Skip to main content

The Devil


Fiction

Father Joseph woke up from sleep with a tremor running down his spine.  His body was drenched with sweat.  This had become a routine now: a nightmare would kill his sleep halfway through it.

In his nightmares he was a sorcerer, or a witch hunter, or a medieval knight tilting at some mysterious windmills.  He dispensed magical potions and panaceas to the people who came and knelt down in front of him with childlike trust.  He drove a stake into the heart of every sinner in the parish.  He led some amorphous army to he knew not where.  Every dream ended with somebody like John the Baptist making a mocking apparition to him and accusing him of cardinal sins of all hues.  Often the Baptist had only the head; there was no body.  There was fury in his mockery.  His words lashed out like lightning and thunder. 

Father Joseph put on his white soutane as he got ready for his morning meditation.  He spent an hour every morning in silent prayer and meditation before the parishioners came for the morning Mass.  He mortified his flesh in many ways during the day in order to ward off all evil.  The devil prowls round everywhere and can overpower you at any time.  One ought to be on constant guard.

Darkness enveloped the church as Father Joseph came out of the presbytery.  He had forgotten to switch on the outside light last night.  Darkness had swallowed the whole world, thought Father Joseph.  What use was the artificial light of bulbs?  Light had vanished from the hearts and souls of people.

Father Joseph’s meditation was about to end when Sara appeared before him.  Sara had the beauty of an angel and the seductiveness of a witch.  She must have come to confess for the umpteenth time about her marital infidelity.  Yet another night in the arms of a man who was not her husband.  Her husband was in Dubai making money.

Father Joseph looked at Sara.  Not into her eyes as he used to do.  His eyes slipped.  They fell on the beautiful curves of her youthful body.  Father Joseph felt an unusual tremor in his loins.  The tremor rose from the loins towards his heart, shaking up his whole body.

“My God, my God!” his soul cried out silently. 

The lights had been switched on in the church.  But Father Joseph saw darkness everywhere. 

“The devil!” he muttered to himself, his eyes widening in alarm.  “The devil is inside me!” 


Comments

  1. Every human has two parts good and bad.. its on the human which one to choose...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. We can't choose really, Saurabh. We have to accept both. Until we accept the devil within us, just as we accept the angel, we won't be at peace.

      Delete
  2. Wonder why is thoughts of sex the work of a devil?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. For a Catholic priest who has taken the vow of chastity, sex will be a cardinal sin.

      Delete
  3. Brilliant piece once again, Sir :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Abhra. I must acknowledge my gratitude to a psychologist whom I read recently. He said that until we see the devil within us clearly and also accept it as an integral part of ourselves, our life will remain incomplete and discontented... The story came from my reading into that statement.

      Delete
  4. Wow, the final lines were really good....I wasn't feeling quite engaged towards the beginning but I'm glad I read through.. That climax was powerful and dark, exactly how i prefer my stories to be

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Glad you found it interesting, Ritesh... Until we discover the devil within ourselves and come to terms with it, it will keep haunting our dreams.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Florentino’s Many Loves

Florentino Ariza has had 622 serious relationships (combo pack with sex) apart from numerous fleeting liaisons before he is able to embrace the only woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul. And that embrace happens “after a long and troubled love affair” that lasted 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days. Florentino is in his late 70s when he is able to behold, and hold as well, the very body of his beloved Fermina, who is just a few years younger than him. She now stands before him with her wrinkled shoulders, sagged breasts, and flabby skin that is as pale and cold as a frog’s. It is the culmination of a long, very long, wait as far as Florentino is concerned, the end of his passionate quest for his holy grail. “I’ve remained a virgin for you,” he says. All those 622 and more women whose details filled the 25 diaries that he kept writing with meticulous devotion have now vanished into thin air. They mean nothing now that he has reached where he longed to reach all his life. The

Country without a national language

India has no national language because the country has too many languages. Apart from the officially recognised 22 languages are the hundreds of regional languages and dialects. It would be preposterous to imagine one particular language as the national language in such a situation. That is why the visionary leaders of Independent India decided upon a three-language policy for most purposes: Hindi, English, and the local language. The other day two pranksters from the Hindi belt landed in Bengaluru airport wearing T-shirts declaring Hindi as the national language. They posted a picture on X and it evoked angry responses from a lot of Indians who don’t speak Hindi.  The worthiness of Hindi to be India’s national language was debated umpteen times and there is nothing new to add to all that verbiage. Yet it seems a reminder is in good place now for the likes of the above puerile young men. Language is a power-tool . One of the first things done by colonisers and conquerors is to

Diwali, Gifts, and Promises

Diwali gifts for me! This is the first time in my 52 years of existence that I received so many gifts in the name of Diwali.  In Kerala, where I was born and brought up, Diwali was not celebrated at all in those days, the days of my childhood.  Even now the festival is not celebrated in the villages of Kerala as I found out from my friends there.  It is celebrated in the cities (and some villages) where people from North Indian states live.  When I settled down in Delhi in 2001 Diwali was a shock to me.  I was sitting in the balcony of a relative of mine who resided in Sadiq Nagar.  I was amazed to see the fireworks that lit up the city sky and polluted the entire atmosphere in the city.  There was a medical store nearby from which I could buy Otrivin nasal drops to open up those little holes in my nose (which have been examined by many physicians and given up as, perhaps, a hopeless case) which were blocked because of the Diwali smoke.  The festivals of North India

Unromantic Men

Romance is a tenderness of the heart. That is disappearing even from the movies. Tenderness of heart is not a virtue anymore; it is a weakness. Who is an ideal man in today’s world? Shakespeare’s Romeo and Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Devdas would be considered as fools in today’s world in which the wealthiest individuals appear on elite lists, ‘strong’ leaders are hailed as nationalist heroes, and success is equated with anything other than traditional virtues. The protagonist of Colleen McCullough’s 1977 novel, The Thorn Birds [which sold more than 33 million copies], is torn between his idealism and his natural weaknesses as a human being. Ralph de Bricassart is a young Catholic priest who is sent on a kind of punishment-appointment to a remote rural area of Australia where the Cleary family arrives from New Zealand in 1921 to take care of the enormous estate of Mary Carson who is Paddy Cleary’s own sister. Meggy Cleary is the only daughter of Paddy and Fiona who have eight so