Category Archives: conflict of beliefs

DEVATHAVI

(Part three)

His lips trembled and his body shook with his prayers as he allowed himself to drink deep of the dark poison and travel ten years ago. He slipped through the tunnels of time as he shut his terrified eyes off from the swirling black vortex that buffeted him about. The walls of the tunnel opened out onto a great hall, lit dimly. The square was ringed by pillas with lotus-like capitals borne by  dwarf vamanaswith twisted faces. White-clothed scores of people sat in the alms-hall, listening intently as the sermon went on, the monks with folding fans held against their chests as they preached.
He felt the thunder of their prayers rumbling through his bones, and the aroma of burning incense stung his nostrils.
The hairs on his forearms stood up as he scanned the crowd.
He saw a boy, hair cut close to his scalp, girlish and beautiful, those same full lips, those same large deep pitch-dark eyes and that same small nose, seated with the other monks atop the decorated mandapa, the white stage on which they sat during the ceremony. The boy’s gaze shifted nervously as he gazed around the hall, slender fingers trying their best to hold onto the cinnamon-colored fan and trying his best to concentrate on the prayers.
Thirteen years alive.
Thirteen years a monk.
This was his first time, the unfathomable darkness behind those innocent eyes becoming greater as he spotted a figure that stuck close to the shadows. He felt hungry eyes boring into him and stalking him through the ceremony, yet he could not be sure if it was merely his imagination or an actual monster from ancient myths was lusting for his blood. The vast pillars cast a hauting gloom over the alms-hall. The vamanas grinned perversely at him as they bore the weight of the pillar capitals on their stunted backs. Mayura Rakshasa, that terribkle deep blue demon whose face hung at the doorway lolled his tongue in a pathetic display of lust and pleasure upon gazing through the young monk’s robe. The rest of the ceremony he spent in fear…then she came to him…when the even deeper blackness of midnight fell over the world that bygone day in the holy month of Poson.
He trailed for a while at the back after visiting the latrine and walked back to the empty hall. He must rejoin the other monks, to avoid the snarling stone faces above him. These guardians of this rich devotee’s house wished for a night with him and terror began to strangle him as he walked towards the door. His tender young body shone through his robe in the bright light of the only lamp that was actually lit in the hall. Her eyes too saw this innocent fawn in her territory as she stalked him from the concealing depths of the shadows.
“Come here boy.”
The voice seemed rather comforting at first but he felt the rasping serpentine edge to it-a knife being drawn across his back. He looked around wildly, searching for his strange new companion as he felt a new form of tension rise up inside him. Such wonderful perfume it was! It swirled over him like a storm from heaven itself, but the eye of the storm was even more beautiful, and it was made of flesh.
Two people that brought out feelings of lust in the hearts of onlookers now faced one another.
The young woman who revealed herself to him was ravishing.
Her body was the most natural he had ever seen. Firm, large breasts and the dark mounts of her nipples swelled with pride beneath her very short blouse, and a heavy gold chain rested on her neck; a ruby pendant sat gleefully at her cleavage.  He saw the bright firelight revealing long, muscular legs like a young doe’s through her semi-transparent silken skirts, and rounded hips that could sway to almost any beat of the drum or any twang of a string.
She walked deliberately around him, alowing his eyes to closely follow her light footsteps, graceful  and deft as a tigress.
Narrow eyes, made long and sharp by black eyeliner, ran down his body, undressing him effortlessly despite layers of thick saffron cloth.
“Well, boy? Come here, don’t be shy now,” she coaxed him. Her canine teeth were unusually long and sharp-filed down when she was younger, so it seemed. Perhaps then her lipstick was not made of ochre paste but dried human blood…she did lick her lips when she looked at him again.
“Are you alone, little monk?”
He shook his head shyly in agreement. His bones shivered as he waited for the vicioius serpent facing him to strike. He felt her hungry gaze pushing him towards the pillar as she stepped lightly towards him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, so transfixed was he by the beautifully dark kohl eyeliner, the lengthy, lean legs and the heaving of her great breasts which screamed for freedom against her tight blue blouse. At the wall, he cowered immediately as the recognizable voices of  two other monks penetrated the hall. 
