by H. K Oby
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Disclaimer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Siddhi Chronicles Book 1
Deathsworn
H. K. Oby
Siddhi Chronicles Book 1: Deathsworn
© 2021 H.K. Oby
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.hkfiction.net
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and / or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Dedication
To my wife, my editor, my angel, my everything.
This would not have been possible without you.
Love you, always.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
“I KNEW THERE was some negative force at play from a mile away, but now that I’m here…Oh, Shiva! It’s much worse than I thought! One month… in just one month, there would have been nothing left here but rubble!”
Standing below a ten-foot arch that led to a fashionable bungalow in South Delhi, Amin fought down a smile and an urge to scratch his bare chest that had been smeared with ash.
The reason behind his joy was the cultivated instinct that told him a con was going well. The fat jeweler beside him had trembled upon hearing his proclamation, hands clasped tightly in front of a heart that must be beating furiously. His handkerchief that was already drenched with sweat characteristic of an Indian summer night reached for his forehead again, where a new layer had just sprung up.
The name of the God of Destruction truly is a powerful thing…
Praising himself inwardly, Amin waited until the palpable fear of his rotund target reached just the right level, just the right tipping point beyond which he would break down into a blubbering mess. Dressed in baggy, expensive silk kurta and pajama that made him look even bigger than he was, the jeweler wiped sweat from his cheeks which shook every time he walked.
Amin could almost hear the thoughts going through the man’s head. People who rose in life through dishonest means always did fear that which they did not understand or could not quantify. Such fear was even more common in those who also had a devout streak in them, and this was precisely the reason why he was where he was, poised to grow richer by at least a few hundreds of thousands of rupees before the night was done.
Facebook truly is an incredible thing. When someone never fails to reply to posts like ‘Comment below or the Goddess of Wealth will leave you forever’, can it be more obvious how much they care about such stuff? Who knew that there would come a day when I could finish a crucial aspect of reconnaissance simply by going online for a couple of minutes…
The new-age obsession of both young and old to post all the major happenings of their lives online, publicly, was a great blessing for those in his profession. Of course, with the government and bored WhatsApp conspiracy theorists stepping in to warn the citizens against giving out important information, people had started to take precautions, but just like he had always done since being left to grow on the streets of Chandigarh when he was just five years old, Amin had adapted.
A friend request from a fake account with a woman’s name and a profile picture of a Bollywood heroine had given him all the access he needed.
The moon peeked through the clouds, casting him, his followers, and the jeweler in its pearly light. Smeared with ash from head to toe, wearing a fake beard that hid his clean-shaven face, a wig of dirty dreadlocks, and dressed in naught but a saffron-colored cloth tied to cover only his private parts, he looked exactly like the mountain-dwelling sage he was impersonating. One of his underlings had even shown surprising skill in make-up, so a couple of wrinkles made him look closer to the sixty he was pretending to be rather than the twenty he was.
Feeling a clammy hand suddenly grab him, Amin resisted the urge to jerk away. It was a reflex honed in places where even a split second of inattentiveness could result in one being stabbed, or worse, pickpocketed, but at the moment, he was supposed to be acting like an old recluse, not a streetsmart conman in the prime of his life.
Thankfully, the jeweler was too busy worrying about his fate to notice the look of alarm that had flashed through Amin’s face. He was staring at the house whose doom had just been proclaimed, so by the time he turned to Amin, all he saw was a venerable elder ready to save him from his plight.
“Please! You must help! I’ll give you anything!”
How about all the money in your house?
Outwardly, he sighed as if pondering on the grave issue. The jeweler waited in silence, his jowls shaking as he repeatedly gulped, wary of the legendary anger of the ‘sadhus’ who worshipped the God of Destruction, fearsome sages who were known to drink blood— among other things— to obtain their incredible abilities.
Finally, with a shrug and a wave of his hand, he replied, “I’ll do it. I’ll rid your house of the pisach, the vengeful spirit that has taken residence, but the price will be steep. Can you afford it?”
He felt like laughing when a twinge of doubt and suspicion fought through the fear in his client’s eyes.
Promises are cheap, but when it comes to actual payment, there is not a single person who doesn’t remember all the skepticism anyone in this century would feel when faced with such a situation…
Movies made it seem as if conning someone was easy, but there were a thousand things to think about and a thousand more ways to get caught in reality. In the past, Amin had tried various combinations of the classic religion con. At this crucial stage, many succumbed to the simple way of doing things.
