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Murli could not say what awakened him. It was perhaps an eerie feeling that he was no longer alone in the bedroom…as his friend, Vir Chander's guest, he was enjoying the Puja Holidays on this large ancestral estate in Kamalgunj.
He peered through the dark gloom when figures materialized: ten bare bodied men armed with spears and knives were stealthily proceeding towards the opposite side of the room to a door made of iron rods through which he could see a man, with a full beard, asleep on a brass bedstead. Murli froze, his heart sent blood rushing to his head, the hair on the nape of his neck stood up. His bed was flush with the back wall and he retreated to the farthest corner, pressing his back to the wall and staring out in horror. Though Murli could see the goings-on he knew it was completely dark in the room. The body of men ignored him, like as if he were not there; and perhaps he was not, for he was certain he was witnessing an event from the past. The room appeared like what it must have looked like years ago: old furniture and white washed walls, a threadbare carpet on the floor and a high domed ceiling; very different from the modern and luxurious bedroom that he now occupied.

Girdhary leaned his work hardened body over the crude wooden fence and surveyed his diminishing livestock. There weren't many left now: the horse had been killed by a tiger two nights ago - his Tonga would be useless without a horse. He never liked bicycles and had never learnt to ride one - learning at his age would be ridiculous. He would just have to walk, which he was doing a lot of lately. But how would he take his wife along, she was too frail to walk any distance; perhaps he would sell the buffalo to buy a horse. There would be no milk to sell, but he had no choice. If he didn't take his wife out of the hut every once in a while, she would just sit in a corner and let her sorrow overwhelm her, she could again fall into a comatose state, to rouse her from which would be difficult. A tiger had killed their only son, seven year old Raghu, three months ago…

Wild elephants were a plenty in the hilly Nilgri region of South India and so driving at night could be hazardous. One was advised to be alert on sharp bends for on the other side one could encounter a herd of elephants - not a pleasant experience when riding a two-wheeler as provided to young assistant managers of tea plantations. Gopinath heard tales of encounters with elephants; one involved two local villagers on a stormy night. The wind was so strong that the rain was slashing horizontally at the two. They made progress by holding their umbrellas directly in front of their faces, bending low, and proceeding like two old men. Suddenly their progress was halted - their umbrellas had encountered an obstruction; they pushed, but the resistance was strong. On lifting their umbrellas they realised the points of their umbrellas were poking the side of a large elephant that was gazing at their antics. The pair was lucky to flee unhurt.

"Oh my God!" she groaned. "It's happening again!" She felt a tingling and stiffening down her spine and her toes started to bend downwards. She was grateful it was night time and that she was in the privacy of her cubicle…
… He was roused and hard already. He fondled Lakhi's breasts ripping off her bra. With shaking hands he undressed her while he too shed his clothes. He touched her between her thighs and nearly climaxed; he'd better hurry, he thought, lest he have his orgasm before he enteres her.

The setting of this story is loosely placed around the early 1950s in an area of eastern India - the Tea Plantations. The executive staff consisted mainly of English and Scottish planters, many of whose family lived at 'Home' in the UK. The expatriate staff, however, was, at that period, being replaced with Indians. 'Perks' to the executive staff included a large retinue of servants who looked after their needs and maintained the company bungalows.

Toast, bacon, fried eggs, blackberry jam and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice were laid on the damask covered breakfast table on the spacious veranda that opened to a view of the massive Himalayan range comprising the Darjeeling, Kalimpong and Bhutan ranges. Nitin loved this time of the year: the wet period was over and the 'cold weather' was just beginning to make itself felt. The morning air was crisp and clear and carried the soft aromas of the flowering shrubs lovingly planted around the veranda. A sparrow hawk rode the thermals high above the valley, its plaintive calls carried in the cloudless crystalline air: "Karee! Karee!"

Baldev saw Seema sashay through the front door with her husband and quickly stepped forward to meet her. 'This is my husband, doctor Arun,' she said smiling attractively. 'And I am Seema.'
Baldev caught the whiff of a cheap though pleasant perfume. What his senses also recorded was the exudation on her breath of a powerful female pheromone: an indescribable primordial sexual aroma some women exude; coupled with her easy assured manner and smart get-up it was heady and irresistible … was Cupid stringing her bow?

Two friends who work on neighbouring plantations connive to unearth a secret toper and how their plans back-fire on themselves

Sandeep loved visiting his uncle's farmhouse on school breaks. He got very close to a girl there from the local village and experienced his first kiss. On one of his later leaves he asked her to marry him, but circumstances change dramatically.

