Mindful, Book 2.
Chapter 7
Horror.
At Mumbai airport Iona made her farewells to Fatima and the Imam of the mosque. The Imam knew that Iona was somehow a vital component in Fatima’s happiness but he had no idea of the truth. It was enough that Iona had somehow enabled the young Egyptian woman to contribute so much to the success of his mosque. Where he had struggled for years to overcome the evil influences of the local Wahabi Madrassas, this beautiful young Egyptian woman had by dint of personality and wealth brought undreamed of success to his philanthropic endeavours.

Now that his mosque was well funded, he was able to offer free education to many local children and furthermore, that education was much more than the mindless brainwashing to which children of the Wahabi Madrassas were subject. Caring, impoverished parents flocked with their children to his mosque where they were taught maths, science, languages and much else besides just repeating texts from the Quran. They were taught to interpret and discuss the Quran and all importantly, they were taught to think!

The Imam was blissfully happy, for his Mosque had rapidly expanded to become a free college and he knew the monies that supported it came from honest sources, namely Fatima’s seemingly shrewd trading on the Mumbai stock exchange. It was a tearful farewell for both Fatima and the Imam as they hugged Iona tightly.

“Please come back to us some day,” begged the Imam.

“I can’t promise that Imam,” sighed Iona as she continued hugging Fatima and her daughters tightly, “I’ve much to do.”

The Imam turned to Fatima and sighed as Iona walked across the tarmac to her little plane.

“Your friend may not be a Muslim but she is truly godly.”
Fatima nodded tearfully for she was every bit as sad as the Imam to see her friend and mentor leave. She turned and whispered to the Imam.

“She is everything to me and my girls. Once she is gone, and if I feel I can trust you enough, I will tell you how much Iona meant to me.”

“Don’t you trust me yet,” replied the Imam, a little disappointed by Fatima’s deep reserve about her private life.

“I’m a child of the worst that Islam has to offer, fundamentalist bigotry, Wahabist cruelty towards my sisters, and mutilation at birth, believe me dear Imam, it will be a long, long time before I trust any man.”

“But Fatima, you know me! You know that what you have suffered is everything I strive to contest. Surely you trust me now.”

“Not yet Imam, not yet. Give me time.”

The Imam reached out and unusually hugged Fatima to his side. At first, Fatima tensed uncertainly but soon realised there was no sexual content in the affection. She allowed the Imam’s hand to remain around her waist as they watched Iona speaking with the ground engineer in front of the plane. Both Fatima and the Imam waved tearfully as Iona finally climbed into her plane and returned one last wave before clearing with control and taxiing out to take her slot on the runway.

As Iona’s little plane sat holding it’s slot upon the runway, it looked so fragile between two huge commercial jets, Fatima found herself likening it to a tiny wren between two huge eagles and yet that tiny bird held - as only Fatima herself could confirm, - the hopes of the next evolutionary step for mankind.

She turned tearfully to hide her despair from the Iman and her beloved daughters.
As she flew across India, Iona wasn’t really sure what her next step was to be. She had decided to land at Calcutta for she had heard that many Indian scholars and wise men dwelt there. Soon after landing her plane and securing a long-term parking-slot at no small expense, she found herself in the raucous blare and bustle of Calcutta.

As was usual in these instances, as soon as she arrived, Iona made herself comfortable in a prestigious hotel just outside the raucous city and then went out to spend her first night savouring the impossible mix and variety of cultures that Calcutta had to offer. Later, she returned to her `out of town’ hotel and lay sleepily on her luxurious bed while she casually let her telepathy drift across the vast and endless cacophony of human sound that was Calcutta’s hallmark.

When she was in the mood, Iona loved crowds and bustle but even her senses were finally overwhelmed by Calcutta’s inhumane assault on her senses. She eventually closed her telepathy then her hotel windows to shut out the city’s endless blare and rumble. Morning found her gazing at the sunrise across the Ganges for which the hotel was famous and she had to admit to herself that despite the smog that seemed to permanently envelope the city, the sunrise was still a beautiful event. The hotel was some way out of the city and not seriously affected by the smog. After an excellent breakfast Iona felt armed and ready to assault the city’s many fascinating places.

