Mature Themes.
The house had fallen silent.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled into the night. A thin veil of fog had settled over the village, blurring the faint lights that still burned in a few houses.
Savitri poured water over the dying embers of the earthen stove. Steam rose with a soft hiss, carrying the smell of damp ash.
Her husband and children had been asleep for some time.
She washed the last of the utensils, arranged them neatly beside the stove, and wiped her hands on the end of her sari.
It had been another long day.
There was always something to do. Cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, tending to the children, attending to her husband’s needs. By the time everyone else had gone to bed, she was usually too tired to think about anything.
But there was one thing she never neglected.
Her nightly ritual.
Savitri took a quick bath and returned to the small mirror hanging on the kitchen wall. She examined her reflection in the dim light of the oil lamp.
Fifteen years of marriage and three children had changed her. There were faint lines around her eyes, and her face bore the tiredness of countless days spent caring for others.
Yet she smiled at her reflection.
From a wooden drawer, she took out a small box.
Inside was her homemade perfume, a finely powdered mixture of dried rose petals, used incense sticks, and camphor. It was her own recipe, one she had perfected over the years.
She opened the box and inhaled its familiar fragrance.
Ever since childhood, Savitri had loved dressing up before going to sleep.
Her friends used to laugh at her.
“Who are you getting ready for?” they would ask. “Does your prince charming visit you in your dreams?”
When she married, the teasing continued.
“Now you have a husband,” her friends told her. “You have a reason to dress up at night!”
An elderly aunt had assured her that the habit would disappear after marriage.
“Wait until you have children,” she had said. “You won’t have the energy for such foolishness.”
But fifteen years and three children later, nothing had changed.
Every night, no matter how exhausted she was, Savitri took a little time for herself.
Her husband knew about the habit and often teased her.
“Perhaps I should be jealous of whoever visits you in your dreams,” he would say, laughing.
Savitri would laugh with him.
Tonight, as always, she applied a little perfume behind her ears, beneath her arms, on her wrists, her feet, and the insides of her thighs.
She changed into a fresh sari, slipped on a new set of bangles, and placed a bright red bindi on her forehead.
She considered tying her hair, then decided to leave it loose.
Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror.
For a moment, she stood still, admiring the woman looking back at her.
Then she sighed, extinguished the lamp, and lay down on the mat spread across the kitchen floor.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
A strange sound awakened her. Thinking someone had entered the kitchen, Savitri opened her eyes and saw a figure standing a few feet away.
She froze.
It resembled a man, but only partly. Its body seemed to be made of air and moonlight. One moment its features were distinct; the next, they dissolved into a shimmering mist. Its feet appeared and disappeared against the floor.
“Who…” Savitri struggled to speak. “Who are you?”
“I am a Yaksha.”
The voice was deep, yet strangely melodious.
“A… Yaksha?”
“Yes.”
Savitri stared at him.
She had heard stories of Yakshas, supernatural beings who inhabited the heavens and wandered through the worlds of gods and humans. But she had never imagined seeing one.
“Why are you here?” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“My children are sleeping. Please go away. They’ll be frightened if they see you.”
The Yaksha smiled.
“No one can see or hear me unless I wish it. And while you are with me, no one can see or hear you either.”
Savitri glanced toward the room where her family slept.
“Even if they wake up?”
“Even then. To them, this time will pass as though nothing has happened.”
She looked at him uncertainly.
“But why have you come?”
“I was passing over your village when I saw you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I saw a beautiful woman preparing herself for the night. I was curious. And when I looked more closely, I found you so enchanting that I could not resist coming down to greet you.”
Savitri lowered her eyes.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Not at all.”
The Yaksha moved closer. His form shimmered faintly in the darkness.
“And since I have come, I shall offer you a boon.”
“A boon?”
“Ask for anything you desire. Wealth, jewels, a palace, a life of luxury. Whatever your heart wishes for shall be yours.”
Savitri looked at him in disbelief.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
She remained silent.
The Yaksha waited.
“Well?” he asked after a while. “What would you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Surely there must be something you have always wanted.”
