Yogi witch, p.1
Yogi Witch, page 1
My incredible parents – who loved me even in times when
I found it difficult to love myself.
To Madonna – for being a constant source of strength, courage, and inspiration. Your indomitable spirit and extraordinary art has saved so many lives – especially mine!
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Gratitude
About the Book
About the Author
Copyright
Author’s Note
I channelled Jai’s story one fateful August night – during the witching hour, of course! Blessed by the muses, I donned my face-shield and sat night after night at a café and wrote my heart out till the wee hours of the morning. It was in the midst of the pandemic, and I still wasn’t eligible for the vaccine, but the fires of inspiration burned so fiercely that I was willing to risk it. Before I knew it, I had completed a manuscript of over ninety-thousand words in the span of less than twenty-seven nights. I wish I could explain how I did it, but clearly there was a divine force that took over my body, mind, and soul. I feel blessed that it chose me to be its earthly vessel.
Yes, this is a work of fiction. However, fiction is a beautiful way of revealing the greater mysteries of The Universe, as well as, truths about life that most of us are unable to process in their most factual state.
There are numerous occult mysteries that are hidden in the text – especially between the lines. However, there’s a reason why these have been kept secret from the world. Thus, though I did my best to reveal all that I could, there is a greater responsibility on my shoulders to ensure that some still remained veiled for the safety of those who may be inspired to experiment.
Thus, I encourage all my readers – whether they’re passionate believers in all things magical and esoteric, casual dabblers who enjoy reading traits about their zodiac signs online, or even staunch sceptics who roll their eyes at anything even remotely ‘woo-woo’ – do your research! There’s so much to be discovered in the magical, as well as, in the yogic universe. I can only hope my work inspires you to take your journey to a whole different level.
This is a work of love, and is meant to be taken in the best of spirits. I thank you all for opening your hearts, minds, and souls – and making room for Jai and his journey in a warm cozy place.
Prologue
The material world is the playground of the spirit world—and Lord knows Delhi is ‘materialistic’. However, Delhi is a city that’s more spiritual than people give it credit for. Then again, most people wouldn’t know what ‘spiritual’ is—even if it hits them in the face. Yes, it does hit us in the face—metaphorically, of course, though sometimes even literally. Multiple times a day. Every day. Sometimes, it’ll even follow us after we die and chase us throughout lifetimes.
So yeah, most people have no idea what ‘spiritual’ is. That’s why they’re blind to the spiritual magnificence of Delhi. The smoggy sky is perfect for demons to hide while they search for vessels to possess. The constant noise is perfect to hide the wails of banshees uttering curses. The ever-increasing crime rate and corruption are perfect for lesser entities to feed off our auric shields. Not to mention the excessive materialism brought about by the ever-expanding ‘mall culture’, and, of course, the hellish vanity being promoted as #goals by influencers that go to excessive lengths to live up to the motto that ‘image is everything’. Maya, the demon queen of illusion, has a field day with them.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of good in Delhi too. Well, ‘good’ is such a judgemental word. So is ‘bad’, but ‘good’ tends to come with way more baggage. That’s why it seems so much easier to be bad in this world. I know, I’m confusing a lot of you, but trust me, you’ll all understand … eventually.
But for now, let’s just say that there is plenty of ‘good’ in Delhi as well. Remember, spiritual energy is positive and negative. Just like in an atom, there are protons and electrons. You can’t really say a proton is ‘good’, nor can you say that an electron is ‘bad’. Both are needed to create the atom. Thus, if Delhi is like an atom, then there’s plenty of ‘good’ along with the ‘bad’. Sorry, I used to flunk in science when I was in school. Math too.
I tried to give the example of an atom because most people like to divide spiritual energy into ‘black’ and ‘white’. Personally, I find that borders on being racist. I’m ‘Gen Z’, being socially conscious is my thing.
Oh damn! Sorry, I’ve been going on and on and forgot to introduce myself, I’m—
‘Order for Jai! Venti green tea in a ceramic cup for Jai!’
Yes, I’m the weirdo who orders a green tea at Starbucks. At least I insist that they give it to me in a ceramic cup instead of a throwaway one. It’s better for the environment. Anyway, my name is Jai. Jai Gill. Pretty cool, right? Well, it’s actually Jaiveer Singh Gill, but I like to keep it short and sweet. Makes it easier to roll off the tongue. Plus, I don’t like it when people automatically make assumptions about me by my name. After all, we live in a country where a person’s name tells you not only where in the heavens the moon was at the time of their birth, but also one’s caste, class and socioeconomic heritage. Not that I have a problem with mine. I am Sikh on my dad’s side. My mother’s side, however— oh crap, he’s here.
