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The Mistress of Darkness

About Purnesh Bhattacharya

Purnesh Bhattacharya is a Creative Writer by profession. He had been in the advertising industry for 15 years. Currently holding the position of a Creative Director with a Mumbai based agency, he is an eager indulgent in my passion. As a winner of two advertising awards, he has always perceived advertising as a bold medium of storytelling. Purnesh a BA Graduate with Economics and also holds a Post Graduate Diploma in Advertising and Public Relations. His hobbies include observation of human behavior, reading, writing, storytelling, swimming, photographing and driving long distances. His central area of interest revolves around his train journeys. He is an avid train traveler and published a series called #TrainSpotterUpdate on facebook. His dream is to set up a mentoring institute for aspiring and first time creative writers; he wants to work towards creating better storytellers for tomorrow.
Purnesh blogs at http://www.virtuousvociferous.blogspot.in

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The instructions issued by my mother were taut.
They sounded like rules.
Violation would lead to immediate punishment.
Yet, I was relentless in pursuit of the one, she had advised me against.

I remember. I had just resigned from my second job in a year’s time.
I was twenty three. Absolutely casual about being what I was.
Responsibility seemed like an alien term to me.
And, I was least bothered to attend a cousin’s wedding that seemed like a propaganda.

At the wedding, I came across a group of ladies, who were busy murmuring something. My mom didn’t waste any time to join them. These ladies were our relatives. The only words, which I overheard were that of my mom – Is it? She is never going to mend her ways! At this age too, she desires to be the man-eater. Bitch!

Suddenly their heads turned.
Silence took over.
The gossip faded out.
Rumours died.
She walked in. She took a seat. She smiled at the ladies. They smiled back at her.
Her expressions were genuinely humble.
The expressions of those ladies were far from being generous.
My eyes met hers. Her met mine. Just then, my mother intervened.
I realized I had violated her instructions.

These instructions were about this stranger, whom I hadn’t met but had heard about. The instructions were meant to protect me from this stranger’s evil eyes. According to any sane woman, that someone whom I had the privilege of matching my eyes with was a characterless woman with unimaginable darkness in her past. If my mother was to believed, she had broken homes; she had snatched husbands; she had whisked away teenagers; she had seduced old men. She came with a dark background.

My mother might have wanted to protect me from this so called characterless woman, with a so called dark background. But somewhere I kept feeling –
What seems dark, isn’t just dark; isn’t always dark! In the end, there is a meaning to everything.

Maybe it is that meaning, which intensified my curiosity to know her more.
I didn’t have the fairest of idea about who she was? What could be her name? Where she could be staying? The wait kept getting longer. It was only during one of the private parties thrown by my cousin’s newly wedded wife, that I saw her walk in again.

She was dressed in a dark velvet gown. She looked stunning. I walked across to her. Introduced myself. She introduced herself. I asked her to join me on the dance floor. No one could stop us from letting our hair down.

I was twenty three. She was thirty five. We were driving out of the city. We were running away from routine. The concierge at the hotel cast a strange look at us. We ignored. We checked in. We hadn’t planned anything. But she had a request. Can we wait till it turns dark?

The hotel lobby was humongous. Since she had prohibited my entry into the room till it turned dark, I was restless. At the same time, I was excited. She called up on my mobile. I answered. She spoke, “I know, I kept you waiting. Now don’t make me wait. Come over.”

She had left the door ajar. I entered. I could see nothing in the darkness. I heard her lock the door behind me. I turned. She put her hand in my pocket, fished out my lighter and lit it. She brought it closer to her face. I fainted.

The next morning, the news dailies carried a breaking news; the television channels too spoke in the same language. What seems dark, isn’t just dark; isn’t always dark! In the end, there is a meaning to everything. The so called serial killer, famously known as The Mistress of Darkness had resurrected in Season 2. And as advertised by the channel, there was a meaning behind the supposed delay. The creative team just wanted to make sure that the real story of The Mistress of Darkness was brought to light. In the end, there was an asterisk symbol, which said – Subscribe now. The pilot episode of The Mistress of Darkness is ready to stream soon. Be the first to watch it!

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