A private forest reserve in Bihar. Recounting a tale that, but for psychic warning, could have been fatal. A true story.

Young Panak took himself to be a thinker and writer; his collogues considered him opinionated and mad; his thinking was at variance to theirs, he was stubborn and bull headed to boot. He hatches a demonic plan to launch an experiment in occult - his wife, too, has a spine chilling plan. A compelling story with an unusual ending.

Madan was in love! This had to be love: he satisfied all the requirements of someone in love; let's see: he thought constantly about her (Bina, I mean), he rang her umpteen times a day; their conversations were long and, to an outsider, nonsensical (an important requirement), he liked the way she looked and loved her little ways; he loved all her facial expressions: her eyes, yes, her eyes he simply adored; her body was great and he just couldn't stop kissing her (Bina, who else?). What more was required? "Sure," he assured himself, he was in love.

Rashid felt Palpable fear around him. A tall man wearing a large turban has just threatened to cut his throat. Would the other occupants of the train compartment help him? He would have to escape from the compartment somehow. A strange tale with a twist in the end.

When the boss does a good deed for one of his workers and it rebounds. "She had enjoyed the night: Larry had danced with her through the night; they had tangoed, waltzed, cha chaed and…held each other tight during a fox-trot, and kissed lip-to-lip in a darkened area of the dance floor. She was tired now and would love to fold her legs under her on the front seat and nod off. But Bobby was lurching all over the road and she would have to keep him awake…"

Sanjli stood on her toes excitedly pointing to her house on the far mountainside, "There it is! The one on the left." she exclaimed breathlessly. "It's not far, though it looks far, really, it is not far at all; we'll be there in no time."
The "Hiker" looked at the distant white house with a slate roof, swirling in the mist; it was far, he thought to himself, it's a fair hike by any reckoning. It will probably take us more than an hour to get there. But he said nothing; he smiled at her and nodded his head, "Okay, let's go!" The girl had invited him to meet her father, "He will know where the rest-house is".
Satish had been separated from the group of hikers he was with. He had struck out on his own whilst the others were still finishing breakfast at the rest house. He must have taken a wrong fork in the mist obscured mountain path and now he couldn't find his team. Okay, so what? This appeared to be a more exciting venture compared to a straight hike to the next camp. He would get first-hand experience of how the local folks lived around here.

Kali was a hard working lad when the mood took him. He just couldn't go along with the ways of the village folk - he liked doing things his way often with disastrous results, but at times his ideas did work; like when he devised a siphon to draw water from the new elevated all concrete aqueduct that took water, bye passing their village, to far away places. The villagers of this small hamlet had grudgingly accepted and adopted his idea. They had a right to the water too, they argued, and Kali had shown them the way."

"Oh, yeah, thought Sam, and which dumb buffoon said that? All the guys I know seem to have that singular 'no money ailment' in bloody capital letters; heck, come to figuring, most of the world's problems would be 'codswallop' if there was no poverty and no bums about. I know I'd be in high bloody feather." Sam's past returns to haunt him and pushes him into a life of drunken squalor.

He sat so he could watch those who came in through the hotel's front door; he knew only a handful of people in Delhi all of whom he had asked to try and contact her.
Will she come he wondered.
He waited all day in the lobby watching the front door; sipping gin and rising occasionally to stretch his cramped legs. He had sacrificed lunch so he would not miss her coming in.
Will she come? He was told she visited this hotel quite often. He wished he had taken her address.
On an earlier visit, a year ago, he had had to leave this hotel hurriedly to catch an early morning flight because of a family crisis in Karachi. Once there, his ageing parents had insisted he get married right away.
A disaster: the marriage had not lasted six months ending in divorce. He was back now hoping to meet the girl of his dreams.

The old man looked at the pile of sticks he had collected for the family hearth. It should be enough, he thought to himself, as he straightened his aching back and carefully scanned the horizon. The winter sun had dissipated the ground mist and had warmed the cockles of his inner being. He sat on a small rock and lit his half smoked bidi. He scanned the area again. There were wolves around they said and a child had been taken from the neighbouring village. Who knows…it may attack a wizened old man. They had laughed at this, but he wasn't going to expose himself unduly to prove them wrong.
He shaded his eyes and squinted up at the sky. Eleven o'clock he judged, time to get going…