Savitri lowered her head, thinking.
Then she looked up.
“You said no one can see or hear us?”
“That is correct.”
“Even if someone comes into this room?”
“Even then.”
“And whatever happens here will remain unknown to everyone?”
“Yes.”
Savitri fell silent again.
The Yaksha watched her with growing curiosity.
“Have you decided?”
She hesitated.
“Can you…”
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath.
“Can you make love to me?”
For the first time, the Yaksha seemed surprised.
Then he laughed.
“Well! Of all the things you could have asked for, I certainly wasn’t expecting that.”
Savitri blushed and looked away.
“Forgive me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Why not? You may ask for whatever you desire.”
He smiled mischievously.
“And I must admit, this is a rather pleasant request.”
Savitri studied his shimmering form.
“But can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Make love to me. You hardly seem to have a body.”
The Yaksha threw back his head and laughed.
“Do not let my appearance deceive you. I can take any form I choose. I can be as solid as a mountain or as gentle as the evening breeze. I have known the company of many beautiful apsaras in heaven.”
He leaned closer.
“But tell me, Savitri, are you certain this is what you want?”
She looked directly at him.
“Yes.”
“Then it shall be so.”
“Wait.”
The Yaksha stopped.
“There are some conditions.”
“Conditions?” He raised an eyebrow. “This is becoming interesting.”
Savitri gathered her courage.
“I want us both to desire each other. I want you to give me as much pleasure as I give you.”
The Yaksha smiled.
“Of course.”
“No. Listen to me.”
He grew quiet.
“I don’t want you to do this merely because I asked for it. I don’t want it to be a favor or an obligation.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to desire me.”
The Yaksha regarded her thoughtfully.
“I want you to find me beautiful,” she continued. “I want you to enjoy being with me, just as I want to enjoy being with you.”
She paused.
“I want you to be gentle, but I don’t want you to be afraid of passion. I want you to hold me tightly, to be rough when I wish it and tender when I need it. I want to surrender to you without losing the right to ask for what I want.”
The Yaksha listened without interrupting.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he smiled.
“Is that all?”
Savitri nodded.
“Then I accept every condition.”
He extended his hand.
“Tell me what form you would like me to take.”
Savitri looked at him for a long moment.
“Your appearance doesn’t matter.”
And slowly, she began to untie her sari.
What followed was unlike anything Savitri had ever known.
The Yaksha’s strange, shifting form became warm and solid beneath her hands. There was tenderness in his touch, but also a passion that answered her own.
For once, she did not feel the need to hide what she wanted. She could reach for him without hesitation, draw him closer, or ask him to slow down. He responded to her touch as eagerly as she responded to his.
There were moments of laughter, moments of abandon, and moments when neither spoke.
At one point, overcome with passion, the Yaksha bit her gently above her left breast.
Savitri gasped, then pulled him closer.
Time seemed to lose its meaning.
When at last they lay quietly together, she rested her head against his chest and traced her fingers along his back.
Neither spoke for a while. Then Savitri broke the silence.
“You must be in a hurry to leave now.”
The Yaksha looked down at her.
“Why would I be?”
“Because it’s over.”
He laughed softly.
“Over? I have just spent a wonderful time with you. Why should I want to leave?”
He drew her closer. Savitri rested her cheek against him.
After a while, she whispered, “I have committed a sin.”
The Yaksha looked puzzled.
“A sin?”
“Yes. I should never have done this.”
“Why?”
“I’m a married woman.”
“And?”
Savitri looked away.
“In your world, perhaps such things are different.”
“In my world, affection and desire are not sins.”
She considered his words.
“May I tell you something?” Savitri asked.
“Of course.”
“I’ve been married for fifteen years. I have three children. But I’ve never really learned how to tell my husband what I want.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s how we are brought up.
She paused.
“And sometimes, I wish things were different.”
For a while, neither spoke.
“Sometimes, when I walk through the village, men stare at me. Some look at me in ways that make me uncomfortable. Others look at me as though they find me beautiful.”
