs Shreya Kunal Kharbanda. What are your options now?

Number One. Leave right away, and let’s clean our dirty linen in public. And give pain to your parents, too. Number two. Stay and Suffer. I leave you to choose—your suffering or your parents’.

Let’s check how much your small world really matters to you.” Shreya’s expression changed as she inferred the gravity of the matter. She was now thinking, and not just reacting.

“Well, I guess I need to give you time to reflect on the matter.” Kunal smiled harshly. “Be my guest for today, and I hope you have a comfortable night in my room.” Kunal bent to pick up a pillow and bedsheet, and walked towards the sofa.

“I have a lot in store for you tomorrow.” He smiled devilishly. “And most importantly, I hope for better behaviour tomorrow onwards. I hope the Kohlis taught their daughter to be respectful towards her husband. And if not, be mentally prepared to learn the hard way.” Kunal lay down on

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He Fixed the Match, She Fixed him the sofa. Shreya stood in the middle of the room completely immobile and dumbfounded. What joke is fate playing on me?

Author: Shikha Kumar Shikha's maiden book will soon be adapted as a motion picture. She's also a relationship expert with a popular forum. She writes TOI Blog with name Rightly-Nailed and also contributes articles to iDiva, Uth-Time, Social Tahelka and few other forums. Occasionally, she also writes short stories and does movie reviews. Additionally she has full-time IT Manager job, is a wife and mother of 5-years old. Her next book is slated to release Dec'15. She can be reached at www.authorshikha.com

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FORBIDDEN

FORBIDDEN Mike Wells and Devika Fernando

Amazon.in Amazon.com Book 1 Prologue St. Louis, Missouri The pregnant girl lying in the hospital bed was only 16 years old.

“I’ve got some wonderful news!” her mother said, when she finally began to regain consciousness.

The girl struggled to focus her eyes on her mother’s face. Her first thought was: If the news is so wonderful, why is she crying?

“You’re going to have twins! Twin girls!”

“Twins?” the girl said thickly, trying to look down at her stomach.

She was surprised the baby, or babies, were still inside her, now vaguely

remembering what had happened. She and her best friend had snorted some coke and then went tearing around the city on his motorcycle.

Now she saw her father—he was standing back, on the far side of the hospital room, gazing at her from behind his glasses, expressionless.

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FORBIDDEN Suddenly another man stepped into her field of vision.

“Ah, you’re awake now.” He was wearing all white—a doctor.

He started explaining something to her, using lots of complicated medical terminology.

Eleanor was so pumped full of pain killers she had trouble following. The trauma from your accident…partial separation of the placenta of one of the twins and not the other…decreased blood flow to the affected twin…possible intrauterine growth retardation in the affected twin only…

“What does it mean?” she interrupted. She didn’t give a damn about the “twins”—all she cared about was herself.

“It means that one of the babies is at increased risk of intrauterine fetal demise—” “Dying?”

“Yes, dying—for the remainder of your pregnancy. The affected twin could have chronic medical problems after delivery.” He glanced at her parents. “So, we’ll need to monitor the fetuses twice weekly with ultrasound.”

“Twice a week?” Eleanor said, now more fully alert, and outraged.

“That’s right. And I’m afraid you’ll need to stay in bed to ensure the placenta isn’t further—” “Jesus H. Christ!” she said, frowning.

The doctor recoiled a little. “You’re very lucky you didn’t lose them both, young lady.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m lucky as hell,” she muttered. She motioned to her mother and father with her tattooed arm, almost pulling out the I.V. that was stuck in it. “Look at those two losers I have for parents and tell me how lucky I am!”

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FORBIDDEN The doctor was appalled. He rose from the chair and said apologetically to her parents, “She’s been through a lot, and she’s on some meds right now,” not realizing that this was perfectly normal behavior for her.

“Thank you, doctor,” her mother said.

“Thanks for nothing,” the girl mumbled.

There and then, she decided that as soon as the twins—or twin—was born, she was running away from home and never coming back.

Chapter 1.1

Wichita, Kansas, USA

23 Years Later

Jayne Clark felt the woman’s intense gaze like a physical touch, a slight itch at the back of her neck. It followed her wherever she went on her rounds through the café, serving customers and smiling as though nothing was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” Kaitlin, one of the other servers, asked, when Jayne went to the terminal, to key in an order.

“That lady keeps staring at me.”

“What lady?” Kaitlin said, peering discreetly over her shoulder.

“The one sitting by herself, at fourteen. She’s been here two days in a row.”

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FORBIDDEN The woman was truly stunning. The Savor the Moment café catered to an upscale clientele, at least for Wichita, Kansas, but this woman was beyond upscale. Tall, slender, and energeticlooking, she was perhaps forty years old, with a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, a small nose and thin lips. She was wearing 5/6 black narrow trousers with a front crease, high heel black leather shoes that showed off her shapely ankles, and a fur jacket. To top it all off, she sported a fedora hat with a narrow brim, her auburn hair sticking out from underneath in elegant curls. She wasn’t from Wichita, that was certain.

When she’d entered the café yesterday, a momentary hush had settled over the dining room.

She effused an almost aristocratic aura, like a queen. She selected a table close to the door, ordered a bottle of Evian water, and never moved from the spot. Seated with effortless elegance, the mysterious lady might have been a statue if it hadn’t been for the warm smile that lit her features whenever Jayne came close or stole a glance at her from afar.

She had ordered the most expensive dishes on the menu but hardly touched any of the food.

Her cultured voice, with the slightest hint of a British accent, had been like tinkling bells, filled with the same warmth as her winning smile. When Jayne had left at the end of her shift, the woman had left her a crisp one hundred dollar bill. The change from it made an embarrassingly huge tip.

Kaitlin looked back at Jayne, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe she’s taken a fancy to you.”

“I hope not,” Jayne muttered, clicking in the order with her swipe card. She was pretty, softly feminine, and kind, and even though she was tall herself, she tended to attract strong, dominant types, for some reason. It wouldn’t be the first time a customer had a crush on her, nor a female one, either.

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FORBIDDEN For a moment, Jayne felt so stressed that she thought she might have an asthma attack.

She’d had the disease all her life, and loathed it. She reached for her inhaler, which was in the pocket of her uniform.

“Are you all right?” Kaitlin said.

Jayne took a couple of slow, deep breaths from the device, calming herself. “I’m fine, just a little tired. It’s been a long shift.”

*** The following day, when the woman returned to take up the same place with the same million-dollar smile, Jayne’s alarm bells started to ring. She pretended to be unfazed and went about her usual tasks, as the café was quite busy. This was definitely a case of a customer taking an unwelcome liking to her.

Jayne had found that the most effective tactic was to show the pest the cold shoulder. This approach did not seem to be working on her new admirer, unfortunately.

Jayne was beginning to lose her patience. The entire staff was aware of the problem now, and she could hear her colleagues whispering and tittering behind her back. The woman’s mere presence, so regal and ominous and simply beautiful, set her on edge.

Bracing herself to utter the cold words she was already practicing in her head, Jayne approached the table to take the woman’s order, intentionally standing farther back than usual.

“Can you recommend anything?” she asked in that wind-chime voice of hers, smiling again.

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FORBIDDEN “Today’s special is Caesar salad, followed by caramelized onion meatloaf, mashed potatoes and chilled cucumber-buttermilk soup.” Jayne answered in a tone that was as cold as the soup.

“If you recommend that, my dear, I’ll take it. And please bring me another bottle of water.”

With a stiff nod, Jayne turned to leave, but the next words had her rooted to the spot.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, darling. Would you agree to meet me for dinner this evening? Not here, of course.”

Summoning her last vestige of politeness, Jayne kept her voice low but icy. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a boyfriend.” This wasn’t true, unfortunately, but Jayne hoped it would do the trick.

The woman looked embarrassed. “No, no, no, you’ve completely misunderstood me. I have something very important to tell you.”

“I’ll bet.”

“No, seriously, dear, this is something that will change your life, and in the most wonderful way.” She looked almost panicky, glancing around self-consciously—Kaitlin and one of the other servers had noticed the exchange. “If you give me a chance and hear me out, everything will make sense to you, I promise.”

Curiosity reared its head, but Jayne was still skeptical. You could never be too cautious with strangers. On the other hand, this woman seemed like high-society and did not appear to be dangerous.

“If you have something to tell me, why not discuss it here and now?”

“Believe me, this is not the right place for such an important conversation.” She lowered her voice. “And I don’t want to get you in trouble at work.”

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FORBIDDEN Jayne gazed at the woman for a moment. She’s probably trying to recruit me for some sales pyramid scheme, Jayne thought, selling cosmetics or jewelry or beachfront condos in Wyoming. But for some reason Jayne found herself saying, “Oh, all right.” Money was so tight right now that she was willing to listen to any kind of scheme that might add some monthly income, even if it was a long shot.

*** Soft lights, scented candles on the tables, live piano music, and a menu where the cheapest dish cost a small fortune.

They were at Antonio’s, the most expensive restaurant in Wichita.

It required a

membership to enter.

Jayne felt thoroughly out of place, sitting opposite her effortlessly elegant companion in a secluded corner. She wondered if the woman had paid the outrageous annual fee just to come here for dinner once.

Ever since they had met in front of the elegant old building, the posh lady—yet again dressed in black—had been beating around the bush. They had been here for almost an hour now, and nothing but one-sided attempts at small talk had passed. Jayne’s “admirer” had ordered wine for them, selecting from a long list the waiter had recited, but neither of them had touched their glasses.

Her name was Eleanor, and she started telling Jayne all about her life. She was born in St. Louis, but now lived in Europe and had been married to a very “well off” British man who had passed away a few years ago. She talked and talked about how much she enjoyed traveling around the world, and so on.

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FORBIDDEN Jayne’s mind wandered during all this. She felt annoyed. Was Eleanor, if that was even the lady’s real name, trying to impress her, or what? Hearing this kind of thing only made Jayne feel inadequate. She was twenty-three years old, from an ordinary middle class family, had a degree in interior design, and because she could not find a job in her field, at least not in Wichita, had to work as a waitress. She was lonely, had broken up with her one and only real boyfriend six months ago, and all of her friends seemed to be getting married, one after the other. On top of that, her mother had been recently diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, which was costing a fortune to treat.

Jayne kept nodding politely, continuing to listen, or pretending to, wondering where the hell all this was going, or if the woman was simply some kind of nut. She kept waiting for a product catalog or sales brochures to be thrust in her face. But Eleanor just chattered on, and she kept looking at Jayne with a peculiar cast in her dark eyes.

Was she imagining it or were the eyes glistening with unshed tears? What on earth was wrong with this woman? And why didn’t she have the guts to stop listening to this conceited drivel and get up and leave?

Suddenly the stranger reached over and covered Jayne’s hand in a warm, firm grip.

Jayne gasped and yanked her hand away. A lesbian, just like she’d suspected all along!

Jayne opened her mouth to give her a piece of her mind, but the woman cut her off and announced in a stage whisper, “I’m your mother, Jayne!”

Had she been slapped on her cheek, she couldn’t have been more shocked.

She gaped at Eleanor open-mouthed, the sentence echoing loudly in her head and drowning out reality and reason. “You’re my—what?”

“I’m your mother!”

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FORBIDDEN This couldn’t be. It was not possible. The woman really is nuts! Jayne thought. She already had a mother, thank you very much, one who was currently languishing in hospital while fighting a fierce battle for her life. But the lady seemed perfectly serious…and sane.

Eleanor’s eyes were now spilling tears over her sculpted cheek bones.

All of a sudden, something clicked into place inside Jayne, like the missing piece of a complicated puzzle.

On her sixteenth birthday, her mother had revealed to her that she was adopted. Her parents had been unsuccessfully trying to have a child of their own for more than five years, and finally began talking to adoption agencies.

At the time this information had been shared with her, Jayne had not even taken the revelation seriously. In fact, she had virtually forgotten about it until this moment. Their little family secret seemed trivial and irrelevant to her life. She’d always had all of the love a child could wish for, and it pained her to think that her poor mother felt the need to even tell her this.

The news hadn’t sparked any urge inside Jayne to track down her biological parents or investigate her roots, the way some adopted children apparently did. For her, being adopted was a non-issue and always would be.

Jayne was still trying and failing to get her act together when the woman reached for her hand again. This time, she was too rattled to pull away. The touch sent goose bumps up her arm.

This was all so surreal! Could it be true?

She struggled to focus, listening automatically to the words that spilled from the lady’s mouth in a gushing flood now, accompanied by tears.

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FORBIDDEN “You must believe me, Jayne. I am your real mother. Don’t judge me until you have heard out my whole story. My name is Eleanor Sotheby. Lady Eleanor Sotheby. I might be wealthy and powerful now, but I grew up in poverty.”

*** Fifteen minutes later, Jayne sat there in a daze, reeling from everything she’d been told.

Eleanor Sotheby had related a fantastic story, this time in great detail, starting from her birth. No, it wasn’t a fantastic story, actually, it was an ordinary story, at least at the beginning, one that Jayne was sure repeated itself a million times a year around the world.

Eleanor had grown up very poor in St. Louis, with a manual laborer mother and an abusive, drunken father. She had gotten pregnant at the age of sixteen by a dashing thirty year old man who promised her the moon, and who of course disappeared the moment he discovered she was pregnant. When her father found out what had happened, he had beaten her and tried to make her have an abortion, but Eleanor was determined to have the child.

In the end, due to a cruel twist of fate, her father won out. The baby—Jayne—was born with myriad of medical problems which Eleanor’s mother and father couldn’t possibly afford to have treated. As a result, Eleanor had felt that she had no choice but to put Jayne up for adoption.

For a moment, Eleanor broke down in sobs. She withdrew her hand and hid her face behind it, seemingly oblivious to their upscale surroundings, shaking with grief. A few of the other diners glanced at her.

“It tore my heart out, Jayne, but my parents were right, we simply did not have the money to give you the care you needed and deserved. I couldn’t help it, I had to give you away. I had no

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FORBIDDEN choice, and it was the right thing to do.” She paused, sobbing again. “You do understand, don’t you? Please tell me you understand.”

“Of course I understand,” Jayne said, her own voice quavering with emotion.

“Handing you over for adoption completely broke me down. I needed medical treatment myself, and when I awoke from the depression, it was too late to find out what had happened to you.”

Hearing the story cut Jayne to the core, but she still couldn’t make the connection to herself.

She didn’t want to believe it. This was all just some sort of heart-breaking drama, and she was a mere spectator. It felt as if she was watching the scene on television.

But the story had an underlying ring of truth for Jayne. Especially the medical problems.

Though she had no memory of any of it, Jayne knew she’d spent a long time in the hospital after she’d been born, suffering from IUGR—Intrauterine Growth Restriction. That was the reason she now suffered from asthma, the only remnants of the condition.

In fact, she was wheezing faintly now. If she became any more upset than she already was, she might have a full-blown attack.

Thankfully, after a while, Eleanor’s sobs subsided. She took a white silk handkerchief with lace trimmings from her handbag, wiped her face, and composed herself visibly. Her voice was only trembling a little when she went on with a beseeching look on her grief-stricken face.

“I think the beating my father gave me is the reason you had to be treated in hospital after you were born.”

Now Jayne no longer felt like a mere spectator. She was feeling like a character in the sad story, and sorry for the beautiful woman, her mother.

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FORBIDDEN Eleanor said earnestly, “My darling, let me assure you that I have regretted that decision all my life. I have been searching for you all this time. When my husband passed away a few years ago, I increased my efforts—and now I’ve finally found you. My darling daughter. My Jayne!”

Holding out both trembling hands, the woman managed a watery smile.

“We are reunited. We are a family again! And, I have even more good news for you: You have a sister!”

Authors: Mike Wells and Devika Fernando Mike Wells is an American bestselling author of over 20 "unputdownable" thriller and suspense novels, including Lust, Money & Murder and Passion, Power & Sin. He is also known for his young adult books, such as The Mysterious Disappearance of Kurt Kramer, The Wrong Side of the Tracks, and Wild Child, which are used by English teachers in high schools and colleges worldwide. Formerly a screenwriter, Wells has a fast-paced, cinematic writing style. His work is often compared to that of the late Sidney Sheldon, with strong and inspiring female heroes, tightly-written scenes, engaging action/dialogue, and numerous plot twists. He currently lives in Europe and has taught in the Creative Writing program at the University of Oxford.

Visit Mike’s website for more great reads and be sure to join his VIP Reader List so you’ll know when new books come out.

Almost as soon as Devika Fernando could write, she imagined stories and poems. After finishing her education in Germany and returning to her roots in Sri Lanka, she got a chance to turn her passion into her profession. Having lived in Germany and in Sri Lanka with her husband has made her experience the best (and the worst) of two totally different worlds – something that influences her writing. Her trademark is writing sweet, yet deeply emotional romance stories where the characters actually fall in love instead of merely falling in lust. What she loves most about being an author is the chance to create new worlds and send her protagonists on a journey full of ups and downs that will leave them changed. She draws inspiration from everyone and everything in life. Besides being a romance novelist, she works as a self-employed German web content writer, as a translator, and as a faithful servant to all the cats, dogs, fish and birds in her home.

When she’s not writing, she’s reading or thinking about writing.

To find out more about her books, check out her website and follow her on Twitter.

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Without You

Without You Preethi Venugopala

Flipkart Amazon Chapter One “The earth has music for those who listen.” ― George Santayana 2010, June 20, Sreepuram

Returning to the place, which your heart loves to call home, is always ecstatic.

The euphoria that was brewing inside me gushed in rhythm with the waves of the Arabian Sea that caressed Sreepuram along its western border, humming its

monsoon-

symphony. It may have sounded cacophonic and eerie to an outsider. For me, it was the rhythm divine.

Though God threw Adam and Eve out of Eden, he created many slices of heaven on earth. One of those heavenly slices was Sreepuram. With ponds, hillocks, coconut palms, extensive paddy fields and the Arabian Sea that sung lullabies, Sreepuram was a traveler’s dream. Even after the sun

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Without You dived into the ocean after experimenting with myriad shades and hues on the horizon, many a traveler hesitated to move away from its serene beach. Every season brought out a different shade of beauty in my Sreepuram.

Opening the car windows, I breathed in the smell of freshly bathed soil with relish. The grey sky showered its greetings with tiny droplets that tickled and thrilled, while trickling down my extended palm. My heart joined in the celebration, meting out an ecstatic drum roll. A whole month in Sreepuram, while it looked radiant in rain drenched green. My prayers had at last come true after three long years. My hectic engineering course had chained me to Bangalore during all my previous semester breaks with exams, assignments, and site visits. Every summer, I missed Sreepuram.

By the time our car entered the courtyard of Grandmother’s house, the rain had strengthened.

Grandmother, whom I called Ammamma, was waiting on the porch with an ear-to-ear grin. Even in this pouring monsoon, she appeared bright like a daisy on a sunny day, dressed in her spotless white cotton sari with her silver hair neatly pulled into a bun.

The moment the car stopped in the outer courtyard, I darted towards her, unmindful of the rain pouring down. How could I resist a chance to embrace the rain?

Grandma received me with a hug but immediately chided me. “Oh Anu, you never change, do you? Running around like a whippet,� she said, inspecting my rain-kissed curls.

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Without You “Come on Ammamma, don’t scold. Couldn’t resist the temptation,” I said, and she tweaked my ears playfully for the crime committed by my tongue.

Following the aroma of the freshly made coffee that wafted in, to the dining room I went.

Inspecting the casseroles, I found what I expected - Appam, the soft rice pancake with lacy edges and a soft center, along with chicken curry. The chicken curry lured me with its heavenly aroma of spices cooked with the flavor of fried onions, garlic, ginger, tomato, and cilantro in coconut milk. The sight elicited a growl from my stomach.

“Ammamma, my stomach is rioting. Titanic can sink in my mouth now if it tried. The appam and chicken curry is so alluring. Let me start my attack,” I declared, pulling back the chairs, ready to devour as manyAppams as possible.

“You crazy girl, you look like a wet hen. Go dry your hair and change your clothes. You can commence your attack then,” Grandma said, closing the casseroles back.

“Ammamma, please, let me first fill my tummy.” I tried one last time in vain.

After a speedy dress change into dark blue Capri pants and a white top with lace trimmings, I sat down to calm my raging hunger.

“Mmmmm, what an appam Ammamma!! If you had given this to Shakespeare, he would have written a thousand sonnets about it,” I said, with closed eyes, while the appam dipped in spicy chicken curry romanced my taste buds.

She chuckled, but urged me to finish eating and then talk. I obeyed her without much ado.

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Without You It was almost twilight. The sun had begun to wane its lights and a cool zephyr brought in the fragrance of blooming jasmines. The peel of the bell broke the silence, which had slowly settled in, after the initial hustle and bustle of vessels.

“Ah, who could that be?” asked Grandma getting up to answer the door.

“I will check, Ammamma, it might be the kids,” I said, referring to the kids’ gang, which gave me company during the holidays. I washed my hands and rushed to open the door.

Instead of the gang, a stranger stood on the portico with a small polythene bag in his hands. A salesperson, I assumed, inspecting the smartly dressed young man.

“Yes?” I asked, summoning up my most apathetic look.

“Isn’t Arundhati aunty here?” he asked. So Ammamma was the one he sought. Was he a publisher or a journalist?

My grandmother, Arundhati Mukundan is an award winning poet and author. After my grandfather’s death seven years ago, she had gone into depression. Later on, one of my aunts had discovered a collection of poems Grandma had penned during her hours of darkness. After much coercing from her children, she had agreed to publish them. Her book had become an instant best seller and won the state award for literature that year. She had now added two more poem collections and a semi-autobiography to the list. Hence, publishers and journalists visited often.

“And you are?” I asked smiling at him. Before he answered, Grandma entered the portico to check up on the caller.

“Oh Arjun, It is you! Come in. So nice to see you again,” said she with a huge smile on her face.

The stranger’s face too had lit up with a bright smile.

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Without You “I came to give you these tablets. They are from Vishal,” said the stranger passing the small carry bag to her.

The names Arjun and Vishal combined, rang a bell inside my brain. This is Arjun?! If I had it right, he was my cousin Vishal’s best friend, Dr. Arjun. The one who had been Vishal’s strength during the tense hours when Uma aunty, Vishal’s mom had underwent a critical operation to remove her inflamed gall bladder. The one whom Vishal said he trusted with his life. Arjun was the one who took over the routine checkups of Grandma, whenever Vishal was unavailable.

Grandma had talked much about how well behaved and loving he was. Combined with Vishal’s bragging about his friend, the result was that I had developed an insane crush on him. Yes, without ever having beheld him. My interest in the visitor piqued a thousand times.

Standing before me was an immensely handsome youth. His hair was perfectly in place, his shirt without any creases even though it was late in the evening and his trousers perfectly fitted his long athletic looking legs. His dark brown eyes, thick eyebrows, chiseled features, athletic body, and whitish complexion gave him the look of a Greek god. Even though I was 5’ 5”, I felt like a dwarf standing in front of him. Someone straight out of those romance books that I had read. Any sane girl would have fallen for him instantly if she were in my place. I was of course, sane.

“Thank You, Arjun. It is for Devi, my housekeeper Gopu’s wife. She had a headache and Gopu had gone to Bangalore. I was expecting Vishal to bring it. Been weeks he has dropped by,” she said, while I continued my stealthy scrutiny from behind her.

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Without You “He was on his way here. An emergency case came and he had to return to the hospital. I was coming this way, so I offered to help,” explained Arjun.

“That was so nice of you, Arjun,” said Grandma.

“Who is this, aunty?” enquired Arjun, gesturing towards me.

“This is my granddaughter Ananya. Anu, this is Vishal’s friend, Dr. Arjun. He is also a neighbor now,” said Grandma, conducting a mutual introduction.

“Hello Ananya, nice meeting you,” said Arjun, with a smile.

Impressed, I bestowed on him my best smile and greeted him back with a mild ‘Hi’.

“What do you do?”

“I am in the final year of engineering,” I said, and to my amazement, I was seized by a sudden attack of nervousness. Wasn’t it okay to be nervous when one was in the presence of one’s long time crush? Moreover, what a ‘crush’ it had turned out to be!

“Wow, Great!” he said.

“Come on inside son, have some tea.”

“No, Aunty. Thanks. I will leave now. Mum will be waiting,” said Arjun, walking down the portico steps. Huh, he couldn’t wait to escape!

Grandma and I watched as his white Toyota Corolla- pulled off from our gate, turned a corner, and moved out of sight.

“You said he is our neighbor. When did that happen?” I asked, while we returned to the dining table to finish our tea.

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Without You “Do you remember that plot in the east, where that old shop used to be? They constructed a new house in its place two years ago. He lives there with his mother. Poor boy, his father passed away last year in an accident.”

“But Ammamma, I remember you telling me that the plot belonged to a relative of yours, someone named Madhavan.”

“Yes, Yes, Rajashekhar, Arjun’s dad is his son. So we are distant relatives too,” said Grandma, helping herself to another cup of tea.

A group of three kids came in then, putting an end to our conversation by shouting, “Yippee…Anu is here,” and doing a sort of war dance around the table.

It was Anamika, Achyuth and Deepak, all three, members of my vacation gang. Anamika aka Ammu though only nine years old was the chatterbox of the gang. Achyuth aka Achu, her brother, older by three years was the genius of the group. Deepak their cousin was Achyuth’s age and looked almost like a twin to Achyuth.

“Anu, you have become so stylish and pretty! Just look at your hair. Wow, now you look like a cross between Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dixit,” declared Ammu, a big fan of Bollywood movies, walking around, and inspecting me closely.

I had allowed my short curly hair to grow out of its boyish bob-cut and had styled it last Christmas, in the layered style popularized by Madhuri Dixit. As my eyes were grayish green, similar to that of Aishwarya Rai, Ammu had given her verdict. I chuckled.

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Without You “Thanks cutie,” I said, and pinched her cheeks playfully making her squeal with laughter, “All three of you have grown so tall.”