In his case, that would be to demand a high price now and leave after chanting some mumbo-jumbo and throwing random auspicious things into the air. After all, he had set everything up perfectly so far. After zeroing in on a couple of individuals who frequently posted photos of themselves going to famous temples all over the country, he had narrowed down the list by checking the background of each target before finally deciding on one who qualified the parameters he usually operated by. The next step had been to stake out the man’s home a month back, and since then, he had a few one-time-gig hirees cause disturbance after disturbance in the house.
All said disturbances could be explained away by normal means, but Amin had planned them so that there was a reasonable probability of them being caused by metaphysical beings.
Healthy, thriving plants and trees wilted at random places all over the jeweler’s expansive garden.
At an exact time each night, all three dogs that guarded the man’s house would seemingly go crazy, chewing at their leashes and snapping even at the handlers who had raised them.
Ser
vants heard screams when they were going about their duties, especially near the edges of the European-style bungalow. Blood was found in random places, having appeared out of nowhere and smelling of rot and death.
A few bags of fertilizer being shipped inside had been replaced with poison. His underlings had blared a high-pitched noise inaudible to humans at the wall nearest to the dogs each night at the same time. And packages of blood and flesh frozen in ice that would melt and leave no trace of a means of transport behind had been lobbed over the wall.
Some of the phenomenon could have been explained away, but taken all together, only one possibility would seem the most probable to anyone who had grown up listening to classic tales of ghosts and ghouls: negative energy was coalescing over the house.
It was amazing how the human mind could be influenced if an idea was given root deep within its depths. All it had taken was one elderly servant saying that the house was haunted, and from then on, all of the jeweler’s staff started seeing things that Amin or his team hadn’t even orchestrated.
The entire thing had culminated in a meeting a couple of hours ago where Amin had approached Jeethelal, the owner of seven successful stores all over India with a single message:
“Tomorrow, the servants will find your blood all over the house. Run if you value your life.”
Amin had simply walked away, and as expected, the portly man had run for probably the first time in years to catch up. When asked how he knew, all that had been needed to convince the jeweler was a quick recap of all the things happening around the bungalow and a couple of other personal details gleaned by eavesdropping near the walls using cheap equipment.
For more than 30 minutes, Jeethelal had begged and pleaded in every way possible. Just when it looked like he would resort to threats, Amin finally relented, proclaiming that his followers needed to be present if they were to rid the house of whatever was affecting it.
The bungalow was almost in the middle of nowhere, easily accessible but devoid of other houses around it. The entrance was only a couple of hundred feet from the highway, far enough that the busy road's hustle and bustle would not reach the residence, but also near enough that it would be no hassle for anyone to enter and exit the premises.
The arch was made of expensive, imported Italian marble and inlaid with fake jewels fitted with lights that were now on. Its flowing lines indicated just how much had been spent on it, even though its only job was to welcome people in the gaudiest manner possible and accumulate dust that had to be cleaned painstakingly every day by unlucky servants. White walls caked with a muddy layer stretched into the distance on both sides, topped with electric fences. To protect the walls and the arch from defacement by idle passersby—a common occurrence in this part of the world—a guard was even present day and night, sitting on a stool near the base and looking out over the road, waiting to stand and salute when his master arrived.
The guard was nearby, now, with his hands folded obsequiously. The stench of the smoke from the cheap cigarette he had been smoking up until just a few minutes ago still hung in the air, occasionally disturbed by a whiff of dust blown to the house from the highway by a passing vehicle.
Amin breathed in deep, enjoying the latter which was one of the scents he was most familiar with. For others, scents that reminded them of their childhood might comprise of favorite foods, places, or people, but for him, the smell of dust made him recall a time when things were easier, and all he needed to do was mind his own business and rely on the kindness of strangers to eke out a living as an orphan beggar.
The world hadn’t waited long to let him know how impossible it was for one such as him to even think of clinging to normalcy and comfort.
“How much?”
The jeweler’s voice that had regained a large part of the bullish confidence present in anyone who made a living out of driving hard bargains snapped him out of his reverie. With a gentle smile, he replied with a rehearsed answer without hesitation. “Respect and kindness. There are far too many who look at us as nothing but fanatics. The truth is that most of us still need food to live. If any sadhu comes across you, from now on, until the end of your life, you will treat him with respect and offer him a meal.”
Seeing Jeethelal’s face clear like the sky after the passing of a storm, Amin laughed and said, “What did you expect? Money? Material objects are easy to gain and easy to part with. Change in one’s mind is so much more difficult to achieve. Do not think that I will not know if you don’t keep your vow, Jeethelal. Think before entering this covenant that shall bind you throughout your life.”
