An Indian folktale from Punjab.
Chapter 1
The dust swirled around the old man’s weathered boots as he trudged down the desolate path. It was a road whispered about in hushed tones, a path where laughter died and travelers vanished. Some blamed a monstrous snake, others a venomous scorpion, but one thing remained constant – no one ever returned.
Exhaustion gnawed at the man’s bones. He was old, his journey long, and the relentless sun offered no mercy. There was not much he expected in life anymore, but a patient waiting for the inevitable end. Until then he kept travelling. Seeking respite, he slumped onto a sun-bleached rock. As he closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, a rustle from beside him jolted him awake. There, nestled amongst the stones, was a scorpion, its glistening black body the size of a plump hen.
The old man stared, transfixed, as the creature seemed to ripple and shift. Before his very eyes, the scorpion elongated, its segmented body morphing into a length of writhing muscle. Scales shimmered into existence, and in a blink, the scorpion became a serpent, its reptilian eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence.
A tremor of fear snaked through the man, but a spark of curiosity flickered brighter. He had never witnessed such a transformation. Ignoring the gnawing sense of unease, he made a decision. He wouldn’t let this creature disappear into the mystery it emerged from. Is it really the harbinger of death? With a newfound determination fuelled by curiosity, the old man rose to his feet, resolved to follow the monstrous serpent wherever it slithered.
Chapter 2
The old man, his heart hammering like a trapped bird, dogged the serpent’s trail for days. It moved with an unnatural speed, a dark blur against the endless, dusty landscape. As the sun dipped below the horizon each evening, painting the sky in hues of orange and red, Amil would collapse in exhausted slumber, only to wake again with the singular purpose of following the creature.
Then, one day, they arrived at a bustling inn. The serpent slithered through a crack in the doorway, its scales catching the fading sunlight momentarily. The old man pressed his ear against the rough wooden wall. Inside, a cacophony of laughter and chatter abruptly died down, replaced by choked screams and the slithering hiss of the serpent. The old man’s stomach lurched. This was death, swift and brutal, delivered by the creature he pursued. The serpent emerged a moment later, its glistening scales reflecting the dying light with an eerie luminescence. Disgust and horror warred within Amil, but curiosity held him captive.
Their journey continued, a grim dance of predator and unwitting observer. The serpent slithered through the night, an unwelcome visitor to palatial grounds. Again, screams ripped through the stillness, followed by an unsettling silence. Dawn revealed the King, lifeless, a faint imprint of the serpent’s coils around his neck.
The aged man, shaken to his core, watched from a distance, a silent witness to the serpent’s reign of terror. He followed it as it scaled the smooth walls of the Queen’s palace, disappearing through a gargoyle’s open mouth. Soon, piercing wails tore through the air, the Queen’s lamentations for her youngest daughter echoing through the city.
Days bled into weeks, the desolate landscape a constant backdrop to the serpent’s carnage. Finally, they reached a wide, fast-flowing river, a shimmering barrier cutting their path. On the other side, weary travelers huddled, longing for passage but lacking the means to cross.
The serpent, with a swift transformation, became a magnificent buffalo. Its sleek black coat glistened in the midday sun, a brass necklace adorning its neck and bells jingling merrily. The travellers, seeing this noble beast, saw a chance for salvation. ‘It must be swimming across,’ they muttered amongst themselves. ‘We can hitch a ride!’
One by one, they climbed onto the buffalo’s broad back, clinging to its thick tail with hopeful smiles. The old man, watching from the shore, felt a flicker of unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
As the buffalo reached the churning center of the river, a change flickered across its eyes. The buffalo shook and kicked violently, throwing the unsuspecting passengers into the unforgiving water. Their cries for help were quickly drowned out by the churning current.
When that old man reached the other side, the majestic buffalo was gone, replaced by a docile ox grazing peacefully in a nearby field. A farmer, lured by the ox’s beauty, coaxed it back to his stable.
Nightfall arrived, cloaking the world in an inky blackness. The peaceful ox, once a symbol of bounty, transformed once more. In the dim light of the moon, Amil watched in horror as the creature sloughed its bovine skin, revealing the monstrous serpent beneath. With a flick of its forked tongue, it struck, venom coursing through the sleeping farm animals, their peaceful moos turning to anguished bellows. Then, with a sinuous slither, it made its way to the farmhouse, leaving a trail of death in its wake.