These kids helped me re-live those days, when along with my four cousins, I had wreaked havoc in this place during our vacations. Though I had turned twenty last November, I loved being a child, which I became when I was with them.

With my cousins, Kishore, Navneeth, Naveen, and Vishal, all grown up and working, vacations had become a lonely affair, until I had found these kids for company during my school vacation six years ago. The time spent in Sreepuram had become fun again. At that time, Ammu was barely three. I took full advantage of being the eldest in the gang, cheated, and challenged them on adventures in which I was already an expert.

Being the lone girl among Grandma’s five grandchildren, I had done everything under the sun that elders insisted a girl should not do. I was a sprightly and mean thing according to my cousins.

Nevertheless, we were always a team. We fought like cats but managed to love each other despite it. Even now when we were together, we were capable of bringing the roof down. Any place would instantly start to feel like home.

I had many nicknames, thanks to them.

I was ‘Cat’ owing to my gray eyes and sharp nails, name given by Kishore my eldest cousin.

Due to my pale skin and ability to climb compound walls, Navneeth had christened me ‘Lizard’.

The most popular name was ‘Monkey’ because of my prowess in climbing trees. Nobody could beat me in that.

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Without You They were the reason that I became a tomboy. I hated girly stuff and dressed in trousers and tshirts just like them. My wardrobe had more jeans and t-shirts than churidars or skirts. Bless those, who started the trend of girls dressing up like boys!

In my engineering class, I was the odd one in a class overflowing with gorgeous girls. Did I regret that? No. Boys were better off as friends. They had no interest in me. It was not that I was ugly.

Just that my lack of feminine graces drove them away. I was merely their tomboy friend with weird colored eyes.

“How long is your vacation this time, Anu?” Deepak’s question ended my reverie.

“I will be here till the 18th of July.” Enthusiastic cheers from the trio greeted my answer.

We spent the rest of the evening merrily exchanging news and I distributed the gifts that I had brought for them from Bangalore. Ammu squealed with delight when I gave her a box full of colorful hair clips and bindies in varied designs. Achyuth rushed out to fill his water gun from the courtyard pipe, which was his gift. I had brought a box of Oil pastels for Deepak. We shared a common passion for Arts. Grandma came out onto the portico then, where we had settled onto to the decorative wooden benches that bordered it, to break up the cozy get together.

“It is getting dark, kids. You can continue with your talks tomorrow. Anu is not going anywhere for the next one month. Run before your parents arrive with a stick.”

At the mention of their parents, they bundled out of our house chattering excitedly promising to come the next day.

The rest of the night passed in unpacking and settling into my room. Devi, Gopu’s wife, who was also the household help, had cleaned and prepared my room. The fragrance of Sambrani, a kind of

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Without You incense, that she had lit to freshen up the room still lingered. The cupboards smelled of mothballs, the window curtains were new. The monsoons had cooled down the temperature and a thick blanket, folded into a perfect rectangle, lay at the foot of my bed. Grandma must have come to inspect the settings a hundred times, being a perfectionist. Her love was evident in every little thing that was present in the house. It was soothing to be back in the house. Something unwounded from within, the moment I entered it.

Right after dinner I fell onto my bed exhausted, unaware of the twist my life was about to take.

Author: Preethi Venugopala Preethi Venugopala is a Civil Engineer by education and an avid blogger, artist by passion. After working in many prestigious civil engineering projects for more than a decade, she quit her job to become a full time mother and writer. Meanwhile, she took a Masters Degree in English literature to complete her dream of studying English literature. She tried her hand successfully at crafts, crocheting, portraiture and painting before venturing into writing.

She strongly believes that storytellers are healers in the present world as they can change the outlook of people through the stories they tell.

Email: authorpreethi@gmail.com Blog: http://tulipsandme.blogspot.in/ FB page: https://www.facebook.com/authorpreethi Twitter: @preethivenu

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Pradyumna, Son of God

Pradyumna, Son of God Usha Narayanan

Amazon Infibeam Flipkart ON THE THRESHOLD

OF KALI

YUGA, ONLY A SAVIOUR CAN RESCUE THE WORLD. AN EXCERPT FROM

USHA

NARAYANAN’S

‘PRADYUMNA: SON OF KRISHNA”.

That night, Prince Vama had a vision so vivid that he felt he was in heaven, watching a divine drama unfold.

Lord Brahma was seated on his swan in Brahmalok, the highest of the seven worlds. Vama watched as the Creator gave life to the brilliant sun, the moon, the earth and the ten prajapatis― deities who would assist him in the creation of all living things. Then Brahma created Kama, the god of love and the most handsome man in the world.

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Pradyumna, Son of God “Go out and ignite passion in the hearts of my creations,” said Brahma to Kama. “Ensure that all species multiply and populate the corners of the earth.”

He gave Kama a mystic bow strung with five kinds of flowers ― the blue lotus, the jasmine, the white lotus, the mango flower and the flower of the Ashoka tree.

Then came Brahma’s most breathtaking creation ― a woman who would partner man in procreation. “I name you Shatarupa,” Brahma said to her, “for your face and form are as brilliant as a hundred full moons.” She was indeed beautiful, with cherry-red lips, lush breasts, a tiny waist, and curving hips.

Kama, eager to test the powers of his bow, shot his first arrow… at Brahma himself.

The skies shuddered, the mountains heaved and the rivers flowed backwards. For the arrow inflamed Brahma’s heart and filled it with a sinful passion for his own daughter.

Brahma devoured Shatarupa’s lovely form with his eyes and began to woo her. “You are enchanting. Come to my arms,” he pleaded.

“You are my creator, and hence my father. Wipe these sinful thoughts from your mind!” she replied, eyes widening in horror.

“Yes, I am the creator, and the whole world bends to my will. Come to me, my love,” he said, his mind in disarray.

“It is against heaven’s laws and will offend the gods,” she cried out and scurried to hide in the west. Brahma sprouted a head that faced west and began to follow her every move. She ran to the south, and to the north, but before long, he had four heads and four pairs of eyes to follow her. His lust blazed higher the more it was denied.

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Pradyumna, Son of God “I will fly to the skies,” she said and flew above his head. A fifth head sprang up atop the other four so he could gaze upwards. There was nothing she could do now except to surrender at the feet of Shiva, who is Rudra, the fierce one.

An incensed Shiva appeared before Brahma and flayed him with words. “How can you, the supreme creator, lust after your own daughter?” he thundered. Brahma was not prepared to listen, as Kama’s arrow had overpowered his reason.

“I must punish you so that men realise that even the gods will pay for their sinful behaviour,” said Shiva.

He hurled his flaming trishul at Brahma. Volcanoes spewed molten death and thunderbolts splintered the sky. Mother Earth trembled as the trident slashed off the creator’s fifth head and reduced it to ashes.

The severing of his head in this shocking manner brought Brahma tumbling from his throne.

Shiva still seethed with rage. “Your despicable act has made you impure, and rendered you unfit for worship,” he said. “I decree that henceforth no temples will be built in your honour.”

Brahma’s shame stoked his anger. He turned a wrathful face to Shiva. “Do not imagine that you are above passion?” he challenged. “A time will come when you too will succumb to Kama’s arrows. You too will be overcome by lust. Be warned that you will flounder that day, just as I did today.”

The creator turned next on Kama. “You dared to shoot your arrow at the one who gave you life.

You will pay for this sacrilege and be reduced to ashes one day.”

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Pradyumna, Son of God Prince Vama shook like a leaf as he watched the fierce battle between the gods and heard Brahma’s dire curse. He struggled to emerge from his vision, but his struggles merely transported him to another unfamiliar world.

There he saw Kama still alive and glorious, lying on the grass by a sparkling stream. Around him was the fervour of springtime, the season of love. Peacocks danced on glistening rocks. Golden fish and turtles swam in the crystal-clear waters. Honeybees buzzed around mango blossoms, lured by the nectar. A cuckoo warbled a sweet welcome. A fawn peered from behind a tree.

By Kama’s side lay an enchantress swathed in silken garments who was more beautiful than the apsaras. Vama knew that this was Rati, Kama’s beloved. She was the goddess who quenched all desire with her beguiling charm, but kept the flames of desire burning forever. Her beauty was ethereal, yet sensual… earthly, yet divine. Her skin was fair and glowing, her eyelids curved and half-closed. Yellow sapphires garlanded her neck, and jasmine strands were threaded through her lustrous black hair.

Author: Usha Narayanan Usha Narayanan has been creative director, jingle-writer, web editor, journalist and communications manager. Her debut novel, The Madras Mangler, a suspense thriller, was well received by reviewers and readers. The Madras Mangler, a suspense thriller, received excellent reviews. Her second novel, a fantasy thriller, Pradyumna: Son of Krishna is available in leading bookstores and online stores also as eBook. Her next is Love, Lies and Layoffs, a romcom published by Harlequin – HarperCollins (Sep 2015).

Visit her website Follow her at Facebook and Twitter.

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The Archers Revenge

The Archers Revenge Destination Infinity

Flipkart Amazon Chapter 0 (Prologue) Aryan's mission was to kill the minister who was visiting the mountainous Temple town of Tirupati. Today was the minister's birthday and he had come for the blessings of the powerful God over seven hills. Aryan was waiting for this moment past six months.

Tirupati or Tirumala is a famous Temple town located over the hills in South India. It has two separate roads (both one-ways) – one for driving over the hill and the other for coming down. Aryan was waiting for the minister's car to approach, on the way down.

The downhill road contains some fifty hairpin bends (steep U-turns) to slow down speeding vehicles. In between the U-Turn was the remnant of the mountain itself. He was able to climb over this mountainous patch, four meters above the road and twenty meters before the U-Turn, using a rope. From this elevated position, he could see all the vehicles approaching the U-Turn. He could

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The Archers Revenge also see all the vehicles moving away from the U-turn if he moved over to the other end, a few meters behind his current location. Since Aryan was over the mountain (on the middle of the Uturn) and the road curved around him, both sides of the U-turn were accessible to him.

Aryan had kept a cluster of nails to puncture the car tires, below him, along the corner of the road.

He had a long stick with which he would push one side of the cluster of nails to the middle of the road. When the minister's car rode over it, the tires will - most probably - get punctured. A car with punctured tires will be difficult to control, especially while negotiating a U-turn, and there is a good chance that it may topple over the one-and-a-half feet high perimeter wall along the boundary of the mountain. There was no way anyone inside the car could survive such a huge fall.

But, there was a good chance that the driver might be able to control the vehicle, and manage to turn the vehicle successfully around the U-turn. If that should happen, the car will still have to stop immediately after crossing the U-turn for replacing the punctured tire. Aryan would use his bow and poison-soaked arrows to kill the minister, right there. Aryan was a trained archer - he rarely missed his target.

He was ready for action – he would strike the heart of the heartless minister, today. The minister had killed his father and hence he will have to pay for it with his life.

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The Archers Revenge Aryan was suddenly distracted by the rotating lights of an Ambassador car. Why do some politicians still use Ambassador cars – the question was beyond him. Why they flashed the rotating lights and blared the siren on their car, was also beyond him. These things were not going to be of much use in Indian roads and traffic. It would only help potential killers, like him, to easily identify the car.

Fortunately, the car was coming alone - without any escort vehicles. There was another car about fifteen meters in front of the minister's car, but that was a tourist car. Once it passed, he quickly pushed one end of the cluster of nails to the middle of the road while the other end still remained in the corner. He was sure that at least one of the car tires would roll over it.

Not one, but both the tires on the driver's side (right side) rolled over his nails and were punctured instantly. While the tires were deflating, the car briefly got out of control and was wobbling on both sides. Somehow, the driver managed to steer the car around the U-turn and stopped it 15 meters ahead of the U-turn.

Aryan quickly ran to the other side of the mountainous patch in between the U-turn – through plants, mud and trees – and noticed the car stop a few meters ahead of him. The car didn't topple over the mountain, as he had hoped.

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The Archers Revenge Time for Plan B – he removed his bow from his shoulder and took out an arrow from the pouch tied on his back. The car was clearly visible to him below and his location gave him the perfect opportunity to strike from close range. He ducked behind the mud and grass to escape their notice.

Aryan wasted no time getting into striking position with his bow and arrow.

But the minister had to step out of the car, for him to strike.

The driver got out first. He discovered that two wheels were punctured and informed someone inside. The security guards got down, opened the car's Dicky and brought out spare wheels. They had two spare wheels! Heck, they were well prepared for eventualities.

He waited in bated breath for the Minister to get down while the tire was being changed. All his planning and efforts over the last six months came down to this very moment. But it seemed he was out of luck today - the minister did not come out.

After the tires had been replaced, the guard knocked the window on the back door of the car. The window glass came down and he spoke something to the Minister, seated inside. At last, the car door opened and the Minister – in his white shirt and white dhoti – came out to have a look at the tires. Aryan stretched his bow and tightened his grip on the arrow. He was waiting for the minister to turn towards him. Aryan probably had only one chance and the arrow had to pierce through the Minister's heart in the first attempt.

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The Archers Revenge

After inspecting the wheels, the Minister turned to face the guards. This was the moment Aryan was waiting for. The Minister's heart was in his line-of-sight. He tightened his grip. But before Aryan could release his arrow, the minister was hit on his shoulder by another arrow.

Aryan's eyes widened and he froze for a moment.

He looked down to check if he had accidentally released his arrow. No, his arrow was firmly in his hands. Then whose arrow was that? Everyone near the car panicked. Before Aryan could recover from his shock, the minister quickly sneaked into his car, removed the arrow, and threw it out of the car's window. The security guards took their guns out and positioned themselves behind the car. They started shooting in the direction from where the arrow was launched, which was about 15 to 20 meters ahead of Aryan's position, on the mountainous patch above the road.

Aryan heard a loud cry. Probably, someone was hit by a bullet. Who could it be? Whoever it was, he had to save them. He now fired his arrow on one of the security guards, which hit the guard's hands. The guard dropped his gun, removed the arrow from his hands with great effort and winced in pain. Having realized that there were more archers, possibly all around them, the guards and the driver got into the car and sped away.

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The Archers Revenge Aryan raced toward the place from where the other arrow was shot and found someone - dressed in a black shirt and black jeans – lying on the ground. Was the person all right? Was he already dead? Aryan turned him around to see. It was not a guy but a girl.

Author: Destination Infinity Destination Infinity is the pen-name of Rajesh K, who is a professional blogger living in Chennai, India. When he was young, he came across a tag-line contest for Indian Tourism. 'Destination Infinity' was his creation for that contest, but unfortunately (or fortunately) 'Incredible India' won it. He became very angry with the Government for rejecting his intellectually-superior tag-line and decided to make it famous, himself. All these futile efforts like blogging and writing books is a result of that youthful streak in him that refuses to die!

Sustainable-Living is his latest mantra, but it is not in his style to stick to one passion. You can catch all his misadventures at his personal blog: www.destinationinfinity.org

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THE ROSE BUSH

THE ROSE BUSH Priyanka Lal

Amazon Chapter 3 That evening seated at the window seat of my family room on the first floor I glimpsed two of the hottest boys from our college, standing outside, near the tea stall directly opposite my house, on the other side of the road.

I double checked to make sure they were the popular ones for whose attention all the girls were openly and secretly vying. I knew of them and their demand among girls, courtesy my friend Nilanjana.

I didn’t know their names, but what the hell! “All handsome hunks belonged to any and every pretty girl,” I mumbled my golden rule in the empty room. I was not going to allow my chance of catching their eyes slip away.

Heck! this was my turf. I needed to let them know they were welcome here. Question was, how?

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THE ROSE BUSH For want of a better idea I walked out of my house, once on the road I exercised extreme caution before crossing to the other side allowing every vehicle in the vicinity to pass, making sure that they saw me there.

Feigning oblivion to their presence, I crossed to the opposite side of the road and entered Mrs. Chandra’s house. I knew very well she will not be present at this hour, it was time for her daily temple visit.

In a few minutes I left Mrs. Chandra’s house, her maid came out to see me off. I walked up to the tea stall, paused, turned and hollered to the maid, “Nirmala, make sure Chandra aunty knows Kadambari had come. Aunty always complains I never come to spend time with her.” This was all done to affirm the ‘hot properties’ would at least know my name and be duly informed that I was in the greatest demand in this area.

Exercising utmost care, allowing free passage of road to four cows and a sole cyclist I crossed to the other side of the road to my house. I glanced around to make sure they were still there and had heard every bit of the announcement. Even if they were paying threadbare attention they could not have missed me and my exhibition.

I returned to my family room, ten minutes later as I took my place at the window seat they were nowhere to be seen.

Severe depression inundated me. The whole show had been in vain. They had not been there for me, nor did they care for another glimpse.

I went to my room to study.

An hour later, I heard the phone ring.

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THE ROSE BUSH My friends and I had an understanding that we will not call each other at home as it interferes with studies, so I did not bother to answer.

As the ringing stopped, I heard my father’s slightly slurred speech. An effect of medicines which rendered him woozy. I blocked the voice and sunk deeper into the realms of valence shells and electrons rotating around them.

“Ambar, call for you.” My father summoned. It was the nickname my parents used for me.

Once upon a time his voice used to boom, today it was an effort where he needed to draw from all his reso1urces of energy and some more. Mostly his voice would drag and turn into a mumble.

Call for me, curious I went to the sitting room and asked, “Who is it?”

“Take the call.” He was irritated, as usual. Whenever we spoke to him and he thought the conversation was unnecessary we would know from his demeanor. Now it included a grave note. He handed me the receiver but did not leave the room.

I put the receiver to my ears and spoke into the mouthpiece, “Hello!” I was curious to find out who was on the other side of the line.

The entire ecosystem attempted telling me I should be mind ful, everything was going to change.

The room had suddenly fallen into darkness as the power went out.

It should have been an omen but I don’t believe in such things.

“Hello Kadambari this is Mitra Sir from the college finance department.” The voice on the other end said.

“Ah, good evening sir.” I greeted him, curious.

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THE ROSE BUSH “Yeah, Kadambari I was going through the accounts and there is some error in the ledger so we are calling students individually. Did you pay your second semester fees?” He asked in his lazy voice.

“No Sir, I had spoken to Veny sir regarding payment breakup, and had informed him I will only be making the payment in the month of October. He had approved the payment plan. Is there any problem sir?” I explained, but disquiet had crept over curiosity.

“No, no Veny sir is right here, I’ll just sort it with him.” Mitra sir reassured.

“Okay sir. If any other clarification is needed tomorrow I can come over to your office.”

I offered I needed to handle the matter. My parents will not be able to arrange finance so quickly.

“Ah its absolutely fine.” He said evenly. “Will you be coming to college tomorrow?” he queried.

“Yes sir, I have regular classes.” Of course! When I was paying that mammoth fees inspite of so many financial difficulties you betcha ass I was coming to each and every scheduled class and some extra.

“Will that be all sir, or did you have any more queries?” I wanted to get back to my room, I still could sense my father standing in the dark room, as no one had bothered to light a candle where it was not necessary. We seldom occupied this room as no one in the house much enjoyed each other’s company. My father had bothered to stay, I guessed because he wanted me to explain the call.

“Just one. Errr did you speak to Nikunj today?” Mitra sir asked.

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THE ROSE BUSH I knew teachers knew about this incident but had not expected the news to have reached the finance office.

I did not give it much thought though, as my father waiting beside me was a bigger concern to me. I felt so uncomfortable in his presence that I did not find Mitra sir’s question, odd. It might be that the inconspicuous manner in which he asked the question that it did not strike any chord.

“Yes, I did.” I replied, matter of fact.

“Did you say anything to him? Did he tell you something about going anywhere?” With each word his query was getting earnest.

My father’s presence did not even allow my brain to process these questions.

“Sir he did not tell me anything nor did I say anything to him. As it is that boy is crazy and not worth wasting time over.” I answered not thinking twice about the matter.

The whole incident had already taken a back seat in my thoughts.

“Why, did anything happen?” Politeness required me to pretend some sort of interest in the conversation. I did not expect an answer.

“No, like you said he is crazy and not worth wasting time over. You are in college tomorrow right?” Even he seemed eager to disconnect the call now.

“Yes sir.” I replied guessing the conversation was at its tail end.

“I will speak to you then.” he said “Ok sir. Good evening Sir.” I signed off.

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THE ROSE BUSH “Yeah.” He signed off.

I put down the receiver and turned to go back to my room. I waited silently for the enquiry.

“Who was it?” Father asked.

“Mitra sir, from college.”

“Who is he?” the voice was low lacking strength.

“He is the accounts in charge.” I continued walking towards my room.

“What did he want?” He seemed to draw on the breath from deep within to come up with audible questions.

“He was asking for the second semester fees installment.” Though I sounded nonchalant I felt uneasy, I wanted these questions to stop.

“What about it?” The voice teetered.

“Nothing to worry, I told him I had sought permission to make payments till October. We have to pay then.” I reassured.

“What about the crazy boy?” Again the deeply drawn breath.

“Don’t know anything about him.” I replied as I crossed the threshold to sanctuary of my room.

In a hurry to get away from my father’s enquiries and back to my studies I didn’t think about the phone conversation again.

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THE ROSE BUSH I took it so upfront and at word value I did not even recall that Mr. Mitra was not just accounts in charge he was also the head of boys’ hostel.

The same hostel that Nikunj lived in, or as I later found out, that day Nikunj had run away from.

Author: Priyanka Lal Priyanka Lal hails from Ranchi, Jharkahnd. She completed her Master in Life Science from Mount Carmel College, Bangalore in 2010. She is settled in Bangalore and worked as a teacher in one of the schools. She is in love with words and writing hours are the best time of her life. Writing brings out the best in her. When she has a pen in her hand she is in her element.

Not a trained dancer, she enjoys dancing; she cooks because she loves food, reading is her passion and her favourites are the classics. She draws inspiration from authors like Jane Austen, Danielle Steele, Munshi Premchand, Saratchand Chattopadhyay and many such stimulating writers. An incessant talker she loves to be surrounded by friends.

Bollywood addict, she also enjoys the English sitcoms.

She has learnt a lot from the books she has read ever since she was a kid and she wants to give back to the world of books and words. She wants to keep writing until words can continue weaving magic. ‘The Rose Bush’ is her first step in that journey.

Mother of one, her husband is her strongest support and her mom her muse.

To get in touch: priyanka.lal21@outlook.com

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HIDDEN HUSBAND

HIDDEN HUSBAND Shikha Khanduja Kaul

Amazon Flipkart Prologue It had become a perfunctory fashion for me to stretch the hours at office. Days seemed too ponderous to spend. The density of every moment was suppressing my emotional quotient. Keeping busy at work appeared to be the only option to divert myself from the redundant vicissitudes in life.

It was a chilly evening in the month of January. Winters in this part of the country had always been too cold to acquiesce. As usual, I stayed late in the office to keep myself occupied with work. It helped me keep my mind away from superfluous thoughts. I locked the drawer at my work station, picked up my purse and laptop and moved towards the nearest lift. I was on the eighth floor of our building and could see the splendid city radiant with lights and a zillion cars on the roads. Still the fog managed to block the view and make its presence felt. I took the lift and got off at the basement. I got into my car and comforted myself inside. I loved my car. At least its heart and soul belonged to me and

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HIDDEN HUSBAND I could proudly flaunt it without HIDING. My lovely little red i10 gave me the affiliation I longed for at that point in time.

The seats were frigid and I put on the heater pronto. I kept rubbing my hands before I could manage to get a grip on the steering wheel. Even a coat, a cardigan and a fichu could not give me the desired warmth. Possibly, at that moment, his touch would have done wonders for me. With a deep sigh, I changed the gear and drove towards the exit. As most of the staff had already left, it was easy for me to leave the premises without facing traffic. The only hurdle at that hour was the cumbrous fog which was getting heavier with every passing minute.

While I was driving, my heart knew that I still did not want to go back home to greet the same faces, confront the same inquisitive eyes and my mom’s classic attitude that all would be well soon. So, I decided to spend some time alone and rejuvenate my senses. *** Very few things can please a woman more than shopping; so I went to a nearby shopping mall.

Watching so many people around with different faces, colours, languages, tones, builds, genders, classes, sizes and emotions, helped me compose myself a bit, assuming that everyone on the earth had something to HIDE and something to share.....and I was not alone.

How could God design millions of new faces each day, keeping in mind the resemblance to the progenitor, who in turn was His genesis?

I was still far more privileged than the poor beggar with no hands, sitting outside the mall. I thanked God for another healthy day. So what if my life was full of secrets and mysteries that surrounded me like a spider’s web? I had fabricated the complexities myself and still found myself trapped in my own creation. I hated the disguised self and an unknown me whom I had kind of lost.

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HIDDEN HUSBAND After passing through the security at the gate, I walked to my favourite book store. I had always loved thrillers and fiction, and went to find my pick for the day. Just as I stepped back a little, someone hit my back, possibly by mistake, and all the books in my hand dropped to the floor within a second. He instantly said ‘Sorry’ twice, bent to help me with the books and we banged each other on the head. A ‘Sorry’ again from both sides with our hands on our heads.

As we stood up, he screamed with his mouth wide open – ‘Aisha!’

I looked at him and struggled to recognise. It took me a couple of seconds to recall.

‘Oh My God... Sameer! I can’t believe my eyes.’

Sameer Sachdeva was an old friend from school, rather only a class-mate and never really a friend.

We were meeting after almost ten years or maybe more. All the old memories from school days traversed my mind within a matter of seconds. He had been very skinny during those days and the topper of our class almost every year. I had joined our school in standard fourth and he was there since his kindergarten. I remembered him as a very studious type of a guy who never really spoke to girls in school. His hair was always oiled, his only friends were books and more books; and I had hardly had any interaction with him during all those years.

But one thing which everyone in our batch knew, rather discovered in around standard ninth, was that he had a huge crush on me. Really! I was standing in front of a guy who was once madly in love with me. I knew this only through some of our common friends back then. He had never himself had the courage to speak to me about his feelings. Some of our teachers had also figured that out. There was one such instance I could recall when our English teacher threw a chalk piece towards him and warned – ‘Sameer, come back to class!’ Yes, he was busy observing me and a burst of laughter erupted from everyone else in the class. From total silence to strange rumbles, I

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HIDDEN HUSBAND could remember one of the most embarrassing moments of my school. Sure, it would have been more pestiferous for him. We were the only subject of gossip for all classmates that day.

