Fiction: Mamta learns of the bloodthirsty dakini while investigating mysterious deaths in a village

Mamta’s apartment, nestled on the sixth floor of a newly erected sixteen-story building, had been her sanctuary for the past six solitary months. She stood on her balcony with a cup of chamomile tea watching the frenzied dance of vehicles below. The steam from her tea mingled with the cool night air, tracing wisps against the weariness etched beneath her eyes. It was soothing – the warmth – but at the same time it reminded her how she had aged all of a sudden due to the stress and depression. It was a routine she’d grown accustomed to, a bittersweet reminder of the life she once shared with her partner, Paul Phillip.

Until six months ago, she would stand there waiting for Paul to ring the doorbell. Tonight, however, she was standing there waiting for something else to ring – her iPhone. After that chance encounter with Father Simon, Mamta had made up her decision. She had decided that she would not let her mind sink further into depression – whatever had to happen had already happened. It was time to move on.

The last three years had been traumatic, beginning with the pandemic, which had dented her morale, and culminating with...

Read more