Supernatural Fiction posted August 27, 2019 Chapters: 2 3 -4- 5 

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Ali leaves the hometown and heads westward.

A chapter in the book Passing Through Time-A Rebirth?

Meandering or Call of Destiny?

by Niyuta

Ali, the hero of this story decides to leave hometown and head towards western part of the USA. He had a parapsychological experience in earlier adventure which led to a diagnosis of borderline Schizo
Before heading out on the road, I checked my bank balance and set up payment plans for auto-deductions from the account. I handled my finances rather well, and most of my income came through the investments made by me and some inherited from my parents' estate. I was not rich but could afford to live a comfortable life without working full time. For the past few years, I took consulting projects. I could work on data analysis as and when I felt like or for replenishing my funds. I was alone, free, and had felt no need for settling down in any one place or with anyone. I was taken in whole nine yards by that exploration passion. What was I exploring? Frankly speaking--I had no firm idea about it until now.

I can't figure this out, but my interest in women did not last for any extended durations. I did not seek them, and when one doesn't seek; one doesn't find; is the wisdom we all hear from our elders. A story about my social life also falls into the same condition called indifference. I am a social animal to those who shared my mindset and the liberal outlook towards the world. The rest of the crowd who came in my orbit labeled me as a loaner, introvert or arrogant. I made no efforts to change their perspective and remained a selfish, borderline, narcissist person. Few tried to penetrate my privacy and measure me out like the two Indian Doctor-couple-the Kriplanies I mentioned before. I thwarted their attention by declining their invitations for parties a few times until they gave up on me. When I left Uniontown, very few knew about it, and no one knew where I was heading. I sold my Jeep, rented a Blazer, and just got on the Turnpike going north. I had no plans for my future nor had an objective to achieve, and that precluded the awareness of which road I was on or how time was slipping away. One thought dominated my thinking--Am I heading for a koodoo farm? I must find out what is causing those episodes of fainting and if it happens whenever I hold that accursed letter from the Baroness in my hand. There has to be a link to something happened to her, Jack and that theater which no one can find.

I kept driving north towards Greensburg /Stantent interchange and got on I-70 W. When the sun went below the horizon and lights came on; I realized that I had left Pensylvania behind and was driving somewhere in the Indiana state. Since I had made no plans and had no destination to reach, I pulled into the first motel in the outskirt of Terre Haute. I got into the rental office and the clerk there was one young Indian woman in her mid to late twenties, with a limited English vocabulary. Recognizing my Indian features, she tried to speak in the Hindi mixed with the Gujrati verbs. My ancestors were Gujarati, and it was spoken at home when we lived in Bombay, I recognized that I was dealing with a Patel woman. I don't have a clue about how they did it, but all the Hotel industry the US is either owned or managed by a Patel, and I mean that it included the little motels in the remote corners of the country are in their hands. I guess I should be proud of those Patels because my ancestors were Patels too before my great grandfather converted to Shia brand of Islam. She gave me a room which was adjacent to the rental office.
I settled down in my room and decided to take a shower. I have been driving for over ten hours and felt the need of cleansing my body if not the soul. I don't drink not because of any religious restrictions but because of the effect of alcohol on my constitution. I did test it, but it always gave me migraines, and I stayed away from it. When I finished my toiletry business and came out of the bathroom, I heard the sound of activities on the other side of the door that separated my room from the office and then came the knock.
"Are you hungry? It's ten o'clock, and no one delivers this far at this time." The proprietor or clerk at the desk asked.
I replied, " I sure am famished and was planning to go out to eat."
She replied, " I don't think you will find anything open unless you go all the way to the Indiana-police."
I suppressed my laugh at her utterance of the name of the city. A typical mistake the immigrants make when they call the name of the cities ending in the polis. I said to her:
" In that case, I guess, I will have to drink lots of water for tonight."

"Why? I can make some sabzi and roti if you wish?"
" Oh; don't go through that much troubles; I am used to sleeping without food. I have done that before."

"Why? Your wife doesn't cook?"

"I never had a wife and girlfriends don't cook."

I heard a suppressed laugh.

"I eat alone and cooking for myself is so unappealing, and I am sure you know what I mean. Let me make some food, and we can eat together."

"OK if that's what you want to do but where do we eat?" I asked her.

"We could eat at my place which is behind the office or I could bring food to your room."

" No; we could eat at your place," I replied.

It will be about half an hour; just watch TV or something."

"Alright; I shall do something," I replied.

I am not a TV fan and have very few areas of interest in the shows that are crime based or based on some outlandish myths about supernatural individuals. I don't drink alcoholic beverages; not because of any religious prohibitions but because they caused health issues like the headaches etc. when I tried a few during the student days. My thoughts turned on to the woman proprietor of that motel.

"Why would she take so much interest in my wellbeing and show eagerness in feeding me a home-cooked meal? Does she expect me to pay her? Should I offer her the value of the meal? How much?"
Then it occurred to me that she was lonely and needed a company of someone who spoke her mother tongue. Another thought entered in mu mind; is she attracted to me--sort of a sexual one? If she did; she sure hid it when I spoke to her in person. 'A prudent approach, I guess,' I tried to convince myself. Then I brushed that line of thinking aside with the recollection of my past experiences with young women.

