Tag Archives: fiction

6th position at the 7th Bharat Award for Literature – International Short Story Contest

The Orange flower awards, instituted by women's web are awarded annually on writing for various categories. 

The Orange flower awards, instituted by women's web are awarded annually on writing for various categories. 

Warm tears welled up in Aastha’s eyes. ‘Bappa,’ she prayed silently. Any statement that began with that combination of words spelled bad news, didn’t it?

Who or what is a demon? Is it a manifestation of our carnal desires? Or, is it a projection, astral or otherwise, of a part of us that we keep hidden even from our cognizant selves? Is it something that lurks inside all of us, maybe in our subconscious reaches, just waiting to lunge out?Are demons born or are they created by us i.e., humans/the society? Or, contrary to the above, is a demon an actual physical being? Is it an entity separate from us, offering irrefutable proof that evil exists?

He was the oldest man in the village. Hunched over on rheumatic bones, slightly deaf in an ear and leaning heavily on his wooden stick, he patrolled the village at nights. Most nights the village folk could hear the tap-tap of his cane as he ambled through.

PC Buckroo took his duties very seriously. On most days he could be spotted waddling through the hilly streets wheezing like a freight train coming through a tunnel. Yes, his allergies were that bad. It was an idyllic life except for the village rascals. The scamps were the bane of his existence. They followed him around, marching a few discreet steps behind, huffing and chuffing and pompously imitating his gait. The scene caused the villagers much amusement.

We went out often after that for meals and even movies. We discovered that we had much in common. We talked endlessly and shared stories of our childhood. I told him about my family, he told me about his. He was an army brat who had been raised all over India. His older brother was a software engineer in America and had recently married an American girl. The specifics of our friendship gradually changed as we discovered more about each other. Something grew between us but was yet unspoken. It was Rohit who confessed it first on one of our outings.

When he came to, he found himself in a small thatched hut. A man was squatting next to him. In the dim light that permeated the hut, he looked quite fearsome. Tall and wiry, he seemed old even though he was not bent. His wizened face looked like it had weathered many seasons. Covered in otjize*, his skin shimmered red gold as it caught the rays of the sun that was spilling in through the crags in the thatched roof. His hair was fashioned backwards into a horn shaped braid. He was bare bodied except for a loin cloth made of sheep skin, draped around his groin. His chest was adorned with beaded necklaces. They clinked as he shifted on his haunches. A huge lion’s fang hung from a black thread and rested midway to his navel. His face was painted in shades of red, black and ash. He smiled a toothless smile, as Mbambe came awake.

Bijju was not an imposing figure in stature but he had a fearsome reputation.  He was a cutthroat businessman and ran a tight business. His employees feared him. Rumour had it that he had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in penury. What he could not have as a child, he had vowed to provide for his own progeny. Thus, he had embarked on a career in construction. He had started working odd jobs in the jungle and learnt on the job. His work had been good, his eagerness to please even more so.  Through sheer hard work he had built up a small yet respectable business, the same one that he now so shrewdly ran.