The Detached Soul

Put on a veil of fantasy and dive into a real world. Witness certain moments of history through the lens of an ordinary man. Sail with a Soul to the misty mountains and green valleys of Northeast India and live certain uncanny moments. This novel is an ensemble of hot, sweet, tangy, and sometimes bizarre stories. Mostly inspired by real life experience, presented with a coating of fiction. "I spent several sleepless nights brooding over it and finalised the modus operandi to wipe him off the surface of the earth and make it a better place with one evil less." "I am sixty-nine. They say I look fifty-five. Maybe that is partly due to my short stature and mostly for the jet-black hair dye I often use. My original black hair turned white years ago. They also say I am fit as a fiddle. Which I am not. Absolutely not." "I was lying on a bed. Face up. Inert as a log. A female voice in the room asked, 'How such a thing could happen?' Her voice quivered despite her best efforts to keep it steady. A young boy's voice stammered, intelligible to none but himself. He was at a loss how to explain. He feared lest he was held responsible." "Breaking the monotony of my footsteps and the rhythm of breathing, a bell tolled three times somewhere at a distance. That reminded me once again. It was too early to be safe. In the first place, I should not have ventured out at all. Even after that I should not have resisted the strong feeling to return home." "The first day I saw him, my immediate reaction was one of envy. With his tall stature, neatly trimmed hair, yellowish skin with a tinge of red; no wonder he stood out among the crowd. But my envy was soon overshadowed by some other feelings. One of hatred and indignation of extreme intensity." "How many days in a week? Of course, seven. A week or seven days. It is all the same. Or is it? Really?" "The Saturday night was dark. Pitch dark. Like all Amavasya nights in a remote countryside. You would not see even your own hands had the flickering flame inside the Kerosene lanterns threw some fatigued beams across the translucent chimneys. They lost three-fourths of their brightness while fighting the film of soot inside the chimney. Suddenly, a series of feeble broke the eerie silence. Lily woke with a start. Eight-year-old Lily was always frightened of darkness. She groped at her side. Mousumi, her sister, younger by two years, was breathing slowly, sound asleep. She groped further on the other side of Mousumi. Nobody was there. Where is Baideu? Amala Baideu. The eldest sister among the siblings. She arrived a couple of days ago from her hostel at Kasturba Ashram in Guwahati."