Tantrics Of Old Read Free Page A

time in New Kolkata—they got hurt, they fell sick, they met with accidents, and old age caught up with them. Death itself, however, did not come for them. Never. It was unheard of. Ridiculous even, that a being of such rumoured power would run around collecting people whose time was up. The universe did not work that way. No, there had to be something else, something more. He tried to break through the rising panic in his mind and look at things logically. Adri’s time wasn’t up. He decided to ask.
    ‘Your time is up,’ Death replied.
    ‘What? What do you mean?’ Panic engulfed him in entirety.
    Death took its own sweet time to reply, observing Adri closely. Adri felt it pulling at his existence, pulling him and everything he was towards itself with its very gaze. ‘You must die, Adri Sen. I have come for you. I will personally take you across the River.’
    For the first time now, Adri noticed ash flying all over the room, covering it like a blanket. This death of his to be, was it because of his smoking?
    ‘Why?’ he asked Death. ‘Why must I die?’
    ‘Because it is your time.’
    Adri blinked hard. Had he imagined the mask grinning?
    ‘I have been searching for you all this while . . . and now, I have finally found you.’
    Searching for him? Was Death warming up to him in a dark way? ‘Horseman,’ he spoke, ‘to be honest, I haven’t dealt with your kind before. Hell, I haven’t even
seen
a Horseman before. The salt keeps the Demons out, and the Coven, thankfully the Coven doesn’t have access to these areas.’ Reaching into a bedside drawer, Adri withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag. Death watched. ‘So what I want to ask,’ he continued, ‘is how does one keep a Horseman out of one’s house?’
    ‘You cannot keep Death out of your house,’ Death replied.
    Adri was thinking fast. He wasn’t ready to die. No, not yet. A plan began to formulate in his mind; not brilliant in particular, but it would have to do. It was decent, given the circumstances and the kind of pressure he was under. It would involve pain, something he did not like. But anything was preferable to death. Literally or otherwise.
    Adri reached beneath his pillow, as slowly and stealthily as possible, and withdrew his shooter—someone had taken a revolver and modified it to hold a gemstone inside, one with a powerful magical essence, turning it into a magical projectile firearm. Adri’s shooter was silver with a brown handle, a light blue glow seeping out from its insides—in the next instant, quick as lightning, he pointed the shooter at Death’s face, the barrel mere inches from its forehead, and without word or breath, pulled the trigger.
    CLICK.
    Nothing. No smoking barrel. No screams. No Death clutching a bleeding head. Nothing. An unforgivable mistake. Adri stared at the shooter in disgust, feeling incredibly foolish. He kept the shooter under his pillow for obvious reasons, but he hadn’t loaded the damn thing. Across the room, in a wooden box, lay the ammunition that the accursed weapon was missing. Before he could think any further, Death’s gauntleted hand reached over and snatched the weapon from his grasp.
    ‘Curious,’ Death spoke, turning the shooter around in his hands, examining it from all angles. ‘I have seen these before.’
    Adri stared incredulously at Death as it handed him the shooter back.
    ‘It is of no use, human. Weapons do not affect me.’
    ‘There’s been a mistake somewhere,’ Adri spoke.
    ‘Your words do not affect me either,’ Death replied. ‘Your soul is mine.’ It stood up then, nine feet tall, the chains across its body rattling and clanking as they were pulled up from their resting places. An extremely tall, terrifying creature, old, powerful, dominating, it loomed over him. The shawl fluttered in the afternoon breeze. The darkness beyond the mask pierced into him. Adri felt fear. Real, raw fear. This was it.
    ‘But not