I find myself in a hospital bed. I smell pus and realise I have come to. But I wouldn’t last for long as the stink forces me to puke. There is nothing in the tummy to let out, so I let my body fade away to oblivion again.
I open my eyes again, I still have the memory of that smell, but it is not in my nose. I focus my eyes and see that I still lay in a hospital bed but a better one. I also have more energy, probably from some saline injections. Then it dawns on me and I sweat. The police are surely waiting for me to wake up so I can be taken away. Yes, I am done for this life and that means an end to my life’s work as well. Incoming..
A nurse walks over, takes my pulse, asks some unintelligible questions and walks away without waiting for answers. No clues yet. An hour later, a doctor comes over and wakes me up. I feel better now. He says that I was admitted by a neighbour who found me in my apartment few days back. That’s all they know and the neighbour hasn’t returned after promising to come back in an hour. I find out that I was in the general ward of this government hospital for two days before moving to the intensive care as my health deteriorated. Since they didn’t have anyone to contact, and I didn’t have anything on me, they informed the police who decided to wait for a couple of days and avoid the paperwork. After all, I didn’t seem to be defective pathologically. If I did care enough, I should rapture with joy on the realisation that I am a free bird. I don’t.
I wait for the doctor to move on after he declares me healthy and says he would call the police so that I can clear up with them. He goes out and I get up, stumble a bit, and walk straight out ignoring the staring pairs of sick eyes. The only thing running through my mind is the last thing my memory holds.
It was the third day with her after the ritual. Three days after I relieved the body of the soul. It wasn’t the first body, nor the soul, but every time is unique. Nothing is more divine than separating a beautiful body from its corrupted soul. The raw energy in the lifeless eyes and the shell-shocked body after going through the ritual is too enticing to bother about food or sleep. I usually live on water and go sleepless for days.
But on the evening of the third day, I knew it was getting critical. I hardly ate anything for last two days and the hallucinations were more tangible now. I finished the scraps in the refrigerator in the morning. I needed to eat more now or risk starving to death. I put on something, grabbed my wallet and headed out.
The hallucinations were there for sometime now and they were not surprising me in content anymore – they were about being a normal human being with a family and a day job. There were vague mental images of working the day and coming back to wife and kids in the evenings, socializing with friends and travelling on holidays. If I were ever forced to live the run-of-the-mill life, I’d kill myself. So the hallucinations I thought were not potent and there was no threat to my psyche. What was alarming was the frequency and length of the hallucinations. I would sometimes live in this alternative world for many minutes without coming back and this now happened almost daily. I never understood my mind’s attraction to this state of consciousness but I couldn’t do much about it. I did recognize that maintaining a good health would help, but sometimes, like this time, I was too involved with my baby to bother.
As soon as I stepped out I was delusional inside out. There was nothing to point me to my reality and I started thinking and behaving like I was indeed a regular person with a normal life. Out of the blue, my mind now had a whole context and history of this alternate world to work with. I smiled to the waiter and asked about cricket. I thought about my imaginary girlfriend and the upcoming marriage. I ate selectively tasty food and ordered whiskey. I smoked a bit and called my family after many years, with all intentions of re-connecting with them. They all thought I was dead or missing and I didn’t miss a beat in promising to go back. I don’t know how I managed all that and why, but the switch that turned on (or off) inside my head had changed everything.
Back to the flat in this delusional state, I was about to insert the key and turn the door knob when the door creaked open by itself to da rkness beyond. I imagined that I had locked the door and left the lights on. Now, could it be a faulty lock and the fuse? Could it be just my memory playing tricks? I sighed. Problems were my best friends I thought. They never left me alone.
I stepped in, left the door a bit ajar, and groped along the wall, uncertainly feeling my way, to locate the nearest light switch. Somehow, something did not feel right. There was a faint misty floral fragrance and I was certain that it was not there when I had left the house. As I tried to place the scent and think of its origin, I suddenly heard, an ear piercing scream – close enough, from deep within the walls. It sent a chill down my spine. I gulped and somehow managed to stifle my own scream. Maybe it was the neighbor’s loud TV? I needed to flick the lights on, like, NOW. I continued my search for the light switch – only to reach an ice-cold, damp, bony hand. The stifled scream let itself out. I let myself faint – the option looked better than facing the owner of that hand…
Looking back, nothing could have been more absurd. Imagine blacking-out from the shock of touching the love of my life, how awful. All the screams were mine of course.
Now, free again and in possession of all my faculties, I walk back to the same apartments in the same pyjamas I wore that day for dinner, half-expecting to get flagged at the entrance by the guard, or worse. If my saviour neighbour somehow didn’t discover the body that night, which is hard to believe, it was only a matter of time before the stink spread and someone called the police.
I approach the building entrance and nothing happens. The guard is busy in his register and only glances at me before looking down again. No encounter on the corridor or the elevator. I reach my floor. Heart beat slightly elevated as I prepare to face any music. I slowly move towards the door, what could be in store this time?
I see the door is closed. I don’t have the keys with me and have no second thoughts about what to do. I simply turn the knob. It opens. It is daylight and I see everything clearly. I immediately realise that no one has entered the flat since. I would instinctively know if anything changed. I lay my eyes on her naked body hanging by her hair just there. Ah, that mesmerizing, silky brown hair that drew me towards her a few months back. My phone and wallet on the floor two feet away, simple enough.
I start the clean up – I cannot carry on here. The body has decayed too much to eat now due to the heat. I dispose it off but not before washing her thoroughly and ravishing the beauty for one last time. I pack up the closets, settle all dues online and prepare to move out within two days.
Two weeks later, I start this journal which will eventually become a memoir for you to read. I am at my new temple of worship now. The only loyalty I owe is to the deed which saves me from nihilism and chaos and I do not want any distraction in my path. This place gives me more freedom to pursue my destiny and looks ideal from first impressions. What about my mind and its delusions? I will sort them away soon enough.
During almost a decade of my journey down this glorious path, this is the closest I came to being discovered despite the dozens of bodies I saved from wicked souls. That day at the hospital, I was not really scared of getting caught. I do not fear the punishment or the offense – they cannot move me. But I was truly worried about the degradation and disgrace that my higher goals would be subjected to. People would never understand what I live for. They would call it gore, murder and cannibalism. How can I ever make them understand that the destiny I pursue is the ultimate glory, a worship which transcends their trivialities?
No, I cannot let them label this – this. I would not let them condemn it on their terms. If everything I ever did and plan to do should be known by another being, it better be my words. And so in the coming chapters, I will try to put into language that which cannot be expressed. It is going to be difficult. What I experience when I am at the alter of worship that is a human body, doing the creators own work, cannot be explained or analysed away. No, I will simply tell you what I do and how I do it and you will understand hopefully. Maybe there will be a torch bearer in the future inspired by what I have to say.
But whatever may be the consequence, I have decided to bare everything down here without reservations. But I will only start after spending some time in ecstasy with my new love that lies in the dark room.
(End of prologue to “The Body Worship Journal”)