“Where are you?” they asked.
“Do you think he’s alright? He said he wanted to go to the toilet. We should have waited for the poor boy,” replied the other. “I don’t like leaving him alone.”
“Don’t worry, there’s nobody else around here. See?” His shadow gestured around the hall. The dancer and he reluctant lover were bathed in blackness, invisible from the prying eyes of mortals. She kept him silent, her own breath bated as the trill of cicadas and the thunderous booms of frogs filled the garden outside.
“Let’s go. He’ll come, don’t worry. Plus there are many servants around here and the boy is smart enough to ask for directions.”  
The first monk, who sounded like the older of the two, took the reluctant younger one by the arm and led him out.
The little monk tried to scream, but his energy had deserted him as her iron grip held his little arm, pushing him over and clapping his mouth shut.
He kicked at her shin and tried to push her away, but all he could feel were her now-naked breasts pushing against him as his robe fell away in the dark shadow of the pillar. She kissed his neck as he squirmed under the strong dancer’s grasp and the suffocating aroma of her perfume. The hardness and wetness against his leg terrified his young mind to no end as he struggled, but her deft hands and lips relaxed and pleasured him. He lifted his hands to touch her bosom, eyes half-blinded with hot tears, her lips crushing his. He felt the muscles of her mouth relaxing into a smile as his male desires took hold of his chaste heart and mind.
The beauty of his dark lady overtook his senses and he moaned in boyish pleasure for the first time at the stabbing pain in his member.
The hall was a blur of bloody red with only the young woman bathed in light, straddling his thighs as she proceeded to kiss him once more…
It was her! His goddess…
“Ten years, and still…but why do I want you so much more now, now that I can never see you again? You’re probably old now but I still would love to have you sleeping beside me”-he looked bleakly at the cave floor-“you damned demon! Fie, beast from hell! Oh…”
He crumpled down agains the wall again. Would his master know of a solution? He was, after all, an experienced man who had studied the depths of the Abidhamma itself, and the closest thing to a father that any of the young monks in this hermitage had. But the young monk was in a terrible state. His robe was dusty, and the space between his legs was uncomfortably wet from his memory. His breath came out in short gasps and his hands trembled, blood rushing to his face.
The unnatural craving was, for a while, dead.
But was it not an unnatural craving that had made him?
His parents, one whom he killed when he tumbled out of her; the other who probably still lived in his tumbledown old shack outside Godavaya Harbour, drowning in toddy and still resenting his son. Their consummation had brought them closer and one night, his own seed had sprouted. From womb to tomb, everyone bore that union of two energies within their mortal bodies. 
Everyone was born of that craving.  He knew then that his dark angel would be back to pleasure him with memories of their nights together. The thought made him sit bolt upright-perhaps lying down was not the best way to stay clear of impure thoughts.
The Buddha had mentioned to his disciples the Vinaya,  the mroal code by which they must live, he mused. A code that allowed both freedom and strict discipline. Just as his faith did-but only until people started turning it into something strange, rushing off to pray during their final hours after living a life of sin. That crafty serpent by the name of Mahayana had been engorging itself with true believers of the older school and now pressure was mounting upon the hermitages.
The Kingdom of Lanka was the final bastion of the true faith.
He could not leave now.
He mused on the new idea that once one had reached the first stage of Enlightenment-in theory, at least-there would truly be no going back. But what had he to go back to? He was bound  by that chain he called his robe. It dragged against the ground, grating against the stone until his ears bled out. “Rahulo Jatho, bandhanang jathang, indeed!” he grumbled as he held up the folds of his thick robe. “What an afternoon this was.” 
But just as the mighty Gautama Buddha had shaken loose all fetters and serpents from hell, he must shake off his own chains. He had to leave Cittalapabbata…the meories of passion were replaced by her radiant face and the sweet music of her voice as a river of blood rushed through him, carrying upon it the heat of pleasure…