I put on a pair of Tom Ford aviators so that he can’t see me looking at him as he heads over to the counter to place his order. Look at him. No, really look at him. What is it that you see? No, look beyond the shit-eating grin and the sagging skin on what used to be a chiselled jawline. Like so many men who stop exercising regularly after marriage, he has not aged well. Look beyond the prominent LV belt buckle that in a few months will be hidden by the ever-growing belly. Seriously, ‘see’ him. Concentrate. Breathe. Are you seeing it? You are? That silvery outline all around him? That’s the etheric shield. It’s kind of like the connecting force that connects your aura with your physical body. I’ll explain all that eventually in detail, I promise, but try looking beyond the etheric shield. Do you see that glowing light shaped like an egg around him? That’s the aura. Again, I’ll explain that later. Can you see how it’s not a perfect egg shape? Yeah, it’s all lopsided and cracked. Also, notice how it feels like light is leaking out of it. Oh, you see the giant dark grey mass all around him? Yup, that’s the demon. I guess his wife was right, he is possessed.
Okay, time to put my good looks to the test. As I mentioned earlier, I am Sikh on my dad’s side. However, I am also Irish on my mother’s side. Though my face resembles my father’s—with his chiselled square jaw and sharp nose and defined cheekbones— I have my mother’s sparkling green eyes. I believe there’s even some Egyptian and Israeli ancestry somewhere in there. Yeah, that genetic cocktail makes me kinda ‘hot’. Colonialism really did a number on the Indian beauty standard.
I take off my aviators and gaze straight into his eyes from across the room. There he is, grinning at someone I’m assuming is his mistress. Probably the same woman who managed to get the demon to possess him. You’d be surprised at how easy it is. Whispering under my breath, I chant a sacred mantra that can make anyone instantly attracted to me. Right after I’ve finished the third round of chanting, his eyes are locked with mine. Poor jerk doesn’t even know what’s hit him.
I sip my tea slowly, my eyes still locked with his. I smirk as his mistress tries desperately to catch his attention—clearly, it’s not working. Granted, he’s very obviously straight, but this isn’t just about seduction. It’s fun to watch even the most sexually rigid individual become fluid when the promise of exquisite pleasure is dangled before him. Especially if it’s in a good-looking package.
I stand up slowly while still gazing into his eyes. I nod towards the bathroom before I start walking. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s excused himself and is following me—keeping a safe distance, of course. Wouldn’t want to make anyone suspicious. The minute we enter, I lock the door behind us. It’s a good thing that the Starbucks in Connaught Place has a huge bathroom. It’s perfect for what’s about to happen.
Just as he leans in to kiss me, I press the space between his brows tightly with my right thumb and begin chanting a purification mantra. He tries to fight back, but before he can hit me, I grab his arm with my left hand and press the spot between his thumb and index finger, rendering him physically helpless.
I can see his aura glow in a shade of sickly lemon green, the colour of bil
The demon moves away from the man’s body, causing him to collapse on the floor with a thud. ‘You know you don’t belong here,’ I say, taking out a small velvet pouch from my pocket. ‘You have two choices. Either you go into the light and find peace, or you remain trapped for all eternity within this.’ I reveal an egg-shaped obsidian crystal that was in the pouch. Velvet is an ideal material for trapping spirits. So is silk, but you know, silk isn’t the best for the environment.
The demon lets out a sinister but clichéd laugh—why do they always do that?
‘And what if I choose to do neither?’ he asks when he finally finishes laughing.
‘Well,’ I say, popping the obsidian egg back into the pouch and putting it in my pocket. ‘I guess we’ll have to fight it out then.’
I chant my mantra, and through my mind’s eye, I build a sky-blue shield around my body for protection. Rubbing my hands vigorously, I activate the mini chakras within my fingertips and mounds. The demon dives towards me, but I beam out a bolt of brilliant white light at him, causing him to fall back against the wall behind him. Though it knocks the wind out of him, he gets back up within seconds and charges towards me. This time, using my index and middle finger, I create a lasso of white light and catch him around the neck with it–like a bull in a rodeo. He tries to pull it off, but I continue to wrap his body in the lasso of white light, binding him till he can barely move.
‘Do you bow to the light?’
‘Never!’ They always say that.
‘Very well.’
I take out the obsidian egg and place it on the floor in front of the demon. I rub my hands till golden sparks begin to fly. Before the demon can even finish a taking a breath, my hands are surrounded by a golden halo. My fingers blast him with a stream of electric violet and white light. With every blast, the demon shrinks an inch further. Screaming and bellowing, the demon keeps shrinking until he is small enough to fit into my obsidian egg.
Usually, fighting a demon is almost like an ultimate fighter death match, but this isn’t a high-level demon. He’s just a garden variety nympho-demon used for dark-magic-based ‘love spells’. Then again, all ‘love spells’ are essentially dark magic because no love is pure when it’s based on spiritual manipulation of the soul. Forcing love is an act with many karmic repercussions. Sometimes it can even banish one’s soul into places where even light is too scared to pass through.
