Black Magic

17001

“Burn the witch!” they cried. “Burn the witch!”2

They dragged her up to the wooden platform, ignoring her tears and cries for help. She was then tied to a stake using a complicated knot they knew she would not be able to loosen. The people were armed with sharp jagged pieces of rock, in case she did something to stop the fire. She struggled to get out of the rope’s hold, but in vain. They had tied her well. She looked into the eyes of the handsome man who would soon become her executioner. 3

“Help me,” she pleaded silently. He ignored her, and set fire to the ends of her flowing white gown. She screamed as the flames licked her, more out of the feeling of dying, than the searing touch of the fire. He winced, knowing he was burning his lover, but also took a sadistic pleasure in the jeers and catcalls of the villagers. She had been creating too much trouble for him; she was just too good to be his mistress. 4

Most women cried out an array of curses. “God will kill you!” they spat, but she remained silent. She knew she didn’t need to curse the villagers-they were already cursed. By killing her they had brought their own downfall. And for the first time, the strands of darkness enveloped her heart, and brought glee to her face.5

*6

She had been born as an orphan, unwanted by the mother who was supposed to care for her. She grew up on the goodwill of others, and thus learnt the pleasure of helping herself. She was determined not to let anyone grow up like her, a sad and lonely figure, a burden to all those who were supposed to love her. She would nurse orphans and feed the poor and the destitute. Tales of her goodness spread far and wide, and people would flock to her for help. She knew they were all taking her for granted, but she didn’t mind. She was kind and selfless, forgiving and humble. She did not revel in her fame.7

One day, a mysterious woman came to her doorstep, starving and without a roof over her head. She did what she always did-gave her some bread and cheese, and let her stay the night in her makeshift cottage. The woman had smiled the whole while, and chose not to respond to her questions. She simply remained silent, sipping the cup of hot tea she had made for her.8

In the morning, the old woman asked her whether, if given the power to do anything she liked, what she would do. She replied that she would help the people in her village to overcome their problems in life. The old woman had displayed a toothless grin, and knowingly placed a few pebbles on her hands. The pebbles were reddish-purple in color, and were soft to touch, like clay. The woman told her they were obtained from magical soil, and she could do whatever she liked using them, provided she performed certain rituals.9

She had been delighted. She immediately took the pebbles and set about, drawing a huge circle using soil, and placed the pebbles in the appropriate positions. She had then chanted the hymns and spells the old woman had taught her, her eyes closed, her hands folded, praying to the mysterious god whose magic was infused in the pebbles. She had wished that a handicapped boy who lived next to her would regain use of his legs. The boy, in a bizarre miracle, not only began to walk, but also ran, like the other children. In fact, he ran faster than them.10

Soon, she began performing the rituals daily, asking for the well-being of those she loved and cared about. Her wishes always came true, and the effects of the magic were always enhanced. The villagers started noting it, and instead of rejoicing, they grew suspicious. They started wondering who in their midst was performing magic. She was careful not to let them suspect her, for she knew the punishment for witches.11

He came to the village one stormy night with his sick wife. She healed her, and when he pressed as to how she did it, she let out the truth. He was amazingly handsome, with wavy black hair and moss green eyes, and she had found it impossible to resist the charm in his eyes. She had been instantly enamoured with him, especially when he told her he did not mind her ability. In her mind’s view, he was her prince, the one made for him, and the wife was just an obstacle in her way. She had been so infatuated with him, that she had gone to the extent of thinking his wife did not love him, and had to be got rid of. It was easy enough-she just had to reverse the spell, and the wife vanished, and was out of existence.12

The villagers immediately pointed the fingers of suspect at her. Everyone knew that she liked the handsome doctor, and that she had even healed his wife just when he had thought there was no cure in the world for her. It confused them-did she or did she not kill the wife? Why would she save a woman and then kill her?13

He promised to remain silent about them. He told her not to worry, and that in a few days, the villagers would find someone else to pick on. But as she grew more and more possessive about him, the more the effect of her beauty on him waned. Finally he decided it was time to get rid of her, without giving her time to incur her wrath and punish him for what she had done.14

They had all believed him, when he told them the truth. He also said that she had placed a charm upon him. They had caught her red-handed in her house, making one of the circles. She had been frightened, trapped like a wild animal by a hunter whose gun was pointing straight at it. Wherever she went the gun would follow her. She tried to escape, but the entire town was against her, and she was sentenced to be burnt at the stake.15

*16

As she was burnt alive, her screams turned into cackles of laughter. She looked at them with eyes that had turned from a soft chocolate brown to an evil black. She knew that by the time they realized their mistake, it would be too late for them to do anything. They had willingly destroyed the light for the darkness. As she died, she realized how her heart had been blackened from the start, merely hiding behind a façade of white.17

After her death, the villagers started experiencing a strange sickness. Sores erupted all over their body, either blackish purple or an angry, throbbing red and they turned yellow. They started experiencing weakness. The spells were now reversing-drastically. The handicapped boy not only lost use of his legs, but also the use of his arms. Her magic was going haywire. The doctor himself was helpless as slowly, the disease spread. 18

They called it the plague. She called it revenge.19