The Aghori stood like a shadow born from the ashes of the dead.
His skin was smeared with grey cremation ash, clinging to muscle and bone like war paint from another realm. Long, matted dreadlocks coiled down his back like serpents, streaked with blood, earth, and centuries of forgotten rituals. His eyes—hollow yet burning—pierced through the living, as if he saw not just souls but the weight of every sin they carried.
Around his neck hung a necklace of rudraksha beads, dark as dried blood, intertwined with another strand of miniature human skulls—whether carved bone or something far more sinister, I couldn't tell. Each piece whispered of rituals performed under moonless skies, of prayers spoken in tongues that predated civilization.
He wore no cloth above his waist, his torso painted with sacred symbols that seemed to shift in the dim light. He carried the aura of a man beyond shame, beyond fear, beyond the very concept of death. The only thing in his possession was a kapala—a skull bowl—stained with whatever unholy liquids he used in his dark rites.
"What do you mean I am not dead?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
"Hahaha..." His laughter was like grinding bones. "I mean you are dead, but not entirely dead."
"Okay, it looks like either I'm dead or facing a madman. Which one is it?"
SMACK!
The slap came like lightning—harder than his frail frame suggested possible. My cheek burned as if branded with fire.
"Children should not interrupt when elders speak..." He paused, letting the silence stretch like a blade. "Am I clear?"
"Crystal."
"Good. So basically, you are dead but simultaneously alive. What happened is this—I caught your departing spirit and bound it inside the corpse of this boy."
I looked down at my new vessel. Young skin, wrinkle-free. Thin arms that stretched impossibly long, reaching nearly to my knees. Pale white skin that seemed to drink in the moonlight.
"Do you like this new body, Rudra? Or should I say... James?"
"James?"
"The flesh you now inhabit belonged to a boy named James. Any guesses why I chose this particular vessel for you?"
A cold smile crept across my lips. "It's quite simple. You must want something from me. Or do you too wish to know your future?" The words came out flat, humorless—a challenge wrapped in silk.
SMACK!
Another hit—harder this time. My head snapped sideways. My cheek burned like fire.
"The one who couldn't even predict his own death wants to tell me about mine?"The Aghori laughed.Cruel. Mocking.The kind of laugh that belonged to monsters, not men.
"What do you want then?" I asked, wiping the blood from my lips. "Why bring me back?"
"I'm dead too," he said, matter-of-factly. "Or close enough. That body"—he pointed to the pale corpse beneath my feet—"I was trying to save it. A ritual to bind soul to flesh. A lost boy, nearly drowned. Still had a flicker of life."
He paused. Then his tone darkened.
"But before I could finish, someone shoved a blade through my heart."
My eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Yes. And not just once. He stabbed me again. And again. Each time harder. And then... he whispered one thing."
The Aghori's voice dropped to a hiss.
'No one gets in me and my target.'
A chill ran down my spine.
"This wasn't random. That kid wasn't just drowning in the Ganga. He was targeted. And I was collateral."
He took a shaky breath. "By the time my soul separated from the dying body, the boy's soul was gone. Departed. But I refused to pass on. I wasn't done."
He looked at me. Dead eyes. Unblinking.
"And then I found you—your soul. You were burning with one thing: revenge. Same as me. So I put you in the body."
Simple. Brutal. Final.
"But why not use the body for yourself?" I asked.
He sighed. Long. Heavy.
"My powers have... limitations. I can resurrect strangers. Not myself. Not people I loved. The more you care, the less control you have. That's the price."
"Tch. Thanks, I guess."
"I don't want your thanks, Rudra."
He stepped closer. His ash-covered face inches from mine.
"I want your promise. A deal. Find my killer. Get me justice. Spill his blood like he spilled mine."
I stared at him.
I could lie.Say yes. Let him fade. Then walk away.He wouldn't know.
"Fine," I said. "We have a deal."
But the look on his face didn't change. He already knew.
"Don't bother trying to cheat, Rudra," he said quietly. "This deal comes with a condition."
His voice dropped like a hammer.
"If you break it... will die too but with more pain than you can ever imagine. You've got 30 days. Find him. Kill him."
The air went still. The shadows deepened.
"DEAL," I replied.
Beggars can't be choosers.
The Aghori gave one last look—something between a warning and a farewell—and then, slowly, his form began to dissolve into the darkness.
"I have left you another gift Rudra" these were the last words from him and then....
Only the silence remained.
And a ticking clock.
I opened my eyes.
A flicker. Then light.
A white ceiling stared down at me. Harsh. Unmoving. Too clean to be real. Needles were jammed into my arm, veins bulging slightly around the plastic tubing.
Hospital… I muttered to myself.
Then, darkness again.
The next time I woke, someone was shaking me—gently.
A voice followed.
"Get up Boy" a commanding voice echoed in my head.
"Who is this ? Doctor?" I started at the stranger.
"Yes. I am your doctor. But usually I am the one who asks questions."
"Shoot" I said with my kind of Humour. My mouth was dry. Voice, hoarse.
"What happened to you? You were in a pretty bad state."
"I... drowned, I think."
The doctor frowned, but then just sighed. "You're lucky. Anyway, we're discharging you."
I blinked. "Fees?"
He smiled. "You are a lucky one. This is a government hospital. No charge."
'Lucky? Me?' Well it might be true how many people get another shot at life? So this indeed is luck' 'Free life. Huh. Well That's new.'
I sat up slowly. Every muscle ached, but one sensation screamed louder than the rest—under my stomach.
"…Where's the toilet?"
He pointed at a nearby door—white, but stained all over. Paan? Blood? I didn't ask.
I stumbled towards it, each step wobbling.
Relief came like a wave.
"Ahh... There's no better feeling in the world," I muttered.
Then I looked up.
A cracked mirror hung crooked above the sink.
And staring back at me... was him.
Thin. Pale. Around 5'8". The body looked like it belonged to someone halfway between malnourished and barely alive. No muscle, no fat—just bones wrapped in pale skin. And the hair—bright red, untamed. Like someone had painted it in blood. Age I somewhere between 17 or 18.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
It's weird... seeing someone else stare out of your own eyes.
This was James.
Let's see what future you're holding, James.
I lifted the boy's right palm. Slowly. Instinctively.
And then—
What the hell?!