Chapter 4: Red against White - a Mukt & Jia scoop

June 09, 2023

Dear Diary,

Will you still love me if I make a confession? Actually, it doesn’t matter even if you don’t for now. I am sure you will come around soon so here goes!

I love it when they cry, when they beg me for mercy, especially when their tears get mixed up with their blood. The colors…red against white! The sounds…whimpering remonstrations and those screams, one louder than the other! The look on their faces…terrified and yet unbelieving of what’s happening to them! The smell…a mix of involuntarily passed urine, even faeces and the deep stink of their innards as they get exposed to the steel of my knife!

I love it when I take my time with them, ever so slowly allowing the passage of the hands of the clock, denoting the endlessness of time that will slowly but surely lead them to their makers. I am the harbinger of their fate, whether it be their salvation or their lowly rebirth. I love it when they want me to sit in judgment of their crimes and good deeds, pleading with me as though I were God, recounting to me how good they have been and how they don’t deserve what they know is coming for them.

I love their beady eyes as they stop being able to differentiate between tear drops and those of blood and other bodily fluids. I love their hands folded in complete submission and prayer, the nails and skin chipping away from the acid I use to purify them before I gut them.

I know, my dear diary, that I have told you who I am to think myself capable of delivering this justice upon the earthly scum. They think they are the same as me. They are not. I come when all has gone and I go where none has ever ventured.

I am The Destroyer! I am The Creator! I am The Preserver!

I am what Krishna could have been; what Achilles could only strive for…my heel is cast in stone.

I have what Zeus didn’t have; what Indra didn’t manage to control…I am the True King and my lightning bolt can’t be defeated by any trinity.

I don’t need to wait for what Sita prayed for; what Helen of Troy had to yearn for…I don’t need a savior waging wars for me; I am war.

I am not undermined by the limitations of Hades; Yamraj doesn’t have my freedom…I own the Underworld; I am its unchallenged master.

You know, dear diary, how restless I get when they struggle initially, when they try to fight back, when they look at my physical form and feel that they can overpower me. I could pity them but I don’t. I hate them for it. I hate their lack of wisdom, their lack of comprehension, that they can’t relate to the strength in my divine form. My lust isn’t confined to that for their blood, it is an obsession for justice that gives me celestial strength, a true reason for my actions and not just a forced justification.

Dear Diary, you know how I operate but they don’t. They are not your friends and they don’t know you the way I do. You know how deep I can lie when I am preparing for a prey, how quiet I can be before I roar. I have to be in their midst, one of them, till I can give them a glimpse of my Godly avatar. I get to be their friend before I become the owner of their souls.

But why, oh diary, do they struggle so? Their beautiful hair that I have to drag them by, their exquisite jawline that I have to destroy, their slender limbs I have to dismember…could they not bleat around a little less and simply wait patiently, like the sheep they are, for the deliverance I shall surely bestow upon them?

As I write to you today, my darling diary, I can see the smoke coming out of the bodies being cremated at the ghats of the river. They call her the mother, Ganga, Ganges, believing that she will wash away all their sins. Even after they die, they pollute her with the ashes of their bodies, the smell of their burning fats. I see the funeral pyres lined up in this holy city of Varanasi (an amalgamation of Varuna and Assi, the two tributaries of Ganges) and wonder about the limits of the river. How much can she take and what will she leave behind once she dries up, as she surely will?

I have spent a lot of time here, looking at the same images, thinking of the same things, but perhaps in another life. I can’t remember that life any more. I can’t remember the person I was then. Was it in this yug or the one before this one…this millennia or another much earlier…this birth or another cycle of births?

Half my face is burnt today, but it wasn’t so then, and I am glad for the change. I am black and white, yin and yang, the nar and the nari, the God and the Devil, fury and compassion...Life and Death. I must thank them for giving me my identity today for they are as much a part of me now as I am of them…especially those two.

Oh Jia, my sweetest darling, how I love you…what will I do without you? I am your ultimate destination and you complete me. I am coming for you!

Oh Mukt, what will I not do to you when I meet you! You will be at my mercy and I won’t stop and you will beg, beg me for more and I will give you more…much more!