The Visha Kanya

Short Fiction Thriller by Mark Ready

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• The short story contains mature themes and is intended for adult readers.

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Garstin Bastion Road, New Delhi’s notorious red-light district, came alive when its ground-floor shops closed for the day, and the upstairs brothels opened for the night. Prostitution is called the world’s oldest profession, the quintessential quid-pro-quo. A retail transaction where a man pays to access the inside of a woman – but not her heart, mind, or soul.

Sarika Chabra sat in the backseat of the Black Mercedes-Benz, fingering the frill of her red and gold embroidered dupatta. “Have you seen him yet, Donnell?”

The man in the chauffeur’s uniform had done a lot of different jobs in his thirty years. Donnell Brooks had worked as a mercenary, treasure hunter, medic, and now a chaperone to a woman who could kill with a kiss. He looked at her in the rearview mirror.

“Are you nervous?”

Sarika quit fidgeting. “A little.”

“You don’t have to go through with it. You’ll have other opportunities.”

Part of her wanted to tell him to start the car and go. To wait for another day to lose her virginity and make her first kill. 

Sarika looked at the teeming street. She was born in the back room of one of these brothels. An astrologer had plucked her from her dead mother’s arms and given her to Aravind Chabra to raise because the stars had ordained it. The stars also directed that she be fed poison and snake venom in ever-increasing doses until she became a Visha Kanya. A poison maiden. The only one of her kind in the world. The perfect assassin, but one with a conscience. 

“I must, Donnell. Pranay Bal is untouchable. He preys on these poor women and forces them to pay him a percentage of their profits. The sex workers’ lives are difficult enough without men like Bal. They cannot go to the police. They are helpless. Sarika looked at their forced smiles and the pain in their eyes. “Anyone of these women could be my mother. I owe it to them and her.”

The eyebrows in the mirror raised. “So, we stay.” 

She looked into the dark-haired young man’s eyes. 

“I want to make the world a better place. I know the mechanics of sex. Now I need to feel human flesh and a man inside me. I need to know how potent I am and how long it takes me to kill. How else am I supposed to learn this?”

The eyes in the mirror rolled. “You make it sound so clinical. You’re talking about losing your virginity and killing a man.”

She looked out the window. “That is how it is with me. My destiny is written in the stars.” 

Donnell thought about driving away. But he didn’t. “Very well. If anyone deserves to die, it’s Pranay Bal.” He pointed to a muscular middle-aged man in a gray suit surrounded by bodyguards. “Now’s your chance. That’s Bal.” He walked around and opened her door. “If you can get close enough to kill him, you’ll have succeeded where dozens have failed.”

She stepped out and touched her cobra pendant. You are the cobra, Sarika. Be the cobra.

“Wish me luck.”

Donnell stared at her but couldn’t speak. Her flowing red and gold lehenga skirt and midriff exposing choli stole his words. The matching dupatta and Sarika’s dark brown hair, light brown skin, and blue eyes were all he could think of. For a second, he considered grabbing her arm and telling her no. No. Your first time should not be with a stranger. No, you are too precious to me. Let me do it. I would gladly die for you. But he didn’t. Instead, he said. “Good luck,” and watched the graceful young woman follow the crime boss into the Ambassador Club.

A man in a blue and gold embroidered Sherwani, saffron pants, and polished black boots stopped her at the dining room door. 

“Good evening, Miss. Are you meeting someone?”

“Yes. I’d like to see Mr. Bal.”

The man’s sharp brown eyes narrowed. “Is he expecting you?”

“No, but I must see him. It is imperative.” 

The man in blue took her by the elbow. “I’m sorry. We don’t allow unescorted females in the club dining room.”

Sarika ran toward Bal’s table. The man in blue followed. The mobster’s bodyguards blocked her way. 

“Please, Mr. Bal, I must speak to you. I promise you will not be disappointed.” She tried to look at the gangster through the gaps in his men. 

The bodyguards looked at their boss.

Sarika felt him undressing her with his eyes. 

He spoke with his mouth full of kabob. “Check her for weapons.” 

One of the men patted her down. They found nothing. 

“She is unarmed.”

“Let her through.” He motioned her to a chair. “Tell me who you are and what you want.”

The nineteen-year-old made it a point to move slowly. “My name is Sarika, Mr. Bal. My father has fallen on hard times, and the parents of the man I am to marry demand more jahez than we can pay. I am tired of being a burden and have heard a well-connected.” She made it a point to whisper. “Courtesan can earn a great deal of money. I do not want to work the streets or in a brothel, but perhaps if you introduced me to the right people?”

He laughed. “Why would I do that? Women are cheap.”

Her eyes looked down. “I would pay you with my virginity.” 

“There are no virgins on Garstin Bastion Road,” he scoffed. “I do not believe you.” 

She started to get up. “If you do not want it, I will find someone who does.”

Bal motioned her to stop.

“How do I know you are a virgin?”

“The only way I can prove I have not been with a man is if you accept my proposition. I have no other way.”

Bal put his hand on his lips. “I will take you up on your offer. If you prove you are a virgin, I will introduce you to some men who might appreciate you. I may even keep you for myself.” He turned to the man in blue. “Get her a plate and something to drink. She is my guest.”