With just a few more blasts of electric-violet beams of light, the demon surrenders. They all do, eventually. They know that ‘the light’ is truly where they belong.
‘You sure about that?’
‘Yes! Yes! Please!’ the demon begs. ‘That’s where I know I truly belong!’
And with that, I chant another mantra, causing a column of white light to form before the demon. Removing the lasso of white light, I watch as the demon moves slowly into the light. Once in the light, he disintegrates within seconds. No, he is not destroyed. Energy can never be destroyed. He just transmutes into a light-filled etheric being. Low-level demons can do that easily. High-level ones are another story.
The guy who was possessed will wake up by the time I reach the parking lot. He won’t have any recollection of what happened. He’ll be too embarrassed to say he was there to hook up with another man. However, he’ll almost immediately break up with his mistress and return to his wife. To make sure the mistress, or anyone else, doesn’t send another demon to possess him, I cast a protective shield around him. Usually, these last around twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but mine will protect him for at least three months. That’s too much usage of usually enough time for them to heal completely.
My name is Jai Gill, and I’m a yogi. Welcome to my world.
Chapter One
I was born during a solar eclipse. Not a partial one. I was told that it was a special one because it was the last eclipse of the millennium. As I tell you this tale, I’m barely a few months shy of turning twenty-one. I don’t really reveal my age to others—mainly because people tend to use it to define and judge. Just like they do with our names. If only they knew that judgement is the first step towards blocking your third eye. Then again, no wonder they’re blind to the spiritual reality of a city like Delhi.
My mother passed away within moments of my birth. I know this because my grandmother and aunts were there, helping deliver me in an inflatable tub at home. Yes, there was a doctor there too, but the complications of my birth were so extreme that even if they were in a hospital, they wouldn’t have been able to save her. At least my mother got to hold me before she passed.
‘Just before her spirit left her body,’ Gran would often tell me, ‘she whispered your name so sweetly, almost like angels were echoing it: “Jai”. Bless her!’
That was my favourite bedtime story till my father died a few years later. The official story was a car crash on the newly constructed DND flyover. Gran didn’t believe that for a second, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Authorities don’t really take nicely to interfering foreigners, especially ageing ones that march to the beat of their own drum. And there was also the whole ‘witch’ thing.
I first discovered my family’s secret when kids at school bullied me about it. Despite being one of the biggest cities in the world, both in size and population, mortal and immortal—Delhi can be like a really small town. When people here see three strong-willed women living together without a man to protect them, tongues wag. Of course, it didn’t help that they would often light bonfires on our rooftop during full moons. However, when I returned home with a bloodied nose, they realized that it was high time they became more discrete.
‘Are you really a witch, Gran?’ I asked her that day. I was barely in the first grade. Though I had heard this said about them before, this was the first time I was attacked for it.
‘Of course I am!’ Gran claimed with pride. ‘So are your aunts and the other women in our family.’
‘Not to mention Jemima,’ Aunt Meg chimed as she drained the antiseptic water from the bowl she used to clean my wound.
‘Oh hush, Meg!’ Gran tut-tutted, as she placed her hand on the crown of my head, whispering an incantation to heal any internal injuries.
‘He might as well know it!’ Meg wiped the dish clean.
‘Really? Mom was a witch too?’
‘Oh, don’t be bothered by that,’ said Aunt Claudine, who had just entered the room.
‘How was class?’ Gran asked her after she had finished her healing spell.
‘Pretty good,’ Claudine replied. ‘Had a few newcomers. Seems like the word is spreading well.’
Officially, we were a family of yoga teachers. Gran was born in India around the time of Independence. Most of her family returned to England, but her parents stayed. Her father was a scholar who had spent his life studying Sanskrit and ancient civilizations, while her mother was a disciple of a great yogi saint who was just known as ‘Babaji’.
Unlike the yogis of Mysore, who were building their legacies and spreading them far and wide, Babaji chose to be more low-key. Gran and my aunts learned yoga from him too, before he suddenly disappeared. No one knows where he went, as he had no family to speak of. Some say he took up refuge in a cave in the Himalayas. Others say he attained liberation and left his body. Gran didn’t bother questioning it. He had taught them all he knew, and entrusted them to spread his teaching.
We lived in a grand old house in Golf Links, with three storeys covered in ivy. The ground floor was mainly used as a yoga studio. Gran’s father had built it before Independence and then struck deals with the government of the time to stay there. As it was now used as a yoga studio, Gran would get grants to maintain it. However, the current government once tried to usurp it from us. They had backed off at the last minute. Many thought it was because Gran and my aunts cast spells on the officials. They neither agreed nor disagreed with those allegations.