Anyway, his sentiments remained only in his head and he kept them suppressed. So, he actually never bothered me like some other Devdas type of lovers I had encountered in school and college.

I remembered him only as a reticent lover. If I had any feelings for him, I would definitely have had the courage to ask him out. But for me, he was just another classmate and nothing more.

But now, he looked different. He had gained some weight which perfectly suited his frame and he genuinely looked very smart. Standing tall, he had become fairer, at least in my imagination. He had never been dark though. Maybe it was the first time I was actually noticing him. He was holding one of the most expensive mobile phones, wearing a classy watch and his body language clearly reflected his affluent life.

‘So, how are things?’ I asked.

‘Good. And what about you?’

‘Great! Long time... I think we have not seen each other after passing out from school’ I expressed.

‘Yaaa...’ maybe he was trying to find words to say something after so long, just like me.

He had chosen his set of books too so we moved towards the billing counter together. I could smell an amazing deodorant. Sure he had some good choices; I smiled thinking about myself as one of them.

Having paid for our purchases, we stepped out of the store. Thinking he might still be the same shy guy as always, I initiated the natter.

‘So, where have you been all these years?’ I asked.

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HIDDEN HUSBAND ‘After school, I did my Engineering from IIT Kanpur and have been working and living in London since then. I am here on a vacation for a month to meet my parents. Arrived just a week back.’

IIT Kanpur... Yes, I reminisced then, our school gang had told me about his achievement long back.

‘Wow, so who all are there in your family in London?’ Just a way to ask if he was married.

‘No one. I live alone. And what about you? Working or...?’

‘Yes. I work with an MNC in Gurgaon.’

‘Great! ...Coffee...?’ he asked.

‘Sure!’ I had all the time in the world to spend outside home.

I didn’t know what felt so good about being with this new friend, maybe it was an easy way to distract myself from my prevalent concealment or maybe I was genuinely looking for a friend who would understand me; at least one more person in this world with whom I could share my eclipsed picture.

We chose a corner at the coffee shop and settled ourselves. I quickly picked up the menu card without looking at his face to avert any eye contact. It’s easy to acknowledge but difficult to forget the past. What if he still thought about me? He didn’t seem to have a wife nor was I sure if he was in a relationship with a woman or not. I wanted to comprehend what was going on in his mind at that moment. He did not make any eye contact; he was possibly more nervous than me. I would have felt the same way if I had stumbled upon the first love of my life. At least I thought I was the first for him, was never really sure of that.

We ordered cappuccino and some fries. It took a while before we could speak to each other.

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HIDDEN HUSBAND ‘So you live with your parents or....?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ ‘Still in Sector 15?’ he asked with certitude.

Oh, he remembered where I stayed!

‘Yes’, I reciprocated with a smile.

‘So are you still single?’ he asked the most brutal question of my life. The answer to which I always knew but could never confess. As if I was sitting on the hot seat playing Kaun Banega Crorepati, knowing the answer so well but still chose to settle with the wrong option, because I didn’t intend the world to know! I was speculating how many crores I had lost there; being the only person to lose the game deliberately.

I tried to escape the question with another question. ‘What do you do in London?’

The expression on his face was very obvious: Had he asked something he was not supposed to?

‘I work with BBC.’ ‘Really? But I don’t think I have ever seen you on the channel.’ I said with hilarity.

He smiled too and said, ’Nothing to do with journalism. I manage the IT Division.’

‘Hmm... Good. That suits you. Anyway, I never even heard you talking during school days so can’t imagine you as a journalist.’

‘You didn’t answer my last question.’ He was back on that track.

I remembered him asking ‘Are you still single?’ Maybe he meant single as in ‘not in a relationship’, and not in the sense of marriage. He already knew I stayed with my parents. So I safely said, ‘Yes,

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HIDDEN HUSBAND I am single.’ Deep inside I knew I was the biggest liar on the planet and would be tried in the Court of God someday for this sin.

His prompt smile made me realise that he still felt something for me which made me feel a little awkward. Why on earth did I agree to have coffee with him? Hello Aisha, what’s wrong with you?

It’s just coffee. He is harmless. Harmless? Did I use that word in my mind? Why was I imagining things? This poor soul was too shy to even utter a word and my mind had already crossed all levels of wild imagination on his behalf.

He interrupted my thought process and said, ‘I shall be here for another three weeks.’

Was he asking me to meet him again?

‘Here comes our coffee...’ he continued.

We took a few sips and then smiled at each other again. Why were we smiling so much? Maybe we were just waiting for that moment to pass by as quickly as possible. Or maybe not.

‘So, are you still in touch with any of our school friends?’ he asked.

‘Just Piyali, if you remember her. And a few more through Facebook. I don’t think I am connected with you on any social network. Are you still in contact with anyone from school?’ I inquired.

‘Yes some of them who stay close to my house here in Gurgaon; Raman, Devanshu, Sanchit, Kangna, Sonali, however, even with them, the interaction is just once in a while.’

‘And your family?’ I asked, trying to gauge more about his personal life.

‘Just mom and dad. My elder brother works in Bangalore and he is married.’

‘And you?’

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HIDDEN HUSBAND ‘I am still single.’ He said.

We finished our coffee and fries and he paid the bill. Obviously, as a man, he was supposed to offer to pay on our first meeting. Even in my mind, I thought of it as a first meeting as if I was so sure that we would meet again.

We were about to leave when he asked, ‘Can we catch up for lunch tomorrow if it is OK with you?’

Meet him again? Alarming, betrayal, immoral; all sorts of filthy words came to my mind.

Snapping his fingers in front of my face, he inquired again, ‘Helloooo....?’ concluding his remark with an extended ‘o’.

I went ahead and said, ‘OK’.

I was accustomed to leading a mysterious life, so the addition of yet another aspect would hardly make any difference.

‘Where is your office? I shall pick you up at around 1 pm tomorrow’, he said.

I gave him the directions without any second thought and we exchanged our mobile numbers.

‘See you tomorrow. Bye!’ I said and departed. *** I reached home at around 9 pm which was one and a half hours later than my usual return on any normal day. Still no one catechized about my whereabouts. My parents had become quite ignorant towards me as they believed that I wasn’t bothered about them and their concerns. Although my

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HIDDEN HUSBAND subconscious mind knew that it was so perjured. They meant so much to me and I blamed myself every day for being the only reason for their anguish.

I went straight to my bedroom to freshen up, then walked into the kitchen, took my plate full of food and went straight back to my bedroom again. There was no interaction whatsoever with my parents who were busy with their daily soaps on television.

I put on the television in my room and continued with my dinner. I didn’t even bother to change channels as my mind was still busy recollecting the day’s events.

After finishing off with the rajma and rice in around twenty minutes, I picked up my phone which was getting charged at one of the corners of the room. I chose speed dial four and it connected me to Piyali’s number. I relaxed on the bed waiting for her to pick up the call.

Piyali Rawat was my friend from school since standard fourth. She was my pal, my buddy, my mentor, my godmother, my piggy bank of secrets and my tranquillizer. She was about to get married in the next few months and the fear of losing a friend was haunting me every day. ‘Losing a friend’ as she would be moving to Canada after her wedding and subsequently we might not be able to stay connected the way we had been all these years. It would be a bizarre day if we did not communicate daily or exchange messages. Our WhatsApp would blink almost every hour with a message from the other, just to be able to spend maximum time interacting with each other before she left.

‘Hi dumbo, where were you? I tried calling you so many times.’ I heard her voice from the other side.

‘Guess who I met today?’

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HIDDEN HUSBAND ‘Raghav?’ she asked.

‘No, stupid. Can’t you think of anyone else?’ Though the significance of that name in my life could not be refuted.

‘His mother?’ she asked in a hilarious tone.

‘You are good for nothing! You can’t even imagine this person in your wildest dreams. So let me unveil the mystery. Sameer Sachdeva.’

After a pause, she shouted, ’What? Sameer Sachdeva? From our school? The guy with the oily hair?’

‘Yes.’ I was hoping to hear something more from her about this sudden entrant; however her statement ended there itself.

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘At the mall. I had gone shopping.’

‘So how was the encounter? I can recall that this guy had an inclination towards you once’. So she remembered that part too.

‘It was fine. Wasn’t too long. I am meeting him again tomorrow for lunch.’

‘What? Come again?’

‘Yes, he is taking me out for lunch. What makes you so surprised?’

‘Is he married?’

‘Nope.’

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HIDDEN HUSBAND ‘Do you know what you are doing, Aisha?’

‘What?’

‘Does he know that you are...?’

‘Will you please stop? I am really fed up of all your daily lectures. I have my own life and can take my own decisions sometimes’, I shouted at her.

Piyali had seen all the shades to my nature so she kept quiet. I was sure she was wondering whether it was a right decision for me to accept his invitation.

We both waited for each other to say something when she broke the silence, ‘Be careful and don’t get carried away.’

‘Hmm... Good night’ I wished her.

‘Bye. Shall call you tomorrow.’ She hung up the phone.

I switched off the lights in the room and dimmed the lamp beside the bed. It was only around 10 pm and too early for me to hit the bed. However, it was an unusual day with a strange anomaly after a long time. I went into a kind of flash-back mode trying to recollect the segments of my life.

It had not been easy for me to handle the past few years. Life had been a continuous struggle and I was still living through the catastrophe.

Author: Shikha Khanduja Kaul Shikha Khanduja Kaul is an Indian author who was born in Amritsar, Punjab. Her family moved to Gurgaon in 1992 and she has seen the city grow from a small town to being the Millennium City of India. She completed her schooling from Gurgaon and later Graduated with Honours in

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HIDDEN HUSBAND Physics from Sri Venkateswara College, Delhi University. She holds a Post Graduate Diploma in Business Administration in HR from Symbiosis Center for Distance Learning.

She found her passion for writing not too long ago. Her debut fiction novel is a love-story with a touch of realities prevailing in Indian society that form the foundation of the biases against women for centuries. She hopes to come up with at least one novel every year for as many years as she can. With the plethora of ideas that the author in her is eager to offer, she wishes her readers ‘Happy Reading’.

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73

I don’t wear SunScreen

I don’t wear SunScreen Kavipriya

Amazon Flipkart Priyanka…

Jan 1st 2014 “Priyanka... Priyanka! Are you alright?” Laksha whispered to the tired girl hugging her own legs.

“Hmm, ” she answered, still not lifting her head from her lap.

The whole place was quiet, creepy, and dark. There were no lights, and Laksha tried her best to pay attention to every strange noise she heard.

“Chissz” she heard a sound. Swiftly she turned at the 8 directions she knew. To her horror, she noticed a small yellowish flame. She narrowed her thoughts, and furrowed. Her heart beat picked speed, and she figured the outline of a man wrapped in a dirty patched sheet of cloth that swirled him. He was trying to light his cigarette, and she stood there calculating her next step.

She sat there looking at the guy, checking for any change in his behavior. The darkness added fuel to her anxiety, and she saw him take lethargic puffs. In one such puff, she saw the glow of the cigarette turn towards her, and she knew he was looking at her.

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I don’t wear SunScreen “Did he see us?” she said softly to Priyanka, who still didn’t move.

In the next puff, she had a clearer vision of the man. He was sitting against the wall in a squat, balanced on his toes.

The cigarette burned away, and she figured out that he was trying to figure why two girls were sitting on the steps of the railway station in the middle of the night. This is one terrible New Year, she thought. The whole place was quiet and deserted, like it is on most New Year celebrations.

“You are not allowed to call this number,” said the cell phones from which she tried calling their folks. The damn signal, she thought and frowned while she rested her cheeks on her left palm. She heard the man moving and straightened up in alarm. He moved a few steps away from his seat and she said “Phew,” but just then she saw three more men come up from behind, approaching her, talking quietly to each other.

“Priyanka! Get up, we are in trouble, we have to run,” she shook the drunk girl hard. She finally pulled her up and they took the stairs, rushing to the other corner. “Let's go back to the railway station,” Laksha said, panting. “No, we can’t, no one is there, and nobody will help us,” Priyanka told.

They rushed to the other end of the station and got out into a narrow lane. Priyanka sat down near a small hut, and bumped her head on the door.

Laksha kept an eye on the lane entrance to see if they were followed. They were, she realized, as the men appeared in the distance. “Priyanka, they have come back,” she cried, and knocked frantically on the door.

An old man opened it sleepily and asked “What are you girls doing here?”

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I don’t wear SunScreen “Help! Some men...” Laksha raised her hands towards the lane. “You two get in, I will talk,” he said immediately and moved towards the men.

He came back a few minutes later. “Water?” he asked, and took out two cups. It was then that Laksha noticed three small little girls sleeping in a corner.

“They are my granddaughters,” he said and gave them an old bedspread. “Sorry, that’s all I have,” he said.

“I see God in your form,” Laksha joined her hands in a “Namaste” and bowed. When she looked up, she saw the old man looking at her, overwhelmed. *** “Coz am a freak... The way you...” the alarm belted out Enrique Iglesias, and Laksha woke up with a start.

The same dream is occurring every night for more than a year now, she thought.

“You’re awake? Good! So all set to go to your old school?” asked her mom. “Yeah, it’s been 6 years and I have awesome memories,” she said, stretching.

“I will leave early and go to the church near the school first,” she said and got her towel for a shower.

As the church bell rang, she turned back and saw a girl rushing in on her cycle. With that, Laksha went back to her memories. ***

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I don’t wear SunScreen

Author: Kavipriya Kavipriya Moorthy is a Chennai based business analyst and a guest writer. A thorough ambivert and a pampered southpaw, she possesses a flair for carving creative ideas. She runs a blog that talks about professional ethics: http://yoursprofessionally.com, and scribbles her prancing thoughts at https://preethinakshatra.wordpress.com. She also writes for various blogs, e-magazines and has contributed to anthologies titled “Cupid Calls” and “Melody of Life”. When at leisure, she loves to drive alone, ending up at Amethyst and other relaxed coffee shops in Chennai to rejuvenate herself. She marks her debut with the novel “I don’t wear Sunscreen”.

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77

Among the stars

Among the stars Dhasa Sathyan

Flipkart Amazon Mike rushed into the toilet and closed the door behind him hurriedly. His hands were shaking. He leaned on the commode, retching. The images flashed in front of his eyes‌ the splatter of blood and grey matter painting the walls, the dismembered arms and legs strewn on the carpet that had probably been dusted just the night before. He felt the hot bile rising again and unable to control, he heaved. He missed the pot and the puke hit the floor. His stomach hurt. As he gasped for breath, he felt his head spin. The blood dribbled on the pool of vomit on the floor. He removed his shirt, drenched in sweat and blood and tied it around his head.

He listened through the door. The din still continued intermittently. There would be an occasional scream, always stifled midway. He sat waiting for the madness to end. He still heard the sound they made as they went mad. The half growl and half scream that no string of words could explain on paper.

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Among the stars

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh.....Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh....

Mike had no idea how it had started. The day had started just like any other at the One Spot Solutions Inc. But things had gone terribly astray midway. He had come in at 9 P.M as always and sat in front of his computer for another day of coding that had become his way of winning bread for the past seven years.

*** Mike sat looking at the lines flowing continuously on his screen as he tapped away at the keyboard.

He had fashioned himself into thinking he was the programmer in Zion like in the film Matrix. But those days were gone. A sense of monotony had set in on him. It was not just him. He had come into the company with a couple of his college friends and he had seen how their outlook had changed, not unlike his, in the past years. The acronyms and abbreviations had gotten easier but the monotony had set in making it harder to push on.

Adam would always make fun of it, saying what it would have been if they had all been working on a ship at a job similar to this.

“There would have been mutiny! We would have gone mad with nowhere to go. Gone atavistic and start a rebel taking our cutlasses like the old pirates! We would have gone medieval on those bastard’s asses!”

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Among the stars They all would laugh merrily as they sipped their tea during break. The accent that Adam used would always make at least one of the guys to choke on his drink and make hot tea come out his nose.

Billie Joe continued to sing in mike’s ears, singing how he walks alone on the boulevard of broken dreams. Mike didn’t walk a lonely road. Though he did feel the road he treads too was on the boulevard of broken dreams. Life has that effect on you when you are a man of 30 with an average job living at a rented studio apartment with a wife whom you see every day as you leave for work at night as she would return tired from her day’s work or sleeping peacefully as you silently entered the house at break of dawn having just a few more hours for her to wake up, see you in a stupor and go to work.

Life goes on at a slow pace with the count of number of weekends per year. It’s no walk in the park when, as a couple, you struggle to better the standards of life for the newcomer in the family. When the baby comes, Wendy would no longer be able to walk the road with Mike and little Abby would make sure that the monthly expenditure would shoot a two hundred per cent.

Mike’s glimpses of peace would be the last hour of work when he could cheat his mind into thinking he can rest after reaching home and the hour before he starts to work when he can again fool himself into thinking he can escape “home” in an hour. The peace would always dissipate once the truth sets in.

THERE IS NO ESCAPE.

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Among the stars

Still life goes on. And Mike was at his desk every “day” by 9 P.M. Today it was John who had chimed in to announce the break time. And they had all left for their well-deserved break with a happy sigh. There had been nothing unusual then. After quarter of an hour Adam had bolted up cursing, that he had forgotten to send out an email and rushed to the office as they sat laughing.

Adam had been sitting still as they entered and scattered off towards their seats. It was after half an hour that Mike felt there really was something wrong. Adam hadn’t moved from his seat and had been sitting like a statue. There was something really odd about the way he sat hunched, looking intently at the screen. Mike walked over to Adam, chuckling.

“You know, you are not allowed to watch porn at office,” he joked laying his hand on the shoulder.

There was no response but he felt the slight tremor as if Adam was growling deep in his throat.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh...

Suddenly Adam had a death grip around Mike’s neck, strangling him. Mike couldn't understand what was happening. In a flash he was pushed on the table and Adam was bearing down on him with all his might.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh.....

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Among the stars Mike swung his knee hard against his attacker’s crotch. Adam’s eyes watered with the impact, but the hands did not loosen their grip. It tightened. Mike started to see bright spots, his vision was spinning in front of his eyes. He groped his hands on the table trying to get his hands on anything to help him break the hold of the mad man. His ears started to ring.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh......

His hands wrapped around something small. A pen. Well, that ought to do it. He brought it, without a conscience swinging towards Adam’s eyes. But Adam severed at the last minute and the pen sunk into the soft flesh at the base of his neck, digging deep into his shoulder muscles. With a scream he let his clasp on Mike’s neck to pluck out the pen that was now half buried in his shoulder.

Mike was still disoriented. His ears were ringing and the bright spots swam in front of his eyes.

But he knew it was his last chance to escape from the mad man. He turned around to make a run for it. That’s when he realized the ringing had not been entirely in his head.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh...

People were climbing over their cubicles and taking others by surprise. He watched in horror as John, strangling Nancy from behind, bit a clear chunk off her neck as she crumpled in his arms.

Mike started running as he heard a spurting sound and the pen that had been resting on Adam’s shoulders flew from behind him and hit the pillar in front of him.

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Among the stars He started to dart away as Adam bodily wrestled him down from behind. He hit his head on the floor. His vision blackened. He moaned as he felt a warm trickle of blood ooze across the nape of his neck. He opened his eyes knowing if he didn't keep them open he might sleep forever.

Horror struck him as he saw the carpet. Wet, with a pool of blood that was not his own. A dismembered arm lay across the cabin beside. A man was sitting on a writhing body, chewing the other hand off it. He felt the weight of Adam as he sat on him. The man across the cabin looked up at Mike.

His eyes were bloodshot. They were as feral as that of a caged, crazed animal that rattled the cage it was locked in. There was insanity in the way he stared at Mike as he ripped the muscles of the arm of the man who had gone unconscious by now. But there was also a glint of pain in it as if his soul were trying to tell him something. That it was trapped inside an animal that had gone on a killing spree and that it was no way responsible for it. In fact, it was sorry for what its bearer was doing.

Mike saw all this in the few seconds that Adam took to scuttle over him. Overcome by a sudden dose of adrenaline, probably the shot that was his body’s last chance at saving itself from becoming the meal for the crazed “friends” of his. He pushed out from below and threw Adam bodily against the pillar.

He had literally run for his life, without taking a glance at the macabre killings that flew by in a blur around him. He saw, from the corner of his eyes, that the way out was blocked by more of the

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Among the stars crazed maniacs and instead ran towards the restroom that seemed the most deserted area at the moment. He had rushed in and bolted himself in.

*** Mike sat on the bathroom floor. The stench from the vomit made him gag but there was no way he was getting out of there. He had to stay silent. He cannot risk his life. He cried listening to the sounds of the mad men that prowled the office floor.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh...

That’s when he heard the shuffle of feet outside the door. He knew it then. There, in a room filled with feces and stench from his own vomit, blood and sweat, he was going to die. A pathetic end to a pathetic life. His wife’s sleeping face swam in front of his eyes. The face of his unborn child, Abby, came in front of his eyes.

“I am sorry Abby. Am sorry Wendy,” he sobbed as the cheap PVC door was thrown off its hinges and Adam… No… the thing in Adam’s body pounced into the small cubicle. It slipped a little on the vomit before it balanced itself again. Mike couldn’t contain his laughter.

“There I laughed at death’s face” he thought as the thing pounced on him.

***

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Among the stars “You seriously want me to believe that?” Sanjay asked skeptically over the brim of his coffee mug as he took a sip of the hot Cappuccino, “no offence my friend but, I would like to mention a word here – CLICHE!”

Vikram sat across the table unperturbed, smiling.

“Some say its folklore. Others say it’s a story that was just spun for entertainment. But the place that they say it happened is still there. That’s where our onsite office is located. And oddly the history of that place is quite shady.”

Sanjay still couldn’t convince himself into believing something that looked so much like a rip off from a cheap zombie movie. “Whatever” he said as they both made their way back to their cubicle after the break.

“By the way, what exactly is supposed to have triggered them?” Sanjay asked, chuckling as he took his seat.

“One version is that it is the stress that got to them finally. Another version says there was an odd email that circulated and those who saw it went mad. Adam was the guy who saw it first and it started. Some say it’s both. We never will know for sure. Will we?” Vikram gave the final touch to his story with an ominous epilogue.

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Among the stars Sanjay got back to his work, lost in thought. Well, everyone has stress. If anyone had to lose their mind, Sanjay would be right on top of the list. He fitted every criterion for a man under stress. But you don’t see him screeching his head off and attacking people.

He started working on his coding. The lines flowed slowly as he typed in, his mind lost in thought.

Well, Sanjay was more like the guy Mike in the story. Now, he didn’t lose his mind, did he? He was sane till the last. Some guys have the ability to handle pressure, some don’t. There is no common scale. The notification for a new mail popped up on the right corner of the screen. He clicked the message. He couldn’t read the mail. He couldn’t understand even if tried to concentrate.

His mind was lost elsewhere.

It was ironical. Mike did get his “Escape Route” in the end. He escaped from the daily routine, the troubles of a wannabe. The troubles of a middle class man. Sanjay would have gladly swapped places with Mike. Sanjay started laughing. Life sure is ironical. He laughed. You grow jealous at a man who had a pathetic life and died in restroom, eaten by crazed zombies. He laughed. The story was a dumb one. He laughed. The sound of the maniacs? They were nowhere near intimidating. He laughed. He would have swapped places with anyone in the story. He laughed. It would have been a good “Escape Route”. He laughed at his own satire joke.

There was a pen right near him. Nothing would knock his rockers off enough to attack Vikram sitting right next to him. It was a dumb story. He laughed. He took the pen off the stand. What was the sound again?

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh…

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Among the stars

It would be damn funny to scare the shit out of Vikram as he brandished the knife in his face shrieking. He tried to make the noise again.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh…

That felt kind of nice. Why don’t we just stab him a little? Sanjay thought to himself.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh…

He held the pen high and swung it down, harder than he thought, towards Vikram’s neck just as Vikram turned around.

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh…

Yeeeeaaaarrggghhhhh…

Author: Dhasa Sathyan Dhasa Sathyan is the pseudonym under which the Chennai based Engineer and a writer Yamunai Thuraivan pens down his stories. He believes coffee and good books hold the key to our souls. He writes short stories and poems for several blogs and e-magazines including the online monthly Reflection. He connects with his readers through his social networks and pens his thoughts regularly in his blog, http://musestruckwordsmith.blogspot.in. He also has penned down many songs in his mother tongue for several short films. A movie buff and a wanderlust, he spends his leisure hours experimenting with his culinary and gardening skills or by going on long bike rides to explore new people and places. He marks his entry into the print media with his debut book “Among the Stars”.

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#IAm16ICanRape

#IAm16ICanRape Kirtida Gautam

Amazon WOMAN AS A TEMPTRESS Chapter- 9.1 Meghana Today I had two hearings at court. By the time I got out of the building, I was dead-tired. I wanted to go home and crash. But I had to go to the Rehabilitation Center with Revati for the second psychotherapy session with Aarush Kashyap. I didn’t have any energy left in me for the session. I called Revati and asked her if it was okay if I didn’t attend.

“I don’t feel confident that I will be able to handle the session by myself,” she said.

Was she not a psychotherapist?

“I can’t attend the session, you will have to handle it by yourself,” I said in a peevish tone.

She said, Fine, but, she didn’t sound fine.

Fine!

I called Aarush to inform him that I wouldn’t be present for the session. His reply was insistent.

“Why? You have to come. You don’t have an option.”

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#IAm16ICanRape I laughed at his tone. How could this kid assume authority over me? I was a lawyer with ten years of experience. I had worked with thousands of juveniles, but honestly, I never felt the kind of connection I felt with Aarush ever before.

“Okay, don’t worry,” I assured him. “I will be there.”

“Thanks! I appreciate this.” He hung up the phone. *** “I will record our conversation for case-study purposes. Do you mind?” Revati gives this disclaimer before starting the psychotherapy session with Aarush. He gives his consent.