Naturally she sought out temples in her hunt for holy men and when she found one, she would discreetly slide a telepathic probe into that individual’s mind to discern if there was anything of real use or value to her quest. Eventually her wanderings took her deep into the older quarter where her telepathy revealed grotesque pain and disfigurement. On the sidewalks she discovered obscenely disfigured beggars who had obviously been deformed since birth; so much so that they could only have been deliberately deformed by evil people bent on exploiting such obscene deformities. On discovering one particularly unfortunate deformity Iona could bear it no longer. She felt forced to probe deep into the unfortunate’s mind to try and discern how the individual came to be so grotesquely deformed. So much so that it was impossible even to determine if the beggar was male or female. Iona was sickened and stunned to learn that the boy had been castrated then grown inside a vase shaped pot so that his little body could only grow into the shape of the vase. Thus, the child was permanently disfigured and condemned always to simply stand like an inanimate vase, completely incapable of locomotion whilst pleading for money or even food from passers-by.
Every morning and evening, a `minder’ would place the beggar on his regular pitch then collect him every evening and return him to the night hostel where the beggar might just get sufficient food to keep him alive. Iona was sickened to the point of despair by the poor unfortunate’s existence and further angered by the fact that the minder had many of these assorted beggars, cast in various shapes and forms working for him at selected pitches throughout the poorer quarters. What really angered Iona was the apparent equanimity of the local police whom she soon realised were accepting bribes to allow the beast to purvey his unfortunate wares. That same night, Iona followed the beast home as he gathered up his human `vases’. Deep in the old quarter there was a large walled house and garden where Iona finally traced the beast to his lair.

Waiting casually outside, Iona used her telepathy to determine that the beggars were simply dumped in rows on a low shelf while other unfortunate minders blinded by the same beast, fed the beggars as they bleated piteously for food.

Sickened and nauseated by what she had learned, Iona was desperate to work out how such cruelty could be alleviated. The problem was that the damage to the beggars was done. They were destined to face premature death as their deformed bodies failed them through assorted complications caused by their crippling deformities. In the darkness, half blinded by tears, she stumbled angrily away and wandered the streets for half the night trying to resolve the issues. She received some strange looks at times for a European lady to be wandering the unlit, coal-black slums of Calcutta in the small hours would normally have been unheard of. However, her confident demeanour and purposeful angry walk were enough to deter any potential threat. Iona feared no man or even any living thing. Telepathy gave her the wherewithal to address any threats. It was fully four o’clock when she finally arrived at her hotel to be met be astonished stares from the night staff.

“Are you alright madam?” Gasped the night porter as he opened the main doors.

“Perfectly thank you, though I could murder a cup of tea.”

It was no sooner asked for than done and Iona sat reflectively nursing the cup in the main foyer as she contemplated a solution. Eventually she made her way to bed but her nocturnal behaviour had become the talk of the staff and when she appeared for lunch the hotel manager approached her solicitously as she packed away unladylike portions of food.

“Is everything alright Miss Iona?” He asked courteously.

“Why yes Sanjid. Why shouldn’t it be?”

“My night manager, last night, he told me of your lateness. Can you not sleep?”

“Oh yes, I sleep perfectly thank you, I was just out late last night because of what I discovered in the old quarter.”

“You went into the old quarter!” Squeaked the shocked manager.

“Yes. Why not?”

“But it is dangerous madam. It is a terrible place!”

“Yes, indeed it is. I saw some terrible things!”

“You should not go there madam. It is a shame on India for it is a nest of violence and organised crime.”

“And the beggars, - what of them? What of those poor deformed children?”

“As I said madam, it is India’s shame.”

“So why is nothing done?”

“There is organised crime madam. They have powerful contacts.”

“For God’s sake! With whom. Have you been down there?”
“No madam. It is too dangerous. You should not go there either. You were lucky to come back.”

“Well we’ll see about that. I’ll be going there again this afternoon and tonight.”

“But madam! I beseech you. For your own safety!”

“I’ll be safe enough. Don’t worry about me. There’s work to be done, evil men to be punished. Now please, - get me a taxi to the nearest mission, Sikh or Hindu, Christian or Muslim, or even a secular charity! I care not.”

The manager wagged his head uncertainly and spoke a few words of Hindi to the taxi driver who waited for Iona to finish her lunch. Then they sped off towards a catholic mission famous for its charitable work. She was met by a Belgian sister who willingly gave her a tour of the mission and its sister orphanage. After a long discussion and the promise of a large deposit of funds, Iona had finally found a safe haven for the beggar children. It took but a couple of hours to confirm the transfer of massive funds and on her return to the mission, the nuns were soon fawning over her with gratitude. Iona cautioned them that their new charges would be a severe burden to their system and that they would need to co-opt more helpers including doctors however; the huge input of funds would easily cover this expense. After having pre-established a safe haven, Iona then slipped away in preparation for the next phase.