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The mob boss gulped his food and several drinks while Sarika picked at her plate. He pushed away from the table.

“It is time.” He led her to a private room with French doors that opened onto a courtyard lit with strings of sparkling-colored lights. Wind chimes tinkled and tonkled in the night breeze, and the floor-length jute curtains rustled. The quivering flames of more than a dozen candles pushed the shadows away from a large bed with a red cover and bolstered pillows. 

She noticed Bal’s bodyguards stationing themselves in front of the door. 

“Uh. Mr. Bal, would you mind sending your men away? They make me nervous.”

Bal looked at her. “Vimal, take the men and go wait in the lounge. Come back in an hour.”

The man who had patted her down asked. “Are you sure?” 

“You said she was unarmed. What harm can she do to me?” He pointed. “Now go.”

Bal closed the door, removed his jacket, and loosened his tie.

Sarika draped her dupatta over a chair and pulled her long gloves off one at a time. “This is a beautiful room. Do you use it often?”

“I keep it for occasions like this. The big man grabbed her. 

She spun away. “Not so fast, Mr. Bal. You’ll have me. But you won’t rape me. You need to be patient. I’m going to freshen up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Her façade of confidence fell away when the washroom door closed, and a scared girl stood reflected in the mirror. This was more than an experiment. It would change her life.

Sarika removed her clothes and rubbed her pendant. “Be the cobra. You are a Visha Kanya.”

The tile floor felt cool on her bare feet as she padded from the shadows to the light. 

Bal smiled when he saw her. “Turn around.” 

She did a slow pirouette. 

“You are quite lovely.” He cupped her breasts and squeezed her bottom. “I will ensure you remember this night for the rest of your life.”

His hands felt warm against her skin. “I do not doubt that I will. Let me help you undress.” She reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“You are sure you are a virgin?”

She kissed him with closed lips. “You will know in a few minutes.” 

Her soft touches aroused him. His eyes burned, and she could feel his heat. He tried to grab her and throw her on the bed, but she stepped out of reach. It was like a dance. A dance of lust—a tango of I want you now and be patient. The mobster’s intentions were unmistakable. Sarika continued her soft caresses and watched for any sign he might lunge. 

Remember the cobra. You are in charge. 

The look in the mobster’s eyes changed from yearning to hunger to need. Sarika knew he would wait no longer and rolled onto the bed.

Bal took her acquiescence as surrender and straddled her so her legs were open. “Now I will see if you are a virgin.”

Sarika tensed.

He shifted his pelvis and forced himself inside her. Blood dripped onto the sheet. “You were not lying.” He began to move.

It feels like I am being rubbed raw. Her teeth clenched, and she tried to ignore the pain. Bal’s eyes leered at her, and he moved faster. She grunted. Concentrate on how long he lasts. Her mind struggled to stay focused on the pain. Bal’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Warmth spread inside her, and he collapsed on top of her. He pushed himself up and pulled out. Blood and sperm covered his shrunken member.

“At least you did not lie.” He laughed. “Now, get your clothes and get out. I have no job for you. You were a fool to trust me. Consider this a good lesson.”

The evil man got a funny look on his face and adjusted himself. “It burns.” His legs twitched. He wiped himself on the bed sheets and splashed water from the sink. 

Sarika got up from the bed. “Do you know what a Visha Kanya is, Mr. Bal? A poison maiden?”

He staggered back into a chair. “What is happening?” He tried to stand. His body spasmed.

She looked into his eyes and stroked his cheek. “That’s what I am, Mr. Bal. It appears both of us weren’t being entirely truthful.”

He groaned, his eyes went blank, and urine puddled on the floor as his bladder muscles relaxed for the last time.

Sarika checked for a pulse. “Goodbye, Mr. Bal.” She dressed and made her escape.

Donnell opened the door when she came running from the club. “Are you alright?”

She gave a quick nod and climbed in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Go. I don’t know when Bal’s men will find him.”

“He’s dead?”

Sarika didn’t reply.

Donnell spent half the drive glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She knew he wanted her to tell him what had happened, but it was too soon. 

When the car stopped in front of Aravind Chabra’s large home, Sarika thought about saying something but ran inside instead.

When the door to her room closed, she shook and cried, but she didn’t know why. Or did she? She turned on a bath and undressed. Blood stained her panties, and she smelled the warm scent of Bal’s musk and her juices when she took them off. It was over; she felt emotionally and physically raw but had no remorse for taking Bal’s life or losing her virginity. Perhaps the girls and women who worked on Garstin Bastion Road would have an easier time now? A woman desperate enough to sell herself for money shouldn’t have to pay a percentage so that a man won’t hurt her. A woman should own her body. 

Sarika looked at herself. “And this is my body. I will use it as I see fit.” The gold pendant glinted between her breasts. “I am the cobra. I am Visha Kanya.”

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Mark is a self-taught writer who works in the kitchens at Washington State University in Pullman, WA. He has a brilliant, beautiful wife named René and an attractive, intelligent daughter named Alexandra. He also has four dachshunds and loves to write.