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DEVATHAVI

PART TWO
It was time to return to his own cave retreat once more.
To be out of the powerful rays of the sun was the best thing he could ask for. However there was still a scorching flame welling up within.
“And how come youdon’t want to leave me? Why are youhere? Does this mean I was never meant to go on the Buddha’s path?” he mused, gazing at the ceiling. A beautiful jewel wasp had built her nest in a small cavity in the right-hand corner. The tiny head of one of her offspring peeked through the hole, possibly crying to its mother for food.
He laughed slightly.
A wasp.
Crying.
Crying and mewling in some hallowed insectoid language that only the most ancient of beings could properly comprehend. He thought of all the demons he had been taught about, the ones that the Lord had tamed through the power of his sublime philosophy. Then his mind wandered onto the worlds of the gods and goddesses. Another laugh rocked through his body and he looked down at himself. Perhaps this was his reason for being here…he was not meant for this life of penance. He was a god himself, was he not?
Tall, lean and sandy in hue, his smooth young body glistened in the stray shaft of light that peered perversely into the cave. The sword-like blade of light cut into the seemingly indestructible ceiling and eyed the beautiful, nude young man keenly. He allowed his feet to spin out of focus, swirling through and invisible vortex in which only he could travel. His deep black irises, soft lips and slightly feminine chin invited Surya’s untouchable beams to touch and caress his body. He pushed his own hands down his naked form, lingering at the deep dimple of his navel and down to the slender valleys of his thighs and groin. As he rubbed down he felt a rush of heat travelling back and forth across his body like a river.
“Maybe I am beautiful now so that…I can fall in love…with someone just as beautiful so we can be together, be gods united in flesh.”
 His voice wavered between the realms of dream and reality as the veil between the two worlds grew thinner.
Looking up at the beam of light he wrapped his body in the cloak of orgasm as his organ cried in pain and pleasure.
Small flakes of dust rose into the air when he knelt down, the weight of his dreams bearing down upon his back as he reached for the cave floor.
Each flake was perfect and untouchable as they glowed in the heavenly light streaking into the dark cavity. They danced as daintily as butterflies at a waterhole as they crossed into the arms of the gods above them.  He spotted her again, her angelic face floating down the beam. Gazing upwards in excitement, palms clutching the floor, the monk’s eyes grew lustful and then soft as his body shivered with each tender touch of her soft palms.
He lost himself as she spoke to him.
“Little boy. My sweet little boy. You are yet young, my dear, so don’t be frightened to try once more. Let me show you…” The hook of reality fished out the state of dream as he was flung onto the hard shores of reality, gasping for breath. But the world refused to turn. It shimmered instead, flowing and shifting before his incredulous eyes. Rock turned to water as the music of the damsel’s speech filled the cell.
“NO!”
With a scream he shot back up, the lithe muscles of his calves tensed as he stood.
What had he been doing? Had he forgotten his reason for being there?
In a flash he sheathed the freedom that seemed so attractive to him, as her laughter died away to an airy whisper. As he adjusted the vast length of saffron cloth across his right shoulder he closed his eyes, teeth gritted firmly in his jaws as he close his legs, avoiding the salty wetness clinging to the insides of his thighs. Yet his organ was still hungry for the heavenly apsara who still danced around the cave. He had brought his little journal with him, along with his stylus and inkwell.
He wrote quickly in Sanskrit:
“I am here to attain perfection. My memories shall never come back. I shall journey the path of the great Lord Gautama Buddha and I will not sway, I will…I will not…sway…” His stylus trembled as he penned the words down. A trickle of sweat flowed down his cheek to join the crinkly, dry palm leaf pages of his book.
He too felt the sweat welling up within the grottos of his upper eyelids as the heat of the sun invaded the interior of the cell. The world outside was bathed in the most blinding light he’d ever seen. It was high noon in the Cittalapabbata hermitage and even the crows that perched in the rocks around him panted, glossy black throats vibrating soundlessly. He crouched in his tight shroud of darkness, with another shroud constricting him like a deep vermillion python. This serpent of cloth bound him and every bhikku to these dark holes while the a wondrous glow bathed the rest of the earth.
The robe, for a few minutes, threatened to roll of his legs and push him back into the lair of the temptress, but he angrily pulled it up from his shoulder. Cursing under his breath he looked at his book. “I killed my mother at birth. That’s why it happened…that’s why…they all said that I was unlucky!” He gritted his teeth as he reminded himself of it. “Then came my…my life here began.” Picking up his stylus, he chewed on its end thoughtfully, then wrote:
“My father dumped me on the hermitage. That’s why I could never experience life as it really should be. So many years, I…I…”
He was so young.
He was now a monk, was he not? Twenty-three years alive, twenty-three years a monk. There was that black abyss within his heart and mind which still seemed to be clawing out through his body to attack every truth he knew and everything that he thought was for his benefit. The darkness had a form, and she was dancing through the air within the cave.
His eyes locked away from the light outside.
Hard sighs rumbled through his chest as he began his chant.
“May I be washed of this strumpet’s memories now. May the powers of good restore me to what I was earlier.  Mara, Lord of Evil, your daughter is strong, but I will sway no more towards her. May my tear and prayers float her away as wood floats down a river…I…I will sway no more…no more…”

