Episodes of Ecstasy

By Jeff Tikari

He met Svetlana when she came in one blustery afternoon. Sweet, waif-like, delicate, blue-grey eyes, pink lips and cheeks; she was a happy person and smiled a lot showing lovely teeth. I saw Harry looking at her – he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He saw her delicate fingers as she bent over and handled the trinkets on the shelf; he noticed her almost translucent skin and light brown hair beaded with droplets from the mist outside. He glided up to her, “May I help you?” She turned her head; hair fell half across her face, and smiled at him. Harry stood stunned ...that smile hit him plumb between the eyes. Harry was a goner

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Tikari
• Release date: Nov 19, 2008
• ISBN: 9781452360041

Jeff Tikari

Author and Homeopathic doctor. Jeff has written nine books and has been published in India, USA, UK and Canada.

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Episodes of Ecstasy

the

Episodes of Ecstasy

Jeff Tikari

Published by Jeff Tikari at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Jeff Tikari – Amazon & Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978 -1-4523-6004-1

An anthology of fourteen crisp and intriguing short stories that will enliven and charm your leisure hours all these stories are set in India, which, apart from making enjoyable reading will also enhance your knowledge of India and its mysteries.

The following stories are written in a style that is racy, concise, and acute. The narrative does not dawdle on description nor embrace any deviation from the strict line of story. It is written for readers of today whose mindset is different to folks of yesteryear who lived a lifestyle of laid back resonance.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

About the Author: Jeff Tikari has worked on tea plantations in northern India for twenty years, from 1959 to 1977 and on coffee and tea plantations in the Highlands of Papua New Guinea for fifteen years. He now resides with his wife on the outskirts of Delhi where he runs a Homeopathic clinic and from where he does all his writing. His first book on spiritualism and philosophy: ‘The Future Intelligence" was published in the year 2000. He has had short articles & stories published in magazines around India: Elle, Delhi Press, Vanity, etc. in the USA, Diabolic Publications, Chiaroscuros, Sealy Publications Secret Attic, etc. in Canada, Horizon, and in the UK.

Other books by Jeff Tikari:

To Sweeten Boredom; Aroma of Orange Pekoe, Laugh like a Dog; The Honey Gatherer; Travails of Innocence; She Shed a Tear; A Compendium of short Stories.

To view books go to: www.jeffspage.com, (b) Sample these books or buy them go to (a) http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=Jeff+Tikari (c) send an e-mail to

:[e-mail]

Jeff Tikari, M-12/24, DLF City -2, Gurgaon 122002, India.

Contents:

Double Whammy;

Harry Bilinsky;

Hypnotic Attraction;

Kali’s Infatuation;

Mystique;

Protocol;

Shikar;

Shred of Evidence;

Suppressed Suspicion;

The Party;

House on the Left;

Tripping Reincarnation;

Babu Chandra Prasad.

The Purpose of Life of Life

Double Whammy

She loved gardening; it was the love of her life. She never imagined that her love for plants would be her undoing.

Shamim was a young widowed mother - cancer had taken her husband the previous year leaving her hollow eyed and in debt. The burden of bringing up her grade six daughter lay squarely on her shoulders. Spending money to buy plants from the nursery was now out of the question – she had to count every penny. She still collected wild flowering plants, though, from the forest situated at the far end of town. A lonely pretty road ran through part of the forest where the fresh oxygenated air and serenity of the gently swaying boughs and forest sounds and smells relaxed and soothed the still piquant pain of her loss. She stopped here often to search for wild shrubs and climbers.

Bitter tears flooded her eyes whenever she reminisced of that fate-less day when, whilst digging out a sapling with a stout stick at the edge of the forest, two men closed in on her. Trained in self-defense, she faced the men defiantly with stake on the ready. When one of them attempted to grab her a scuffle ensued. She wielded the stick well, inflicting telling blows to both men who retreated, affronted, bruised, and defeated, but shouting abuses at her.

She should have fled home then, but the plant needed a few more strokes to release it from the soil.