Presently, Revati and I sit across from Aarush. He is 16 years old. Visualize the lead actor of the Iron Man movie series as a teenage boy, add dimples to one of his cheeks, and that is what Aarush looks like.

To break the ice, Revati tells Aarush that every time she sees him, she feels like singing: Chubby cheeks, dimpled chin, rosy lips, teeth within, Curly hair, very fair, eyes are blue, actually Aarush had honey brown eyes, lovely too Teachers pet, is that you? Yes, yes, yes!

I am sure Aarush has heard this often, too often, because he makes that face which suggests that he puts Revati in the No Brain People category because she uses this cliché. Later he tells me that the last person who had sung the same rhyme about his looks was Subhangi.

Aarush looks at Revati. He wants her to start the session and get it over with quickly. I have told Revati that I sense a few hidden skeletons every time I talk with Aarush about his earliest

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#IAm16ICanRape childhood. But I am a lawyer, not a psychotherapist, so I want to rely upon Revati’s opinion, because she is a psychotherapist. Revati has spoken with Aarush once before. But he kept talking about his Iron Man toys, computer games, cryptographs, his dogs Stark and late Zulu, and Sudoku puzzles.

Aarush has told Revati that he had once defeated his grandfather’s associate, Sharmaji, in chess when he was seven years old. His grandfather, Rudransh Kashyap had been ecstatic with his victory. Rudransh had thrown a party, not figuratively, but a real-real party to which one hundred and fifty guests had been invited. So everything in Aarush’s early life seems as happy and ga-ga as any Rajshri Productions film.

“My years of experience as a psychotherapist tells me that roses are NOT read and violets are NOT blue when it comes to Aarush,” Revati had told me after first session.

“Can we start?” Revati asks.

“Yes, we can. We could have started 300 seconds earlier rather than wasting time on establishing rapport,” Aarush says.

“Okay, Aarush. Tell me your first memory with your grandfather, Rudransh Kashyap,” Revati throws her first question at him.

“Have I not told you already, Revati?” There is a particular snappiness in Aarush’s reply, but Revati ignores that.

Revati is soon going to enter the fifth decade of her life. She is old school, and no matter how much she tries to assimilate how kids talk these days, she doesn’t feel okay when Aarush addresses her on a first-name basis. Her ears are used to hearing Madam or Revatiji. I can sense that she

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#IAm16ICanRape brushes aside those thoughts and focuses her concentration back on the conversation. “You have, my dear, but I am talking about your very early childhood,” she probes further.

“Very early, as in?” asks Aarush.

“As in, when you were two or three years of age.”

Aarush laughs heartily. His dimple is prominent now. I can see that Revati is fond of Aarush’s laughter just as I am. He looks like an angel. Looking at his face, neither Revati nor I can imagine how anyone could accuse him of…

“What’s funny?” asks Revati.

“Who remembers such old things? Meghana must have told you about my memory. I have limited RAM, so I keep clearing data. I don’t remember what happened last year and you ask me to tell you something that happened when I was two or three years old.”

Later, Revati tells me that ‘repression’ is one of the standard ego defense mechanisms. These days, I read a lot of psychology. This case keeps me up till late most nights. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember the last time I slept peacefully. But I try to bring my focus back to this session in spite of my sleep-deprived condition.

“Aarush, sometimes there are things in our minds. They operate on us at an unconscious level. If it was not important for us to know these details, I would not have asked, so please…” Revati thinks she needs to challenge Aarush intellectually if she wants him to continue paying attention to the conversation. Aarush’s tested IQ is 152 on the Stanford Binet Intelligence scale, putting him in the ‘Genius’ category of intellectual competence. Revati tries hard, too hard I think, to impress Aarush during these sessions.

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#IAm16ICanRape Aarush squints his eyes, Revati hopes…

“It is important, right?”

“Right,” “See, Revati, there is this thing that I have not told anybody because I thought stupid to talk about it,” Aarush begins with hesitation.

That’s it! I see that triumphant look on Revati’s face, the look of a psychotherapist whose curiosity about finding the real stuff is at its peak. Finally, after all her digging, she has hit the goldmine. I can observe from Revati’s expressions that she wants to shout, Keep talking!. Impatience at this stage could be fatal. She controls her impulse with difficulty. As a matter of fact, my own pulse is loud. I can hear it beating in my ears. I know Aarush is about to say something that will change my perception of Rudransh.

“Tell me about it.” Revati oozes compassion and empathy.

“It is embarrassing,” he says.

“Don’t worry.” Revati hides her enthusiastic expression with utmost willpower.

“I will tell on one condition ONLY,” Aarush says.

I want to shout, whatever be your condition, consider it granted, but speak! But I stop myself.

“What condition?” Revati asks.

“You will not judge Bob based on what I say.” He looks at his feet.

Aarush calls his grandfather Bob. At one point he used to call him Baba, but that later morphed into Bob.

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#IAm16ICanRape ‘Yes, this is it!’ Revati makes another loud expression. Revati looks proud of herself for being such a great psychotherapist. I can read her expression, and so can Aarush. I want Revati to be less obvious. She looks as happy as Clarice Starling might have looked if Hannibal had taken her hand and led her to the pit where Buffalo Bill had hidden Catherine. Yes, I know, even the novels I read these days are psychological thrillers.

Revati looks in my direction. I keep looking sideways. I don’t want Aarush to feel uncomfortable and end this conversation.

“I will not judge your grandfather,” Revati assures him.

“He is a great person. I am lucky to have him in my life. You have no f*…fishing idea how lucky I feel that I have him.”

Aarush never uses F words in front of ladies. I appreciate this about him.

“You have my word, I will not judge him,” she reassures him.

“When I was young, very young, qualifying your definition of young, two or four years maybe, Bob used to put me to bed. He was particular about it. He would not even let my Budhiya put me to bed. And as you know, my parents were in the USA, so… anyway, so he would put me to bed.”

Aarush pauses.

Aarush calls his grandmother, Budhiya. His reasoning is that if an old man is his father figure, then an old woman, Budhiya is his mother or mother figure, right?

Revati knows that he is not done, not even close. He takes a really long pause. For two to three minutes, he doesn’t speak a word.

“He would put me to bed by…” he says finally, then again goes silent.

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#IAm16ICanRape Again one to two minutes pass.

“He would take off his pants, even…”

Forty-five seconds.

“Undergarments, then he would put me between his legs...” Aarush stops. He takes long, deep breaths.

“He never did anything else. As a matter of fact, I don’t even think this is weird, is it? I mean it was his way of putting me to sleep. I would just play between his legs and then go to sleep, nothing weird, right?” Aarush’s innocence pierces our hearts.

Right? No…No…No, you poor little kid, not even close to right. That perverted old faggot was sexually abusing you, my dear. I want to scream and judging from her facial expression, so does Revati.

Our expressions must have told Aarush that we felt sorry for him, for being such a baby, and for not seeing that fucking Rudransh for who he is. Yes, I myself use F-words for pedophiles. I can’t stand pedophiles. Pigs. Motherfuckers. Bastards. I feel they are worse than rapists. They are worse than any other evil genre of men. Pedophilia is one offense I won’t defend, on moral grounds, ever.

But we promised Aarush that we wouldn’t judge Rudransh. So we pretended not to judge him.

There is pin-drop silence in the room for few seconds.

Finally Revati speaks.

“See, I do not judge him, but I need you to know that it was not right. What he did is a kind of…”

Revati didn’t want to say anything that would make Aarush retract his words.

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#IAm16ICanRape “Abuse,” Aarush speaks the word. Revati seems glad that she doesn’t have to utter the word. I look at Revati and then back towards my feet.

“Yes, dear, it was a kind of abuse…sexual abuse,” Revati confirms.

Aarush hides his head in his hands.

“NO, IT WAS NOT. We are Indians. We have a different idea of parent-child intimacy. You pseudo-intellectual psychologists study American books and apply those theories here. In your opinion, if a child is mischievous he is suffering from ADHD. In India, we just call him Badmaash Bachcha a naughty kid…” There are tears in Aarush’s eyes. “I don’t want to speak any longer,” he says with finality. He gets up and leaves the room.

I can understand if he doesn’t want to speak further. Moreover, he has already said what I wanted him to say, what I suspected all along.

Revati gives me that, See-I-told-you, am-I-not-smart? look. I nod an affirmation. She has done a good job. Aarush is not someone from whom one can forcefully extract information. Revati has definitely worked her way through his defenses.

After a minute, he comes back in the room.

“Please give that recording back to me,” Aarush asks as we pack our stuff.

“Don’t worry Aarush. It is not for any legal use. It will be used primarily for the case study. No material will be used anywhere without your and your parent’s permission,” I assure him. He doesn’t insist on getting the recording. I think that he trusts me.

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#IAm16ICanRape This case has become more intriguing with each passing day. The media attention is crazy. I have never before done anything like this in my life, and I know I will never do something of this magnitude again.

I know the piece of information we have is valuable. Would it be yellow journalism to release this to the press? Yes. But if Subhangi can use the media to try her case before we go to court, why can’t we?

Who will put forth our side of the story? Saurish Acharya from the Indian Cable News Channel, ICNC, is out of the picture. His program 1:1 with Saurish Acharya with Subhangi proved on which side he stands. I decide to feed this piece to Bharti Rajkotia from Sabse Tej Khabar, STK. She is one of us. She believes in Bachpan Bachao Andolan. I know she will provide us with great coverage.

So the moment I reach my car, I dial her number.

Author: KIRTIDA GAUTAM KIRTIDA GAUTAM is a clinical psychologist turned screenplay writer who completed her education from the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), Pune, India. Her passion for psychology and writing inspired her into writing psychological thrillers. While the readers are reading this introduction, the next thriller is in the making...

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Masters of Lygrenn

Masters of Lygrenn Arjun Pawar

Amazon Flipkart GooglePlayStore 1500 B.C., Himalaya.

There lived hundreds of small tribes in the country of Tibet, Himalaya and North India. Each tribe was treated according to the power of the army they possessed, the amount of gold they had in their kingdom. Number of tribes living in Tibet was large and each of them was ruled by rulers or emperors and all of them believed in only one philosophy. Everything in the world can be solved by either Sword or Gold, and they were considered the ucchastam. North Indians, due to their vast knowledge and unity were considered the madhyastam, though they did not believe in the theory of war but they were the most united of all by their thoughts and had the biggest army in south of Asia. The lowest, nichastam were from the Himalayas. The tribes in Himalaya were Droka and Shubhadra.

The Droka tribe constituted the south of Himalayas and considered themselves as the servants of God; they did not have any army as they did not have any ruler or emperor to rule their tribe.

They lived on one philosophy throughout their life, i.e., of giving. Help the needy and God will Go to top

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Masters of Lygrenn help you. The Droka was the only tribe who believed in the concept of nonviolence in spite of being the most powerful of all. They were never trained in combat, but were excellent in killing animals and sword fighting. They believed that the biggest power in the world is not possessed by any Man or any Animal or a Weapon, but by Nature. Nature has its own way of paying back.

They were true followers of Lord Brahma, the creator of the Universe.

People of Tibetan tribe would never eat with the people from nichastam tribe, as they considered eating with them would be an act of disrespect to their forefathers who had differentiated their tribes based on their powers and money. People from various tribes were differentiated by the way they dressed. Tibetan would wear clothes made up of wild animal’s fur and at least wear one ornament made of gold. North Indians mostly being Brahmins, were against the killings of animals and would wear clothes woven from a soft material known to them and also wear lots of gold ornaments around their neck. The nichastam did not wear any gold ornaments. They were not allowed to wear the fur of lion, tiger, leopard or bear as these animals signified power.

The tradition of differentiating between tribes based on their power and money was started hundreds of years ago but no one knew the real purpose behind the beginning of this tradition.

People from Droka tribe never raised their voice against this inequality and for their rights and neither the Tibetans were interested in stopping the tradition of treating people unequal as it gave them an upper edge of being the most respectable tribe in the region. Shubhadras however tried their way of stopping this differentiation of tribes by holding talks with the Indians, but few rulers were interested in making any changes in their traditions with which they were living for so many years.

Shubhadra tribe constituted the north of Himalayas. They were followers of Lord Shiva and that is why the differences between them and Droka arose. Shubhadra people considered that if they

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Masters of Lygrenn want something they should fight for their right until they get it. Shubhadra’s leader even tried allying with the Droka to stop these inhumane traditions of inequality by holding talks with the rulers of the nearby regions and if they did not agree then to fight with them but the Droka rejected their offer.

The main reason for decline of Shubhadra’s offer by Droka, many people still believe today, was that the Droka thought that going against the will of powerful ruler may start a war which may eventually destroy their beautiful lands the Mother Earth had bestowed upon them. It was better to live a simple and humble life rather than destroying the Mother Earth for our selfish needs.

Kalahar, the land of Droka was vastly spread in the southern Himalayas. Their only source of food was animals as there were very few trees in the hilly mountains of the Himalaya. They didn’t have lands for farming as their lands were covered with snow throughout the three seasons. Droka would work for the Shubhadra people as their slaves. Himkhadi, the land of Shubhadra, which constituted the north of Himalaya was covered with dense forest and even had lands for cultivation. The land of Tibet was very fertile and would bear tons of fruits and vegetables. Tibetans used these fruits and vegetables to trade with the Chinese in order to increase ties between the two countries. ***** A large convoy of elephants and horses was going with thousands of soldiers armed with fully stocked piles of weapons. In middle was a caravan of their emperor heading towards the kingdom after a month long journey. Emperor Zakati, tall, fat, pony tailed hairs till his waist, was vicious and known for his cruelty. He was the most powerful emperor of Tibet. He had had 10 masters in his army who led various wings of his armed forces and were the reason of Zakati’s

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Masters of Lygrenn might in Tibet and in the world too. His masters were known for their loyalty towards him. Each Master had separate powers and their only reason for being appointed as a Master and to live in this world was to protect their Emperor and to follows his orders.

Emperor Zakati had only one son who was the only heir to his vast kingdom which was spread in the eastern Tibet. His son was known for loyalty and was truly against the tradition of treating people unequally. All masters hated him for his kindness towards the poor and needy and his stand to unite the people of all tribes to stop the inhumane tradition. The masters were bound to serve him as he was the Prince of their Kingdom and the love of their Emperor. Emperor Zakati loved his son the most but never liked his ideologies and theories towards humans. As his son grew up, he talked with his father many times to stop treating people as unequal on the basis of money and power but each time that was all in vain.

Every Saturday morning Emperor Zakati would hold a court meeting with his masters and his countrymen where he would listen to the problems they were facing in the kingdom and would take a decision on them. Many laws used to get passed during this Saturday court and it was the 79th consecutive Saturday that Prince Xaviallo had raised his voice against the inhuman law of inequality and asked the Emperor to act upon it. Emperor Zakati had created a rule to pass any law in the court meeting on the basis of voting for or against the law. If minimum six out of ten masters voted for the law then it was passed on to the Emperor for sanctioning; the ultimate decision of sanction rested solely with the Emperor. But today was not the usual day because for the first time in his 79 occasions of requesting to change act of injustice and discrimination of people Prince Xaviallo got more than one vote making a total of four votes. “Hamish, may I know your reason for casting a vote in favour of Prince Xaviallo’s request?�

Emperor Zakati asked to his wittiest Master.

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Masters of Lygrenn Master Hamish looked below in fear and replied “Your Highness, I’ve been with you since I was born and have been serving you from that day with my soul and will continue to do so, but since our last journey throughout the kingdom, I have observed the pain suffered by the people from Himalayas, this tradition has created turmoil in the kingdom. People in the kingdom treat them cruelly and rulers around the world are losing respect for us and this has also caused a decrease in our trade with our allies, which is slowly hurting our economy.”

Hamish was the most intelligent person in the whole Kingdom and had more cruel thoughts and intentions than his Emperor could even imagine.

“What about you, Kaalki and Rudraa? Have you both also lost your senses?” asked the Emperor nodding his head in anger over the stupid answer of Hamish.

Before Kaalki and Rudraa could reply to the Emperor, Prince Xaviallo came forward and said with a much louder voice.

“Your Highness, father, I stand nowhere to object you. I have seen your Empire getting stronger and stronger day by day under your leadership and you have been proving your worth to the people of Tibet and to the world from years. People from the world respect you not because they love you but because they fear you and a true leader should feel the pain of his followers and shall not become the pain to them. Being the Prince of this Empire, I have the right to choose my path, my destiny, my life which I want to live. And I have decided to live my life serving for the right of the poor and needy people. I will fight for them. I request you to deploy an army and few masters with me when I march to the Himalayas to establish my own kingdom there.”

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Masters of Lygrenn “Are you all out of your mind?” loudly said the Emperor. Anger and pain was seen on his face.

Whole castle was shut to silence. No one dared to raise their head above in front of their Emperor except, Xaviallo.

Xaviallo knew his father loved him till death and would do anything for his happiness and this was the first time in 30 years that Xaviallo had raised his voice against his father, his Emperor.

Zakati was shattered.

“None of my Masters are going to be with you and I won’t be giving my army to you,” the Emperor said angrily.

“I fight for injustice or I die to injustice,” replied Xaviallo loudly which was heard in every inch of the castle.

The whole court stood silent. The Emperor crumbled in shock. His own son was rebelling against him.

What is he doing, is he mad? I must stop him and do something.

“Your Highness, sorry to interrupt you and the Prince, but before you give your verdict, may I have a word with you in private?” asked Master Hamish.

“Yes, Master Hamish,” replied the King in a low sad voice. He was hurt.

“Your Highness, Prince Xaviallo is right. He has all the rights to claim his freedom and army from the Emperor. If the Chinese get the news of your own son rebelling against you for the right of Himalayan people, they will take the advantage of it. They will send their diplomats to our kingdom to assess the situation here and will demand increase in taxes as we are already losing our economy and lands to them and we too are running into debts to the Western Rulers of Tibet.

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Masters of Lygrenn Our allies will stop funding us if Prince Xaviallo rebels openly against you and they might break our alliance. We will not let our allies or the Chinese know that Prince Xaviallo is rebelling against you. I will accompany the Prince along with Masters Rudraa and Kaalki and I assure you I will be responsible for the safety of him.”

Emperor Zakati nodded to Hamish and thought for a while. Though he loved his son a lot, there are times when an Emperor has to take decisions where he has to think beyond his heart, his love, his blood for the welfare of his empire and his followers. Zakati looked at his Masters and stood angrily on his throne and declared “From this day I disinherit Prince Xaviallo Wong and release him from the position of the Prince of Eastern Tibet. He will from today have no right in the land of our Kingdom. If he wishes to leave the Kingdom and march with his own army to the Himalayas, he will be accompanied by four masters. Master Hamish, Master Kaalki, Master Rudraa and The Fire God, he is allowed to take army of ten thousand men, weapons and horses of his choice. His five-year-old son Marshell Wong will accompany him as I don’t want any rebels in my Kingdom.”

Xaviallo came forward in front of the King and accepted his terms and said “I Xaviallo Wong agree to the terms of the Emperor and promise to leave the Kingdom by the sunrise tomorrow and not step back again on the soil of Eastern Tibet,” and left the court in anguish.

‘Now this is getting worse, they both—father as well as son—are going to shatter my dreams,’ thought Hamish.

Xaviallo was ready with his army the next morning. Fire God came to him and said “Think twice before leaving my friend, even I want this injustice to get over but this might cost us as well as our kingdom, your father needs you.”

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Masters of Lygrenn “The people of Himalaya need me more than the people of this Kingdom, I have talked with father yesterday night and he has agreed to my decision and promised to send more forces to me if needed. He is going to name Master Huketu as his heir to the throne of Eastern Tibet,” Xaviallo said in a low respectful pitch to the Fire God. ***** Xaviallo and his army reached the land of Kalahar. But he didn’t know whom he should hold talks with as they did not have any king or chief in their villages. The Droka never lived under any king or ruler. Xaviallo ordered to camp in the nearby village. Worried Fire God came to Xaviallo and asked, “What should we do now? These people don’t have any chief to hold talks with, and our soldiers are feeling ashamed of talking to them.” Listening to Fire God Xaviallo became very angry and ordered his masters to gather the army around the camp.

With anger in his eyes Xaviallo stood in front of them and shouted on them saying “Each man including you me and the Droka from now onwards are and will be treated as humans. No human being in the world chooses himself to be born into a particular tribe or colour or sex. He is born as a human. Every human is born with the right to choose his god, his tribe and his culture. It’s the society that discriminates him from others. No men from my army will ever treat the Droka as slaves. Convey my message to them and tell that they are being attacked by me and I am going to rule their country. Tomorrow morning we will divide ourselves and attack Kalahar from the north and south. Not a single person of Droka should be treated as a slave or be killed. I want no bloodshed in this country. We will establish our kingdom within a week and I will name it the Kingdom of Kalahar.”

“To the king. To the king.” Everyone echoed loudly raising their arms holding the swords.

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Masters of Lygrenn The next morning Xaviallo divided his army into two and led the attack himself from the south, Kaalki and his army headed from the north. This was first time in the past 500 years someone was attacking the people of Droka tribe. As ordered the army was passing through each village and was establishing their camps. People of Kalahar started fearing as they had never seen such attack before and neither had they any army or weapon to repulse the attack. Days passed and people from villages started surrendering to Xaviallo and his army. After six days whole of the Kalahar was under the command of Xaviallo. Xaviallo on that day ordered his masters to gather as many people from Kalahar in Lygrenn. Lygrenn was the largest city in Kalahar and located in the middle of Kalahar. Week passed and as ordered people came to Lygrenn from different villages to listen to their ruler. Almost half million people came to Lygrenn as they feared they would be killed for not obeying their ruler’s orders.

“You are not called here to witness the victory of your King. From today onwards the people of Kalahar will not be treated as nichastam and they will not work as slaves to North Indian rulers or the Tibetans. King Xaviallo Wong promises to keep his kingdom, your kingdom, safe and protected from foreign intruders and fight for the right of every single person living in Kalahar.

The Droka will get their right to live equally with everyone and no injustice will be borne by any of the citizen of Kalahar under the rule of King Xaviallo. This city of Lygrenn will be the capital of our Kingdom. I, Hamish Irham Kayalli the Master of Masters of your Kingdom, owe myself to serve my King and my Kingdom for its safety and justice till my death.”

King Xaviallo stood up and raised his left hand with his wrist held tight and said “Freedom.

Justice. Power.”

It was not what the Droka people expected. Some were in shock and some were in tears. There was a sudden wave of happiness and hope spread in the people standing in front of Xaviallo.

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Masters of Lygrenn Loud chanting started throughout Lygrenn. There was only one word in the mouth of half a million people, “Messiah, Messiah, Messiah.” ***** King Xaviallo, Master Hamish and Master Kaalki were back in their capital, Lygrenn. Joy and happiness was spread throughout Kalahar. Droka were living a life which they had never imagined. The King was happy and so too his followers.

A grand celebration was organized in Lygrenn marking the deal between Xaviallo and Kailash.

Dance was organized, whole city was lightened with bright colours and wine was distributed in the kingdom for a day for free, fun filled environment was spread throughout the castle. The King and his Masters were honoured by the mantris of Kalahar for the support and love they gave to the Droka people.

A royal dinner was organized by the King in the castle for his Masters as a thanks giving to them.

Fire God was seated on the left next to Prince Marshell and on his right was Master of Masters Hamish. Master Kaalki was on right of Hamish and Master Rudraa beside him on his right and the King in front of them all.

“Bring more wine, it is time to celebrate,” said the King and continued “I am thankful to all of you. You have respected and obeyed every command for me and for these people. It would have not been possible without you.”

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Masters of Lygrenn All the masters were silent and felt embarrassed. Fire God was the only one who replied, “You are being kind to us Xaviallo. It was your dream, your wish. We are here to obey you and follow your dream and will continue to do so even after you.”

“Ohh let just stop this thanks talk, and continue to enjoy.”

Hamish had met a servant day before the celebration and given him a bottle of wine which he had brought from his visit to China and had told the servant to serve it to the King only during the celebration. That wine was poisoned by Hamish.

“Pour the whole wine for me and bring more for the masters also,” said Xaviallo in excitement and happiness.

Everyone was silent and astonished to see the different side of their King’s nature. King Xaviallo drank all the wine and later started feeling pain in his neck and then his stomach. His hands and legs were starting to shake vigorously and suddenly he fell on the floor. Everyone rushed towards Xaviallo. Rudraa immediately took Marshell out of the room. Hamish and Fire God started pressing their King’s chest fast as he was slowly losing his breath. But it was a vain attempt as before they could do anything to save their King he lost his breath and died at the moment.

There was a sudden shock spread in the room and the castle, no one understood what to do. Fire God immediately rushed to lock the door to avoid anyone from knowing about the death of their king, but it was too late as all the mantris were coming in the room to meet their beloved king with a surprise present. They came in and standing at the door they saw their King lying on the floor and not breathing.

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Masters of Lygrenn All the celebrations in the kingdom were called off. Whole kingdom mourned the demise of their beloved king, their messiah King Xaviallo Wong.

Author: Arjun Pawar Arjun Pawar has done Civil Engineering from Pune University and is pursuing PGDBA course in Marketing from Symbiosis Centre for Distance Learning. He works as a Technical Engineer in a reputed construction company in Pune. He likes reading novels, listening to music, travelling, sketching and trekking. He also has an interest in writing on social, political and environmental issues relating to India and a keen interest in mythology. Currently he is working on the sequel of Masters of Lygrenn. Masters of Lygrenn is his debut novel.

He can be contacted at (ispeaktoarjun@gmail.com)

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED

EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED Vishal Anand

Amazon A Day before My Divorce

I looked in the mirror. I could not face myself. I was in deep pain. I felt something missing, and I regret it. Yes, tomorrow is my divorce and I feel hurt. Tomorrow, Virain and I will be independent of this social restriction called marriage.

