Baba Bengali: Hypnotism Industries Ltd.
“Lost love? Want someone to think of you day and night? We have the solution!”
Ranveer’s fingers hovered over his smartphone’s screen, hesitating before pressing the familiar green and white icon of WhatsApp. It had been hours since he’d last messaged Priya.
The little checkmarks next to his message glared back at him, mocking him with their stubborn grayness. She hadn’t seen them. Or maybe she had and had simply chosen not to respond.
He unlocked and locked his phone, again and again, hoping that the next time he swiped, her response would magically appear. But nothing changed.
Seeking a momentary escape, his eyes shifted from the glaring digital light of his phone to the calming vista outside. Gurgram’s relentless monsoon poured down, the rain battering against the large glass window of his high-rise office.
The city’s chaos blurred into a watercolor painting of hazy silhouettes and twinkling lights.
Directly below, he noticed an unusual scene under the boughs of a large banyan tree. Two street dogs, sheltering from the rain, were having sex. Their world seemed detached from his, primal and unapologetic. The rawness of the moment struck Ranveer.
Dragging his attention back inside, he found himself reopening WhatsApp. He clicked on Priya’s profile, heart hammering. Her display picture had changed. Gone was the candid snap of her laughing, replaced with a flirtatious pout.
But the pout wasn’t for the camera, it was for someone just outside the frame, someone he couldn’t see.
The pang of jealousy engulfed him whole.
“When did she even take this picture?” he wondered, eyes scanning the details for any hint or clue. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt.
She must have seen his messages. She’d taken the time to update her profile picture, but not to respond to him. Was she ignoring him?
Disheartened, Ranveer slumped back into his plush office chair, letting out a sigh.
The soft chime of his phone indicated an incoming call. It was Vijay, his childhood friend and confidante. On any other day, he’d pick up instantly, but today, the weight of Priya’s silence pressed down on him, leaving no room for conversation. He swiped left, silencing the call.
Distraction, he decided, was what he needed. So, he switched apps, landing on the endless scroll of Instagram. As he thumbed through posts of distant acquaintances and celebrities, an advertisement caught his attention.
It showcased a man with closed eyes, draped in a saffron robe with large rudraksha beads around his neck.
The headline read: “Baba Bengali — The Ultimate Vashikaran Specialist.” Below it, in bold letters, was the claim: “Lost love? Want someone to think of you day and night? We have the solution!”
The background was deep purple, decorated with astrological symbols. A montage played — testimonials of teary-eyed individuals swearing by Baba Bengali’s powers, a young woman gazing dreamily at a locket, and a man, previously ignored by his love interest, now having her cling to his arm.
Ranveer scoffed at the ad’s audacity. “As if manipulating someone’s feelings could be that easy,” he thought. But then, a nagging thought emerged. “What if it works?”
The loneliness and desperation made him hover over the ad, contemplating the unthinkable.
Just then, the sharp trill of his phone cut through his thoughts. Vijay was calling again. Ranveer glanced at the caller ID, his fingers hovering over the accept button. But he simply couldn’t muster the energy to talk.
The office around him continued with its usual hum — printers churning out documents, the rhythmic tap of keyboards, and occasional laughter or chatter. However, from his slightly open cabin door, Ranveer’s ears picked up on a particular conversation. It was Anaya, his vibrant colleague, talking animatedly to someone on the phone.
“Dev! I can’t believe you’re coming this weekend!”
“It’s been ages.”
There was a brief pause, presumably as Dev responded. Anaya continued, “Yes, I’ve got the whole evening planned. Dinner at ‘Cyber Hub’, that restaurant you love, and then maybe a walk at Galleria Market? How does that sound?”
Another pause. Then Anaya laughed, “Oh, you know I can’t resist the chaat there! We’ll definitely grab some.”
Ranveer couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy listening to Anaya’s plans.
The love and excitement in her voice only highlighted the void he felt regarding Priya. As the evening shadows lengthened, he once again turned to his phone for solace. Still no message from Priya. He clicked on her profile, and his heart sank further. She had changed her DP again — this time, a picture of her in a dimly lit restaurant, a glass of wine in hand, the glow from a candle reflecting in her eyes. The scene was intimate, and the absence of the person opposite her in the frame only made Ranveer’s imagination run wild.
