02-04-2026, 06:51 PM
Chapter Two
I am well aware that a son should not describe his mother’s beauty, yet I cannot help but say that my mother is exquisitely beautiful. Her complexion is a radiant fair, like the luster of a Champa flower. It is a beauty that does not demand attention, yet wholly captivates it. The overflowing, vibrant vitality of her youth seems to have found a tranquil sanctuary in her deep, obsidian eyes. One cannot gaze into them for long; they hold a heavy, almost melancholic depth they hold a heavy, almost melancholic depth a quiet sorrow intertwined with an unbearable sense of aesthetic pleasure.
She carries herself like a subterranean river, her true depths hidden far beneath a placid surface. To the outside world, she maintains a sweet, meditative gravity, an impenetrable grace that nothing can easily disturb. Because of this, I often found myself wishing for a wife just like her.
Whether dbangd in the nostalgic simplicity of a cotton saree or the striking red gown she wore that night, her elegance remains effortless.
The following evening, a black limousine arrived outside our hotel to pick us up. Mother was wearing a red gown paired with rose-gold plated jewelry. She looked like a living Apsara. We were stunned upon seeing Bongani’s mansion. It was a palace built in the style of ancient Roman architecture. A massive three-story edifice with a total of forty-eight rooms. With a tennis court and a swimming pool on the side, it possessed an ancient aura that made one contemplative. It felt disheartening to see a hideous monster emerge from such a magnificent mansion. Bongani stepped out and greeted us.
“Welcome, Mr. Chatterjee, I have been waiting for you. Greetings, Mrs. Chatterjee, a beauty such as yourself has truly illuminated this mansion by coming here.”
With those words, the beast kissed my mother’s wrist. I noticed a shadow of embarrassed discomfort flit across her face. My father didn't seem to pay it much mind. And so, one by one, we entered the vast building.
Bongani said something to a man beside him in an unknown African language, after which a foul smirk played on both their lips. I felt the first tremors of an ill omen.
They seemed disappointed to hear that my father and mother did not drink. There was an African girl inside, she appeared to be staff with a striking, sexually charged figure. I noticed her studying my mother intently. Bongani went over and whispered something to her; she replied, and both of them shared a sly grin.
“Look, a party is only half the fun if you don't drink. Listen, I have top-tier Russian vodka here. It’s a very feminine drink. Give it a try; I promise you’ll like it.”
I saw Father whisper something in Mother’s ear. She shot him a fiery look. Father held her hand and pleaded. After much persuasion, Mother finally relented. I saw a look of triumph in Bongani’s eyes. It filled me with dread.
Realizing it wasn't right to stay there, I began to wander through the mansion. The party was on the second floor. I walked slowly down the corridors. Some time passed.
I noticed Mother leave the room and head toward the washroom. I turned to head back as well. Suddenly, I saw Bongani exit the room. I hid behind a wall.
I watched as Bongani finished the drink in his hand, tossed the glass aside, and stood slowly by the washroom door. He pressed his ear against it, trying to hear something. Then, I watched in horror as Bongani unzipped his trousers and exposed himself. I gasped at the sight, it looked like a hissing black cobra. He began to stroke himself slowly. Several minutes passed this way. Then, the villain quickly tucked himself back in, zipped up, and stood by the balcony, pulling out his phone as if nothing had happened, staring at the screen.
Mother stepped out a minute later. Seeing her, Bongani approached with a smile and said something. Mother laughed, replied to him, and walked back into the room with him. I immediately stepped out from behind the wall and followed them in.
Inside, I found my parents sitting side by side. Father seemed slightly out of sorts; since he had never touched alcohol before, this was to be expected. Mother, having shed her shyness, was talking fluently with everyone. She, too, had perhaps had some of the drink. Suddenly, Bongani said something to the maid. Upon hearing it, the girl went over to Mother, helped her up, and led her outside. Only Father, myself, Bongani, and two of his security guards remained in the room. I, too, stepped out.
Once outside, I couldn't see Mother or the girl anywhere. Thinking they might have gone upstairs, I began to ascend. Reaching the top, I saw the girl and my mother standing with two glasses, talking and sipping slowly. They were likely drinking wine, and the girl was explaining the techniques of wine tasting to her. Once they finished their drinks, the girl led Mother into a room. I quietly stood by the door. I saw that the room was beautifully decorated, with rose petals scattered across the bed and a sweet essence scenting the air. The sight triggered a profound sense of fear within me.
