Darya checked the email on her phone to confirm she was at the right place.
She was.
The entrance itself was unimpressive; Darya would’ve certainly missed it if she hadn’t been looking for it. She tried to discern the sounds of an ongoing party through the door—as she’d been promised—but heard nothing. Steeling herself, she tapped on the rusted door twice and when no one opened, jiggled the metal knob.
The door opened.
With trepidation in her heart and, quickly, before she could deliberate on her decision, Darya stepped inside the darkened corridor.
Immediately, she came face to face with what she assumed was the gatekeeper of the club. A chunky man of indeterminate age sat immobile on a wooden stool in front of her. He looked her up and down coolly.
‘Shut the door,’ he barked.
Promptly, Darya did.
The two stared at each other for several seconds. Eventually, the guard went back to staring straight ahead, ignoring her.
This prodded Darya to action. She took her phone out and thrust the brightened screen in front of the guard’s face. He leaned to one side, picked up a scanner and scanned the QR code at the bottom of the screen.
Only a day ago, Darya had marvelled at how organized and creepy everything was. To safeguard herself, she’d created a new email ID to enter the dark web site. A few hours after she’d sent her details, she’d received an email with a PDF file attached. But it had asked for a password to open.
Darya had dug in her brain for the possibilities.
Then she’d tried something: the year, followed by the month in digits, followed by matangi, all small letters.
The clue from Debbie’s note. From Jasmine’s scribbles.
And it had worked!
Welcome to Matangi.
We look forward to meeting you.
Please come dressed in formalwear. We take our ceremonies seriously.
The event starts at 11 p.m. and will end at 2 a.m.
The address is on the embedded map below.
Show the guard this email. Ask him for your surprise gift. One of our goddesses will meet you inside.
We hope you will enjoy your first.
Come with us
Into the darkness
To the best day of your life.
Darya shuddered as she remembered. If the stakes weren’t so high and the need to find Veda not so dire, she would’ve given up on this quest right away.
The guard gestured to a flight of stairs that plunged into the darkness to the side. Darya had missed it in her nervousness and blessed her stars she hadn’t taken a tumble. She strained her eyes down to see. The flight of about ten steps seemed to lead to an unlit landing below. There was a door next to it.
Darya felt a sharp tap on her shoulder. Her heart beating like a drum caught in a roller, Darya turned and raised a querulous eyebrow.
Wordlessly, the man handed over something.
Darya stared at the object in her hand. A black mask—satin on the outside, textured parchment on the inside, lined with silver glitter, and equipped with a silver elastic band to tie it around the head and keep it firmly over the face.
Baffled, Darya looked up at the man. ‘You can’t be serious?’ she said.
He continued to sit immobile, looking ahead, his eyes fixed on the door.
Cautiously, as if the mask might gnaw the flesh off her face, Darya tied it in place. The fabric felt light on her nose and cheeks. The elastic was snug. The mask was not a cheap prop. It was expensive; carefully crafted. The cloth smelled of fennel and camphor.
‘Is that it?’ Darya asked.
Unexpectedly, the man gave her a nod.
Darya sighed. She was entering the witch’s lair; she had to play by its rules.
And the dangerous game that she was playing… there was no other way but to see it through, to the very end.
Gingerly, Darya walked down, step after step, careful how she placed her feet. Whilst she approached the bottom, she heard beats of music reverberating through the walls.
Thump, thump, thump.
She’d reached the landing.
The door she faced was a replica of the door she’d come in through. As she moved to turn the knob, a violent flame of foreboding burned in her chest.
Her throat clamped up and she found it difficult to breathe. She wished she were back home, anywhere but there.
What had she gotten herself into?
But next—as if an external force had clutched her wrist—she turned the knob, pushed the door open, threw herself in…
And there she was.
It sprang in a blank corner of her mind then, the immortal words from the Eagles.
This could be heaven, or this could be hell.
Darya didn’t know what she’d expected to see. In her head, she had concocted a thousand different lurid images, each one more bizarre than the last, laughing and dismissing them as impossible each time. But as she stood at the doorway of the thousand-square-foot room—shining bright under stroboscopic lights—painting vivid images on her body and on the wall—she realized it was wilder than her most creative imagination.
There were about fifty people inside. All the men were masked and the women were veiled. There were no tables, chairs, or anything that restricted movement. As Darya’s eyes adjusted to the sudden salvo of lights and colours, she noted all the servers in attendance were women in veils. Black satin dresses clung to their bodies, showing their curves but covering everything else, falling to their ankles. Silver tassels circled their waists and wrists. A black half-moon shone on their foreheads, which were cleared of hair, the strands pinned back severely and tucked under their veils. These women walked around the room greeting guests, serving whiskey and champagne, and an array of finger food. Darya felt as if she were in a fancy house party rather than a secret underground club. The guests were all well dressed—no flip flops or shorts in sight—as was instructed in the invite. They talked to the waitresses, flirted and laughed. No group lingered for long, breaking up as the attending women flitted from guest to guest, like rivulets. Trance music played in the background, barely discernible over the hubbub of conversation. Gold discs rotated on the ceiling, blinding her as she gazed up, while LED screens alternated with mirrors on the walls; Darya counted five of them. The screens played a movie on and on, in a loop, and she realized after a few minutes what it was. Anime versions of the witch’s tale. Matangi’s Tale.