Her telepathy had not prepared her fully for the extent of the criminal organisation surrounding the child beggars. As she waited for the nightly return of the beggar chief with his pathetic charges Iona was astonished to see police actively participating in the collection and delivery of some of the beggars back to the obscene holding shed where the beggars spent their pitiful nights. Then she saw money changing hands as the police slipped away to enjoy their ill-gotten gains. Her mood darkened from one of anger to rage but still she kept her counsel. Iona was nothing if not patient; years of knowing the truth and having an insight into the deepest evils of the mind had made her that. She waited in the deepest shadows outside the walled house until the beggar chief emerged then she followed him to wherever he was bound.

Telepathy told Iona this was yet another obscene location where the man had another vile trade, prostitution.

This however was a far worse trade than the usual exploitation of unfortunate girls. The beggar chief had used his same skills to deform girl babies so that they grew into grotesque forms to satiate the most perverted minds in India. Little girls had been grown in pipes with their limbs compressed so that they resembled dachshunds and yet their female parts were exposed and available for access. Others had been grown with tight bindings around their infantile skulls so that their brains could not grow and they grew to resemble rats and dogs with elongated facial bones and jaws. Yet these same cruelly disfigured girls had hopelessly attenuated intellects caused by the brain damage to their skulls so they were hardly aware of their pitiful state. They had become little more than animated sex toys to please the evil perverts who paid the beggar minder handsome sums to satisfy their perverted lusts.

As Iona’s telepathy scanned the dark places of the brothel and sank yet lower into the perverted minds of men she almost feinted from the images she discovered. Her stomach churned as she stumbled away to recover from the shock. Twice, as she stumbled mindlessly out of the stygian darkness of the slums, some muggers tried to accost her and rob her but such was her anger, she briefly lost control of her emotions and her attackers were left dead in the gutter as she stamped angrily out of the districts. At the edge of the slums, she found a temple still lit for the night visitors. She recognised it for a famous tourist site and she could hardly credit the reality. Not more than yards from one of the evillest places she had ever encountered, was one of the most famous temples of all India. Iona sat gasping with shock and disbelief as she recovered her composure. Eventually, she induced herself into a trance to try and somehow circumvent the distress in her tormented mind.

She was still there several hours later as the rising sun wobbled through the dense Calcutta haze. Eventually a young temple priest noticed her. He had become concerned that a European woman had been sitting pensively on the steps of the inner sanctum of the temple for several hours and yet totally oblivious to the snakes and other creatures around her. It was the strange conduct of one of the temple’s famous king cobras that had alerted the priest to the strange circumstances surrounding the woman. The huge snake had coiled up at her feet with its head actually resting on the woman’s knee and yet it offered no challenge or threat to the immobile white woman. Indeed, it seemed as if the woman wasn’t even aware of the snake.

The young priest approached cautiously and was alarmed when the snake actually reared up and postured menacingly at him no less; the very priest who normally fed the snake its daily ration of milk. He hesitated fearfully in case the snake might somehow realise where it was and turn on the European woman for it had now rearranged its coils to support its high aggressive posture towards the priest. As he stood poised with uncertainty, the woman glanced up almost unthinkingly and spoke softly in perfect Hindi.

“Don’t worry, she won’t bite you.”

The young priest gasped in astonishment both for the language and the woman’s perfect calm as she sat with one of India’s deadliest snakes now with its coils thrown around her ankles and stretching up to her lap.

Finally the priest found his voice.

“By all that’s holy woman, that is Neera, our biggest and most famous serpent.”

“Yes. I know,” replied the woman as she continued staring pensively down to the floor, “and she’s perfectly safe at my feet.”

“But, - but, she may turn upon you, - she may, -.”

The priest’s words faltered and Iona spoke again, dismissive of the priest’s concerns, as she stroked the rearing snake’s flattened, menacing head.

“She’ll do nothing of the sort. Leave her here with me. Perhaps you could bring us both some food, milk for her, tea for me. I will pay you well for it.”