I am well aware that a son should not describe his mother’s beauty, yet I cannot help but say that my mother is exquisitely beautiful. Her complexion is a radiant fair, like the luster of a Champa flower. It is a beauty that does not demand attention, yet wholly captivates it. The overflowing, vibrant vitality of her youth seems to have found a tranquil sanctuary in her deep, obsidian eyes. One cannot gaze into them for long; they hold a heavy, almost melancholic depth they hold a heavy, almost melancholic depth a quiet sorrow intertwined with an unbearable sense of aesthetic pleasure.
She carries herself like a subterranean river, her true depths hidden far beneath a placid surface. To the outside world, she maintains a sweet, meditative gravity, an impenetrable grace that nothing can easily disturb. Because of this, I often found myself wishing for a wife just like her.
Whether dbangd in the nostalgic simplicity of a cotton saree or the striking red gown she wore that night, her elegance remains effortless.
The following evening, a black limousine arrived outside our hotel to pick us up. Mother was wearing a red gown paired with rose-gold plated jewelry. She looked like a living Apsara. We were stunned upon seeing Bongani’s mansion. It was a palace built in the style of ancient Roman architecture. A massive three-story edifice with a total of forty-eight rooms. With a tennis court and a swimming pool on the side, it possessed an ancient aura that made one contemplative. It felt disheartening to see a hideous monster emerge from such a magnificent mansion. Bongani stepped out and greeted us.
“Welcome, Mr. Chatterjee, I have been waiting for you. Greetings, Mrs. Chatterjee, a beauty such as yourself has truly illuminated this mansion by coming here.”
With those words, the beast kissed my mother’s wrist. I noticed a shadow of embarrassed discomfort flit across her face. My father didn't seem to pay it much mind. And so, one by one, we entered the vast building.
Bongani said something to a man beside him in an unknown African language, after which a foul smirk played on both their lips. I felt the first tremors of an ill omen.
They seemed disappointed to hear that my father and mother did not drink. There was an African girl inside, she appeared to be staff with a striking, sexually charged figure. I noticed her studying my mother intently. Bongani went over and whispered something to her; she replied, and both of them shared a sly grin.
“Look, a party is only half the fun if you don't drink. Listen, I have top-tier Russian vodka here. It’s a very feminine drink. Give it a try; I promise you’ll like it.”
I saw Father whisper something in Mother’s ear. She shot him a fiery look. Father held her hand and pleaded. After much persuasion, Mother finally relented. I saw a look of triumph in Bongani’s eyes. It filled me with dread.
Realizing it wasn't right to stay there, I began to wander through the mansion. The party was on the second floor. I walked slowly down the corridors. Some time passed.
I noticed Mother leave the room and head toward the washroom. I turned to head back as well. Suddenly, I saw Bongani exit the room. I hid behind a wall.
I watched as Bongani finished the drink in his hand, tossed the glass aside, and stood slowly by the washroom door. He pressed his ear against it, trying to hear something. Then, I watched in horror as Bongani unzipped his trousers and exposed himself. I gasped at the sight, it looked like a hissing black cobra. He began to stroke himself slowly. Several minutes passed this way. Then, the villain quickly tucked himself back in, zipped up, and stood by the balcony, pulling out his phone as if nothing had happened, staring at the screen.
Mother stepped out a minute later. Seeing her, Bongani approached with a smile and said something. Mother laughed, replied to him, and walked back into the room with him. I immediately stepped out from behind the wall and followed them in.
Inside, I found my parents sitting side by side. Father seemed slightly out of sorts; since he had never touched alcohol before, this was to be expected. Mother, having shed her shyness, was talking fluently with everyone. She, too, had perhaps had some of the drink. Suddenly, Bongani said something to the maid. Upon hearing it, the girl went over to Mother, helped her up, and led her outside. Only Father, myself, Bongani, and two of his security guards remained in the room. I, too, stepped out.
Once outside, I couldn't see Mother or the girl anywhere. Thinking they might have gone upstairs, I began to ascend. Reaching the top, I saw the girl and my mother standing with two glasses, talking and sipping slowly. They were likely drinking wine, and the girl was explaining the techniques of wine tasting to her. Once they finished their drinks, the girl led Mother into a room. I quietly stood by the door. I saw that the room was beautifully decorated, with rose petals scattered across the bed and a sweet essence scenting the air. The sight triggered a profound sense of fear within me.
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