The Yaksha listened.
“Sometimes I see a handsome man,” she continued. “And I want to look at him too. I want to admire him, just as men admire women.”
“Then why don’t you?”
She gave a faint smile. “Because a woman who looks at men that way is called shameless.”
The Yaksha shook his head. “What a strange world you live in.”
“Is it wrong?” she asked. “For a woman to look at a man and find him attractive?”
“Why should it be? Beauty is not reserved for one kind of being, nor is the pleasure of admiring it.”
Savitri seemed relieved. Encouraged, she continued.
“And sometimes…”
She stopped.
“Go on.”
“Sometimes I imagine being with another man.”
The Yaksha waited.
“Not anyone in particular,” she added quickly. “Just… someone. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like.”
“And that troubles you?”
“Doesn’t it make me a bad woman?”
“Does imagining something make it real?”
“No.”
“Then why must every thought be judged as though it were an action?”
Savitri considered this.
“In heaven,” the Yaksha continued, “we may choose whom to love, provided that love is freely returned. We do not measure every desire against rules made by others.”
She looked at him wistfully and smiled.
Then, after a moment, she asked, “Did you enjoy being with me?”
The Yaksha laughed. “Have I not told you already?”
“Tell me again.”
He gently lifted her chin. “I have known many beautiful apsaras, Savitri. Yet tonight I have experienced a happiness I shall remember for a very long time.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
He kissed her forehead.
“And I shall visit you again whenever I can.”
Savitri’s smile faded. She lay quietly against him.
After a while, she asked, “You said I could ask for anything tonight.”
“Anything, my dear.”
“Then hold me tightly once more.”
The Yaksha embraced her.
Savitri closed her eyes and rested against him for a moment. Then she looked into his eyes.
“I want you to leave and forget me. You must never remember me, and you must never return.”
The Yaksha stared at her in disbelief. “But why?”
“Because I’m human. I live on earth, not in heaven!”
Before he could answer, his form began to fade.
“Savitri…”
His voice sounded distant.
A faint shimmer lingered for a moment.
Then he was gone.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Savitri opened her eyes with a start. Sunlight was streaming through the kitchen doorway.
“Mommy, wake up!”
She sat up, bewildered. Her children were standing beside her.
“What time is it?”
“It’s morning!” her eldest exclaimed. “We’ve been calling you for so long!”
Savitri looked toward the doorway. The sun was already high. She had never slept so late.
“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”
“We tried!” her son protested. “You wouldn’t wake up. We thought you were dead!”
Before Savitri could answer, her husband appeared in the doorway.
He looked at her and laughed. “Perhaps your prince charming finally came to visit you last night!”
The children giggled.
Savitri frowned and struggled to her feet. Her body ached strangely.
She looked down. Her sari was disheveled. Several bangles lay broken beside her mat, and the bindi on her forehead had been rubbed away.
She touched her lips and found them unusually tender. Something felt different, though she couldn’t explain what it was.
There was a strange warmth within her, a quiet contentment unlike anything she could remember.
Yet beneath that contentment lay a strange sadness. She tried to recall her dreams. There had been something, perhaps someone, a voice she could no longer remember.
But the harder she tried to remember, the more distant it became. She shook her head and went to bathe.
As she poured water over herself, her eyes fell upon her reflection in the small mirror.
She stopped. Just above her left breast was a faint reddish mark. She touched it gently.
A bite.
For several moments, she stared at it. Where had it come from?
She searched her memory again, but found nothing. Only a fleeting sensation of being held close. Of warmth. Of happiness.
She looked toward the little window above the bathing area. Beyond it, the morning sky stretched clear and blue.
For reasons she could not understand, she felt an overwhelming tenderness toward that distant sky.
Tears gathered in her eyes. She did not know why she was crying. She felt happy. And terribly sad.
Outside, one of her children called for breakfast.
Savitri wiped her tears, adjusted her sari, and turned toward the door.
There was a household waiting for her.
And somewhere within her remained the faint warmth of something beautiful she could no longer remember.