He delivered the last two lines loudly, with reddened eyes and a face that shook with the sheer intensity of the speech. The jeweler leaned back, face going slack while fearing the eccentricity that was said to gallop about, uncontrolled, in the minds of all sadhus, but after seeing that all that was expected of him was only such a simple promise, he smiled again and clasped his hands together.
“Of course, of course! Even if a hundred venerable followers of the great Shiva grace my doorstep, I will never turn them away! I will feast them until they are full and send them on their way with food enough to last for days! Now, please! I have had no sleep in weeks! I beseech you to grant this devout disciple the peace of mind that rightfully belongs to all who trust in God!”
Damn, everyone becomes eloquent when they need to convince someone that they aren’t lying…
Amin had seen enough of people like the jeweler to know that the man hadn’t meant a word he said. Yet, with a wide grin, he nodded and beckoned in the direction of the house, saying, “Good. Lead the way.”
The sound of a relieved sigh from somewhere behind him almost made him frown, but thankfully, Jeethelal had already sprung forward on the driveway, intent on getting the matter over with as quickly as possible. Shooting a thunderous look behind him at the inexperienced rabble he had had no choice but to pick, Amin followed suit, putting on his best version of a wise man who had already uncovered all the secrets of the universe.
Google had shown him the layout of the house and carefully procured architectural plans had allowed him to plan the entire thing out, but seeing the obscene wealth of his target for the first time, his breath caught in his throat.
The driveway was framed by lush gardens on either side, marred only by a few dead spots being worked on by teams of gardeners. At intervals, tall, fluted columns topped with bright lights illuminated the entire place. Flower beds arranged at intervals presented a pleasing view, their fresh fragrance wafting into the air and driving away the last vestiges of the dirt of the part of the world that belonged to those like him.
A tinkling marble fountain with the figure of a dancing woman in the middle greeted them as they came upon the house. Fat marble pillars, each big enough that they would need two people to join hands to encircle them supported a twenty-foot high balustrade. Large double doors, each as tall as two men standing on top of each other stood wide open, evidently having just been pushed by servants who stood on either side of them with their heads bowed.
Amin spotted walkie-talkies on their waists. The guard at the gate must have sent a message forward about their arrival; two maids stood in the middle of the entrance holding a tray with the exact number of glasses as there were people in their group.
A glare from the jeweler made it clear that this was standard protocol, as the man had a habit of entertaining wealthy clients inside his home. Right now, though, giving refreshments would only delay the banishment of the bane of his residence, so with a wave of his hand, he sent the maids scurrying away.
Amin could not see the faces of the four behind him, but he hoped that they were showing no outward emotion. Too many cons had been ruined by inexperienced underlings giving away signs that they were not who they were pretending to be. He had already filled their heads with dire warnings and promises of broken bones if anything went wrong, but it was still a gamble. Assuring himself that there was nothing else he could have d
one and swallowing down the bout of anxiety that always accompanied the most crucial stage of a con, he began his performance.
The jeweler had already hurried inside, but Amin stopped at the raised wooden frame of the door on the floor, a compulsory part of every Hindu home built in accordance with Vastu, the Indian version of feng shui. Closing his eyes, he scrunched up his eyebrows as if trying to remember something, waiting for the tell-tale sign of his instructions being carried out.
Sure enough, one of the four behind him whom Amin had picked out for his quick hands and even quicker feet ran forward. All four were dressed in plain, white clothes, and although all of the clothes were baggy, it wasn’t to a degree where anyone would suspect anything.
It all happened in the blink of a second.
Amin stamped his foot down as hard as he could, screaming wordlessly at the top of his lungs while pointing up with his right index finger.
The underling reached him with his hand outstretched, as if to support his spiritual master.
All those present turned to where he was pointing, paying no attention whatsoever to all four of his followers…
…and a massive, white cloud of swirling dust-like particles appeared at the exact spot where he pointed.
A blood-curdling scream echoed from all around them, barely recognizable as one coming from a female. The nausea-inducing, rank scent of rotting meat filled the area.
And a black face formed on the cloud, its eyes as large as melons, its mouth gaping wide, poised to swallow any and all in its way.
For a few seconds, it was as if the world stood still. One jeweler, four servants, one sadhu, and four followers all stared at the apparition, their minds fleeing to a dark corner passed down in the human psyche from a time when humanity feared the unknown and the unexplainable.
One of the servants broke the spell of silence first. He screamed, running straight out the door without a care for the world, his coworkers, or his master.