His thoughts returned to the Baba Bengali’s ad. Maybe there was something in it after all? The promise of a solution, however unconventional, tugged at his heartstrings.
With a trembling hand, he searched for the advertisement on Instagram. The familiar saffron-clad figure appeared on the screen. Without giving himself a chance to second guess, he dialed the number provided.
Without giving himself a chance to second guess, he dialed the number provided. To his surprise, a young voice, almost childlike in its innocence, answered the call. “Hello?”
“Uh, hi,” Ranveer stammered, caught off guard. “I saw an advertisement about Baba Bengali on Instagram. Is this the right number?”
“Yes, bhaiya. If you want to meet Baba Bengali, come to the shop near metro pillar 118 near Punjabi Bagh Metro Station.” The voice sounded almost robotic, as if he had repeated these instructions countless times before.
Ranveer hesitated. Everything about this felt off-kilter — from the strange advertisement to the child answering the phone. But loneliness gnawed at him, driving a desperation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“What harm could it do?” he reasoned. The idea of having Priya in his life, of filling that void that seemed to grow larger each day, was too alluring to resist.
Outside, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour, battering the streets and forming large puddles. The wipers on Ranveer’s car worked overtime, but he maneuvered through the traffic. Every splash and honk seemed to amplify his mounting anxiety.
His phone buzzed. A message from Vijay lit up the screen: “Hey, where are you?. Everything okay?”
Ranveer glanced at the message, but he chose not to respond. The last thing he wanted was Vijay questioning him or, worse, mocking his decisions.
Navigating through the rain-soaked streets, he finally arrived near pillar 118. His eyes scanned the area, comparing the storefronts with the picture he had seen on Instagram. There it was — a dimly lit, small shop with a wooden board: “Baba Bengali — Vashikaran Specialist.”
The store, no bigger than a modest store-room. As Ranveer stepped closer, he could make out the details of its interior.
Inside, the walls were adorned with occult Hindu paraphernalia. A myriad of symbols, some familiar and others foreign to Ranveer, were painted in vermilion and indigo. Bronze statuettes of various deities stood on wooden shelves, their eyes eerily gleaming in the dim light. Smoky incense wafted through the air, mixing with the earthy scent of wet mud brought in by the rain, creating an almost palpable heaviness.
In the farthest corner sat an old man, his face half-hidden under a thick, beard. A black dhoti was draped around his waist, and his bare chest was full of hair.
With his eyes closed and hands folded in a mudra, he seemed deep in meditation. From his lips, a rhythmic chant emanated, a mantra. It was just one word “Bindiya.” Repeated slowly: “Bindiya Bindiya, Bindiya… Bindiya.”
Ranveer hesitated at the threshold. But before he could step further, a figure darted in front of him, blocking his path. It was a young boy, probably no older than twelve. Both of them were soaked to the bone from the rain, water dripping from their clothes onto the shop’s marble floor.
“You,” the boy started, pointing a small finger at Ranveer, “are you here to see my grandfather?”
Ranveer nodded, recognizing the voice from the phone call. “Yes, I called earlier about — “
“Before you enter,” the boy, interrupted, “you must promise something.” His dark eyes were wide. “You cannot misuse whatever power my grandfather gives you.”
“Many have come before you, seeking my grandfather’s assistance.”
“Some left with what they desired. But those who misused the powers they were met with tragic fates. I’ve seen it,” Aarav’s voice quivered, “and I don’t want to see it again.”
Feeling like he was in some overly dramatic movie, Ranveer smirked a little and nodded, thinking, “Surely this is all some sort of act for the customers.” Naively, he decided to play along, saying, “I promise I won’t misuse the power.”
Satisfied with his response, Aarav stepped aside, allowing Ranveer to fully enter the chamber of the shop.
Guided by Aarav’s gestures, he settled on a cushion opposite the old baba. As he made himself comfortable, he noted the rhythmic chants that filled the room had ceased. Baba Bengali, still in his meditative posture, slowly began to open his eyes.