The tired old man watched, his resolve hardening. He wouldn’t let this creature continue its reign of terror. He may be ancient and wary, but his spirit hadn’t been broken. This was definitely the harbinger of death, something that the old man dearly wanted in his life. The old man would follow the serpent, wherever it went. He hoped that one day it will take note of him and put an end to his misery of life.
Chapter 3
Under the scorching sun, the old man approached the next river, wider and swifter than the last, slicing through the parched earth like a relentless force of nature. Across the bank, a solitary figure sat, a vivid splash of color amidst the desolate landscape. She was a vision of beauty, bedecked in sparkling jewels that shimmered defiantly in the harsh sunlight, yet her tear-streaked face betrayed a deep sorrow.
The old man’s gaze narrowed as he observed the scene unfolding before him. The serpent, cunning in its deception, had assumed the guise of a distressed maiden. From his vantage point in the shadows, suspicion gnawed at him as two soldiers, likely brothers, approached the woman.
The elder brother, captivated by her allure, inquired about her tears. With a voice quivering like a fragile bird, the snake-girl spun a tale of tragedy. ‘Kind sir,’ she pleaded, her words trembling with fear, ‘my husband has perished while crossing this perilous river. I am left alone and afraid. Will you offer refuge to a lost soul?’
Swelling with a mixture of compassion and chivalry, the elder brother blurted out, ‘Marry me! I will provide for you.’
Hidden from view, the old man witnessed a glint of amusement in the woman’s tear-filled eyes as she laid down her conditions. ‘No chores,’ she demanded, mischief dancing in her gaze. ‘And you must heed my every whim, no matter how peculiar.’
Completely enamored, the elder brother eagerly agreed, pledging his devotion. ‘Anything for you, my dear!’
With a subtle gesture, the woman directed him to fetch water from a nearby well, while the younger brother remained by her side.
As soon as the elder brother disappeared from view, the snake-girl shed her facade. Her voice dripped with malice as she turned to the younger brother.
‘Fly with me,’ she implored, her eyes gleaming with deceit, ‘for my heart belongs to you! The pledge I made to your brother was but a ruse to lure him away!’
But the younger brother, steadfast in his loyalty, rejected her advances. ‘Nay,’ he declared firmly, ‘you are bound to my brother by promise, and I regard you as my sister.’
Enraged by his refusal, the maiden unleashed her fury, weeping and wailing until the elder brother returned. With cunning deceit, she twisted the truth, accusing the younger brother of treachery and betrayal.
Consumed by wrath, the elder brother drew his sword, challenging his sibling to mortal combat. All day they clashed, the sun witnessing their tragic duel until dusk painted the sky in hues of sorrow. As twilight descended, both brothers lay lifeless on the battlefield.
Transforming once more into a serpent, the maiden slithered away, trailed by an old man cloaked in shadows. Eventually, the serpent shed its skin, assuming the guise of a wise old sage with a snowy beard.
Seizing the opportunity, the shadowy follower grasped the sage’s beard, beseeching him for release from his silent vigil.
‘Who are you?’ he questioned, his voice trembling with desperation.
With a mysterious smile, the old sage replied, ‘Some call me the Lord of Death, for I bring an end to all mortal journeys.’
‘Grant me death,’ pleaded the weary follower, ‘for I have shadowed your steps for so long, and my spirit longs for rest.’
But the Lord of Death shook his head, denying the request. ‘Not yet,’ he murmured, ‘for your allotted time has not yet come. Sixty more years of life await you.’
And with that enigmatic proclamation, the Lord of Death vanished into the ether, leaving behind whispers of uncertainty. Was he truly the harbinger of mortality, or merely a specter of the unknown? Only time would unveil the truth.
Read similar Indian folktale and horror stories about haunted places in India’s Most Haunted.
Click to Buy India’s Most Haunted to read more such Indian folktale of horror and macabre.
The Lord of Death – An Indian Folktale Retold by South Asia’s top horror writer, K. Hari Kumar, author of India’s Most Haunted published by HarperCollins India.
Leave a Reply