The dark-haired princess as a baby in her parents’ arms; the princess as a teenager loved by her subjects; the older princess weeping into the mirror; the princess lying on her bed in wait; the princess flying out of the window, laughing as her hair transformed into a thousand snakes.
A few people parted and broke the thick circle in front of Darya.
A clearing appeared.
Once Darya took in the sight that emerged, her jaw dropped.
She flashed a quick glance at the people standing around her, to see if anyone shared her bafflement, but none returned her gaze. They stood as if made of stone, staring ahead at the unfolding spectacle.
Almost fearfully, Darya turned to look again.
What the hell is this?
A horizontal holographic version of Matangi’s symbol hovered over the centre of the floor; frighteningly real. Five women knelt around it, their bodies bowed, their heads touching the floor. Their hands were splayed by their sides, their palms laid flat on the ground. Black satin capes were spread like wings along the sides of their bodies. Their feet had black dye on them.
Tall white candles had been lit along the length of the holographic sword.
A powdery substance had been scattered along their sides, sweet-smelling, probably made from crushed anise or fennel.
Occasionally, the image of the snake trembled, and Darya’s body gave an involuntary shiver. It looked so real.
The women were chanting. Darya recognized the tune immediately.
She observed the men surround
ing the kneeling cluster, watching intently; from time to time they whispered amongst themselves. When a waitress stopped by to serve them drinks, they pointed and said something to her.
An initiation rite, Darya realized. And the men were choosing their girls.
The next moment, a woman appeared out of nowhere; older and diminutive, but clearly someone with authority. Clad from head to toe in black, only her eyes were visible through a fine black mesh. Round and round she moved around the kneeling women, dragging her feet, chanting aloud, raising her hands to the sky every now and then. She anointed their foreheads with a thick yellow liquid as she moved from one to the next.
The chants echoed like a storm in the crowded room. The lights from the ceiling spun blindingly.
Then, all of a sudden, it was done.
The women rose elegantly and left the room. Darya realized she had been holding her breath the whole time.
She exhaled slowly.
‘That was bizarre, wasn’t it?’ someone next to her said.
Darya’s heart gave a jump.
The voice… she’d heard it before. Young, flippant, joyous. But when her eyes scanned the milling bodies around her, she didn’t know who it had come from.
Had she imagined it?
The room seemed to transform in front of her again. Like a living, shape-shifting mythological creature. Darya smelled the alcohol, the weed, the ambiguous metallic odour wafting around. The party had started right on time; she had been late.
Darya was surprised to note there was a DJ too: female, dressed in a black tank and jeans, spiderweb and thorn tattoos snaking across her arms and neck. A red light on the top of her head flickered on and off ominously. Each time it went off, the music distorted.
Steadily, Darya moved to the back of the room in an attempt to make herself inconspicuous. Too much was happening; she needed some space to think, plan out her next move.
Her back to the wall, she eyed the man closest to her, wearing a pair of pinstripe pants and sporting a trendy salt-and-pepper beard, talking to a svelte waitress. He leaned forward and said something in her ear. She doubled over with laughter. Quite easily, Darya saw her gaiety was put on. The woman touched the man’s hand and said something which made the man grin salaciously at her.
Darya had had the brilliant insight to wear black, and whilst her mid-calf-length black linen dress was nothing like the costume worn by the flirty attendants, it prevented her from standing out. Yet, Darya couldn’t shake off the persistent feeling: eyes were on her, tracking her every move.
A woman had walked up to her. Taller and reed-thin, she stood in front of Darya expectantly, holding two glasses of whiskey on a serving plate.
‘Looking for anyone in particular?’ she said.
‘What?’ Darya asked nervously.
The woman gave a practised, sparkly laugh. ‘Or will I do?’
To Darya’s watery eyes, the woman seemed like an apparition, swaying hypnotically with the baubles and the beats.
I am going mad.
‘First time?’ the woman asked, sounding kind.
‘Yeah… yes,’ Darya replied, her words scratching against her throat.
‘We don’t get many female customers. It’s a pleasant change.’ After a pause, she asked, ‘Do you need more time? Shall I come back later?’
Darya nodded, almost too eagerly, she feared. She might’ve imagined it, but it seemed to her as if the woman hesitated, wanting to say something more, but in the end, changed her mind and left her alone.
Darya watched her retreating back, wondering what it might’ve been like if she’d said yes.
The lights were less blinding now, the shadows longer. The movie continued to play all around, throwing sparks and baubles over her, and after a while, her senses grew numb.
Moving her gaze around the room, Darya detected cubicles at the other end, five in number, concealed by thick, black curtains. Intermittently, she saw men and women walk in and out of them. ‘Private’, a neon sign overhead declared. Another at the far end announced ‘Toilet’ with an arrow indicating one had to turn right to find it.