Ranveer’s heart froze in his chest. Where eyes should have been, there were just hollow sockets, devoid of eyeballs.
The black voids seemed endless, like dark tunnels that led to an abyss. The grotesque sight was a stark contrast to the old man’s serene face. Every instinct in Ranveer screamed at him to flee.
Before he could scramble to his feet, the baba’s hand shot out, gripping Ranveer’s wrist with an iron-like strength. “What do you want?” the old man rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. “Tell me, son, what do you want?”
Panic gripped Ranveer. He tried pulling his hand back, but the baba’s grip was unyielding. “Let me go! I don’t want anything! Just let me leave!” he stammered.
“Calm down,” baba said, his voice softening. “Why did you seek me out?”
Ranveer, still in shock, hesitated. Taking a shaky breath, he mustered some courage. “I… I wanted to bring someone into my life.”
“I… I want to make someone fall in love with me,” Ranveer whispered, hesitating slightly before pulling out his smartphone. With trembling fingers, he opened Priya’s WhatsApp profile, displaying her most recent picture to the baba.
“I want her,” Ranveer voiced out. “I want her to fall in love with me.”
Baba Bengali studied the picture for a moment before looking up at Ranveer. His hollow sockets seemed to bore into Ranveer’s soul. Suddenly, without any warning, the old man yelled, “GO!”
Ranveer jolted, nearly dropping his phone.
“She will find it hard to resist you. But remember,” Baba Bengali’s voice was stern “you must look into her eyes when you speak to her. That is the only way.”
Confused. He turned on his heels, almost stumbling in his haste to exit the dimly lit chamber.
As he approached the doorway, Aarav reappeared, blocking his path for a moment. Ranveer’s first thought was that the kid wanted money for the services rendered.
“Please sir,” Aarav began, the earlier fear evident in his voice, “Don’t do anything evil. Many have…” his voice trailed off as a sharp call from inside the shop interrupted him.
“Aarav!” Baba Bengali’s voice echoed.
Without another word, Aarav scampered back into the depths of the shop. Ranveer placed a ₹100 note at the doorstep. The old man’s unsettling appearance and Aarav’s innocent pleas stirred a sympathy within him.
Ranveer rushed to his car, his thoughts racing. “What a waste of time,” he thought, trying to push away the unsettling feelings that bubbled up. The drive back home was filled with reflections on the bizarre events of the evening.
The next morning, as he entered his office, the incident with Baba Bengali seemed like a distant dream. Priya still hadn’t replied to his messages, reinforcing his belief that the entire episode the previous evening was nothing more than a charade. But things were about to take a turn. The wheels set in motion by his desperate plea to Baba Bengali had only just begun to turn.
As days merged into nights, two weeks rolled by, each more ordinary than the last for Ranveer. But for his peers, life appeared to be moving in vibrant colors. The office was abuzz with gossip and joyous conversations. Dev had dropped down on one knee, presenting Ananya with a diamond ring. The news had swept through the office like wildfire, earning them a whirlwind of congratulations.
Meanwhile, in another corner, Nikita and Aryan, always caught in hushed conversations and shared secret glances, announced that they were heading to Manali for a vacation. Their joint trip only seemed to confirm the rumors about their budding relationship, and the office was thrilled for them.
But for Ranveer, the humdrum of everyday life continued. In these two weeks, he tried to text Priya now and then, desperately hoping to rekindle some form of connection. But all he received were monosyllabic responses: ‘Okay.’ ‘Fine.’ ‘Hm.’ These replies seemed more out of obligation than any genuine interest.
On a particularly gloomy evening, the skies echoed his sentiments, showering the city in relentless rain. Ranveer trudged into his modest flat, drenched and irritable. The wetness of his clothes seemed to mirror the dampness of his spirit. As he slammed the door shut, he muttered curses under his breath.
Ignoring the persistent blink of missed call notifications from his parents on his phone, he tossed it onto his couch and moved to the bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, running a hand through his soaked hair. His reflection showed a fit, muscular frame, a chiseled jawline and eyes that held an intensity. He had the looks that would easily attract many, but his heart was obstinately set on one.