Grateful to be somehow relieved of any responsibility for any accident the snake might cause, the priest sidled away to return with a tray of tea, some tab-nabs and a large bowl of milk. Iona reached out and took the bowl of milk from the priest’s tray as the snake’s head followed her every action. Then she bent down so that her pale hair actually brushed the cobra’s hood as she placed the milk between her feet and the cobra promptly indulged in its regular morning treat. The priest stood transfixed until Iona invited him to sit with her. She patted the stone beside her.

“May we talk young man? The snake won’t harm you.”

The priest was now beginning to realise that there was something deep and spiritual afoot and he gained confidence as the cobra ignored him while he settled beside the strange white woman.

“How does Neera know you intend her no harm?” Wondered the priest.

“There is no evil in her so there is no harm to her from me. I only hurt the evil ones.”

Finished Iona as she savoured the tab-nabs laid out on the tray.

“But for that, you must be speaking with her.” Gasped the astonished priest.

“Of sorts, yes,” confessed Iona, “is not that how you communicate with her?”

“Well, sort of, but I have to go into a trance, and even then, - well, - it’s dangerous.”

“So you do go into trances,” sighed Iona with relief, for she had finally found a holy man that had at least some contact with the other side.

The priest nodded hesitantly. He had some modest ability to reach across to the other side but it was often fleeting and transient at best. This is what made it dangerous between him and the snake. Sometimes the link was good and he could approach Neera but ofttimes, the link was tenuous and the snake was jumpy. This is what had so endeared him to the strange little European woman, the fact that she was actually sentient and yet Neera seemed quite at peace coiled around her expensive shoes whilst peacefully sipping the milk from the bowl between her feet.

Iona nodded appreciatively as the priest explained at length just how far he could go.

His youthful honesty impressed her but then, after having seen the remarkable demonstration of Iona’s communication with the snake, the youth would probably not have dared to lie or exaggerate his powers. Having realised that the priest was basically honest, Iona made him an offer.

“If you will help me destroy some serious evil in this city, I will help you to cross over and meet your friend Neera properly, so that she will always trust you like she does me.”

The priest’s eyes lit up.

“Can you do that?”

“Yes. But I need herbs to help me cross. Those same herbs will help you, but once we are crossed over, I will have to be your mentor. You must know how dangerous it is.”

The priest nodded fearfully for several of his contemporary young friends and even some older colleagues had failed to return in the several years since he had become a priest at the temple. Crossing over was truly dangerous for an acolyte.

“Why do you use herbs? Can’t you use transcendental ways?”

“No I can’t. I wish you’d teach me.”

“But your herbs, if you are more used to the herbal route, why should we not try that?”

“I do not always have access to herbs. If I can find an alternative way, it would be much easier for me, - and for you eventually. If you are not yet fully au-fait with transcendental meditation then perhaps one of your elders, -?”

The young priest frowned uncertainly. He was a junior priest who only had responsibility for the serpent Neera and several other cobras that lived around the temple. If there was any way he could somehow find union with the snakes, his job would be easier and his reputation enhanced. The exchange seemed good enough to him for neither he nor the strange western lady seemed able to properly evaluate the respective sides of the deal. Besides which he was hugely curious. He decided to accept Iona’s request.

“OK then, communion with the snakes in exchange for crossing over by transcendental meditation.”

With the deal struck the young priest made his excuses to the temple elders and returned with Iona to her hotel room. At first the pair received some suspicious looks from the hotel staff until the priest was able to prove his credentials via one of the under porters who could vouch for his position at the temple. Once in Iona’s room the priest studied Iona’s assorted collection of herbs and frowned.

“I don’t recognise all these.”

“No. Some are from America and some from Egypt. There are enough herbs here to cross over many times so we will be able to practice while I learn meditative ways.”

The young priest nodded and Iona promptly brewed some herbs. As he carefully watched the preparations, the priest asked why she brewed different mixtures for each of them and Iona explained about her differing bodily needs. The fact that she was more womanly and he more manly was enough to convince the priest that the explanation was legitimate. He carefully sipped the bitter herbal tea. Iona followed suite and soon the pair were deep in their herb induced trance. To his amazement and delight the young priest was shocked to realise that he shared the `same dream’ as Iona and she guided him over the other side with consummate skill. There they explored various situations until Iona felt them being pulled back to the conscious side as the drugs wore off. She mentally took hold of the young priest and dragged him back with her just as `He-that-sees’ had done on her first shared crossing-over. Once back in the land of the living the young priest was stunned to learn of the differential time factor.