DEVATHAVI

A new story. Working on it in stages. This is part one)
DEVATHAVI
“I came here because I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. Or at least I thought I did. Sometimes I wonder if spirituality is a curse that I need to bear just as I bear these robes against my shoulders”, the young monk told himself again. He shifted his weight uneasily as he took the passage don in his book of dried palm leaves.
He looked around the rocky hermitage and the low, scrubby forest setting.
The sunlight burned his sparsely haired scalp viciously as he fought a throbbing in his loins and slipped once more into deep meditation.
“Why am I here?” he hissed under his breath as he struggled to keep his eyes locked away from the world. “Oh devathavi, my goddess of the Six Heavens, why must you haunt me so?” Meditation was turning into an intense labor.
Whenever he shut his eyes and pursed his lips in concentration he saw the angelic face floating past him.
When the clouds of his lids covered his eyes, so began the monsoon of sinful pleasure.
It started as a drizzle.
The light rain of her laughter and the gentle softness of her kiss pattered over him.
Then the slow music of shifting hairs began as her ebony mane swung and shook about him, follicles aromatic with coconut oil and jasmine. Her sweat flew off her oiled body, then dripped off the eaves of his forehead, pooling up at his crossed feet.
Finally the storm came.
There she stood, splendidly radiant in her nakedness, perfume rising from her breasts and in between her legs.
A goddess.
A perfect force of the cosmos was pouring over him like a new shower of rain, soaking him to the skin and making his robe cling to his body. He reached out…and lightning struck with her touch…
“Concentrate!”
The next thing the monk knew, the loud yell of his master was cutting into his ears. The big, bald hulk of a bhikku was blotting out the sunlight, towering over the confused youth. He looked wildly around.
His devathavi!
Where was she now?
The other monks remained in meditation, that strenuous exercise which allowed no play and no feeling of closeness to soft, heated flesh. He felt breaths tunneling through the chests of the other novices. Control of breathing to forge the inner purity of young minds. Angrily he hung his head, wringing his hands as he looked darkly at the chief monk.
“Son,” began the old man, “you seem rather disturbed of late. I’ve tried to guess what’s going with you, but I also want your opinion on what’s going on with yourself. Could you tell me?”
“I…I don’t know…Sir…fatigue, I think…?”
“I hardly think so! Son, I have seen you around the hermitage and you clearly are not the boy you were when you joined us. You’ve been neglecting all your duties, you, you haven’t swept or performed any rites as of recent, and you haven’t even studied your portions of the sutra we’ll be doing for the ceremony at Mahagama. It’s not like you. You were better than this ten years ago.”
He looked sourly at his master and then at the scrubland spread all around him. Flocks of crows circled the skies above him, morphing slowly into his goddess’ own raven tresses.
A strong smell of jasmine and frangipani haunted his nostrils-her tempting perfume was running up and down his body, attacking all other senses and attempting to pull him back into that perfect daydream. Angrily, he jerked his head back again, clasping the back of his scalp in his hands. His fingers tightened as he gritted his teeth, frown lines digging deep into his forehead.
Listening to this old fool was the last thing he wanted.
“Are you alright? Please tell me.”
His shoulders relaxed and he raised his head.
A heavy curtain of silence had been drawn across the rock-face. Hardly any breath came from the young monks around him, who gazed solemnly at him. No wind came to cool them or to lift his spirits; the skies watched the drama of saffron-robed men with bated breath. A small rock gecko scuttled across the ceiling of their cave as it hunted flies sheltering for the heat. The world around him was sinking silently into an abyss where all his companions were scouring his soul with deep gazes. One of the younger boys coughed, and his friend lovingly patted his back. The old chief monk shifted his weight uncomfortably, his old jowls wobbling as he walked over to the apparently sick young man.
“I’m fine, Master. I’m just fine.” The words felt false.
“Just remember”-the old man looked up as he sent his young pupils back to their cave shelters-“why you are here.” His expression grew dim and bleak as he hobbled off.
Why was he here?
He had no satisfying answers.
A hand journeyed to his shoulder. “If there’s anything you need to tell me.” The voice was mixed with concern, and something a little less readable. His young friend was just sixteen and the latter’s dark eyes dug into him like they always did.
“Like I said, stop it. I’m”-he got up and took a deep breath-“perfectly alright.”
“You told me that sometimes you had nightmares of your past. But you never told me what they were, so I want to hear it from you.”
“I’m fine.”
The teen monk continued. “No, you aren’t. You want to feel something that you’re not supposed to, don’t you? Or else, do something forbidden…right? I know that something’s wrong but if you won’t tell me I can’t help you.”
“Then don’t help me! My life hasn’t exactly been perfect and now it’s just coming back to haunt me, that’s all. It’s probably nothing anyway”-his voice dropped down to an almost whispery version of itself as he tried to swallow back the note of falsehood in his throat. The skies were bleak, a flat, cloudless sheet of blue that mirrored itself in their dull young eyes.
“Just ask yourself,” he told his companion emotionlessly, “why you’re here.” He turned his head towards his younger friend. “Why are you here?”
“To hopefully achieve something worthwhile, I guess.” The teenager looked questioningly at his older friend. He stood up and left without any expression on his face and left his associate to ponder on whatever it was he was forbidden from doing. “Just remember,” the boy said, turning back, “we are a brotherhood. You can tell us anything.” With a slow wave of his hand he walked down the steps cut into the rock-face.