The men returned armed with stout staves from the forest. She put up a great fight; but two armed men, though not trained like her, were too many. They beat her, kicked her repeatedly when she fell down, and left her broken body by the roadside. She had hurt their pride and they taught her a brutal lesson.

A passing car spotted her blood-splattered body and took her to the local hospital where she spent three pain filled months. She recovered but her face showed scars from the merciless beating. She suffered a broken nose, lost her left eye and all her earnings to pay for the treatment.

Now, two years later, people stared at her and quickly averted their gaze. Her face was not a pretty sight and she mostly kept it veiled with the end of her sari.

She had no job and had sold her car to pay the burgeoning medical bills. She was destitute, starving, and lived on the streets and slept in doorways. A relative took in her daughter to work as a domestic in return for food and keep.

Tears rolled down the young mother’s face as she sat huddled on a bench outside a roadside tea stall. She rued the day she so valiantly fought off the two men. If only she had allowed the two to have their way, she would today have her job, her car, her home, and her daughter would be in school. Her assailants would be in jail for a long time for rape, instead of the lighter sentence of assault and battery. Fate had twisted her kismet and she was suffering the consequences of saving herself from rape.

The men were arrested and sentenced, but set free after completing eight months. They walked free and ironically, had on occasion paid for her cup of tea…seeing her inability to do so.

You look like you could do with some food, said one of the two assailants. He had summed up her situation and felt a pang of guilt. If you like, go down the lane and on the left there is a house with a red door. Knock on it and my mother will give you a meal. he turned to leave.

What’s your name? she blurted, still huddled on the narrow bench, her not too clean sari tucked around her.

He hesitated, Charan, he said looking closely at the woman And tell mother to let you have a bath as well. Go now and get something into your stomach. I’ll ring and tell her to expect you.

She was eating meals at Charan’s house quite regularly after that. She got along well with Charan’s middle aged mother, who treated her with sympathy and concern. Shamim was obviously an educated woman, she surmised, who had fallen on bad times. The mother did not probe; she would let the unfortunate woman tell her story when she was good and ready.

Shamim ran into Charan a number of times and he treated her with off-hand civility.

Will you be my mistress? he asked her one day. Shamim was still physically very attractive – only her face was marred. I will put you up and give you money for the plastic surgery you so badly want.

She screened her face behind the pallow of her sari in embarrassment; her ears burned in humiliation, but what was she to do? This was fait accompli; in a small quivering voice she said, Yes. I don’t have a choice.

Of course you do. You can say no.

"That’s not a choice. I will do anything to get my face fixed. Will you give me money to send my girl to school?" she took a quick look at his face, choking with shame.

Charan smiled and expanded his chest. He had won!

He visited her three or four times a week in the accommodation he had arranged: the first floor of an old lone house the access to which was via a steep uncovered cement and brick stairs from the outside.

She was comparatively happy now…her daughter was going to school. She paid for this with ‘sex on demand’ and stoically endured the humiliation of crude, frenetic sex which left her soiled and disgusted.

After a longish wait, a hospital bed was secured and plastic surgery on her face was performed. Fifteen days after the bandage was taken off she looked in the mirror with some satisfaction. The swelling was subsiding and she was beginning to look quite attractive again. It was not easy to tell she had a glass left eye.

Soon the monsoon was upon them: drenching wet, gray, and windless days. Rain continued relentlessly, filling the bunded rice fields around with sheets of water that lay reflecting the trees, shrubs, and the motionless clouds above. The house was old and the walls oozed moisture. Every article in the room was damp. Clothes washed stayed damp and smelled of mould. A sunny day was one Shamim looked forward to and hung all the clothes on a line to dry. Pillows, sheets, and mattresses were taken up to the terrace and aired; she washed her hair and sat in the sun. Birds too perched on exposed places and spread their wings to the sun.

In time the rice planted in the fields began to throw new shoots and the force of the downpour slowly abated. Rain still came, but it was light and the clouds allowed the sun to peek through oftener.

That day Shamim wore a bright red sari and stood at