11-02-2024, 07:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-02-2024, 07:15 PM by garamrohan. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Paresh went furious. His erection had vanished as he stepped down from Ghosh babu’s house. He picked up the painting setup from the verandah and entered his room. It took him some time to calm down. And suddenly he started laughing as he realised the futility of reacting to Divya's denial. That resistance was not from inside, he surely felt that. It was evident how she was falling for him and eventually she was going to be his only.
The wall clock alarmed 6:00 pm with a haunting melody and he looked outside to see the sun was setting and night was about to take charge.
He impatiently moved, picked up brush and started to give finishing touches to the painting.
His hands moved, like a master painter, which he definitely was. Totally sucked into his artistic endeavour, he didn’t even realise Bose family’s property had been eclipsed by the clouds of darkness. That being a Shukla Paksha Chaturthi night, there was scarcity of fresh moonlight. But astonishingly, that faint moonlight was poured on that painting through the big window to the side. As if some supernatural power was helping Paresh to finish his work.
And Paresh’s breaths became heavy, as he put a small mole on the right shoulder of the lady in the painting. Yes! the alter-ego of Divya should be as resemblant as possible; and he has made note of the mole in mind when he was romancing her in the evening.
Paresh gulped! The brush fell out of his hand as he stepped back, finding it hard to believe that he achieved what he strived for. A cold breeze passed across the room. And for a fraction of second, he felt the leaves in the beautiful flora painted in the background flattered, so did the saree fabric of the woman.
“Is it a hallucination?” he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. But that doubt didn’t last longer. The next moment dews accumulated on the grass and plant leaves glittered in that mild moonlight. He collapsed and slithered back till his back hit the wall, breathing heavily, and let out a joyful laugh.
He hurriedly picked up the brushes and cleaned them well. Then he carried a wooden box from the drawer and took out a jet-black piece of cloth and laid it beside the completed painting. He carefully arranged the cleaned brushes on that cloth. The final ritual had begun!
He gulped as he picked up the needle! Memory is definitely a curse for humans in situations like this. But he had made up his mind; that anyway was going to be the last time. And with clenched teeth, he pierced the needle into his already wounded and sunken bicep and literally squeezed out a stream of the blood into the bowl. As enough was collected in the bowl, he carefully put it on the ground and threw away that needle to the corner. Paresh stood up, sucking on the fresh wound to stop the blood loss, and his pants got down. Yellowish, smelly discharge started falling and mixing with the blood in the bowl as he urinated.
Next task was even more painful, to get facets in the bowl. Courtesy of his unhealthy habits, he had been facing severe constipation. As he carefully descended over the bowl, positioning his anus exactly over the bowl. His shivering hands covered his timid face as he forced defecation.
“Aaaa h.. huh.. huh..huhh.. aaah aaaaaahhh…”, He cried as a pellet of hardened stool passed through his rectum, scratching against the skin, and fell into the bowl. And tears wetted his palms in the response of the felt pain.
—-
Deepesh was sitting at the dining table, silent, more than he ever was, soaked in all the weird thoughts. Shocking frames of what he saw Paresh doing to his beloved mother were playing before his eyes like a film.
Like every possessive son, he felt very angry and equally helpless. Though he had smelled Paresh’s intentions and had a clue about where all this was going at a subconscious level, when it actually happened right in front of him, in his house itself, he panicked.
“How come she didn’t slap him?” This thought of a distressed son was troubling him more than Paresh’s actions.
Divya was standing in the kitchen, confused, ashamed about what happened and especially for her son seeing all this. How did she get carried away? Had her ‘NO’ been a firm stance? Had her hands really wanted to push him off when he became physical? Disturbing questions were stacking up her mind. Unfortunately, answers to all these questions were disappointing.
She poured the fish curry in the bowl and put it next to Deepesh, without talking a word or making eye contact with him.
Deepesh kept looking at the bowl as his breaths became heavy.
Why did you make my favourite fish curry then? Paresh’s taunt when he left, kept echoing in Deepesh’s ear. And the next moment, he swept away the bowl in anger and curry went splashing on the dining table.
“Deepesh…” Divya cried out. But she was startled when she saw burning anger in those innocent eyes. Tears started rolling on his chicks and it became unbearable for Divya cause she knew the reason behind this.