Novella

(Back on it once more. After such a lengthy wait, here’s more of my historical work. Hope it’s likable. This is where their relationship starts getting more and more strained, and we will know who is responsible for it too.)

Minakshi put her hand on Ishwari’s shoulder with a sigh. “It’s the life you chose, and it’s the life I chose too. Honestly, it’s not too bad. Now leave me alone, please, I’ve had a hard day as it is.”
They looked each other in the eye again, and she saw Ishwari’s nipples swelling against her blouse, straining painfully as her gaze intensified.
Minakshi backed up a few steps.
Ishwari’s eyes wouldn’t peel away.
She wrapped her arms around her companion’s waist, pulling her closer, and feeling the tender skin around her navel against Minakshi’s own.
“One day,” she breathed dreamily as the other devadasi struggled to break away, reaching for the wall.
She gripped Minakshi’s hair suddenly, quick as a viper, but the latter screamed, strongly pushing the smaller woman away with all her might. She stood erect as Ishwari paced around, hunger and desperation in her dark eyes, nostrils flared and wet from excitement.
“Right, right,” she quickly added, looking down with a quick breath. “I’ll just…I’ll…go now…? Yeah…”
Hastily, the dancer exited the room.
Minakshi, still confused, left too. She would have no peace that night, she knew…
Rising up in a trice, she nearly flung herself out of the bed, the flurry of sheets flapping about her like wings.
“Damned nightmares.”
Shaking her head a few times, Minakshi sat up in bed, and looked around the room. It was a cloud of pitch darkness, and she tumbled out of bed, groping the air a few times before doing so. Her forehead bled, and suddenly a jolt of memory struck her. It hurt her at first when it shot inside but somehow her son screamed, his own forehead dripping blood.
The crimson liquid was pooling around his feet as he knelt down, crying.
Tears and blood mixed up in a salty red puddle on the floor as the massive hand swooped down, a primal monster with open jaws…
“Mother!! Mother!” Sivapalan sounded frightened.  She had forgotten that he was playing in the dance-room. Yet, to her disbelief, his tone began to alter, growing in depth, turning into something alien and menacing.
A familiar voice started to slur something in a drunken rage and the little boy stared, wide-eyed in horror as a familiar pair of eyes glinted with a raptorial sheen…
  