It has been tough since the day I came to Mumbai at my parent’s place after Virain and I had a fight. Virain appealed to forgive him several times. He explained his numerous problems in business that made him to behave the way he did. He has been a better husband prior and after the incident. But, maybe it was my mulishness that did not allow me going back to him. It has been eleven long months after the incidence. Papa finally had a talk with his lawyer; we went to court; the six months duration that judge gave us to solve our problems finishes today and tomorrow we will be legally separated.

‘Knock! Knock!’ Somebody knocked the door.

My mother who was busy with her cooking in the kitchen went to open the door.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED ‘Hey, you!’ she said opening the door and wiped her dirty hand in the pallu. Her eyes became fixed, and it was all silence for the moment except for the surrounding sounds.

Somebody entered the hall with slow motioned strides that could be clearly heard in a hall wrapped up with deep silence. I was busy thinking about my life when I came back to my senses with dad’s voice.

‘Arey, Virain beta. Have a seat,’ he said putting the TV remote on the table.

I was a little surprised. Why is he here? Has he come to persuade me to stop this divorce? What will he say? Should we give it a last try? A lot of questions were running in my mind. I almost ran down to the hall to confirm that he was here. Virain was sitting on the sofa with his never ending smile on his face. I stood there dumbstruck.

‘Have a look Diksha beta. Who has come to meet you?’ papa said pointing at Virain.

Virain smiled at me. I just nodded my head though I wanted to greet him but I could not.

‘How are you Diksha?’ asked Virain as I still stood there facing him.

‘How am I?’ I asked myself. Then, suddenly few questions floated around in my mind for Virain, ‘My deep sorrowful eyes, can’t you see? How much hard time I have suffered, can’t you imagine? How many sleepless nights I have spent, can’t you judge by just looking at me?’

‘I am fine,’ I lied to him. ‘How are you?’

‘Just the way you left. Sitting in front of you,’ he replied.

We did not exchange any word for next few minutes. My right foot started moving up and down so fast as if it was controlled by a remote. Papa lowered the volume of television to listen to what we were going to say. Mom could be thinking what to cook for Virain and I... I really had no words.

‘I will be back after preparing tea for you,’ mom said getting up from the sofa.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED ‘Let it go, maaji. Diksha will make it. I didn’t have that special ginger tea from long. You sit here,’ Virain said patting the sofa to his right.

I unwillingly left the hall and moved to the kitchen. Physically, I was in kitchen boiling water in the vessel but mentally I was still present in the hall.

‘So beta, what brings you here?’ papa asked.

‘I didn’t have much work in Bangalore. I have to be present here for the divorce tomorrow. I reached Mumbai an hour ago; was getting bored at the hotel. Nobody is in Mumbai these days.

So, just thought of visiting Diksha and you all,’ he explained.

‘You have done the right thing beta,’ mom replied.

The hall was again filled with silence. I added the tea leaves and sugar in the vessel. Few tea leaves spread on the floor. Maybe those tea leaves were like the broken pieces of my life; could not be easily collected and put back as they were before.

‘What else? How is your work going on in Bangalore?’ papa asked in the hall.

‘Work is going great. Diksha was here. I could concentrate well on the work. We got few more clients from U.S. Everything is perfect.’

‘Do concentrate on your health. You seem a little weak,’ mom said this time.

‘Ji maaji,’ Virain nodded with a smile.

I held a tray with a tea kettle, milk and sugar and entered the hall. I served tea to everyone. I don’t know why, but I could not look in Virain’s eyes, the eyes full of questions. I prepared the tea and went to my room with the cup of tea. I adjusted the curtains after entering the room and sat on the bed. They finished their cup of tea silently.

‘Since you are here, you must have your dinner before you leave,’ mom said to Virain.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED ‘No, maaji. Actually I thought if Diksha and I could go out somewhere..’ he stopped for a second. ‘I don’t know when I will be back in the city again.’

I could not hear anything from my dad or mom. The hall was back into silence until mom spoke, ‘Wait here!’

I could hear her footsteps towards my room. I kept my cup on the stool and picked the magazine from the drawer. I pretended as if I was reading it.

‘Virain wants to go out with you,’ mom said lifting my cup from the stool.

I did not say anything. Should I go with him? Why papa didn’t refuse him? Where does he want to go out now? I was flooded with set of questions again.

‘I can understand what you must be feeling. There is nothing wrong in going out with him,’ mom said sitting near me keeping her warm hand on mine.

I thought for a moment.

‘Ask him to wait awhile. I may take some time to get ready,’ I finally said throwing the magazine near the pillow.

Mom left the room and conveyed my message to Virain. I was getting ready for my husband, maybe, for the last time. I came out in the hall. Virain and I did not exchange a single word. He stood from the sofa as soon as he saw me.

‘Greetings papa! Will drop Diksha before going back to the hotel,’ Virain said as he bowed to dad.

Dad did not say a word. We both came out of the house.

‘Bhaiya! Gateway of India?’ Virain asked the taxi driver as soon as we reached the road.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED The driver nodded his head in agreement. Virain opened the door for me. I got in and he followed me. The taxi ran down the roads of Parel to reach Apollo Bandar. Virain still remembered my favorite place. Maybe, that is the reason he chose to go there.

It was not so easy to forget those days, those moments. Virain was doing his engineering from IIT, Mumbai and I was a student at TIME, the coaching institute for the thousands of MBA aspirants.

I still remember the day when he had his internals the next day and forgetfully, I asked him to visit Gateway of India. He did not say ‘no’ to me and we went there. I still remember he did not sleep the whole night to prepare for his internals.

We reached the place. Virain paid the taxi driver and we walked down the road.

‘How is Nishant? I believe his classes are going fine,’ Virain asked as we crossed the road.

Nishant is my brother, a student of third year engineering in IIT, Delhi. Virain was the one who was actually responsible for him being there. I still remember how he used to guide Nishant to prepare for the IIT-JEE entrance. Otherwise, none from our large family ever dreamt of going to a place like IIT. He was a tutor better than the ones in large coaching institutes that many of us pay for even after their numerous false promises.

‘Yeah, he is good. He topped Department of Mechanical Engineering the previous semester,’ I said with pride in my eyes.

‘Good. I always knew he had that potential. He did it finally.’ Virain grinned.

We sat on the wall created by heavy stones which faced the sea. The sea was silent. I remembered the days when we both used to sit here for hours and talked. It felt like it was just yesterday when he proposed me here. I could not say no to him. How could I? He is the most handsome guy I have ever met; intelligent enough to make experienced ones to shame. I still

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED remember he promised me that he will love me all his life ; he will take care of me more than my parents; he will give preference to my dreams before fulfilling his own; he will do anything to bring a smile on my face.

‘Let’s have a ride on the carriage,’ he asked me.

‘Sure,’ I agreed with a smile.

We both moved to the ice-cream vendor before we reached the horses. He bought me my favorite kulfi and had another for himself.

‘You are still so sweet,’ I said as I took my first bite of the kulfi. It tasted best.

‘You are the sweetest,’ he said his dialogue as it followed this sentence for years.

We got on the carriage and Virain asked the rider to move. Virain has always been like this. He has always cared for me. He knew that I feel like a princess sitting on a carriage. So, he always used to give me a company in this ride whenever we visited this place.

It was in one of the carriages when he asked me to marry him and become his princess for the whole life. Horses’ footsteps could be easily heard when we did not exchange any words. I looked in his eyes and he into mine. He sang the song that he used to sing for years, ‘Hashta hua hai pyaara chehra tera..’

I could not control myself and burst into laughter. He too laughed out loudly. We spent a little more time walking on the road facing the Taj. We enjoyed the cold air that blew; looked at small children who were enjoying there and the youngsters who posed for the photographs. A little darkness seemed to spread in the environment. A little darkness spread in my mind that my heart could feel; that haunts me at nights and that is surely going to kill me all my life.

‘Let’s go for dinner. Papa will be waiting for you,’ he said as we left the place.

I nodded.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED We jumped into the taxi and went straight to Byculla. The place was none other than Dominos, the pizza I enjoyed from past so many years. Virain paid the taxi driver and we went inside Dominos.

The place was a little crowded, it being a Sunday. It took awhile for us to get place to sit. We ordered our pizzas and settled ourselves on the chairs opposite to TV. Some stupid bhangra pop was playing on TV with young guys hooting time to time. I just hated it.

As the waiter came with our order, I saw Virain moving to the counter. He whispered something in ears of the waitress and came back. And then something happened, the staff switched off the TV. Within next few moments, I saw a waitress approaching us with a choco lava cake in hand and a burnt candle on top of it. The sound of TV was replaced by the music from Hum Aapke Hain Kaun. Who would know better than Virain about my favorite song?

‘Diksha! Do you remember that I proposed you the same day?’ said Virain with a smile as he placed the choco lava cake in front of me.

I had no words. I was stunned for the moment. Yes, Virain proposed me today four years back and I forgot about it. But, Virain still remembered it. Not only, he remembered it but he was there celebrating it with me for the past few hours. I could not say anything other than SORRY. ‘What did you say? I didn’t hear that.’

‘I am sorry,’ I repeated my words.

‘A little louder. I didn’t hear that,’ he repeated again.

‘Sorry,’ I shouted loudly in his ear.

‘Did you hear that? Did you hear that,’ he smiled at the waitress.

She smiled back.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED I blew the candle and moved the first bite of the cake towards Virain. He turned the bite towards me. We finished our choco lava cake first, before we started with the pizzas. He called the waitress again.

‘Can you please treat everyone present here with a choco lava cake?’ He passed his debit card towards the waitress. ‘I will be paying before I leave.’

‘But..’ I exclaimed, hemming and hawing for the moment.

‘Diksha, this is our last celebration together. Let me spend for the years which we could have stayed together.’

I could not say anything. We finished our pizzas and Virain collected his card from the counter.

We rushed to my home; he dropped me near the gate and said, ‘See you in the court tomorrow.’

I looked at my watch. It showed 9 p.m. Virain has still kept note of the time till I was allowed to stay away from home. I entered the house with slow motioned strides. Papa was busy watching the cricket match on TV. I went straight inside my room and changed my dress. Mom came after sometime asking me for dinner. I refused; closed my door as soon as she left and switched off the lights.

Maybe, it was my mistake. Virain is a good man. But after marriage, things changed drastically.

We started fighting on small issues. Sometimes, it was I who would fight for the wet towel on the bed, the smelling socks in the shoes and sometimes it was he, who fought for the pinch of salt that I forget to add in the vegetables I cooked. Sometimes, it was I who would fight over the inappropriate behavior of his relatives who would come to visit us and sometimes it was he, who would argue over my habit of taking things seriously at moments.

The busy office schedules hardly left any time for both of us. The fights started turning bigger.

We hated talking to each other. The duration went from one, two days to a week and gradually

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED increased. It was one of the fights when he raised his hand on me and I packed my luggage to come back to Mumbai.

He tried to console me a million times after that but finally it stopped one day when I requested him to allow me a peaceful life. All those events flashed in my eyes that have been a part of our married life for the past three years. I spent several hours changing the sides of the bed when finally I could sleep.

I sat in the chair facing the judge and half a dozen lawyers in their black gowns surrounded by the chairs ahead. Mom sat to my right followed by dad. Virain sat at a distance away from us. I looked at him and he smiled back.

Was he happy? Could he not ask me just to stop all these just one last time? Can’t we give it a try again? Can’t we live a happy married life from now on? All these questions were fighting in my mind. Few minutes down the line, the judge will say the words, ‘Next case,’ and we both will be free for the lifetime.

I could not control the tears that tried their best to stop flowing and ran down my cheek. I was faltered. It felt like I have screwed up my own life. I could not think anymore when I felt warmth of a palm on my hand.

I turned to look at the owner of the warm hand. Mom looked at me as if, saying to me, to go. I nodded; I looked at Virain who I felt was busy understanding the facial expressions of judge. I took out my phone from the purse and typed a message, ‘Can we talk? I am waiting outside.’

I almost ran towards the exit of the courtroom; waited there for some time. Virain did not turn up. I was getting disturbed. Has he seen the message? Or, is he trying to ignore it? I could not wait there any longer. I turned to the courtroom when I saw Virain facing me.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED ‘Tell.’

‘Should we give it another try?’ I asked him.

‘As you wish,’ he replied back, flatly.

‘What do you wish, Virain?’

‘Had I ever said a no to any of your wishes?’ he asked with a smile on his face.

‘Love you. Please take me to your home… our home,’ I hugged him tightly to my chest. He trapped me in his hands. After few moments when I realised that I am standing outside a court where they are waiting for my divorce, I left my grip on Virain. I checked for anyone who was noticing us.

‘Come inside,’ Virain said moving towards the entrance.

‘Where?’ I asked him.

‘Mom and dad are waiting inside.’

‘Papa won’t allow this. He was against our marriage when we wanted to and he is against you when he wants a divorce,’ I explained.

‘But we need to inform this before we leave from here and then you have to pack your luggage too.’

‘Can’t you buy me fresh pair of clothes?’

He smiled back.

‘I have my ticket to Bangalore in the evening.’

‘Do you feel burdened spending few hours with me?’ I asked as we got down the stairs.

‘By the way, your favorite actors’ movie released last Friday,’ he smiled as he stopped a taxi.

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EMOTIONS UNPLUGGED We enjoyed the movie for next few hours. I returned to Bangalore the very next day. Mom convinced dad about my decision. We still live in Bangalore and fight over small things but our love keeps on increasing despite all these small fights.

Author: Vishal Anand Vishal Anand is the author of a bestselling short story collection, Emotions Unplugged. His book has remained popular since its release.

The Hindu says, he deals human emotions with deep sensitivity and sensibility. Hindustan Times called him ‘a perfect example of a small town boy with big time success’ and The Telegraph mentioned him as an ‘Author who is creating ripples in the literary circuit’.

Vishal works with a talent consulting partner to several Domestic and International companies.

Currently, he lives in Bangalore.

He can be reached at connect@vishalanand.co.in.

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CULT OF CHAOS

CULT OF CHAOS Shweta Taneja

Amazon Flipkart Uread Infibeam CHAPTER 1 The restaurant was dark and still. The candle in front of me flickered nervously. I was tense. I discreetly sent my senses into the darkness around us. An embarrassed giggle. A whispered murmur. The strong, waxy smell of rose candles mingled with the rotten fish odour of sexual desire. Stop it, Anantya. There’s nothing here other than horny people trying to talk politely to get laid. Which is what you should be doing too. ‘... begin with the appetizers since it’s your first time here,’ my date Nikhil Kapoor was saying. ‘I would recommend the chicken yakitori ...’

We sat in an upmarket Thai restaurant in Rajiv Chowk’s inner circle, newly opened and noted more for its decor than its food. The walls and the floor were a glistening black with alcoves of highbacked sofas so you had no choice but to stare at the person sitting opposite you. All I could see was his teeth and a curvaceous singer who oozed a blues song on the small, dimly lit stage before us. It was all very sophisticated and tasteful, if you went in for that sort of thing.

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CULT OF CHAOS Unfortunately, I did not. The candle-lit ambience made me sleepy as did the sway of the penguinlike waiters in their black coats and white shirts. In other words, I was bored. ‘... it will have a slightly charred flavour that I hope you won’t mind ...’

I tapped the toe of my right foot under the table, looking at Nikhil’s lips as they moved. Nikhil was a neat-looking guy, in a Dakini sort of way. Waxed all over, his hair gelled and not a strand out of place. His face shone, perhaps a little too much, in the candlelight. He wore a white linen shirt, so severely starched that its creases stood out. A ‘missionary’ type, I was sure. But I could be wrong and he could well turn out to be kinky in the bedroom. Anyway, to know for sure I would have to get him into some kind of bed. Even a couch would do. Unfortunately, he seemed to enjoy talking more than anything else. ‘...for the main course, I will order a sushi nigiri. The subtle flavours will really tease your tongue,’ he said in a deliberately deep voice, ‘or if you want something tangier, I would suggest you go for their crispy aromatic duck done in hoisin sauce.’

I shrugged. As if I would know, or care, about the difference between the hose sauce and whatever that nila thing was. If it was edible, I would eat it. He smiled again, his unnaturally big, clean teeth shining like the headlights of an SUV. ‘If I were you,’ he continued in his deep monotone, ‘I would choose the duck. They can get it wrong here, but if I give them careful instructions, they will get the tanginess of the hoisin sauce purrfect.’

He smacked his full lips together. I took a large gulp of the wine that he had chosen after a longwinded discussion with the headwaiter, and wished it was soma. I had figured too late that this

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CULT OF CHAOS blind date thing was a bad, bad idea. My kind of date usually started with a cup or two of somaon-the-rocks at the Bedardi Bar and ended two hours later in a bed of some sort with a species of some sort. It was simpler, the dating style in Bedardi. You went, you saw, you grabbed and you left. You had a night of wild (hopefully what you would call) sex, and then both of you (or more) were off in different directions. There was no talking or nibbling on nila thingies. Who had created these human mating rituals? Why wait and talk about dead ducks? What a waste of a perfectly good evening! I picked up the wine glass again and drained it this time. It did nothing to settle my stomach, which continued to play skull and bones with dread.

‘Here, allow me,’ said Nikhil smoothly, refilling my glass and handing it back, his headlights ablaze again.

I was just about to drain the wine again when I felt it. The rim of the glass stilled on my lips. A hum, low but insistent, just out of the reach of my human ears, so that I sensed it in my kidneys not my ears. A vibration of shakti. Something warm touched my hand. I jerked involuntarily and splashed my wine on the settee.

‘Hey, hey, relax,’ Nikhil said, taking his hand away and leaning forward, ‘I know how you are feeling. Dakini kinda warned me. She told me that you don’t have very much experience of, how should I put it, the romantic kind ...’

There it was again. The vibration strummed in my veins. It wasn’t unusual to find shakti in high concentrations at some spots. It is the power that tantriks use for magic after all, and there are quite a few shakti spots around, especially in old worship houses, temples, mosques, ruins of ancient monuments and so on. But this one was slightly different. It felt more like a broken pipe than a

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CULT OF CHAOS steady deep ocean. It reeked of a pure rakshasa. Which wasn’t threatening per se. After all, Delhi does have a fair few rakshasas and a lot of them do mingle freely with humans and dine in restaurants. The problem was, the shakti this time felt somehow familiar. Like an old friend’s cold dead hand. I squinted into the dim light away from our alcove, nostrils dilated, hungry to know its source. My hand sneaked into my satchel and fingered my septifocals, the vision goggles made of bone that usually perched on top of my head. I wondered if I could take a small peek into the second plane in front of Nikhil. Just a peek? ‘... it’s all right. I like it in a way. To be inexperienced at your age in this day and age, I mean ...’

‘Wait, what?’ I exclaimed, my attention back on my date. ‘What exactly did Dakini tell you about me?’

‘She told me that you haven’t dated much,’ he said, his hand snaking towards mine which lay fisted on the table. ‘It’s all right, you know. I have enough experience for the both of us.’

‘Ahem,’ I cleared my throat, wondering how to fill in the gap between what he had understood and what the reality was. Technically, Dakini hadn’t lied. After all, it had been what ... seven years ... well, seven years since I had tried to talk to a man with a romantic inclination. Usually I was too busy having sex with one or trying to attack another to have time to sit and talk. So yes, even though I was twenty-three, I had not had much experience of the modern marvel of dating. Until tonight, I had thought a date was a convenient way of fixing the day and time for sex. That it would involve wearing a dress, eating food you couldn’t pronounce the names of, and talking about drinks that didn’t get you drunk, I had had no idea. Yes, I know, I know. Well, that’s how cut off from reality you could be if all you had done over the past couple of years was see corpses and tried to figure out whose they might have been and who might have killed them.

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CULT OF CHAOS ‘Daahling, you have to try something different, like hanging out with your own species for instance,’ Dakini had said. As I had been out of work for almost a month and bored to tears, I decided to go along with her mad plan. I could see her grinning now, gleefully rubbing her huge manicured hands. Earlier this evening, she had spent almost an entire hour dressing me up in a softly flowing red dress with a neckline that plunged to my navel. My curly hair had been tamed with gel and turned into a coif, oh yes, a coif (learnt the word from Dakini). And she had put makeup on my face. The result, I could see in one of the mirror fragments embedded in the couch Nikhil was sitting on, was a stranger. My face was transformed. My eyes appeared larger, doe-like, shadowed in grey to bring out the flecks of smoke in my black irises. Dakini had painted my lips a soft red. I looked delicate and innocent and younger than my age. Almost like mother. Except for the scowl, which no make-up could mask.

My hand automatically touched the yugma around my neck, a two-inch locket made of silver and snakebone, which hung on a long silver chain resting in my cleavage. It was in the shape of two intertwined snakes, their heads looking away from each other. It was the only keepsake I had of my mother. That and, as Didi had always said, her strikingly beautiful face. Although that particular asset almost always proved to be a hindrance in my chosen profession. ‘... I promise you, we will not rush this,’ said Nikhil as he caressed my hand. He had at some point moved closer to me. Our thighs almost touched under the table. ‘Building trust is far more important to me now. If you had met the old Nikhil, you would understand what I mean. Dakini has taught me to tap into my Inner Spirit. Sessions with her make me feel so upbeat, so positive about life, living its every moment to the fullest. When she suggested we meet, I didn’t hesitate, even though it was a blind date. Of course, as an added bonus, you turned out to be so gorgeous.

Are you also her client or something? You should take a couple of sessions with her. You are quite

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CULT OF CHAOS edgy. Just like me, you are suffering the tension caused by stress—’ ‘Did Dakini happen to tell you what I do?’ I interrupted, resolving to murder Dakini for saddling me with this metrosexual mess.

He shook his head. ‘She didn’t, but, by the looks of it, I would guess you are in the fashion industry.

A model, right?’ ‘No,’ I answered, smiling as radiantly as I could, and leaning towards him, fluttering my mascaraed eyelashes, ‘I am a tantrik. So all that negative energy you see inside me ...

I kind of thrive on it.’ He leant away for a second, surprised, and then burst out laughing, his even teeth gleaming in the candlelight. ‘Oh! That is good. You almost had me. A tantrik? Yeah, right. I am sorry but you are too pretty to be a tantrik. Where are your dreadlocks?

And where’s your black dhoti and rudraksh beads?’

Kali’s tail! Two years ago, and I swear on all the graves that I have dug, I would have turned him into a warty toad. But I had been in Delhi long enough. I had heard all the chauvinistic comments there were to hear, faced all the leers and, frankly, you just can’t turn every human male you meet into a toad (much as you may want to), so I tried to take a deep breath instead. Beauty is a handicap to any tantrik, especially a detective tantrik and exponentially worse if she happens to be female.

Although, to be fair, it wasn’t really Nikhil’s fault. Say ‘tantrik’ and most folk expect to see a tall, broad-shouldered, grumpy man, hairy and sweaty with dreadlocks, kohl smeared around his eyes – oh, and of course the classic rudraksh beads around the neck and a staff. The only thing I had in common with that image was that I liked to put on lots of kohl too. Never quite understood what the rudraksh beads do anyway.

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CULT OF CHAOS This is why I rarely accepted cases from my own species and preferred to work with what humans call ‘supernatural’ creatures. Sups of any kind, be it mayans or pashus, don’t judge tantriks by their appearance. They determine your worth by the shakti you wield. Most of my cases over the last few years had involved sups. Ever since word had spread in the city that a pro-sup tantrik was ready to take on their cases, which was a rarity since most tantriks wanted to either kill them or enslave them, I had got all kinds of assignments. I had arbitrated between best friend asuras who become arch nemeses and, in their attempt to finish each other off, almost destroyed a chunk of Lodhi Garden between them; saved a yakshi from a spirit; a chandaali from a greedy tantrik and a tantrik from a vengeful bhuta. I rarely refused a case. The only exceptions were the ones that involved daevas, elite heavenly spirits, who were as my teacher Dhuma put it concisely, treacherous trolls. A couple of days ago, I had turned down just such an offer. However, I was now beginning to regret it. Even dealing with a shifty daeva was better than sitting around a candle eating ducks and explaining myself to Mr SUV Headlights here. I took out my kapala, a skullcup that I used for my rituals, and placed it on the table.

‘Perhaps this will convince you?’ I said, smiling sweetly. The skull gleamed in the candlelight, throwing long dark shadows into the mirrors behind Nikhil.

‘Wow, a skullcup! Is it a real human skull?’ Nikhil inserted his hand inside its jaw and picked it up for a closer look. ‘Where did you find this one? I saw one on eBay the other day. Nothing less than one lakh rupees. Only the imitations are cheaper. How much did you pay for it?’

Was nothing sacred anymore? I stared at him, shocked, and wondered how many seconds it would take for Lala to attack him. Lala was the old man whose skull Nikhil was molesting at the moment.

Lala had begged me to ensure he didn’t descend into naraka after his death. He wanted to stay on

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CULT OF CHAOS in this world even if it meant that I used his skull as a sacrificial cup. So, after his funeral, I stole his head from his grave on a full-moon night. Ever since, Lala’s skull had been my kapala. And he hated anyone else touching it. How would you like it if someone poked inside your head? I dug out my boneblade, ready with a freezing mantra in case Lala fired up and became too hot for Nikhil to handle. (Although, frankly, a part of me was hoping Lala fired up.)

‘Are you Anantya Tantrist?’ asked a reedy voice behind me. I turned to see the headwaiter who had discussed wines with Nikhil a little while ago.

‘Yeah,’ I answered curtly. Nikhil plonked Lala back on the table.

‘You have an urgent call, madam,’ the waiter said. My old Nokia phone lay on the table. I switched on its screen. It seemed to be working. ‘Who is it?’ I asked, wondering if it was Dakini. No one else knew I had come to this restaurant. The waiter paused and looked to his right, as if he was listening to someone.

‘Mister Qubera, madam. He wants to talk to you urgently, madam.’ For someone who stood in an air-conditioned space, the waiter’s face was very, very sweaty. Drops of perspiration rolled down his forehead and a droplet glistened at the tip of his chin.