“It’s just incredible. Look at the calender-clock on your bedside table! It only seemed like we were a couple of hours and yet the clock tells of three whole days!”
As they recovered from their mutual exertions and the priest's shock, Iona called room service and ordered a huge meal. For the remainder of the afternoon, while they replenished their famished bodies, they talked at length about meditative techniques.

“Why are you so surprised about the time thing? Isn’t it the same by meditation?”

“No. The time remains real.”

“This is interesting. Do tell,” begged Iona.

The priest went on to explain what techniques he used to enter his trance and Iona listened fascinated.

“So everybody uses slightly different techniques then.”

“Sort of. You have to concentrate for a long period. Longer than it takes for you to mix the herbs and administer them.”

Shall we try then? I have used mild trances to drive away demons in my head before.”

“Well that’s a start. Right, get yourself comfortable and try to fixate on a point just above your own eyes somewhere in the centre of your forehead.”

“That’s what I used to do before.”

“Well then it should be easier for you. While you’re doing that, I will use some soporific sounds to help you enter your trance. Once I’m happy with your condition I’ll try to join you.”

Iona grinned at the young priest’s enthusiasm and lay back as he gently rubbed her temples.

“Mmmm! That’s good.” She sighed contentedly.

The priest ignored her dreamy observations and continued slowly massaging her temples as he commenced droning in a low monotone cadence. Soon Iona was out of it and slowly found herself in the familiar location in front of the black obsidian barrier that had always represented to her as the barrier to be crossed over. Uncertain of what to do, she decided to wait for the young priest to join her. This was not from fear of going it alone but because she genuinely wanted to teach the priest the techniques for crossing over. Soon she sensed the priest approaching out of the misty side of the living until he was beside her at the wall.

“So here we are then. Are we going to cross?”

“Have you tried this before, using meditation?” Asked Iona.

“No. I was not ready and I was too afraid. It was easy with your herbs.”

“Well, we’d best go cautiously. For there is the time difference thing and I don’t know what’s afoot.”

The young priest cautiously pushed at the black mass and grinned as he `felt’ it give slightly.

“Do we just push harder?” He asked Iona.

“Seems like it. Let’s do it together.”

The pair placed their hands upon each other’s and quickly felt the wall surrendered to their efforts. The found themselves on the other side and studying the familiar light beyond the tunnel.

“Now what?” Asked the priest.

“I’d like to talk with my friends if you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest. I’ve never been here before. Leastways not by transcendental meditation. Who are your friends?”

“You’ll see.”

So saying, Iona sent a telepathic message across the ether and was delighted when Fatima answered first. Fatima’s joy enveloped the priest who wagged his head uncertainly.

“She’s a Muslim. Muslims don’t do the dark side.”

“What’s dark about this?” Demanded Fatima.

“Go on. Answer her,” chuckled Iona, “tell us both what’s dark about crossing over.”

“I never said it was dark, I said Muslims believe it to be evil.”

“Not this Muslim,” laughed Fatima joyfully as she responded to another incoming telepathic call. “Hey-up, I believe our Native American friends He-that-sees and his daughter Dawn, want to talk.”
The young priest frowned uncomprhendingly until Iona explained the telepathy set-up.

Soon everybody was happily talking and discussing Iona’s newfound skills at transcendental meditation. `He-that-sees’ laughed easily as he recognised the advantages.

“Trans-world telepathy; - anywhere, any how, any place; including from beyond the grave Iona. That’ll be a boon.”

Thus they chatted for an hour or more until Iona began to feel tired.

“I think my body is telling me it wants feeding again. I’ll have to close down,” she declared.

They exchanged farewells and Iona re-joined the young priest back in the `real world’. In the comfort of Iona’s hotel apartment the young priest was beside himself with excitement as he recognised what they had just achieved. Iona was pleased to learn that time had passed simultaneously. The priest asked eagerly.

“It’s just so incredible. Do you talk to the dead?”

“Not often. I have done, but the one I most wanted to talk to told me in no uncertain terms to get on with my life. Hence, here I am.”

“Living in India; and fighting against organised crime,” observed the priest thoughtfully.

“Yes, well that and other things,” replied Iona emphatically.

“Do you intend to use this crossing over as a weapon then?”

“I don’t need to. I’ve got other tools.”

“Good. I’m glad. I would hate to see crossing overused for hurting people. We holy men always avoid that.”