The loud creak of the front door bolted her senses back into focus.
She walked quickly into the dance-room and spotted Sivapalan. Looking at him, she saw that he looked frightened, possessed almost. Eyes wide, he gripped the periyazh with trembling hands. Now even she had reason to be terrified.
“My son? What’s…what’s wrong with you? Dear are you alright?” He hid his face between the instrument and the wall. A child’s fears, she knew, could either be for the most irrelevant thing or for something so realistic that even the bravest man could be unnerved beyond his limits. Right now she was unable to tell what he was so scared of. “Sivapalan, please!” Reaching out for him, she bent down, but her musical instrument fell with a loud bang and he rushed to another corner of the room.
He quaked with fear.
Never before had she seen such a mask of pure horror on anyone’s face.
Especially when her husband walked into the dance-room.
“What the…is this the sort of time you choose to come home? How long were you going to spend at your soldier friends’ houses anyway? I can’t just stay alone in this house, in this city I…I mean, heaven knows what kind of wretches rule Thanjavur at this hour, I…” She felt like going on and on, but all she got was a stare that was, half vacancy stemming from illness and half dark and hellish cruelty.
He glanced piercingly at her, fixing his stare as if she was his opponent on the battlefield.
“Speak to me! Are you alright?”
He leaned heavily against the wall as she watched his gaze. One minute his eyes were scanning her with deadly bloodlust and the other, at Sivapalan cowering in the corner. Now even she had reason to reach for the walls. But it was like they had achieved a life of their own and strained against the chains of the worldly laws that bound these four walls to their task of protection. Demonic possession held the whole house captive now, it seemed, and she was unable to shake off the feeling.
Minakshi began to circle slowly around the place.
She watched her man as a frightened pariah dog would stalk gently around a large, meaty bone, wondering if the person who held it had a knife behind his back. Every so often, the wetness of saliva flooded her mouth, rolling down her throat as she tried to fight back every instinct to aggravate him. For he certainly looked like he was about to grab something from his sash.

“Brahmarajan…”

RAKSHASA-Part 2


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(Continued from where we left off last time)

“Safe….safe,” he hissed as her words stung him again, tenderly but painfully ripping at his ears as the wind howled around him. He looked up and pawed the air. “You made a promise and you broke it when you left me. And I’m supposed to feel good? To still be in debt to you?”

A faint ripple of mirth had finally breathed past his cracked lips.

Soulless sighs washed over him from the entrance of the cave as he saw a slender arm reaching forward. His eyes had gone into a blur, into a shimmy, and he crossed the veil between this world and the next. Or
so he thought. But the shape grew brighter as the hand kept reaching. A slender hand with bruises, a young had but callused from a rough lifestyle,
The same hand that had caressed him unconditionally and gently, sweeping away his misery.

“Why now of all nights? What do you want?”
“Your faith left you,” the pained voice replied, “and so I came back. Besides, you keep on crying about everything. You were stronger as a child than you are as a man.”
Gritting his teeth as best he could, he reached out at the wall as the other hand grabbed him firmly and shifted gently inside. “Really?” came his sarcastic growl as he watched her body stepping lightly into his hellish home.

Moving back, he saw his handiwork.

Still bleeding terribly from her half-stitched, half-torn vulva, she knelt before him.

The hair was now immensely long, matted, flowing down to her buttocks in a hellish cascade with dried blood, mud and oily grime. Pale cheeks, pale but spectacularly beautiful, bore tear stains from crying for years with no hope. Her skin didn’t sag, but it looked deathly, salty white.
Standing painfully, not raising her head, she replied, “Yes my son, that’s pretty much it. You’re still trapped in your memories. There’s a world out there that hates our very being. I never told that wretched place about you but I would expect more knowledge from my child.”
She groped around the cave, looking for a place to lie down. Kicking off her sandals she leaned against the right wall.

“Your child,” he replied tersely, cupping the shifting face in his huge hands, “is still living in the stone shell you made for him years ago. If only you were still here. You had to leave me for all the men in Malayadesha, didn’t you? Or where was it truly you went? And I just want to know why.”

The voice that replied him was a serpentine hiss, but no ordinary snake could sound like she did. It had never failed to rasp at his soul, a steely, jagged, rusted blade that could flay a writhing beast as painfully as possible. He had been among the demons of the night, but what was this? This, this was like facing the mightiest Naga King himself, a dreadful monster with many heads who could kill a thousand men and not even break a sweat.
Even the reptilian eyes, the smooth and slender nude belly and limbs, all screamed, “Snake” at him.

She laughed like she could hear his thoughts.

Silvery but chilling him to the bone. “You have lived so long in the dark pit of your memories.”

