Ganpath hated his master. As an Indian, he was programmed to hate the goras. They did come into his country as traders and settle down as rulers after all. Yet Ganpath found, much to his chagrin, that not all goras were bad. Most of them simply followed orders from above, and Ganpath was content following the orders of those he served.
But he hated his new master with a passion. Detective Inspector Samuel Thacker was young, fresh off the boat, bigoted, and brash. He made it a point to point out that he was better than Ganpath and his fellow countrymen.
One evening, Thacker had asked Ganpath to come to the police station to carry some files back home. By the time Thacker finished his commitments at the station and had had a few drinks at the Gentlemen’s club, it was well past midnight. Thacker climbed on his horse, and in his inebriated state slouched atop the beast. It was left to Ganpath to lead the horse home while balancing the files atop his head.
As they passed through the village’s common well, a beautiful melody came wafting through the air. Someone was singing a melancholic song.
‘Gapanth…’ Thacker slurred. ‘Who’s singing at this time of the night?’
Ganpath knew. He spat three times on the ground.
‘Saheb, please spit three times on the ground like I did.’
‘That’s bloody disgusting!’ Thacker got down from the horse and straightened his cap. ‘Someone seems to be in a lot of distress and I intend to find out.’
‘Saheb, no!’ Ganpath pleaded. ‘That’s no someone. It is Mohini. Let’s go back, please.’
‘Nonsense!’ Thacker handed the reins of the horse to Ganpath. ‘Lead the chap back home, he clearly looks spooked. I’m going to investigate.’
‘It’s a bloody order. Go!’
A woman clad in white was standing near the well. In the pale moonlight, she looked gorgeous. Thacker walked towards her with a spring in his steps. Ganpath sighed, shook his head and led the horse towards Thacker’s quarters.
William Thacker fell sick. The doctor who tested him was amazed by the amount of dehydration Thacker had suffered and the extent of his exhaustion. Thacker’s room smelled of betelnut juice and the servants heard the tinkling sound of anklets from inside the room at nights. Thacker never recovered and passed away a little over a month from that fateful night he encountered the Mohini.
Note: Mohini is an enchanting female supernatural entity that preys on men, and is said to inhabit South India, haunting old wells, tamarind and coconut trees, forests and wandering along lonely stretches of road. It is believed that girls or women who commit suicide or suffer unnatural deaths without having found a romantic partner or experiencing physical pleasure return as this vengeful spirit.
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1. Tales With A Twist – A collection of my short stories.
2. Route 13 : Highway to Hell– An anthology of horror short stories.