“I’m sure you do,” replied Iona to reassure the priest, “now what about your cobra.”

“Ah! Yes. I forgot about her. We’ll have to go back to the temple.”

“Lead on,” ordered Iona; then she had second thoughts. “No, - we’d better eat again first.”

Another huge meal was demolished by Iona as the young priest looked on in amazement.

“By the amount you eat, you should be the size of a house.”

“I have special needs,” replied Iona enigmatically, “remember the snake.”

“How can I forget?”

“You just did,” grinned Iona before concentrating on her food entirely.

The remainder of the meal was eaten in silence as the young priest watched in fascination.

As she finished the last titbit, Iona smiled with satisfaction and invited the priest to lead her back to the temple.

Neera the cobra was sleeping in her usual lair but the priest was astonished to see Iona casually place her hand into the hole and invite the lethal creature out into the day light. The snake coiled herself up on Iona’s lap as several disbelieving older priests stood back cautiously. As Iona relaxed upon the wide step she entered her trance with the assistance of the young priest gently resting Iona’s head in his lap. This time he did not massage Iona’s head, for she went into the trance with ease. Soon she and the priest were unconscious on the steps and the cobra uncoiled its body before sliding around Iona’s neck up onto the priest’s lap and resting its head on the priest’s shoulder.

When they emerged from the trance the priest was overjoyed to find he could actually stroke the snake and fondle it; even carry it as he walked into the temple to offer up his thanks. Iona followed him into the dark recesses of the temple and joined him in his prayer while the serpent lay coiled peacefully at the priest’s knees. Older priests stood back in astonishment until the young priest completed his prayers then the elfin western woman with the strange turquoise eyes turned, whispered a few words to the young priest then sidled respectfully out of the temple as the older priests started babbling amongst themselves.

Iona left contented with what she had achieved. The deal had been fair. Iona now had the ability to enter the ‘crossing over’ trance without having to use herbs while the priest had his meditative bond with his serpent.

Back at the hotel, Iona found that her room had been thoroughly cleaned and she savoured the luxury of showering then sleeping the early evening away in fresh, clean sheets. As the midnight hour approached she awoke reassured the hotel staff that she was safe, then set off to address the issues of the beggar chief and his evil trades.

From the pitch-black shadows outside the brothel Iona waited. She scanned various minds going in and out as they indulged their obscene perversions on the helplessly deformed girls. Carefully she annotated each pervert in her mind for future punishment until she was confident she had enough names to incriminate the brothel’s evil owner and force the authorities to act. Many of the perverts had been powerful politicians and business tycoons who had paid handsomely to indulge their disgusting perversions so punishing them would be a pleasure.

The Beggar Chief was a powerful leader in the underworld so his punishment would have to suit his crime. Iona decided that twisting his body and leaving him as a helpless cripple would be the most suitable punishment and it would send out a loud message to other such criminals. In the grey ashen light of dawn, Iona finally acted.

By now Iona’s telepathic punch had reached a staggering degree of sophistication. By carefully sliding her probe into the beggar chief’s brain, she selected crucial nerve connections and either disabled them or altered their function to cause the beggar chief’s limbs to start slowly `misbehaving’. As he reached for the door of his car to drive from his brothel to his beggar house, he discovered that his arms refused to reach out for the door and his hands would not open to clasp the handle. Indeed his arms were beginning to twist up into tightly knotted claws as they pulled tighter and tighter into his chest.

“What the fuck!” He grunted as he struggled to make his arms obey his brain.

Now that he was standing stupidly beside his expensive car, Iona finally emerged to confront him.

“So how does it feel?”

“What! Wha, -! Who the hell are you?” Snarled the thug.

“I’m your nemesis,” Iona whispered menacingly, “I’m the one come to punish you for all the evil you do.”
The powerful thug lurched forward as he grasped the meaning of Iona’s words. His intention was to grab the tiny woman and beat her senseless but of course he realised again that he could not move his deformed twisted arms. Furthermore, those same twisted limbs were now digging painfully into his ribs.

“What have you done?” He squealed as he pranced ineffectually trying to reach out for Iona.

“I’ve punished you, just as you have punished all those children.”

Iona had deliberately moved closer and watched the thug measuring the distance between them. She was expecting the kick as the thug lashed out and she instantly retaliated by paralysing the leg and causing the thug to topple over. He fell heavily and helplessly for his arms could not save him and his head struck the ground with a bone crunching impact. He lay there kicking furiously with his remaining active leg whilst cursing and demanding that the evil witch reverse her spell but Iona was not finished.