“Why her? Why am I so stuck on Priya?” he pondered aloud, frustration evident in his voice. Memories of their shared moments, that one of month of friendship, flashed through his mind.
The echoing rain against his windowpane seemed to amplify the turmoil in his mind. “Why can’t I just make her see?” he thought, frustration building. “That bloody Baba Bengali! Fuck him!”
An idea began to take shape in his mind. He realized that he couldn’t just be a name on a screen, a passive texter always waiting for a reply. He remembered the confidence and audacity with which some of his ‘player’ friends approached relationships. Maybe it was time he took charge of his story. Maybe it was time for a grand gesture.
Making a swift decision, he grabbed his keys, pulling on a jacket, and headed out, steering his car towards Rajouri Garden, where Priya lived. A surprise visit, he thought, might just break the barrier that seemed to exist between them.
Driving through the rain-soaked streets, the neon glows from various shops reflected eerily on the wet asphalt. But as he neared Priya’s neighborhood, a familiar sight caught his attention. The Baba Bengali shop stood there, its shutters firmly down.
But just outside its entrance was the young boy he had encountered weeks ago. Even from a distance, Ranveer could feel the intensity of his gaze fixed on him.
Brushing off the eerie feeling, Ranveer muttered to himself, “That whole place is just a scam.”
His mind quickly shifted back to Priya and the surprise he intended to spring.
Pulling up to the impressive bungalow, he took a moment to admire it. The well-maintained garden, the stylishly carved wooden door, and the dim porch lights painted a picture of opulence.
His heart raced, its pounding almost deafening in his ears. He took deep breaths, steeling himself. “No turning back now,” he whispered to himself, pushing away the doubt and uncertainty, and took steps towards the entrance.
Heart pounding, Ranveer pressed the doorbell. As the door slowly swung open, a mix of dread and hope consumed him. But there she was — Priya.
Bathed in the gentle glow of the porch light, her expression went from surprise to outright anger.
“Ranveer?!” Her voice was of shock and annoyance. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
Caught off guard, Ranveer stammered, “Hi, Priya. I… I just thought-”
“How did you even know where I live? This is not okay, Ranveer! You can’t just show up uninvited!” Her voice rose.
Flustered and feeling utterly foolish, Ranveer took a step back, the weight of his bad decision crashing down on him.
“I’m sorry, Priya,” he began, regret evident in his voice. “It was a mistake to come here unannounced. I’ll leave.”
But as he turned to go, a thought crossed his mind, and he blurted out, “I just thought we could hang out, you know? Maybe get to know each other. At my place or some restaurant…” He trailed off, daring to meet her eyes, searching for some hint of receptivity.
A thick, electric tension hung in the air. For a moment, everything seemed suspended in time.
Then, unexpectedly, Priya’s demeanor shifted. The fury in her eyes dulled, replaced by a dazed look. “Alright,” she murmured, her tone now eerily calm, “Let’s go to your place.”
Stunned by the sudden change, Ranveer hesitated only for a moment, trying to make sense of it.
But then, he led the way to his car, opening the door for Priya. As she settled in, he couldn’t help but wonder if the words of Baba Bengali had somehow come true.
In the confines of the car, Priya, much to his astonishment, was actively engaging in the conversation.
“You know, I’ve always been curious,” Priya began, glancing over at him, “Why did you choose the software field? You don’t seem like the typical IT guy.”
Caught slightly off-guard by her interest, Ranveer chuckled, “Well, it wasn’t my first choice, to be honest. I always wanted to be a writer, but life has its own plans, right?”
She smiled, “Really? I never knew that. What did you want to write about?”
“Anything and everything,” he replied with a hint of nostalgia. “Fantasy, romance, even horror.”
As they drove, the conversation flowed effortlessly, with Priya asking more questions and sharing her own stories in return. It felt as though barriers were dissolving.
Once they arrived, the two made their way to his apartment, their laughter echoing in the otherwise quiet building.
But occasionally, Ranveer noticed a shadow of confusion clouding her expressions, a hint that she too was trying to process the abrupt shift in their dynamic.
Pushing the thought aside, he welcomed her in, “Make yourself at home while I whip something up in the kitchen.”