Darya knew the party would go on for two hours more, until 2 a.m., as per the email. She also gathered, quite clearly, that the party was a scouting expedition, a client-escort pairing exercise. There was evidence of it every few minutes, when a man walked into the cubicles with a waitress, laughing and tipsy, emerging half an hour later. She saw a few pairs leave the room altogether, probably heading someplace less seedy and noisy. And as she watched all this, and not for the first time, Darya marvelled at how easily she had been allowed in.
She had been lucky. But now she had to use this opportunity. To find Veda.
But how?
The throng of people inside seemed to have grown in the past hour. It was getting harder for Darya to breathe. The warm fumes of the room coupled with the anxiety riling in her chest were making her drowsy, causing her mind to fog up. She needed a break. She needed a place to think.
A black-and-gold streamer glided in and out of her field of vision.
The toilet. That was where she needed to go.
She made her way to where the sign said the toilet was, keeping close to the wall to not only be discreet but also avoid collision with the sweaty bodies around her. Women in black swilled past, veils glistening, silver tassels swinging. She caught snatches of their conversation.
‘… the fourth cubicle. He says he will…’
‘… a jerk. Wouldn’t wait. Wouldn’t pay…’
‘… asked me what the movie was, and laughed when I…’
‘… that’s five lakhs more, I told him…’
Darya observed that the women were articulate and appeared well bred. A high-class escort service.
Midway, she stopped in her tracks.
Was it him?
She squinted to see clearly.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Was that Roshan?
The voice in her ears a few minutes ago… it had sounded like him. And now she thought she saw him again, heading towards one of the cubicles. She trained her eyes harder, to try to spot him again, but he had disappeared into the haze of satin and gold. In any case, that man had been wearing a mask; it wouldn’t have been easy to recognize him under that… but the way he’d walked… the jaunty gait… and the unusually textured, tapered brown Oxfords on his feet, the ones she’d seen Roshan wear both times they had met…
It couldn’t be him, Darya chastised herself. Roshan could have his pick of women in the outside world. Why would he want to be a part of this?
Shaking her head at her folly, Darya hurried away, vowing not to be led astray by her fancies anymore. She had come to find Veda, or at least look for clues leading to her, and that is what she was going to do in the time she had left there.
The toilet was a common one for men and women; Darya was relieved to see there was no queue outside. She turned the knob of the door then realized someone was inside.
Almost immediately, the door opened. A woman emerged, tall and shapely. As she walked unsteadily past, Darya thought she saw wisps of blonde hair jutting out from the sides of her clumsily worn veil. The skin around her grey-blue eyes was pale white. A foreigner.
Darya pushed open the door and shut it behind her quickly.
‘Get yourself together,’ she whispered, releasing a long, trembling breath.
She turned to stare at her reflection in the spotty mirror.
She heard footsteps outside. An exchange of words. But after a few minutes, the voices faded.
Darya’s eyes moved to the walls surrounding her. Once beige, they were now a dirty grey-pink. The serpent and the sword had been etched on them over and over again, leaving no doubt, what this place was. She saw a few hearts as well, made with ball point pens; names had been written inside each of them. She recognized none and was not surprised. People didn’t usually go into this business to bring fame to their given names.
Footsteps passed by
again, followed by faint, stoned laughter. After a few seconds, Darya heard muted grumbling as someone outside the bathroom realized the door was locked. Darya used the toilet and flushed it. Next, she walked to the tap, turned it on and splashed some water onto her face.
Through the sound of running water, she heard renewed conversation outside the door. Two voices spoke in Hindi. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, and then the voices moved away.
Holy shit, Darya thought. What an elaborate setup. The witch’s fable, the fancy dress, the dark web site, the anime, this party, the secret invitation…. like an extravagant game, an exciting pastime. She could see its charm, why men might pay a hefty amount to partake in something like this. It added mysterious, mythical elements to the standard act of what was plainly…
Shagging, Darya mouthed to the tainted mirror. They had garnished prostitution to make it look like something else, something almost sacred.
But who were ‘they’? Darya hadn’t seen anyone familiar in the jamboree outside. She’d been certain she would’ve recognized Debbie even under a black veil, but now she realized, perhaps not. There were too many of them, and after a while, one black figure melded into another. And was Debbie going to be here partying whilst Viktor rotted away in jail? It seemed improbable. Most likely, the cops had already put her in jail, along with her brother.
Darya racked her brains. How was she to find Veda? She was sure if she was going to find a clue to where Veda was, it would be here. Or Veda herself. But nothing. Darya wondered if she could chat up the tall woman who had approached her earlier, ask her if she knew anything. She had sounded kind, but also… wary. Darya had to do it carefully.
Making up her mind, Darya emerged from the washroom. The corridor stretched out in front of her like a slumbering snake; it was empty. The music had risen to deafening levels while she had been inside.
Despite the breather, Darya’s head hadn’t stopped throbbing. Her eyes felt rheumy. Her throat was burning.
It was something in the drinks or the fumes around her…
Darya reached for her phone and saw there was no signal. She wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t seen a single phone out the entire time, imaginable only when the signal was weak, or a network jammer was at work.
The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Page 47