I am not endowed with a great male beauty as we recognize today. However, I do not have bad to look at personality. I am athletic, fair as an Indo-Aryan could be and have a friendly persona. However, I repealed young women after first dates and received responses which sounded like--too serious, lacks amorous skills, not in touch with the current entertainment genera, etc. etc. etc. Those remarks came from the white females and women immigrated from my part of the globe rejected me for being, 'Ali'-a Muslim name. Muslim women did the same for not being a true follower of the Quran. They all were nice to me, but I became their friend and not a lover.

I had a sense of being different since I began the process called thinking sometime in the early part of my adolescence. My family gave me no faith to anchor onto, and culturally I am raised in the secular environment as a term used in the local, Bollywood jargon of Mumbai (Bombay of the past) for it-"Bumbaiya."It helped me during that time but became a handicap later when it came to courting. When I think about it, I came to understand that I, some intrinsic way am a loner. I am attracted to the intellectually active people of both sexes. I am not introvert but tend to stay shut in the company of people who cannot transcend beyond the mundane subjects like politics, movies and stockmarket activities and the exchange of notes related to their daily living. I turned to books, philosophies, science, nature, and other outdoor activities to keep my mind engaged. In short, subconsciously, I was looking for a life partner who would fulfill my desires to spend life with someone who would complement if not support my idiosyncrasy.

A knock on the door between my room, and the office brought me out of that self-analysis exercise.
I opened the door, and there she was in front of me. This incarnation of her was set to kill for sure! I recognized it at once as an evening of consequences. Something perhaps she missed in her life. I fought my natural instinct of not getting involved with a married woman as such episodes lead to disasters, mainly to women. I couldn't ignore the anticipation and joy, her eyes and mouth displayed.

In that short time, she had managed to cook and also to prepare herself with light makeup and repertoire of the Indian, seductive clothing and light jewelry. She, like me, was not a classical beauty that launched 'a thousand ships' but had a personality that pleased the eyes.

"I am Sanjukta," she formally introduced herself as she welcomed me to her home.

The subtle perfume she wore whiffed as she turned to lead me and it was that ancient fragrance of Kanoji Itter; one the Mugal rulers of India and other royalties used. It took me back to the neighborhood of my early youth in Bombay. The ambiance of the moment shutdown my sense of indifference to the persons with the mediocrity written on their faces. I knew most people thought of me as a 'Snob'but I did not care. This time, I felt like knowing this woman better. Perhaps my 'being alone with pride' persona was wearing down and a need to spend time with someone had taken hold of me. I extended my hand for a shake, but she did the Indian Namaste salutation instead.

Their space behind the office was small, and a little bedroom on the right side was in line with the room I was renting. Two chairs and a long table covered with a plastic flower-design occupied the center of that room. There were few cheap prints of nature themes framed in the equally disgusting plastic frames hung on one wall. I sensed the lack of home-like atmosphere as soon as sat in one of the chairs. I understood the anguish of a new bride. It was not a home but a cage she was locked in. Without saying a word; her eyes conveyed the shame and disdain she felt to present me her dwelling. I looked at her face and realized that she was doing her best not to cry. I stood up facing her, and then it happened.

She rushed towards me, and I opened my arms as if I was expecting it. She wrapped her arms around my body and began sobbing. It was an awkward situation for me. I did not know her at all and had no experience in consoling someone without knowing the cause of distress. I let her weep and sat down on the chair with her in my lap. Slowly, I raised her face and wiped the tears from her eyes and kissed her on her forehead.
She wrapped her hands around my head, pulled it towards her and locked her lips on mine. Nothing prepared me for that, and my sexuality is not driven by the urges created by the hormones. I need romance, not the lust but the kiss was neither a romantic prelude nor it had the smell of animal lust. It was a cry for help. I gently disengaged her and held her in my arms.

"You wish to talk?" I asked her.

"No; I want to be loved and desired." She replied.

"I can't do that in an instance by turning on a switch. I don't know how to love a woman or man, and yet I am not without the desires."
"I think you don't find me attractive or you are a married man."

"No; you are wrong on assuming this; you are very attractive, and I am a free man."

"Then make love to me as if you are with that lucky woman you are waiting for to appear in your life; one that you see in your dream. I know that feeling. I have been dreaming as you do. I waited all my life for one such man to love me, and make love to me even just for one time and I will live this wretched married life here."

My personal feelings about adultery and the moral view about is this:
I do not judge anyone for the lack of discretion when it comes to cheating in a marriage. It should be avoided at all cost not because it is a sin according to some text of religion, but it is a breaking of trust. It is an agreed-upon contract between the two individuals that is online, and the consequences are often very high price paid by all involved. I do not know enough why people cheat because of my life's 'OneMan Show.' Primates cheat to improve their chances of survivability by copulating with as many as they can, but the enlighten specie like humans, we seem to have different needs and criteria. I am not familiar with that, and here I was with a married woman asking me to fulfill her need to make her dream a reality. I looked in her eyes, and quivering lips then picked Sanjukta in my arms. She encircled her arms around my head and took her to my room. I couldn't think of violating the sanctity of a man's home. We made love several time that night until she and I got exhausted and fell asleep. Before the rising of the sun I woke up, gathered her in my arms and watched her dreaming face; she was happy and smiling. I placed her in her bedroom, locked the door between the two sections and drove off towards the Illinois border in a dazed state of mind and a sleepy mood.

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