“Memories of when you left. But tell me,” he circled her as she spread her legs out vulgarly-making a gush of excitement throb through his organ as she did, “are you really there? Or just my memories here to torment me?”

RAKSHASA-Part 1

(Six months of drama are finally over, thank the gods. But I’ve just walked into exams, so this small bunch of posts will be a filler for something bigger and cooler.
This is a small story in a series that will be posted here. Don’t know how often, but still. As for that demon mask….I don’t know what possessed me to put it there)

(A rakshasa is a demonic humanoid from Indo-Sri Lankan mythology. It is either malevolent or benevolent, but is almost always depicted as a dark-skinned, fearsome-looking beast with a taste for human flesh. But what if the demon we all feared, was a human with merely the desire to be loved for what he is?)

The memory kept on playing itself a million times over in his mind as he felt the hardened, puckered scar tissues on his left cheek. The crinkled marks stretched down to his mouth, and pulled the slightest bit of skin towards the orifice full of big, powerful teeth. Images kept flashing again, cutting deeply through even his most jovial dreams.
Dreams of a mother.
A mother who was wild, pale and naked, cradling her offspring in her lap. That same cave, over twenty years ago was where she had fled.
That same cave where she wailed and wept into the inky night as her belly grew with him.
That very cave where the only ones who watched her scream with deathly agony were a small family of bats hanging from the left wall of the cave roof, wings obscuring their tiny faces.

He had been right here from the very start.

Warm milk flooded his tiny mouth as she cried again, the moon’s stray beams highlighting the monster she bore in her arms.
Raw, red eyes always half-closed.
No chin, but heavy brow ridges and nose.
Hair matted with blood.
Thickened gray patches of scarred and ridged skin; a strange, inhuman disease no doubt.
A terrifying child who could never be part of the world around him, given to her as a blessing by some infernal god.

But she still wept as only a mother could as the stench between her legs filled the cave. She kissed her bestial son a hundred times, whispering Buddhist prayers into his ear. And as she felt her vulva, caked with blood and membrane, she also heard his tiny heart beating with hers, a drum in that dark and distant night.

“Nothing will happen to you,” she promised him over and over, stroking the rough skin on his torso. “I promise, as long as you are here, I will forever keep you away from evil men.” The moon was at its peak.
Here was the glorious white eye in the sky telling her that it was them month of Vesak, a holy month. But even on the most sacred nights, she knew, some fiends from hell could cast their wretched spells on the weak and unknowing.

(Next part continues later)

Anger management-Part 1



Anger

We give it different names. Whether you call it rage, frustration, fury or indignation, it was the subliminal force that drove people to extremes of violence that bathed our island in blood. It is the force you deal with every day, whether you feel outraged after a passing car decorates your immaculate white shirt with splotches of mud or when a colleague yells at you for no reason at all.

Anger: Is it useless, needed to some extent, or essential? 
Let me ask that question in another way. Is fever useless, needed to some extent, or essential? Do I hear you saying “Oh! Fever? Feeling uncomfortable for days on end? You call that “necessary”?” Yet scientifically, fever is a symptom which can help us to detect life-threatening diseases early on. It is a defense mechanism of the body. Therefore fever is essential. 
Similarly, anger is essential. When we feel angry, it indicates that either we or others are not meeting the standards we have in our minds. If you don’t feel angry, other people would walk all over you and you would never be the best you can be.
To put it in brief, feelingangry is completely all right; it is our reaction that we should look out for.
Whenever you sense this feeling creeping up on you, first of all, accept that you are feeling angry. Then ask yourself why you feel so. Fine, your sister grabbed that last piece of cake from your hands. Is it reasonable enough to yell and make a scene?  For every situation, ask yourself whether you can tolerate it. Is it just the way your sister is? Perhaps it is just because your standards and the other person’s standards differ. What may be outrageous to you would be completely acceptable to another.
 If you feel that you cannot tolerate the other, then it is time for an open discussion. By that I mean a conversation where both parties get to have their say and not a tearing-your-hair-out-name-calling-stomping-around session. In an open discussion, both parties should strive to reach a middle ground. If it was a debate, you would lose whether you win or not. When you win, you do not learn anything and your relationship is damaged, sometimes forever. When you lose, you learn something; yet once again your bond maybe ruined beyond repair.
In the next article, we would be looking at the ill effects of anger and how we can control it.