With another telepathic probe she started to alter the nerve functions in his extended leg. As the leg twisted grotesquely and curled up tightly behind the thug’s back he tried to let out a scream of agony. Suddenly the sound died in his throat and he found he could only croak and grunt as Iona paralysed his vocal chords. His un-uttered scream for help went unheeded and his guttural grunts and croaks did not carry beyond the bounds of his garden walls. He had deliberately chosen his brothel with a large garden as a statement of his wealth, power and connections but now his choice counted against him. In the walled garden with its isolation, Iona was free to do as she wished without interference. She set to with a malice that revealed the damaged side to Iona’s psyche, the side that could now punish wrongdoers and criminals without compassion or feeling.

In the privacy of his own garden, Iona knew that his absence would not be discovered for several hours until his minions came looking for him. By that time, Iona would be long gone. She knelt beside the terrified thug and explained what she was doing and why.
“You are evil,” she whispered to emphasise the menace and power of her very being, “and I am here to punish you? I don’t have to ask why you brutally deformed all those helpless children; I know it was pure greed. Well, greed is as greed does and what goes around, comes around. I’m turning you into one of those unfortunate beggars but there will be nobody to carry you around and set you up on the same pitch day in and day out until you finally die of your deformities. When I set you down, you will be stuck there until somebody takes pity upon you. Now, your remaining leg will curl up into a grotesque deformity and you will resemble one of your own vase-like beggar-children; permanently condemned to sit immobile on the same street corner for years grunting and slobbering in your futile attempts to earn a few crumbs for your very survival or until you starve to death. I don’t care, but you can see how you like it. Finally I will cause your features to become so lob-sided and distorted that nobody will recognise you for what you once were.”

With these final words, Iona plunged her telepathic probe deep into the thug’s mind then twisted his features and crooked his neck so that the Beggar Chief would always be stuck gazing at the ground. He let out a final guttural groan as his deformed stumps fluttered helplessly while Iona struggled to manhandle the thug’s immense weight into the passenger seat of his own car. All the time the thug’s helpless body was banging and scraping against the hard edges of the car’s body work and the thug was grunting like a tormented beast.

Eventually, after much effort, Iona had the deformed thug wedged into the seat and secured by the seatbelt. She then drove to a begging pitch on one of the busiest corners of the Beggar Chief’s old realm where his previous child beggar victims had been most successful. After another struggle, she dumped him out into the cold early chill before the street became too busy.

A few early passers-by noticed the event but there had always been a beggar on that corner and they simply assumed a new beggar had been placed on the pitch. Iona did not even turn to look as she drove away to leave the criminal to his fate.

Next she visited a few of the perverts that had visited the brothel and quickly dealt with them in the same way. Several wives awoke in shock to find their terrified husbands immobilised, dumb and deformed in the bed beside them. Finally Iona enlightened the catholic mission about the whereabouts of the child victims and a raid was organised by frightened politicians and police chiefs who had heard of their colleague’s fates through the political grapevine. The story broke the next day and one of Calcutta’s greatest shames was finally exposed. Iona felt her work was done, the evil trade had been exposed once and for all and the evil politicians who had protected it were now being punished She had little left to do, at least, not in India.

As the story rumbled on Iona realised there was no pressure on her to do anything. Nobody connected her to the strange events so there was nobody following her or even seemingly looking for her.

Despite her peaceful existence, Iona felt an urge to see new places. A bitter childhood of always being in secure units and institutions had left their mark. Always needing formal permissions or escorts to go out as a child had inculcated a primordial hatred of boundaries. Iona could not settle long in any place but Calcutta, with its teeming multitudes, offered a sort of secrecy and sanctuary from that permanent feeling of pursuit. For several months, Iona lived a peaceful life of ease and one occasion she was delighted to have Fatima and her daughters visit her. Naturally, one thing led to another, and Fatima became pregnant for a third time. As they discussed the advent of a third child Fatima chatted one evening with her best friend.

“I would have thought you might have given India at least one Hindu daughter or a Buddhist daughter.”

“It’s not important darling,” smiled Iona as she lay with her head on Fatima’s lap savouring Fatima’s soft fingers caressing her head, “you’ve chosen to stay in India so I’ve killed two birds with one stone.”