‘I don’t know anyone ...’ I stopped, suddenly realizing how quiet it had gone. So quiet that I could not hear the singer anymore or the tinkle of laughter. The singer was on the stage, but she had become mysteriously mute. The feeling that someone was watching us returned, and intensified painfully. I could kick myself for allowing Nikhil’s stupidities to distract me. I ought to have sorted this out before now. The waiter stared at me, his eyes vacant and glassy. He pinched and pulled the skin on his neck, like a shirt collar. Stupid, stupid rakshasa. Someday he will get into big trouble

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CULT OF CHAOS and get himself killed. Probably by me.

‘You have to come,’ he urged, bending down and grabbing my right arm with his clammy palm, his hand cold and hard as stone. ‘It’s urgent!’

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Nikhil hollered, his face pink with anger. ‘How dare you touch her?

Where’s your manager? I want to speak to him!’

‘Sit down, Nikhil,’ I said quietly, my hand reaching for the boneblade in my satchel. I was glad I had brought it along, although I had left my belted scabbard at home. Fashion can be lethal for a tantrik.

Nikhil pushed the table away with a loud screech and rose to his intimidating six feet. Not that that would save him from a disgruntled rakshasa. He lunged, grabbed the waiter roughly by the shoulder and bellowed, ‘Let go of her!’

‘Urgent,’ the waiter whispered, sinking to his knees, his face still blank, his eyes empty, his left hand still frozen on my right arm. Poor guy. He didn’t have a choice really. I turned in one swift movement and slashed the waiter’s torso from his throat at the right collarbone to the solar plexus with the boneblade. Blood erupted and splattered my face and hair. A loud screech echoed somewhere behind me. Aah. ‘Aaaaaaaaaa!’ screamed the eloquent Nikhil, his hand dropping from the waiter’s shoulder as he sprang back. The waiter slumped to the floor in a pool of blood.

‘Nikhil...’ I raised my palm towards him. Unfortunately, the hand I brought up was my left, with my boneblade pointed at him. ‘Stay with me.’

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CULT OF CHAOS ‘You stay away from me!’ he screamed, his eyes as big as saucers, stepping backwards, away from our cubicle.

I just didn’t have time for this. He shouldn’t leave the bubble, not until I had completed my mantra.

Springing up from the sofa, I leapt on the table and grabbed hold of Nikhil’s gelled hair and yanked him back towards me.

‘Don’t hurt me! I have friends in high places!’

‘You listen to me carefully now,’ I whispered, bringing his ear close to my mouth. ‘You have to stay close. If you make one move away from me, I will slash your neck and use your skull as a kapala.’

‘You ... you are a tantrik!’ he screeched.

‘Remember,’ I replied soothingly, ‘how just a minute ago you thought I was too gorgeous to be a tantrik? Why don’t you stick with that thought, be a good boy and sit on the sofa for a minute? It will not ...’

I felt a cold, hard hand on my butt. ‘Nice dress, hottie,’ mouthed the waiter, his face blank, the wound on his chest oozing blood, his pretty, white shirt drenched.

‘Seriously?’ I cried. ‘Grrhat. Come. Out. Now. I am warning you. This has gone on long ...’

I spun around just in time to see a fist zooming in my direction. Nikhil’s punch landed in the middle of my stomach. Winded, I lost my balance and fell backwards, my blade flying. I landed on the cushioned seat with the skirt of my dress over my face, and the table between us collapsed with a loud crash.

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CULT OF CHAOS ‘Help! Someone help me!’ Nikhil cried. ‘Stop being an idiot!’ I furiously pulled the dress off my face. I felt like grabbing his neck and twisting it with my bare hands.

‘Mmfh!’ replied Nikhil. He stood rather weirdly, like he had suddenly decided to adopt a yoga pose, his hands stretched behind his back, his eyes bulging and his lips pressed together. There was raw terror in his eyes. Great.

‘Hello, Grrhat. Nice to see you again,’ I mouthed, getting up, straightening my dress, now sticky with blood. I ignored Nikhil’s terrified expression and bent down to where the waiter lay slumped on the floor. I twisted one of the snakes’ heads on my yugma. I wore it for more than just sentimental reasons. The locket had two snake-shaped vials which were really useful to keep the two essential items for any tantrik – something that heals wounds and an extra dose of shakti to use in mantras. For the first potion, I used rakpiss or a rakshasa’s piss, which could heal any wound and neutralize most poisons. In the second, I kept rakta, the blood of a chandaali, which was like caffeinated shakti. A single drop could perform the most powerful magic.

I unscrewed the knob of the rakpiss vial with my mouth and carefully poured one drop onto the waiter’s open wound. The waiter had been under a rakshasa-version of Vashi mantra so that my friend Grrhat could control his body and actions. So when I had cut the waiter’s body, it was Grrhat who felt the pain. Tendrils of black smoke erupted as the wound absorbed the rakpiss. I let the waiter slump back to the floor, capped my vial carefully and turned around.

‘Would you like to show yourself on the human plane, or are you too busy enjoying how Nikhil feels on your crotch?’

A muffled chuckle vibrated around us. The sound was grating, like a horse’s chortle going through

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CULT OF CHAOS a sieve. I felt naked without my boneblade, which was under the now broken table. ‘And thanks for ruining my date, by the way.’

‘It’s not like you were having any fun,’ croaked a rough voice, coming from a skeletal dark face with hard, green eyes that was solidifying before me. Grrhat’s face, like the rest of his body, was pure, adamantine bones. A big, all-black skeleton. Rakshasas are powerful, intelligent sups who can choose how to present themselves on the first plane, the plane which human eyes see, and don’t need any maya potion for that. Grrhat always tried to look scary and ended up looking like a charred scarecrow. Like today.

‘You were so slow catching on today that I almost decided against hiring you.’

‘I already told you, Grrhat, I am just not interested in the case. Which part of my “no” didn’t you understand?’ I asked, turning to pick up my satchel from the sofa. I wished I had my blade with me. I so wanted to teach him a lesson.

‘You might want to put that bag of yours away. The last thing you want is for lover boy here to scream and alert the locals.’

‘I know you have put a kriti around us. Nobody around us will be able to hear or see anything you or I do.’ A kriti was a rakshasa speciality, a bubble of solid air that could be built at will by the rakshasa and he could control all humans inside it. Sort of like a yantra, a closed circle. Grrhat loved to show off this particular trick because only a pureblood rakshasa could do it.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it? Gives us a little privacy.’

‘Well, I would have liked to have more space,’ I replied. ‘This one is so tiny.’

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CULT OF CHAOS The crooked grin fell off his face to be replaced by a black scowl. Rakshasas were sensitive about the size of their kriti (ring a bell?), and this bubble barely covered our cubicle and a few feet around it. Not big at all. I had met some purebloods who could build a private chamber for you in the middle of a bazaar.

‘The game is over, tantrik,’ he growled, pulling Nikhil closer to him, holding him in full body contact.

Nikhil looked like death had just pinched his butt. I could understand. A rakshasa’s touch can be quite a shock the first time. For one, it’s a whole different species. Not like humans are different from, say, frogs. It’s a species made up of more than five elements. Evolved from another plane, alien perhaps. Therefore, physical contact with a rakshasa could feel like anything between a slight tingle through every nerve in your body to touching what you thought was water, but turned out to be a pool of electricity. Gut-wrenching. As I said, it’s slightly different. (That’s also the reason some humans become addicted to sex with a rakshasa. Nikhil, unfortunately, didn’t seem kinky enough to enjoy it.)

‘Look, I appreciate you chasing me all over the city with this assignment. It makes me feel special.

But I am not interested.’

‘This time, my little friend, I give you no choice,’ he answered, placing his blackened claws around Nikhil’s neck. Nikhil’s eyes bulged. ‘You agree to meet him, or your lover here gets it in the neck.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ I replied, stiffening.

‘Oh, I have more powerful friends than the tants now.’ His misshapen teeth shone maliciously.

‘They can cover up if a neech or two go missing.’

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CULT OF CHAOS ‘Like I said, Grr ...’ I tried using his nickname to soften him. ‘Daevas are bad news. I don’t want anything to do with them. If you had any sense, you would stay away too.’ For a second, I thought he would let the boy go, but he tightened his grip instead.

‘Just meet my boss once and we’ll call it square.’

‘Why are you so hell-bent on this? How much money has this daeva promised you?’ I pressed my hand to a jagged edge of the broken table leg. Wet blood started to trickle into my palm. I fisted it.

‘You think it’s about the money?’

‘You wouldn’t save your dying mother if there was no money.’

‘Fine. It is about the money. But there’s other stuff too. Something’s happening, Anantya.

Something bad, and we need your help.’

‘Hah. Something apocalyptic, I am sure. It is never less than that, is it?’ My fist became wet as the scratch continued to bleed. The twinges of pain were too low to send any warning signals to my brain. I had done it too many times. ‘It’s amazing how often the world has been threatened and survived. I should find out where it keeps its survival guide ...’ Without giving him time, I changed tracks.

‘Aim hreem ...’ I began. ‘What are you ...’ I unfurled my fist, blood trickling off my palm and falling to the ground. Madya. The offering. The wine made of blood. ‘... bhuta aa! Kar de kreem!

Tundeyah!’ Mantra. The

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CULT OF CHAOS invocation. I pointed my bloodied left hand towards Grrhat,

positioning the tips of my thumb and little finger at the base of the little finger. Mudra. The direction of the spell.

‘Stop!’ screamed Grrhat.

‘DUCK!’ I shouted to Nikhil, who took my advice for once and bent just in time. Black tendrils of flame burst forth from my fingertips, singeing my hand, straight into Grrhat’s surprised face.

On the sweet spot. Tunde, the spirit I had conjured, was a low-level bhuta, and not very powerful.

Without my blade, this was the best I could manage. But it was enough for Grrhat. Tunde really hated rakshasas (a story I have to tell you sometime) and therefore made sure that whenever he was summoned, he went for overkill. My finger- lock released Tunde like a spray of smoky whips on Grrhat. The kriti that Grrhat had drawn around us would easily contain Tunde should he attempt to suck on the other humans in the restaurant.

‘By the balls of Betaal!’ screamed Grrhat.

If it were possible to read the expression of a black skeleton, I would say Grrhat was livid. He fell back, his grip on Nikhil loosening as the fiery whips of black spirit clawed his face and body.

‘Never, ever, try to twist my arm, Grrhat,’ I said, my hand still upturned as the inky scourges emanating from it curled around Grrhat’s face. ‘It reminds me of my father and I don’t like that at all.’ ‘... was a joke!’ he croaked.

I smiled for the first time that evening. The low-level spirit couldn’t possibly kill a powerful sup

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CULT OF CHAOS like the rakshasa, but it had certainly wiped the smug smirk off Grrhat’s face. It would irritate the hell out of him, like an ant in an elephant’s trunk.

Nikhil, who had found his voice, made ample use of it, ‘AAAAAAA!’ ‘Bhuta, bhuta!’ the waiter shouted as he tugged at my foot.

My hand jerked and I lost control of Tunde, hitting Nikhil’s shoulder. I quickly pressed my treta ring, and hauled Tunde’s whip-like form back into my fingers, scorching my hand with his fury.

With two humans around, this was too dangerous.

My playtime was done. Free from the bhuta, Grrhat grabbed Nikhil and began to disappear, taking the circle of kriti with him.

‘Don’t!’ I shouted.

‘If for nothing else, you will come for your lover. For directions,’ said Grrhat, chucking a golden paper scrap in my direction. I caught it as he vanished, his grin the last to go. That’s when I realized that my hand had begun to itch. The hand which held the paper. A sticky, yellow-brown residue oozed onto my hand. Yaksha poop. I tried to breathe. For those of you who don’t know (and I am hoping you never get to know) what yaksha poop is, you lucky bastards! Tantriks know it as ‘God’s fart’. Fill a whole lake with human shit instead of water and you haven’t even begun to describe the stench. It’s hell’s garbage but sweeter, in a bad way. It hits your nose like a pile of rotting corpses in a closed room. I mean, it physically hits you. There have been studies which claim that yaksha poop can be lethal to human beings. I threw the card on the floor and fell on all fours, my eyes stinging, my nose protesting, my mouth gagging. Thankfully, it had been just a little drop, to irritate me I was sure. The golden paper shone on the ground. I squinted to read through the fog

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CULT OF CHAOS on my senses.

Lord Qubera Lord of Men (LoM), Lord of Yakshas (LoY) and Regent of the North (RotN) Qubera Enterprises

, Max Mueller Road, Lodhi Gardens, New Delhi In the business of financial reconstruction plans and windfall gains since eternity An assortment of noises rose around me – gasps of horror and disgust – as the smell infiltrated their sensibilities. There were a few screams, some retching, but I didn’t stick around to hear it all.

The restaurant probably wasn’t going to do any business for a long, long time. I fished out my boneblade from under the sofa, stuffed it into my satchel along with my stiletto heels and straightened my now destroyed dress. Barefoot and breathing rapidly through the mouth, I walked out into the scorching night.

Author: Shweta Taneja Shweta Taneja is an author with a weakness for the occult, the eccentric and the oral traditions living in the heartland of this country. She loves to weave stories she finds into thrilling contemporary fiction. Her latest book Cult of Chaos is a tantrik detective thriller based in Delhi.

Find more of her at www.shwetawrites.com or search her most places online with @shwetawrites

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The eight FBian hearts

The eight

FBian hearts

Harsha Shastry

Amazon Chapter 1: The FBians www.facebook.com Bhaskar entered his email Id and password and entered the world of Face book. He felt a chill of excitement looking at the home screen. He saw two friend request, one message and four notifications at the top right of his FB screen. He quickly clicked on the friend request button anticipating invitation from good looking female profiles. Poor him! One was a request from his old school mate whom he wanted to avoid as much as possible. Other one, a un-spell-able man from Tanzania! Bhaskar clicked ignore button with vengeance for both. Next instant he felt a thrill of shooting two people from a gun and chuckled to himself loudly.

Bhaskar next clicked on message icon and read the foolish comment from his colleague about his latest photo in FB. He moved to notification without much enthusiasm. He was dead right; all the four notifications were nothing but invitations from his four unknown friends to like their pages.

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The eight FBian hearts He ignored everything and concentrated on the main page. Photos, Videos, Posts, Comments, Likes. He suddenly felt very bored. He gazed blankly at some of the hot pictures of films stars whom he had liked. He scrolled down to watch some funny videos, but none made him smile. He read ‘Vedhantha’ (High thoughts!) of some popular people and scratched his head to understand the gist of their thoughts. He wrote down few comments on his known friends photos like, ‘Awesome Dude’, ‘Cool’, ‘looking like Salman Khan’ although he never meant it.

Finally not knowing what to do, Bhaskar clicked on his own name at the top right corner of his screen to view his own profile. It announced boldly as, ‘Content writer at radio’ with his young days picture (taken before his marriage). He looked at his friends list which teased him by stating just ‘44’. He wished he had more friends, especially female friends. He changed his cover page just for the sake of changing and being in the game of FB. He wrote a comment on his new cover to initiate more comments. He was tempted to click on the ‘Find more Friends’ link, but with great difficulty he ruled out the temptation. Satisfied with the day’s FB world, he logged out and closed the tab. ** Vishnu logged into face book soon after he had his dinner. It was his favorite time. He had a hard day as ever, roaming the entire metropolitan city in sun is never an easy job. He blamed himself for not completing his graduation. He should have completed his B.sc, but during those days he dreamt of becoming a cricketer and never gave serious thoughts to complete his graduation. Now he regretted it, although his parents and few friends still kept on advising him to complete the graduation, they think, it is never too late. Vishnu on the other hand, felt it as just impossible since he didn’t have any confidence left in him. He had lost all his confidence when he failed to become a cricketer as he had wished. However hard he played he could not make it to ‘Ranaji’ or even to

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The eight FBian hearts state level for that matter. He neither had god father, nor money to sustain for long and eventually he has to quit. Now, being a marketing executive of a private banking company made him to realize his mistakes. And face book was the only thing which gave solace to his shuttered heart.

Vishnu began to browse and clicked on ‘Fun inventors’ posts and giggled at the latest jokes. He eyed the hot photos of unknown female profiles and some actress until his eyes watered. He commented on all the hot looking girls by typing, ‘Awesome!’, ‘Mind catching curves’, ‘Love your figure’, ‘Supaaaaaaaaaaar’ and so on. He clicked on his own profile and felt proud looking at the friends list, it showed 440! Not bad for a marketing executive, he thought to himself and smiled.

Next he decided to edit his profile since he wanted to add more friends, especially from opposite sex. He clicked on the ‘update info’ button and clicked ‘edit’ on the Work and Education section.

He erased ‘Marketing Executive @ private sector’ and keyed in, ‘CEO @ No. One’. He clicked ‘Done editing’ button and beamed to himself. That should do the trick, he giggled at his latest effort. Of course, he knew he was not lying, he really was a CEO at no one/where! but he knew people would read it simply as ‘CEO at No.1’.

Vishnu hoped his new version of profile would attract lot of female friends since his friendship list contained seventy percent of male friends. He started sending friend request to all the good looking female profiles. He carefully selected the profiles from his own city avoiding the distance. Some profiles said, ‘You can’t send request – reached maximum limit’. He wondered when his profile would reach that maximum limit. After sending fifteen requests, face book began to doubt him (!).

It asked for confirmation twice, it asked him questions like, ‘Do you really know her?’, ‘Do you know her outside?’ etc. He ignored all and started sending more requests with a vengeance. After sending another ten requests face book logged him out without warning. Vishnu re-logged to see the screen directing him to a new agreement. It warned him to accept the block period of one

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The eight FBian hearts month. Vishnu felt like a thief caught red handed. Least he didn’t want his face book account to be deactivated. He blindly agreed to all its terms and condition.

One month block!

That’s a long time to wait. He thought to himself and cursed for his foolishness and logged out of face book so that he could log in himself to much needed sleep. ** Sujala beamed at the numerous likes and comments on her recent post. God! She is popular, at least in the world of face book. Just two hours before, just for the sake of fun, she had posted a comment which said, ‘I am feeling DULL and DEPRESSED’ and now lot of people responded to her with such care. She began to laugh uncontrollably. She is not even a proper model or an actress for that matter. Recently she had grabbed few opportunities in anchoring Television shows and now she is popular. Sujala tried to imagine herself being a successful heroine and looking at the comments on her time line. It might take hours for her to go through all the comments in future if at all if she becomes a heroine. Well, that was her dream. Today after seeing so many comments she felt she is few steps closer to her dream. All she wanted was to attract the attention of the so called directors, writers and production managers. She knew she had that ‘look’ and ‘figure’ which the film industry could devour to make successful films with her in main leading role.

Sujala didn’t bother to go through all the comments since she knew each ended up with admiration.

She posted a ‘thank you all for your concern’ and started uploading her recent photos taken by her cousin on her demand. After posting them Sujala hoped that some would grab the attention of movie makers and in turn would open the doors of her dream land. She quickly glanced at numerous friend requests and scanned for the word ‘Director’, ‘Film’, ‘Writer’, ‘Production

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The eight FBian hearts coordinator’, ‘Actor’, ‘Works at Movie’ etc and accepted the request where she found those words and uncaringly ignored the rest. ** Sanika smiled at the cute baby’s picture. She loved kids, they were her world. Being a teacher of kindergarten was like being with angels. Of course, there were difficult times, but she knew to handle them better. With a sudden inspiration she downloaded the cute baby’s picture and uploaded it as her FB cover page.

Satisfied, she checked for messages from her friend and replied to them promptly. She ignored all notifications and carefully began to check the profiles which had sent her friend request. Sanika accepted all most all from her sex and ignored all most all from opposite sex since she didn’t know any one personally.

Next Sanika began to see the posts by others. She stopped at the photo of ‘Sai Baba’ and smiled.

But her smile vanished as soon as she read, ‘Share in 60 seconds or Bad luck.’ at the bottom of the photo. Disgusting! She thought at once. Many FB users had an obsession for orthodox beliefs. She was not an atheist; she did believe and respected all gods no matter what religion they are from.

But people ways of representing it irritated her, for instant, there was nothing wrong in sharing a photo of ‘Sai baba’ but, the message below it was utterly disgusting. It compelled people to share it by threatening them with bad luck. Sanika knew very well that it is not the ways of GOD. It is the ways of foolish people. Time and again, she had seen many of her close friends share the photos of other gods and goddess with the similar messages just the sake of fear. She wouldn’t do that, she was strong and knew nothing would happen if it is not shared.

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The eight FBian hearts Sanika liked FB extremely in other aspects; it gave her a thrill of being with people no matter known or unknown. There were only three worlds for her, one – her aged mother, second – her school and kids, third – the FACEBOOK. Suddenly she felt the itching sensation on her right hand and looked at it to scratch. Her face at once faded with the familiar sight of the white patch. Leucoderma – it has been bothering her since two years. First she had noticed a small white patch on the right upper arm and neglected it completely thinking it as some sort of mole. Since a year it started spreading slowly towards the lower arm. Apart from the right hand it had not affected any part of her body. She knew she should consult a dermatologist very soon and get it treated immediately. She made a strong mental note to do it soon.

Sanika typed ‘leucoderma’ on the search tab of FB and clicked it. She began to click on the various links and started filling her mind with all the possible information. ** Pradeep felt his all energy drain out as the problem of the new software persisted stubbornly. Since four long hours he had debugged for all possible errors, everything seemed to work out at last, but now again he was back to level one. He felt like banging his head on to the table.

“You need a diversion, fat Buddy.” Ramesh, his colleague advised him handling a big cup of coffee.

“Fat buddy!” That was the nick name he got himself for sitting hours in front of the system. Yes, Pradeep knew he was getting fat day by day and had to work it out soon. His parents were also worried about his bulging stomach since he was unmarried. But his busy schedule at office somehow hasn’t given him the opportunity or time to involve in sports or other activities which

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The eight FBian hearts could reduce his bulging stomach. Pradeep forcefully removed the thoughts about his stomach and sat back closing his eyes for a long moment.

No, it didn’t work; he grabbed the coffee cup from his table and drank it sip by sip. No - the caffeine didn’t seem to do the job as well.

And then he logged into face book.

It was more than a week since he logged in last time. Pradeep was never a vicious user of face book. He started looking at all the posts one by one. He clicked on the funny videos and watched it with new interest. He checked out the hot and beautiful profiles and enjoyed their post and views.

He read the jokes about engineers and laughed heartily remembering his golden days of college life.

Suddenly he saw an invitation from one of his friend to play a game. Pradeep clicked it without second thought and began to play ‘Hidden Express’ on FB. Soon he was so immersed in the game that he never noticed the time and level of the game. He completed six levels in half an hour and felt utterly relaxed. His mind started to work again and remained him the half unfinished job that he was doing earlier. Pradeep hastily logged out and began to work on the problem with new insight and new energy.

He took another forty minutes and completed his project without much trouble. He looked at his watch; it was just six, too early to leave the office. Nonetheless, he could leave since he had done his day’s job. He went to wash room and came back whistling.

“Leaving so early dude? I believe my coffee did that.” Ramesh teased him with jealousy.

“Not your coffee, but sometime else did.” Replied Pradeep with a mysterious smile.

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The eight FBian hearts “Whatever it is, you should use it more.” Ramesh commented without taking his eyes from his screen.

“You are right, I should do that.”

Pradeep had Face book in mind. ** “Don’t sit in front of the computer again; you have just come from office.” Malvi ignored her mother’s voice and logged in to her face book account.

Malvi felt like screaming a big ‘no’ as soon as saw her notification which told her about numerous tags. Why do people tag me? She questioned herself. She began to check those tags, some were pictures of some artists, and some were irreverent, unintelligent images and photos of unknown people. She immediately wrote a comment, ‘Plz guys don’t to dare tag me again or I will have U BLOCKed’. She felt a wave of relief and concentrated on interesting posts. She felt envy when she saw her friend Nayana’s picture with her hubby. Nayana had dared to post even the kissing pictures. Malvi knew very well that Nayana would expect extravagant comments but she ignored it with jealousy. ‘Wait till I post bed room pictures of me and my hubby when I get married.’ She thought and chuckled at the thought.

She knew her marriage were on the cards. Her mother had two guys in mind but Malvi had rejected them without mercy. She wanted to marry, but not just any guy. She wanted to fall in love deeply with a man who could give her all the modern comports of life. She then saw the cute picture of Sanjana with her first baby. She hit the like button immediately and then on second thoughts shared it just to annoy Nayana. Being a HR Manager she had understood all her friends very well. One of her colleague at office had posted a long comment, rather her views, about latest political

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The eight FBian hearts happenings. Malvi ignored it and scrolled down to see comments on her favorite author’s latest post. Suddenly the chat window popped up and said, ‘Hi how are you?’ Malvi tried to recall the name but she couldn’t. She herself didn’t know who he was and wondered when and how she had added him. She hastily replied, ‘Do I know you?’ The response came rather quickly, ‘Remember honey, yesterday I was in your dream!’

A fan for me, Malvi chuckled and wrote, ‘Then, just be in my dream - never dare to come to reality.’ And then she blocked the profile without mercy. ** Kavya was never an internet girl. Maximum she did was to check her mails and she used only Gmail. She never bothered about FB or any other social networking sites. On the other hand, her older sister Anaya was just crazy about social networking sites, especially FB. She could do without a meal, but not without her FB logins at least three times a day.

Anaya was very unlike her sister in every way. Kavya had the fair complexion inherited from her mother while Anaya had the dark complexion inherited from her father. Anaya could do anything to have that fair complexion although she did not look too bad. Her dark complexion had made her not to use her photo of FB however she desired to showcase herself. She had the cover of a lovely angel on her profile. Her unknown friends kept asking her to post her photo but Anaya ignored the requests. She loved to be mysterious. Her face book profile was full on unknown male friends who kept on wishing her on all occasions. She enjoyed the importance given to her by them. She enjoyed the numerous colorful images which they posted on her time line. Her only real friends on face book were her handful of colleagues from work place.

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The eight FBian hearts Anaya had a very fine hand and lifeless things can easily take up life with her sketches and paintings. Being a bachelor of fine arts, her hands knew well to give life to them. Her many posts contained her portraits, pictures and paintings.