The apartment came alive with their presence, the earlier loneliness replaced with the warmth of company. As he prepared a simple meal, Priya regaled him with anecdotes from her college days, laughing at her own silliness.
The laughter and warmth that had filled the room suddenly went cold, replaced because of a phone call. Priya’s face paled as she listened intently to the voice on the other end of her phone.
Ranveer watched, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He could tell something was wrong. The dreamlike evening threatened to unravel.
She disconnected the call, her voice shaky, “Ranveer, it’s my mom. She’s fallen down the stairs. My family’s freaking out; they’re asking where I am.”
The weight of the situation began to sink in for Ranveer.
But there was a selfish part of him, a side that desperately clung to the evening’s magic. The allure of the power given to him by Baba Bengali.
“Look, Priya,” he began, voice hesitant, “I understand your concern, but it might just be a minor fall. You said yourself your family tends to overreact. What if you head back tomorrow morning? I’m sure she’ll be okay by then.”
To his shock, Priya’s anxious demeanor started to fade. Her eyes, which had moments ago held so much fear, now reflected a blank acquiescence.
She hesitated, and for a brief moment, Ranveer saw a struggle in her eyes, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Maybe you’re right,” she whispered, her voice sounding distant and empty. “Maybe it’s not that serious.”
Ranveer felt a chill run down his spine. He was watching her concede, watching her push aside the concern for her mother, and he knew it was due to his words and the unnatural power behind them. He was abusing the gift Baba Bengali had granted him. Or was he? A wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm him.
Things took a strange turn as the initial tension of Priya’s mother’s accident transformed into laughter and light-hearted teasing.
Leading them to Ranveer’s bedroom. The dim lighting, combined with the soft hum of the city outside, set the stage for a moment he had been anticipating.
Ranveer gently cupped Priya’s face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. Their eyes locked. The distance between them was closing, and just as their lips were about to touch, Ranveer’s eyes burst open.
Veins bulged around his eyeballs, blood pooling around his pupils.
It was as if a pressure inside had reached its peak and found the most gruesome way to vent.
Priya’s scream pierced the thick tension of the room.
She recoiled in horror, stumbling back, knocking a bedside lamp to the ground. In a split second, she was out of the bedroom, her footsteps echoing down the hallway of Ranveer’s apartment. The spell was broken, his eyes were gone.
Ranveer collapsed to the ground, clutching his face. Blood streamed between his fingers, staining the carpet below. He gasped, trying to make sense of the horror.
The shrill tone of his phone pierced through his daze. But he could no longer see. He didn’t know that it was Vijay, and that the content of the message that appeared on the screen was: “Bro, this occult thing with Baba Bengali. It’s spreading. I need to tell you about an incident. Pick up the phone!”
The shop’s interior was a stark contrast to the night Ranveer first encountered Baba Bengali.
Gone was the older man, replaced instead by Ranveer. He carried a haggard face, an unkempt long beard, and unruly hair cascading down his back. And he had no eyes. The same mantra, which he had heard Baba Bengali chant, now flowed from his lips like a haunting lullaby.
“Bindiya, Bindiya, Bindiya,…”
Outside the shop’s entrance stood the familiar figure of the kid. He greeted customers with the same caution. “Welcome, my uncle awaits,” he’d say, gesturing them inside with a wary gaze.
Behind the small door at the back led to an expansive, dimly-lit chamber, which seemed impossible given the shop’s exterior.
The air was thick with a musky scent of burning incense, the haze making the outlines of the occupants appear blurred.
Rows upon rows of men sat on the cold stone floor, their eyes vacant — empty sockets devoid of sight.
They were from various walks of life, and their ages varied, yet they all had the same empty gaze and chanted in haunting unison.
“Bindiya, Bindiya, Bindiya…”
The droning hum of the vashikaran mantra permeated the room, filling every crevice, making the walls seem as if they were vibrating with the sound.
Suddenly, breaking the monotonous cadence, one of the men shouted, “Ego is the enemy!”
His voice, raw and strained, echoed eerily, causing a momentary disruption in the chant.
But almost as soon as it had happened, the chanting resumed, enveloping the room once again.