She ran to the bedroom, closing the door hard on her back and threw herself on her marital bed. All shame, sorrow and regret flowed through her eyes wetting the pillow.
The atmosphere had already been contaminated, with fear, with distrust, and with an unresolved desire!
The wall clock alarmed 6:00 pm with a haunting melody and he looked outside to see the sun was setting and night was about to take charge.
He impatiently moved, picked up brush and started to give finishing touches to the painting.
His hands moved, like a master painter, which he definitely was. Totally sucked into his artistic endeavour, he didn’t even realise Bose family’s property had been eclipsed by the clouds of darkness. That being a Shukla Paksha Chaturthi night, there was scarcity of fresh moonlight. But astonishingly, that faint moonlight was poured on that painting through the big window to the side. As if some supernatural power was helping Paresh to finish his work.
And Paresh’s breaths became heavy, as he put a small mole on the right shoulder of the lady in the painting. Yes! the alter-ego of Divya should be as resemblant as possible; and he has made note of the mole in mind when he was romancing her in the evening.
Paresh gulped! The brush fell out of his hand as he stepped back, finding it hard to believe that he achieved what he strived for. A cold breeze passed across the room. And for a fraction of second, he felt the leaves in the beautiful flora painted in the background flattered, so did the saree fabric of the woman.
“Is it a hallucination?” he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. But that doubt didn’t last longer. The next moment dews accumulated on the grass and plant leaves glittered in that mild moonlight. He collapsed and slithered back till his back hit the wall, breathing heavily, and let out a joyful laugh.
He hurriedly picked up the brushes and cleaned them well. Then he carried a wooden box from the drawer and took out a jet-black piece of cloth and laid it beside the completed painting. He carefully arranged the cleaned brushes on that cloth. The final ritual had begun!
He gulped as he picked up the needle! Memory is definitely a curse for humans in situations like this. But he had made up his mind; that anyway was going to be the last time. And with clenched teeth, he pierced the needle into his already wounded and sunken bicep and literally squeezed out a stream of the blood into the bowl. As enough was collected in the bowl, he carefully put it on the ground and threw away that needle to the corner. Paresh stood up, sucking on the fresh wound to stop the blood loss, and his pants got down. Yellowish, smelly discharge started falling and mixing with the blood in the bowl as he urinated.
Next task was even more painful, to get facets in the bowl. Courtesy of his unhealthy habits, he had been facing severe constipation. As he carefully descended over the bowl, positioning his anus exactly over the bowl. His shivering hands covered his timid face as he forced defecation.
“Aaaa h.. huh.. huh..huhh.. aaah aaaaaahhh…”, He cried as a pellet of hardened stool passed through his rectum, scratching against the skin, and fell into the bowl. And tears wetted his palms in the response of the felt pain.
—-
Deepesh was sitting at the dining table, silent, more than he ever was, soaked in all the weird thoughts. Shocking frames of what he saw Paresh doing to his beloved mother were playing before his eyes like a film.
Like every possessive son, he felt very angry and equally helpless. Though he had smelled Paresh’s intentions and had a clue about where all this was going at a subconscious level, when it actually happened right in front of him, in his house itself, he panicked.
“How come she didn’t slap him?” This thought of a distressed son was troubling him more than Paresh’s actions.
Divya was standing in the kitchen, confused, ashamed about what happened and especially for her son seeing all this. How did she get carried away? Had her ‘NO’ been a firm stance? Had her hands really wanted to push him off when he became physical? Disturbing questions were stacking up her mind. Unfortunately, answers to all these questions were disappointing.
She poured the fish curry in the bowl and put it next to Deepesh, without talking a word or making eye contact with him.
Deepesh kept looking at the bowl as his breaths became heavy.
Why did you make my favourite fish curry then? Paresh’s taunt when he left, kept echoing in Deepesh’s ear. And the next moment, he swept away the bowl in anger and curry went splashing on the dining table.
“Deepesh…” Divya cried out. But she was startled when she saw burning anger in those innocent eyes. Tears started rolling on his chicks and it became unbearable for Divya cause she knew the reason behind this.
She ran to the bedroom, closing the door hard on her back and threw herself on her marital bed. All shame, sorrow and regret flowed through her eyes wetting the pillow.
The atmosphere had already been contaminated, with fear, with distrust, and with an unresolved desire!
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