“Go on smiled Fatima.”

“Well I’ve given Islam telepathy and at the same time I’ve given the Indians telepathy.

Anywa y, the faith of the children is not important, it’s their godliness that counts and that will come from telepathic connections with their half siblings”

Fatima smiled as she shifted to bring her legs up onto the settee and make herself more comfortable.

“So’ I’m to be a sort of double Eve am I?”

“Why do you object?” Replied Iona as she twisted to meet Fatima’s eyes.

“Gosh no. Truthfully, I wanted another child. Will it be a girl again?”

“Yes. Twins I’m afraid. I was one of twins so it’s quite normal for me to father twins.”

“How do you know this?” Giggled Fatima as she could not resist tracing her fingers over her tummy and gently pressing Iona’s face into its soft fertile contours.

“It’s a gift darling,” snuffled Iona as Fatima giggled again.

“Yeah, and what a gift. By the way, I think Miriam is beginning to develop.”

“She is,” confirmed Iona, “I’ve already detected it. Girls develop faster than boys.”

“Are you going to keep in touch?”

“Of course, but you are going to have to introduce Miriam to herbs and trances. Her half brothers and sisters will also keep in touch. She’ll really like that.”

They fell to discussing strategies for Fatima’s children then finally retired to bed. Inevitably they were woken by Miriam and Maha bouncing eagerly on their huge hotel bed. After a few more weeks, Fatima prepared to return to Mumbai but not before meeting with and sharing experiences with the young priest and the king cobras. Fatima was fascinated with the priest’s spiritual connection to his wards and ignored the accusative glares from fellow Muslims as she entered a supposedly pagan Hindu temple. When emerged into the square with Neera draped about her bare arms and head, there were gasps of disbelief from passing Muslims.

On these occasions Iona and Fatima met and talked with the young priest as they each perfected their skills, until one day the young priest mentioned levitation.

“Gosh, can you do that?” Gasped Iona excitedly.

“No. But there are those over the mountains who are reputed to be able.”

“You mean the Buddhist monks in Tibet!”

The priest nodded sagely and Fatima sighed knowingly. She knew now what Iona’s next objective was and simultaneously regretted the forthcoming separation.

Back at the hotel Fatima confirmed her suspicions.

“So it’s the Buddhists next is it?”

“F'raid so, I can’t help it. Telepathy makes me want to explore all sorts of cerebral stuff.”

Fatima nodded resignedly. Much though she loved Iona she knew she could not have her all to herself. To try and `keep` Iona, like some butterfly in a jar would kill her spirit. Fatima knew only too well how such constraint could destroy a free spirit. She had an identical free spirit of her own that had driven her to escape from the cruel constraints of her own village culture. After having only just escaped such oppression in her own childhood, Fatima understood Iona’s problems better than most.. A tear escaped Fatima’s eye as she contemplated a life without her erstwhile, strange telepathic companion. Iona frowned discontentedly as she read Fatima’s hurt.

“But you’ll always be able to reach me and talk to me. What’s the problem?”

Fatima smiled and wagged her head.
“It’s the physical side that I miss Iona. I just love the physical presence, the cuddling and the loving in bed, together.”

Iona fell silent. Whilst she had finally managed to reach an accommodation with the physical side of relationships, she still had hangovers from her brutal childhood abuses. It took deep telepathic insight before Iona could get physically involved with anybody else and even then, the relationship was tenuous. Trust was always an issue, Iona just couldn’t do trust and from that fundamental flaw, came her inability to feel loss when she separated from a companion. She apologised to Fatima for the hurt of separation but still she could not deviate from her lifetime ambition to explore as many aspects of the paranormal as she could find.

Once again, Fatima found herself bidding farewell to Iona as she stood with her daughters on the small airport’s tarmac hugging Iona. Nearby, the flight mechanic tested the aeroplane’s new engines and superchargers that had been fitted to boost the engines over the Himalayas. Iona’s plane let out an ear-splitting roar and Fatima shuddered.

“It sound’s much noisier.”

“Yes. She’s had new engines fitted and superchargers to get her over the mountains.”

“You be careful darling. And don’t take any risks!”

Iona reached up and gave Fatima a final kiss before climbing into the plane and taxiing out to the runway. Fatima stood tearfully watching as the plane slowly became an invisible dot. Then she turned with her daughters and made her way back to Calcutta main airport. She also had a ticket booked for Mumbai that same afternoon.