Today she felt utterly sad as she sat in front of the system. She has been rejected - yet again, by another boy. She knew she was dark, but then, many people in the world are. What is so bad about that? She was not sad for being black, not for the rejection. But, for the attitude of people towards it. She knew her mother is very worried about her marriage as time was running out quickly. The most ironic part was, most of the boys rejected her and approved Kavya shamelessly. They never thought what would or how would Anaya feel when they expressed their desire to marry the fair Kavya in front of her openly. This has happened four times. It is just like pointing out her black complexion openly. Poor Kavya too, felt very embarrassed every time this happened and refused those offers mercilessly.

Anaya felt like expressing herself in FB and started to write, “Is black a curse? Don’t people with dark complexion have hearts? Are they not human beings? Does love happen to only fair people?

Why is this discrimination?” Anaya felt a little better after she posted it and began to re think on her attitude. Why was she so upset? She was never like this. She has to be strong. She should not degrade herself just because someone rejected her and liked her younger sister.

Suddenly Anaya noticed the inbox of her FB flash with red colored ‘1’. Anaya clicked it curiously.

“Why? What happened? You seem to be upset with something.” An unknown friend has replied to her recent post very quickly.

Gosh! What has she done? She has openly admitted her weakness to the world and made herself look like a fool. Anaya realized that she should not have posted in anger. She quickly clicked her

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The eight FBian hearts profile and clicked on ‘activity log’ and deleted her recent post. With utter shame she logged out of the FB and went inside and sat in front of TV and started watching a cartoon show. ** Vijay, at 31, had most of the things he desired in life. He was a bright kid from beginning. He did well in studies, never scored below 70. Being extremely good in mathematics he had scored a well respected job in nationalized bank after his M.com. He is an assistant manager and one among few most eligible bachelors in his relative’s circle.

He had rejected the offers of his constant nagging relatives to see the girls. Somehow, it didn’t seem to work for him. He was a very shy guy; he didn’t want to marry a girl just because his parents and relatives like her. He wanted to feel the depth of being known to each other before marriage. He wanted to have a clear understanding and unbreakable bond established between both. Just casual meetings or half an hour with the girl didn’t seem to work for him. His parents had registered on many marriage websites. But that too, didn’t seem to work for him.

Vijay was not among the so called lucky guys who could attract the girls with their pep talk or with their handsome looks and body languages. He never dared to talk to his female colleagues more than necessary. He was not a ‘Romeo’ type of guy at all. He was certainly good looking but never bothered about improvising it. He knew he is running out of his front portion of hairs, but he never bothered to try to stop the falling or to nurse it with numerous available hairs therapies.

Of course his parents worried about this and pushed him hard for the marriage. Vijay, resisted as much as he could, but he knew he was running out of reason. It is high time for him to find his soul mate with whom he has to share his whole life.

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The eight FBian hearts And then he opened a face book account to become one among millions of FBians around the world. ****

Author: Harsha Shastry Harsha Shastry is a dynamic creative writer with over eight years of experience in the areas of creative script writing including animation screenplay, lyrics, Novellas, Novels, copy ads, contents, jingles, game concepts and dialogues. He has written stories/screen plays for very acclaimed and popular cartoon shows like Choota Bheem, Motu and Patlu. His stories have been published in international journals like “Earthen Lamp Journal.” His debut novel “The eight FBian hearts” is being published by Numerique Publication. Apart from being a writer, Harsha is a humanitarian who believes in the strength of each individual irrespective of race and gender.

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Hidden Passion

Hidden Passion Summerita Rhayne

Amazon Kindle Chapter One: Rukmani felt her breath trap in her throat the moment the samrat stepped into the sabha, the informal gathering of his guests assembled in the verdant palace lawns.

Deveshwaraya, the samrat, the king of many lands, fascinated her in a primeval way.

He had invited her father, the ruler of the adjoining region of Bagalpur and his family on a ceremonial visit.

Although he was the reigning monarch of the whole of Northern plains, he was playing the charming host with graciousness. A marquee had been erected, hung with silk and satin for the comfort of the royal guests. Servants stood holding peacock feather fans and served saffron dusted sweetmeats and cool drinks in gold vessels.

She suspected the invitation was a gesture – but for what? Could it be an extended hand of friendship? She hoped so, but how could she depend on her headstrong brothers to respond in

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Hidden Passion spirit? Her father too, was stiff with Samrat Deveshwaraya after the defeat he had tasted at his hands. She knew that sometimes her father and brothers flouted the treaty between the two rajya, the kingdoms, just to be difficult.

That was why she had made sure she and her mother availed the samrat’s invitation too and accompanied the male contingent on this excursion to Minali, the grand capital of Campavati.

So far the visit had been exceedingly pleasant.

Whatever the underlying friction between the two rulers, they played at genial civility with dexterity. Indeed the attention, the care lavished on the Kamboj family by Deveshwaraya was meticulous. Bagalpur was a smaller kingdom and her father lower in standing but Samrat Devesh had treated him with equality, extending courtesy that was customary of him. He invited the Kamboj regent to sit on his right side, which was an honour indeed and he had partaken all his meals with the male members of the clan since the beginning of the visit two weeks ago.

It made her optimistic that relations between them would become warmer.

Whatever happened on the political front, she was aware only of the attraction the samrat held for her. Every time he was in the vicinity, her body could sense his presence. Whenever his dark eyes met hers, she had a feeling that was how sparks of lightning must feel as tremors raced through her body. Her senses came awake, her skin tingling with awareness.

Since their first meeting which had started out so unfavorably, she had felt the pull between them. Even now as he finished a round of attendance of his guests, his gaze alighted on her. Dark. Compelling. Intense. Then like a horse suddenly reined in, it was withdrawn from her

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Hidden Passion and went on to her mother who sat nearby.

‘Raniji, Rajkumari, how are you this morning?’ He included them both in the greeting.

With an effort she returned the perfunctory words of courtesy along with her mother, willing him to look at her again but he remained unaware of her unvoiced wish.

While he played the solicitous host, she let her gaze dwell on him. Some people found his looks unconventional. His body was bronzed unlike the other Aryan kings’. Bigger, tougher than the most obdurate fighter the kings customarily had. Dark locks tumbled down to his shoulders, his features granite cast and clean cut devoid of the smooth, soft beauty of other princes. She had an impulse to trace those planes and angles. His mouth...she blushed at the thought of how it might feel to have it touch hers. She was an innocent as princesses were expected to be. But since her maid had gotten married, her knowledge of sexual intimacy between couples had expanded considerably. Meena was always blushing and could be induced to expound on the reasons for her giggles quite easily.

She wondered if the samrat would kiss her if the opportunity arose. The very thought sent tingles of sheer delight stealing to her toes.

He moved away and left the sabha. Lost in the fantasies he induced, she wandered to the edge of the marquee to watch him giving instructions to the servants.

‘Where are you lost, nanhi?’ Her father’s benign question roused her from her preoccupation. He was using her pet name that literally meant ‘little one’.

She became aware of her surroundings. In the distance the horses were being led to the

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Hidden Passion gate. The sound of the little brass beads worn on a belt around their necks, tinkled across the yard.

‘Why are they preparing to ride, pitashri?’ She asked to fill the awkward pause.

‘He’s going boar hunting.’ The rajan said. ‘He invited your brother but he wants to play pachisi.’ He gestured behind them to where her brother was ribbing the courtiers over the cloth bearing the design of the game spread between them.

‘They are a rider short then? Oh, I can replace him. Let me go with him, pitashri. Please!

I haven’t learnt how to hunt with a spear and my visit to Campavati would be a waste if I don’t learn it, wouldn’t it?’ She smiled cajolingly, the way she knew would work with her father.

‘All right.’ She resisted the urge to clap her hands. A whole afternoon with Samrat Devesh. Maybe she’d get a chance to be alone with him...

Her father stepped forward to confer with the samrat who on seeing the older regent walking up, came forward to meet him halfway. They conversed and she saw Devesh glance at her now and then.

Her father was dwarfed by the giant-like presence and she almost giggled at the way he had to tip up his head to talk to him until the samrat realized this and took two steps back. Sunshine glinted off the gold adorning his chest. He wore his royal blue uttariya with the folded upper garment resting on his shoulder and passing behind his back to be looped through the crook of the elbow of his other arm. The rest of his chest was bare. A kayaband was cinched around his lower waist and hips, decked at the upper edge by a gold band that emphasized the leanness of his waist.

Just below his navel the tie of the kayaband was decorated by a gold centerpiece studded with

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Hidden Passion gems. His antariya was tied meticulously, folds of yellow silk encompassing strong legs and falling almost to his ankles.

The feeling that he was objecting to her joining in the hunt made her leave her post at the edge of marquee and move closer to them. Her intuition was confirmed by his words.

‘Rajan, Rajkumari at the spear hunt? Wouldn’t that be a tad dangerous for the dainty one?’

His gaze fell on her as he spoke and she detected an edge of mockery in his tone.

Her chin came up. ‘After the sport yesterday, you still doubt my hunting skills, Samrat Virat?’

She saw a pinched look come over her father’s face as she voiced the title. She knew he resented the fact that the supreme reign of the region had passed to Deveshwaraya after a war that had lasted far fewer days than they had anticipated.

Bagalpur and the surrounding zones had belatedly united to face off his advancing forces but they had underestimated his battle skills and the determination of his forces. Barely a week later he had claimed the vast Gangetic plain as his own.

Her gaze clung to him as it had when she had first seen him. When he had strode into the rajyasabha assembled at Bagalpur, where all the kings stood with their heads bowed. Even before she had seen him she had been curious, if a little resentful. Curious to see the fierce warrior who had brought down her father and all her brothers. Whispers had gone around that he had deliberately spared their lives, letting go of easy opportunities to kill them on the battleground.

Her brothers, faces red with indignation, had told her all about it. Along with them, she had been

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Hidden Passion furious too.

That very evening, in her annoyance she had confronted him in the garden where he had been invited to rest. ‘Invited’ was a laugh! Because he owned every inch of the land after winning it in battle.

The consciousness that their kingdom was no longer theirs, had burned resentfully in her and she burst into a tirade as she came upon him kneeling down near a flowerbed.

‘I suppose now you will tear off the flowers from our plants to exert your right on them.

Already I see you have taken over our private garden!’ She had been breathing hard, her cheeks heated from the intense feeling as hate shimmered in the form of angry tears in her eyes.

Her maid had fled in fright at her heedless words and their possible consequences. The king slowly stood up and she was chagrined to find she had to tilt back her head to keep looking at him.

He had stepped back, she remembered, to make it easy for her to face him. The dark eyes looked at her, so calm, yet so compelling. Somehow half her anger deflated under his appraisal.

‘What taking over are you talking about? You have nought to begrudge me with. All of your family is alive and well, princess.’ he said.

‘Alive but for what? To bear the insult of squirming under your thumb? It would have been better for us to have been destroyed in the battle than live to be your servants!’

His eyes flashed with emotion at her outburst but he didn’t respond to her impetuous words immediately. The pause lengthened and then he said quietly but firmly, ‘I have no interest in ruling over you or your people. The sole aim of the battle was to keep the regents and their Go to top

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Hidden Passion atrocities in check. The erstwhile Samrat of Campavati had set a precedent that all the other rulers had started following. The royals had become used to treating farmers as dirt, all because a farmer works with the dirt. The war will serve as a lesson to them. They will remember for a long time that when dirt gets into the eyes, it can make tears flow. Even a farmer can wrest power from those who abuse it.’

Then she had realized why people called him krsaka jayant that literally meant farmerking. It was rumoured that once he had been a farmer. He had not come to the throne by birth.

From his words it seemed it was true.

She had gazed at him, despite herself drawn to a certain magnetism that he exuded. He didn’t look like other royals but he didn’t look like a labourer either. There was a refinement in the way he spoke that made you listen even when you didn’t want to...

He added with a trace of mockery, ‘As for the flowers, I wasn’t tearing them, rajkumari.

I don’t pluck flowers. You can see for yourself the roots would have got exposed in rain.’ He pointed and she saw he had been putting soil to anchor the stem of the plant more securely.

Stunned, she stared at him. She was so rarely at a loss for words. But right at that moment she was. A king who was bothered about saving a plant when he should be enjoying his wins?

When he was expected to be plundering the spoils of war as he went about proclaiming his victory?

He continued, ‘The details of the treaty will be charted out soon. I can tell you this though.

Your life will continue as it was. I will hold the royals accountable for their behavior. That and a certain form of financial reimbursement is all I will require from them.’

That he was discussing state matters with her surprised her even more. But she couldn’t

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Hidden Passion talk to him about it. He was the enemy. The consciousness made her confused as to how she should react. She turned away, not wanting to give in, yet defeated by his arguments. Her swift movement made the wind catch her uttariya and threw it over the branches of the rose bushes nearby.

In her mind, she could still see how tenderly he had untangled it. The thin cloth came off with not a single hole or tear from the thorns.

He’d stepped close to drape it on her. She felt the warmth, the strength of him, felt the light touch as he settled it on her shoulder. For some reason her heart was beating fast, not with anger but an unfamiliar excitement.

Later the same evening she met him again. She had stolen across in the darkness to have a look at him and found him near the fountains in the garden. He had smiled at her in the darkness, the moonlight throwing shadows on his face and delineating his muscular torso.

‘Weren’t you satisfied with crushing me with words? Have you now brought a dagger to cut me up in pieces?’ He mocked.

The rich, vibrant tone made her toes curl.

‘I think the words were enough...in fact too much.’ Was she smiling with him at her remark? Darting him a glance from beneath her lashes, she wondered how the way she had looked at him had changed in such a short space of time.

‘Truly they weren’t needed!’ He drawled and stepped closer to her. The warmth, the sense of strength that exuded from him enveloped her again. Only this time, she felt a lure too, the lure of his mysteriousness, his virility. He spoke quite close to her, ‘If you have the intent to wound,

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Hidden Passion just the lightning striking from these eyes would be deadly!’

He sounded like her he was flirting with her and her heartbeat quickened. ‘Samrat…’

‘You surely don’t need me to tell you that you are beautiful.’ He murmured.

They stood spellbound by an unnamed force. Then a gust of wind blew past and his gaze shifted from her and alighted on the orange flag of the Kamboj clan. He stood looking at it whipping in the wind, the moment broken.

‘Go back to your chambers, rajkumari.’ He said abruptly. Then he murmured, ‘Such beauty is better protected by softer hands.’

She couldn’t decipher what he meant. But that was just another part of the mystery he carried around himself.

After that, she couldn’t put him out of her mind. The resentment she had once felt for him got transformed into an emotion she could ill define. The way she looked at him had changed forever. Attraction...fascination...whatever it was...she only knew whenever his dark gaze trapped her, she didn’t want to escape...

Even now her attention was glued to him.

She tried to get back to normal, to recall what she had been saying. Ah, something about the hunt. He had said she was too dainty to hunt.

‘Surely you don’t doubt my hunting skills?’ She smiled teasingly.

‘Your hunting skills?’ King Devesh drawled.

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Hidden Passion She found herself responding perkily to the soft challenge in his tone. ‘How can you have forgotten how it was yesterday? I was the first one on horseback to reach the deer, you know that!’

Author: Summerita Rhayne Summerita Rhayne loves to write sensual and emotional romance in diverse genres like contemporary and historical. There's no knowing when some quirky - or sometimes even not so quirky - happening in daily life might trigger her right brain and then she's off craving a new story.

She loves writing characters who learn and grow and find their way out of their troubles and emotional hang-ups. Hot, sensual heroes and sassy but sweet heroines mostly fit the bill in her stories. She also believes that a touch of humor never goes amiss in a book.

She divides her time between family, job and writing - and loves winding down with music, movies and the internet!

Author links: Website: www.summeritarhayne.com Twitter @SummeritaRhayne https://twitter.com/summeritarhayne Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Summerita-Rhayne/e/B00MZQ0PUC

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The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer

The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer Laxmi Hariharan ( Dystopian Romance. Thriller. Ruby Iyer Series, 1)

Kindle The Origins of Ruby Iyer Growing up in Bombay I was weighed down by the expectations of traditional Indian society. Yet, I wanted to be economically independent. So, daily I would leave the relative safety of home, knowing that my commute to work was going to be nightmarish. It's just how public transport is in this city.

When you get on a bus you know that the man standing behind is going to brush against you. When you walk through a crowded local train platform, you accept that you are probably going to be felt up. Every time this happened to me, I would get really angry. But, I’d just push it aside and get on. Not much I could do about it could I? If I raised my voice it’s not like anyone was going to pay attention.

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The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer But, when a young photojournalist was raped in the centre of Bombay in broad daylight, I was furious.

It was as if nothing had changed in all the years I had been away.

Then, I had a vision of this young girl who would not back down, who would stand up for herself, who would follow her heart ... Thus Ruby Iyer was born.

Make no mistake though Ruby is her own person. She leads and I follow.

To get a free copy of The Ruby Iyer Diaries sign up to my newsletter HERE

Chapter 1

I SHOULD BE dead and headed for my funeral pyre. Except in a final desperate attempt to slow down my fall, I put out my hand, grasp the concrete edge of the platform and scream as my fingernails tear. There's a low rumbling, growing louder. The noise heightens like that of a pressure cooker, whistling, gathering steam, and then, it whooshes towards me. The 8.05am local train to Churchgate station blares its horn, coming straight at me. BAM-BAM-BAM, my heart slams with panic, mind gone white with fear and I can't think. Can't. Breathe. I've got to get the fuck out of here. Stuck between the platform and the tracks, I look up into his face.

Eyes gleaming, he's caught in the throes of arousal.

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The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer I'm afraid, so very afraid, and when he leans down, stretching out a hand, I shrink away towards an end that is more preferable. I look the other way and see the stream of white sparks spewing out of an open electricity wire dangling on the other side of the tracks. Get out of here.

Get out. NOW. "Help!" I scream.

Not one of the rush-hour Bombay commuters hears me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Look at me. Help me, somebody. I am here. HERE. I scream again.

My voice, torn out of me, scatters over the crowd who have eyes only for the incoming train.

No one sees me. None except him. He's still there, standing on the platform, staring at me. He's waiting. Waiting for me to ask him, to beg him to rescue me. I don’t have a choice. I have to ask him for help. Ask him. Do it. DO IT. I fling out my arm and bending towards me, he clutches my wrist. It’s him—the same Hand that fondled my thigh and threw me off the platform earlier—he claws my other palm off the platform, jerks me up, high, almost at eye level with him. I hang there suspended, swaying.

Heat from the oncoming train rushes at me. It's on me, almost at me. I shriek with terror. My mind’s babbling, thoughts tripping over each other, the blood thunders in my ears. It's over. All over. A trembling grips me. I shut my eyes tight.

"Don't go too far, little girl," Ma's voice taunts. "You don't know what demons are out there."

Then, I'm flying through the dust. He throws me free of the track, out of the path of the train and towards the open electricity wire.

Blessed silence.

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The Many Lives of Ruby Iyer

Author: Laxmi Hariharan She almost died. But when dystopia romance author Laxmi Hariharan had a near death experience, she was told to write. Laxmi is the creator of dystopian romance series, RUBY IYER SERIES (the MANY LIVES OF VIKRAM ROY - FINALIST Indie Excellence Awards, the bestselling The RUBY IYER DIARIES and The FIRST LIFE OF VIKRAM ROY), and the Amazon bestselling, eLit Gold winner, The Destiny of Shaitan (Bombay Chronicles, 1). If you're looking for books like Divergent

and

Angelfall,

you'll

love

the

RUBY

IYER

SERIES.

Laxmi writes books similar to Hunger Games while listening to electronica music and downing innumerable cups of extra sweet ginger-chai. She is also an avid photographer of street art. London is

where

she

creates.

Bombay

is

what

fires

her

imagination.

Subscribe to her newsletter HERE to get a free copy of The Ruby Iyer Diaries.

Find her Instagram | FB | Blog | @laxmi

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The Perfect Dilemmas

The Perfect Dilemmas Zahir

Flipkart Amazon SPEED BREAKERS AND DIVERSIONS ‘Ohhh it was really good spending time with Anna right Kabir’? Bala asked…sitting in the cab.

‘Yes it was really good; today I came to know what Anna is going through from inside… poor guy’. I said.

‘Oh yes...I could feel the pain in his voice when he was talking about his parents… but don’t worry my friend we won’t do such mistakes. We will learn from his mistakes…right’? Bala said and kept a hand on my shoulder.

I did not reply.

‘Hey let’s not go home’. Bala said after some time.

‘What? Not home, then where do you want to go’? I asked Bala, looking outside the window.

‘Let’s go and enjoy my friend, after all we have this huge success as a reason to celebrate’. He said and pointed at the one of the tallest building.

‘Yaa I know but that’s what we were doing with Anna. We were celebrating our success’. I said.

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The Perfect Dilemmas ‘Forget Anna, let’s try something new and let’s forget everything what has happened in past’. Bala said changing his tone.

‘What do you mean Bala? I don't understand anything...tell me clearly where do you want to go’?

I asked looking at him.

‘Let’s go to Red light Area’. He said.

‘What??? Red Light Area??? I literally jumped from my seat…do you know what is that Bala….’.

I said.

‘I know what happens in red light area but don’t worry because I am here…let’s try dude’. He said.

‘Noway Bala, I don’t think that’s a good idea, if you want I can accompany you in drinking more in a pub or a bar but let’s not go there’. I made a firm statement.

‘Oh come on Kabir, why don’t you come out from your past’? Till what time you will think about everything that has happened back in India, forget it. Look at me, I want Riya in my life but I know she wont accept me, it doesn't mean I should stop living my life because life doesn’t go without enjoying, Kabir’. Bala said trying to convince me.

‘Life even doesn’t go sleeping around with other girls Bala...sorry I am not ready…if you want you can go…I don’t mind,’ I said.

‘You are impossible Kabir, all our friends sitting back in India, want to live this kind of life but look at you, you are still stuck with your life’. Bala said furiously.

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The Perfect Dilemmas ‘What rubbish Bala? I am not stuck, even I am enjoying my life here, but enjoying doesn’t mean I should sleep around with somebody whom I don’t know. I am happy the way I am. I said.

‘Happy! Ha ha, look at yourself Kabir, anybody can make out that you still live in your past, you are still not ready to accept that in a couple of years you will be marrying a girl whom you don’t even know and then your life will be finished, you will be a family man Kabir, forget that, the fact is that you want to enjoy your life but you are stopping yourself,’ Bala tried to show me a mirror.

Bala, ‘why are you saying all this to me? You know it’s not the way you think it to be, I am really happy with my life. Please don’t force me to do things’. I said to avoid him.

‘I am not forcing you Kabir, I thought maybe we can live our life like we used to before.

Now since we don’t have any worries in life, I don’t think there is an issue if we enjoy a bit by going out of track. Who knows what is going to happen next....? What say’? Bala spoke again.

I was quiet for a moment, as whatever Bala said, was actually correct... I was looking for a reason to come out of everything. I wanted to start my life all over again, I wanted to move ahead. All those years of struggle, which I went through, were running in my mind. Parents, career, friends and Aalia....god I had no clue what was happening to me.

‘So you think going there is a right thing’? I said after a while, thinking about Bala just said about forgetting past and live for present.

‘Of course my friend, trust me, we will have good time’. Bala replied getting excited.

‘Ok then, I am ready but only once. Not anymore.’ Finally I got convinced and said yes to walk on a path, which I never thought that I would someday walk on.

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The Perfect Dilemmas ‘I promise Kabir, only for once, let’s go and enjoy, who knows if tomorrow we’ll get such good time or not. Bala said happily and asked the driver to take us to Red light street. Both of us were really drunk but we decided to go there as Bala insisted.

We reached at the Red light area late in the night, but it looked as if it was morning for the girls who were standing on the street to satisfy some desperate men like me and Bala. As soon as we got down from the taxi, one man came to us and whispered something in Bala’s ears. Bala too replied him in the same way. I was busy paying the taxi fare.

After paying the taxi fare me and Bala followed the man as he took us to a hotel and showed us some really beautiful girls. Bala selected one girl and pointed me to do the same. I was really feeling shy looking at those girls, I mean you can look at some girl if you know her, or you want to be friends with her, but this thing was completely different.

The feeling was completely different; I was looking at the girls to have sex! Somehow I controlled my shyness and pointed at one of the girls. Bala paid the money to that man and collected the room keys and we left to the room.

As per instructions by that man, me and Bala went to the room assigned to us and the girls would come after some time. Bala gave me my room key.

‘Have fun Kabir’. Bala told before leaving for his room.

‘What fun? These things are really weird for me. I really don’t know what to do?’ I replied in a confused tone.

‘Ha ha, you don’t have to do anything, wait for the girl to come and let her do everything’. Bala replied and winked.

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The Perfect Dilemmas ‘Not that way Bala, I do know what to do but my inner soul is not ready for this, I guess’, I said.

‘Forget about inner soul Kabir, you have come here to enjoy... so enjoy, don’t get confused’. Bala replied. Looking at Bala, he was really desperate and looked like he couldn’t wait now to have sex.

‘You do one thing, go to your room and just relax, its not you who is talking, it’s the over consumption of alcohol’. Bala said ‘I think so you are right Bala, let me see, you go to your room and I will handle myself’. I told Bala to leave.

‘Ok I am going, you too enjoy till the core’. Bala replied and went to his room. I entered in my room. The girl was still to come.

My mind and my heart was still not ready for paid sex, maybe I was getting a bit emotional now, my mind was not getting stable in that room, my heart started beating really fast. I was thinking whether it’s really right to have fun like this or not. What about the girl who was coming to sleep with me, just because of money... maybe she has only one reason to do such kind of job, satisfying each customer every night, and that reason is only money.

Otherwise who will like doing such kind of job, sleeping around with desperate males like me and Bala.

Let me not take advantage of somebody’s necessity, I mean that is what I was about to do with that girl, else who wants to become a prostitute or a call girl. My heart was completely against doing such kind of mistake, but my mind was saying, let’s not think about that girl, its her profession, and bloody I have paid for that, I should enjoy, why should I think about her necessity?

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The Perfect Dilemmas One again I was stuck between my mind and my heart. What if somebody comes to know about this. So what, if I have got a job in hand, I should not forget about my beliefs, I should not forget who I am and how did I reach here. I thought about my parents. My parents think that their son is really hard working and has achieved everything he wanted in life, but ask me, will I ever be able to look in to their eyes if I do such kind of thing here, crushing my family values on this bed. Is that what family values mean to me?

No way can I allow myself to fall in front of everyone, forget about if somebody comes to know or not, there is something called self-esteem. Every time I will look in the mirror, I will always have a feeling of shame & regret for myself.

Things were going crazy in my mind, all what I learnt throughout my life was about to get vanished in some time. I was not coming to a conclusion...until that girl entered in the room.

‘First time for you’? She said taking a seat on the bed.

‘Yes, but how do you know’? I asked.

‘You look really nervous, but don’t worry, I am sure you will have good time with me’. She said and removed her jacket.

‘Mam, please stop, don’t remove your clothes’. I literally shouted.

What happened? ‘You have only one hour with me’. The girl replied and came close to me.

‘No, I don’t want your one hour, I don’t want to do anything with you’. I said and got up from the bed.

‘What? but you have already paid the amount, even your friend is enjoying in next room’. ‘What’s wrong with me’? The girl said.

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The Perfect Dilemmas ‘Nothing is wrong with you mam, I am not ready for this, I am leaving now and don’t worry, though I am not doing anything with you, you can keep the money’. I said and left the room, without even listening to what she had to say.

I came out of the hotel and took a deep breath. I was unable to breathe properly in that environment.

I took a deep breath because I was really relaxed, after winning a battle between my mind and my heart. I was happy because I did not take any undue advantage of someone, I was happy because I did not let my family values go down. I was happy because I did not let my self-esteem go down, my heart won the battle.

I decided to go back to the hostel. I did not disturb Bala thinking that let him live his life how he wants. I called for a taxi and left from there."Zahir Chauhan is a young aspiring change-maker in this fast moving world where everyone seems to forget the simplest things in life - to live it with complete non-seriousness yet with immense focus, like a game. Through his debut novel he has just taken the first step towards his long time ambition to become an inspiring story teller especially to the younger generations who face the situation of being at the crossroads of dilemma.

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The Perfect Dilemmas

Author: Zahir Zahir originally hails from Bhavnagar, a city of poets and legendary authors in Gujarat. After completing his schooling from various cities & graduation from Ooty, he completed his Post graduate management studies from Singapore. He currently works with a renowned company & lives in Mumbai with this family.

‘The Perfect Dilemmas’, was released worldwide in the month of June’ 15 and within two months of its release, the book is gaining attention of readers from across the globe and even the same has been featured in many English, Hindi, Marathi and Gujarati newspapers of Maharashtra and other parts of the country.

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The Shaadi Brouhaha

The Shaadi Brouhaha Anjlee Shah

Flipkart Amazon ‘HOW WAS YOUR weekend?’ Ajay inquired as we passed from one food counter to another, overloading our plates with some unpronounceable delicacies at Jhanvi’s wedding.

‘Weekend huh?’ I said frustrated. ‘I got at least seven rishta aunties asking beta when are you getting married and four younger cousins saying didi get married fast. We are in queue. Everyone is matchmaker these days. I am so sure that this shaadi.com is owned by an aunty.’

Ajay let out a chuckle ‘Yeah I know how wedding seasons can be. It’s horrible. Last to last week, I had some uncles inquiring about my salary package to determine if I am ready to settle down or not. You see the general criteria are always the age for girls and income for guys.’

‘I got asked about me at a funeral once. Beat that,’ I said.

‘Funeral?’ he almost choked on his food. ‘You are joking, who does that?’

‘Toh kya? These days it is becoming even harder to dodge relatives. They wrapped up the sobbing part in half hour neat and then very conveniently, the topic steered to more interesting things like

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The Shaadi Brouhaha my wedding for one.’ I said as we stood on the live counter waiting for the cook to serve steaming dosa directly onto our plates.

‘Urmila maami, my mother’s grand uncle’s daughter-in-law told my mom how that grand uncle had just one last wish...to see me wedded. Could you believe that?’ I jerked my head to express anger. ‘As such, he kept forgetting things but never forgot about my wedding. Talk about old age.’

‘Grand uncle must have told that to every parent with children of marriageable age in your family.

He was probably playing that I-will-be-gone-any-minute card.’

‘Exactly! You see, he has five children. Each one of them has two to three off springs. Out of which about nine or ten are married. So in his family alone he has compassed about sixteen weddings, including one of his great grandchildren. But no, still Nitya’s wedding is still left.’ I said explaining our complicated compounded hierarchy. We do not have a family tree, we have family forests. ‘Newlyweds fell for his baby-making trap,’ I said.

Ajay looked at me questioningly.

‘The usual. I am too old. My last wish is to play with my great-grandchildren thing.’ I elaborated as I dug into the dosas. ‘He has, like, five great grandchildren. At this age, how much is he going to play?’

‘You won’t believe it, the other day I met a girl for matrimony. You know what happened? She said she didn’t like men who dictate women. For example, she said, I like mini-skirts and I am going to wear them after marriage too. I said of course you can. In fact, I like girls in mini-skirts.

She gave me a dirty look and said that she did not like guys staring at her bare legs.’

I laughed out loud, ‘Crazy. What happened then?’

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The Shaadi Brouhaha ‘What else will happen? She said that I was a pervert and rejected me.’

‘Ha ha ha! Oh my god!’ I kept laughing.

Ajay just smiled. ‘You are looking pretty today, by the way,’ he complimented without making an eye contact.

‘Thanks. It’s just this violet sari. I get plenty of compliments whenever I wear it.’ I tried to be modest.

‘No. It’s you who makes the sari look hotter,’ he said, ‘better, I mean... better,’ he corrected himself quickly, fiddling with the string of noodles, his eyes looking somewhere distant.

He sounded like the sales guy trying to woo women into buying saris. These were one of the lousiest words I had heard but the admiration in his eyes was genuine when I finally had the chance to look into them.

‘Mehendi laga ke rakhna... doli saja ke rakhna...’ Pooja came along humming the song in the background. ‘I am so going to play this song on my wedding.’

She wore a wine-red sari with a black backless blouse and six inch stilettos which made her tower over every girl and guy present at the venue. I looked like a minion in front of her.

‘You look good,’ I faked a compliment. ‘Found any dulha? Look around, someone somewhere is made for you,’ I winked at her.

‘The one I have my eyes on is already here,’ she said coyly.

‘Who? That dork Tejas from Valsad branch? I knew it. I always had my doubt that you have a thing with him,’ Ajay said as he wiped the red gravy stains from his crisp white shirt with a tissue, spreading it even more.

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The Shaadi Brouhaha ‘Oh please. My taste in men is way too high. I am talking about Rudra Desai,’ she said pointing her chin in his direction.

‘Shit. He made it to the wedding. And now he is making his way here.’ I was desperately searching for a place to hide.

‘Good evening everyone,’ he spoke to the two of them. ‘Good evening Nitya Trivedi,’ he gave his trademark smile. The one which can make women like Pooja and Jhanvi go weak in their knees.

Oh wait a minute, did he call me by my name? He remembers my name?!

‘Good evening sir,’ we all said in chorus. I skipped the word ‘sir’. He wore a grey shirt with thinly spaced black stripes stitched to perfection and yet another expensive watch to match. His hair was carefully gelled back and he resembled the handsome bad guy you see in some daily soaps.

‘So our valuable colleague Jhanvi will be on leave for three weeks, which means that all her pending and non-pending work will be distributed amongst your team,’ he talked business. Pooja turned beet red when he looked at her. Even his inhumanity would feel like music to her ears.

‘You guys will have to audit her Central mall, M D Patel and Karanjidas files, and in addition to that, we have two more new audits coming up. It is going to be a busy month,’ he said addressing us like the waiters in the wedding.

‘Oh yes, I will. I mean we will sir, we will complete it before three weeks,’ Pooja spoke for all of us. When it came to making fake promises, she goes an extra mile.

Good for me though. Now that she had committed, it was her responsibility to get the job done.

I maintained a dignified silence all the while. Actually, I was ignoring him and he too was hardly paying enough attention to notice that I was ignoring him. He acted like I didn’t exist at all.

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The Shaadi Brouhaha ‘Pooja, Ajay, let’s go and meet Jhanvi,’ I said tugging at Pooja’s hand.

At this point he saw me and quickly glanced at me from head to toe. I could not tell if he was checking me out or what.

‘Did you finish your pending tasks, Nitya?’ He asked and gave a half-lip smile.

Was he mocking me? Was he sorry for shouting at me that day?

‘Yes sir, I have,’ I said confidently. ‘In fact, I had some time on hand and I knew that Jhanvi is going to take a leave so I have already started my work on Karanjidas file, which will be completed sooner than expected.’

I saw a hint of appreciation in his eyes.

‘Very well. See you guys tomorrow.’ He left as our ex-boss Rakesh sir called him to collect a plate for himself.

No words of appreciation from him. I wanted to hear the words. Girls need words. They are audio species just as the guys are visual. My body burned with revenge. Thanks to Ajay, I knew that he drove a Range Rover. Show off kahinka. How difficult can it be to find a Range Rover in a parking lot of an average wedding hall where average people come in average cars? Let’s teach him a lesson.

‘AWW YOU LOOK so pretty honey, congratulations.’ I said hugging Jhanvi on stage.

‘By the way, do you accept cash or check?’ Ajay teased her.

‘Oh just so you know that we are chartered accountants and good investors too. So if you need any help with all the crores and the black money you are going to earn from this wedding, we have a good investment scheme,’ I offered.

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The Shaadi Brouhaha ‘You guys,’ she started laughing. ‘You all ate properly na?’

‘A lot. Can’t eat for the next eight years. Enjoy your honeymoon and don’t worry about work.

Pooja will finish it before three weeks, isn’t it Pooja?’ I spoke through gritted teeth.

‘Oh and I have invited Rudra sir. Did you meet him?’ Jhanvi asked Pooja.

‘She was all over him. She is going to take him home,’ said Ajay.

‘I am fast, you see. Before any other woman lays her claws over him, I will,’ she said ‘Anyway, we are getting late. See you,’ said Ajay tapping his watch.

‘WHAT HAPPENED SIR? Everything ok?’ Pooja touched Rudra’s shoulder as we reached the parking lot. Unnecessary body contact.

‘Nothing much. I got a flat tyre,’ he said looking sharply at me. I felt a little jolt. Does he know?

‘Such a big car, don’t you have a spare tyre?’ I passed a cutting word, still not referring to him as ‘sir’. I was savouring the moment.

‘Actually, I have one. But you see, I’ve got a puncture in all four tyres, co-incidentally.’ He tilted his head to one side, still talking to me alone. I wanted to feel satisfied by the revenge but now I was damn scared. I tried to keep a neutral expression.

‘Sir, this car is a beast, seventeen point six mileage, eight speed transmission. Surely some wantons out there must have done this.

I can take you to the nearest garage on my bike.’ Ajay offered help.

‘Are you going home alone?’ he asked Ajay.

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The Shaadi Brouhaha ‘I have to give lift to Pooja. This farmhouse is on the outskirts, so getting an auto can be very difficult’ ‘No problem. You go home with her. Anyway, we will have to come back with mechanic triple seat. Nitya will give me a lift in her car,’ he said giving me a deadly glance. He didn’t ask me whether I was going to give him a lift; he told me. He looked way hotter when angry. Even before he finished his sentence, I already knew that he knew that I had punctured the tyres, all four of them.

Pooja shifted her weight uneasily to her other leg. ‘Sir, we can wait for you,’ she said determined, dreading that I would be left alone with him.

‘That’s ok Pooja. You guys carry on. You have to be at the office on time tomorrow. Nitya can leave as soon as she drops me and the mechanic back here,’ he told her without even looking in my direction.

I DROVE SLOWLY, scanning every shop we crossed, desperate to find a mechanic so I could get rid of Rudra. I could stand him no more. How will I stand him ten hours in office tomorrow? From the corner of my eye I could see that he kept looking in my direction every few seconds.

‘Yes sir?’ I matched his gaze roughly the next time he looked at me in order to keep him from staring anymore.

‘Why did you do it?’ He asked amused.

‘I didn’t do it,’ I replied panic-stricken. ‘I mean, do what sir?’ I tried to control the damage done.

My heart pounded.

‘All four tyres?’ He laughed. ‘Like seriously?’

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The Shaadi Brouhaha Should I be relieved or was it the evil laughter before the storm?

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ I denied taking responsibility, just like the Al-Qaeda group.

‘You know exactly what I am talking about,’ he said. ‘You know the first day when I scolded you about your pending files?’

How can I forget that? I still get nightmares about it. I looked at him and blinked.

‘I didn’t want to give any wrong impression to anyone taking me for a troll with their lax attitude towards work. That is my working style.’

I halted near a garage. ‘Sir, you can check here.’

Unfortunately the mechanic there had just left. Every garage we went to turned us down. My luck was not working. Maybe I should have forwarded those chain emails ensuring god's blessings.

‘I am really getting late. My mom must be worried,’ I said checking my phone every two minutes for exaggeration.

‘That you should have thought before you took your sweet revenge,’ he spoke with a tight-lipped smile.

‘Anyway, just drop me here. I think I will get an auto from the roundabout.’

‘And what about your car?’ I asked almost apologetically.

‘It’s a secure car park. I will send someone to collect it tomorrow morning,’ he said and my heart melted. He is not that bad after all.

‘Sir, I will drop you home. Where do you stay?’ I had to repent.

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The Shaadi Brouhaha ‘You sure? I stay at Athwagate. Is it very far from your place?’

‘No, no...in my way,’ I said and shifted into the fourth gear.

You don’t necessarily have to like your boss, but you don’t even have to hate him. One can always try to stay on neutral grounds.

Author: Anjlee Shah Born in U.A.E and brought up in India, Anjlee Shah has completed her MBA in Finance from Cardiff University. Currently she lives in England with her husband and works as an analyst for a private firm. Intrigued by arranged marriages in Indian culture, she decided to write her debut novel. In her spare time, you will find her either reading, writing or traveling. If given a choice, she would select experience over possessions.

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Love, Again

Love, Again Shrruti Patole Clarence

Amazon Flipkart A TULIP IN THE DESERT Chapter I

"Extremely well, as befitting of the last of so many noble rulers" maid Charmion said. Then she too died….

Charmaine closed the book and kept staring into oblivion.

The entire scene that she had just read felt as if it was playing before her. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue as despite it being way into the night; she was unable to put the book down. She had literally devoured it and had hungrily reached the end of the book. She briefly closed her eyes, to re-capture the entire story… to lock that amazing love story in her mind’s eye forever!

She felt as though she was floating. She felt as if the waters were peacefully drifting her into a place that seemed so familiar to her. Tall structures of gold shone brightly. As she drifted further ever so peacefully, she saw tall statues of emperors and queens. She then stopped before the most magnificent of them all and seemed to recognize it instantly as the statue of the Goddess Isis. She was awed by its magnificence and instantly her head bowed down in reverence. Goddess Isis, whose name meant ‘Throne’ was worshipped as the ideal mother and wife as well as the patroness of nature and magic. Known and revered as a friend of slaves, sinners, artisans, and the

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Love, Again downtrodden, Goddess Isis listened to the prayers of the wealthy, maidens, aristocrats, and rulers.

Charmaine closed her eyes and bowed down even in her trance-like state. As if she had been trained to do so… The statue was etched in her mind forever. And even with her eyes closed, she could see the Goddess’s silhouette, with her headdress shaped as a throne and with an ‘Ankh’ in her hand.

Still floating, she saw another spectacular sight. A woman dressed in complete gold ensemble was standing before Goddess Isis performing her daily rituals. The figure that had appeared almost magically before the statue was engrossed in her prayers as if it might be her last ritual.

Charmaine stood there waiting for her to complete her rituals. After what seemed like eternity she turned around and Charmaine gasped! A perfectly sculpted beauty stood before her exuding the same aura as the idol that stood just behind her.

“Your Highness” said Charmaine instinctively and bowed down before her. The woman stood there dressed all in white and gold, full of her crowned glory. No other words seemed to find their way out of Charmaine. She stood there in a complete stupor! She was face-to-face with the most stunning and beautiful of them all! Queen Cleopatra! Charmaine’s heart was beating faster than a hundred beating drums!

Despite the beautiful face, today those eyes bore a trace of sadness. It was as if Charmaine knew this stunning lady all her life and for that reason, today, she could read the unsaid through her eyes.

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Love, Again “Dress me in gold dear, just as he had seen me the very first time…” said the queen and Charmaine’s eyes moistened.

“Must it be so my lady?” asked Charmaine.

“There is no purpose left now, and Octavian is no Ceasar or Antony who I could win over. Now bring me that basket, it is time to see if the fruits have ripened”. As the queen opened the basket something rustled beneath the fruits.

Tears were rolling down Charmaine’s cheeks uncontrollably now. And just as the queen put her hand into the basket and winced, Charmaine let out a loud cry, “NO!”

Shaken out of the stupor with her own loud cry of “No”, Charmaine awoke and looked about her quite disoriented room. Sweat covered her face mixed with tears that were streaming down her cheeks a few moments ago. She quickly reached out for the tissues at her study table and realized that the book was still open on her lap.

“Had I dozed off while reading and dreamed the story into reality?” she thought. “But it felt so real, as if I was having the conversation for real.”

She shook off the feeling and decided to put it off as a dream and went on to read the book that lay open on her lap. What came next took her completely by surprise and she almost fell off her chair.

She was staring into the book with her jaw dropped because the next lines that she was supposed to read were the queen’s lines, the same that she had just dreamt about –

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Love, Again “I want to be dressed exactly the way he had seen me the very first time. Dress me in my golden robe, Charmaine.”

Charmaine thought she had again drifted off to sleep. She rubbed her eyes and again looked into the book. Indeed! They were the same words dancing before her eyes. The same words that she had heard from the queen herself a few minutes ago (Or had she?). She was sure that she had only read up to the part where Marc Anthony had died in Queen Cleopatra’s arms. That was the precise point where she had put the book down to ponder upon the depth and extent of their love. She was speculating whether such love existed in today’s world, when she had drifted off into that magical sleep.

She now knew that the next line would be where the queen demands the fruit basket to be brought to her and she hungrily read on with a hope to be proved wrong. But, the scenes and even the dialogues that followed were in the exact sequence that she had witnessed in her dream.

This was the first time in her entire academic life that she was reading the history of Cleopatra. Of course, she had heard of the all famous stories, precisely the reason why she was drawn towards electing to specialize in ancient Egyptian history in her final year. She had felt a strange tingle when she was going through the online syllabus options and had immediately chosen this particular subject. Though she was a historian in the making, she had never had the opportunity to delve into the history of Cleopatra. She had been busy all these three years with a variety of subjects, all a part of the pre-decided syllabus. Only in the final year they had the liberty to select a topic of their choice and she had opted for this. She knew she had picked something different, daring and vast,

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Love, Again and the exact reason why she had started her studies early, but strange revelations, one after another was catching her unawares and thrusting her into an all-new world, new but with strange familiarities.

Charmaine was the only child of the Rai’s and was independent, yet a very family loving person. `She was extremely well behaved since childhood and loved books ever since she started to read and write. She was raised with Indian values and a love for its diverse cultures and its history. In school, she was extremely fascinated with historical figures - be it from the European or the Indian Rajput history. She remembered all the characters and thoroughly read the history books of the next academic year during the summer vacations itself.

It was when she was in her secondary school that her father was offered a transfer abroad. Being in the Agro and Horticulture industry and into research field, Amsterdam was the best option that he could have ever got. It was as if the God’s had heard his inner most desire and had served the opportunity on a golden platter before him. It was ‘a dream come true’ for him. In the 90’s, when the whole world was vying to migrate to the United States of America, Mr. Rai was excited as a child to go to the Netherlands.

Charmaine remembered how the entire Rai clan had tried to convince him to take up a job in the US, just like everyone else. But Mr. Varun Rai was convinced about the Netherlands. The family used the ultimate weapon, Charmaine’s education. “It will be such a drastic change for her, Varun,” said his mother. “Please think of the little child’s studies and how difficult it will be for her to adjust to the new environment where English is not really the first language. Why don’t you ask

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Love, Again them to send you to America or someplace like that?” “Don’t worry Ma, I am confident about this decision, you see, someday you will thank your God and me for this.” It was a tough task to convince the family but finally his determination won and they moved to the Netherlands.

For Mrs. Charlotte Rai too, it was a dream come true. She was a great lover of nature, flora and fauna alike, and Amsterdam with its great tulip farms was quite alluring. She was a home loving person and preferred a quieter Amsterdam to the humdrum of a big city. Charmaine was too young to know what she preferred but she trusted her parents would make the right decision as they always did. “There are big windmills everywhere in the Netherlands and they add to the scenic beauty of the country sides. Another best attraction is the ‘clogs’, wooden shoes that were usually worn by the workers as protective clothing. It was also worn by people working in agriculture as they are great for walking on muddy ground and can be easily removed.” And he had shown her printouts of the same. She had giggled at the pictures of huge wooden shoes. “Daddy, they look like our ‘Mojaris’ that you had bought for me from Rajasthan.”

Thus, by the time she was on the flight she already knew most of the Netherlands. She had already found out about the schools and universities there and despite being in the secondary school, she had her goals set. She wanted to become a historian and had already researched about universities in Amsterdam. Charmaine was completely clear about her future and she sat contently as the aircraft flew across waters and cities and finally brought them down to the ‘Land of Tulips’ – Amsterdam!

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Love, Again It was spring time when they landed, yet it was quite cold. Strong cold winds greeted them as soon as they stepped out. Her father had been provided accommodation in ‘The Haag’ from the company.

The first few days were spent in visiting the tourist attractions around the Haag. As her mind went back into time, she remembered seeing ‘The Madurodam’, a miniature city. She had marveled at the structures which were carbon copies of the originals, ranging right from Castles, Eiffel Tower, London Bridge, Airports with airplanes, the Queens Castle to even football fields complete with players, but all miniature structures. In the midst of all these structures was a great life sized ‘Clog’.

Charmaine was thrilled at the sight and had sat inside the Clog and clicked a photo. She glanced at the same picture that was sitting at her desk and smiling at her. She recalled all those days and found herself smiling back at the picture. Everything had been picture perfect until she had joined the university and stepped into the ancient Egypt section in the library…

She had felt a strange sense of familiarity, a ‘Déjà vu’ feeling that she had on the very first day at the library. As she walked through the expanse of book shelves full of Pharaohs, Roman emperors and slaves, glimpses of the events that she had probably only heard of would come before her eyes and she would get momentarily transported to the land of Nile. “Charmaine, Charmaine, CHARMAINE!” Ira had to literally shout to get her attention, but Charmaine was lost in a picture frame that depicted a war scene on vast waters with lots of ships, sails and soldiers. “The Battle of Actium,” she said, almost as an affirmation of recollection of a familiar incident. She had stood rooted to the ground before the painting. Though she had only just elected the subject a few days ago and had never had the chance or time to go through that part of the history, she had felt this

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Love, Again sense of belonging and affinity towards it. The battle of Actium was a decisive confrontation of the final war of Roman Republic. It was fought between the forces of Octavian and combined forces of Marc Antony and Cleopatra VII. Charmaine had stood rooted before the painting almost re-living that bloody event. She had felt a strange tug at her heart mixed with a feeling of fear and anxiety as she stared through the picture. Ira, her friend since the time she had moved to Amsterdam, had to literally shake her out of her reverie.

Charmaine had put that incident out of her mind and busied herself in collecting the required books from the library and left as soon as she could. But, tonight had brought her back to the same juncture and she was now scared of even closing her eyes. Ira had been asking her time and again what was bothering her but she was unable to word her discomfort. And, for the first time in their friendship of so many years, Ira was unable to figure out what was bothering her friend. Charmaine and Ira had met in class on her very first day of school and had instantly become friends, a bond that was to go a long way…

Charmaine closed the book and decided to sleep as she had an all important task to do the next morning. She had lost a bet and as a result – she had to show Raj around Amsterdam.

Author: Shrruti Patole Clarence An English Literature Graduate from the University of Pune, Shrruti Patole Clarence comes from an artistically blessed Maharashtrian family. She has been a student of St Anne’s Convent School Pune and a Manager in the Aviation Industry for ten years, having the opportunity of working with Airlines like Kingfisher, British Airways and Swiss Air. She started writing poems at a very early age and proceeded to writing articles and short stories. Shrruti has worked as a freelance writer for Go to top

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Love, Again magazines like ‘CampusJosh’ and ‘Wow Hyderabad’ and published poems and articles in a fortnightly called Ujjwal Bharat.

She is a published writer with her short stories featuring in Anthologies like Crumpled Voices – Shades of suffering, Secrets of Soul, The Second Life, Drenched Souls – Moonlit Matinee 2, Blank Spaces; (A version of this story is being adapted into Short Film) - all published in 2014 - 15.

Her lyrics feature in the theme song of group Young Indians – an off shoot of CII (Confederation of Indian Industries).Her poems feature in Zest of Inklings, Melange (a potpourri of thoughts) and a Hindi poem in an e-book – Ehsaas, judged by eminent Urdu and Hindi screenwriter, dialogue writer and playwright - Javed Siddiqui.

An avid reader of fiction, she also has a keen ear for music and is usually hooked on to her radio if she is not reading! Currently on a sabbatical from her professional career to be able to focus on her writings, she devotes her time to raising up her two sons aged six and one year respectively.

Contact: Blog Facebook Twitter Pinterest Google

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Book List

Book List

The chapters from the rest of the books will be released on 3rd October, 2015.

Keep an eye on this Facebook page.

If you want to promote your book with GB LAND drop a mail to gangabharaniv@gmail.com

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