Harish had done only enough weight training to give his body a well-proportioned look. Tall, handsome, and gifted with an easy charm, women found irresistible. Add to this his folk's comfortable wealth, and he became a very desirable catch by families that had marriageable daughters. An only child and the 'apple of his parent's eye' rendered him slightly selfish and self-centered. Nevertheless, he was well liked and popular with both sexes. Though sporty, he was not a very good looser and tended to blame others or unfavourable circumstances for his loss. It wasn't uncommon to hear him say, "Come on! You know I could have won if I really tried. It's just my off day, yar!"
Jyoti was his latest flame and ran about him like a puppy would its master…

She reminisced with bitterness of that fate-less day when she had driven to the edge of the forest to collect plants. Whilst digging out a sapling with a stout stick she realized she had been cornered by two men who were now closing in. She had been trained in self-defense and could take care of herself. She faced the men defiantly and a scuffle ensued. She wielded the stick well and inflicted telling injuries to both men who fled into the forest.
She should have fled home herself then, but the plant was nearly dug up and a few more strokes would release it from the soil.
The men returned, armed with stout staves from the forest. She put up a great fight; but two armed men were too many. She was brought down, beaten repeatedly, and kicked - their pride had been hurt and they were teaching her a lesson.

During the days of the "Raj" when hunting was considered a noble sport, a call was given out to indicate to the beaters that a tiger had been wounded and had retreated. The warning was delivered by whistles and shouts to warn the beaters, who were then required to scale up the nearest tree and wait. The hunters - who were ensconced on machans - were now honour bound to descend to the forest floor and follow the blood spoor of the wounded beast and finish it off. Ladies and children were spared this dreadful ordeal and were expected to remain in the treetop platform with their biscuits and coffee until the hunt was properly concluded. My father being the host took it upon himself to lead the search party.
In those days, the hills and forests of Hazaribagh and adjoining Gaya district were reputed to contain a number of tigers. Their deep bellowing roars could often be heard echoing in the wooded hills. Later, at night the penetrating, ponk, ponk of alert deer combined with the piaw, piaw of alarmed jackals would warn the denizens of the forest that a tiger was on the prowl. Villagers would huddle closer in their mud huts to hear the often-repeated stories of "man-eaters"…

Mrs. Thomas sat down heavily on the roadside bench; she pulled out her packet of cigarettes and lit up. This was her third cigarette this morning. She looked at the pack, there were four left and it was only nine o'clock in the morning. She would have to make the four cigarettes last the rest of the day. She was cutting down her smoking gradually and had now come down to seven a day from the fifty she was smoking two months ago. The bus would be arriving any moment now and she would have to finish her cigarette before boarding…
...She reminisced fondly of the smart young sales officer who had come a courting her lovely daughter, so polite and courteous he was, she and Mr. Thomas were bowled right over. And his salary: my sweet Jesus! It was almost a thousand smackers. And, to top it all, who could hope for a church going boy these days...

The place is evil! Talsar Singh maintained belligerently.
A young Forest Ranger, he was allotted official accommodation in the department's 'quarters' built on a prominence overlooking a large scenic lake situated some 300 feet below him. A village of some thirty odd indiscriminate houses straddled the other end of the lake.
The conversation in the village square, where he spent a few hours every day after work, upset him. The men spoke of ghosts and churails (forest spirits) that lived in the lake and assumed varied forms - especially of young beautiful women - that could, and often would, lure unmarried men and overcome them: the men in a state of ecstasy would be led to the lake and would willingly walk into the water and be sucked under. It was believed that if a person spoke (even once) to these churails or acknowledged their greetings; they would be hypnotically attracted to them and would have no power against their bewitchment.
The story had an electric affect on Talsar: a man with a vivid imagination - he was thoroughly
rattled, and showed it, much to the amusement of the village folk.
"Look at their feet", Talsar was told. "If they are Churails their feet will point backwards, that's how you can tell."

Life of a Planter involves mainly outdoor work: looking after and supervising the tending of acres and acres of tea and coffee fields. The tea picking labour in Papua New Guinea comprises mostly local casual labour: short stocky men, physically muscular; the women: stogy and strong, very simple people, but an inherent violence run's through their buildup and apparently imbues in them a senseless destructive trait. Tribal warfare has colored their basic attitudes in life. Amongst their arsenal of weapons, fire plays a major role of incineration and destruction.

The Human body was, apparently, undergoing a quantum evolutionary adaptation: a change that had chanced only on this sparse population of a very remote island. The Human metabolism was slowly transmuting into a sun-energy-absorbing photosynthetic body. A body that progressively became efficient in transforming the sun's rays and heat to life sustaining energy-fuel - very like cold-blooded reptiles that have the ability to use the sun's energy to help supplement their food derived energy. That is one reason that reptiles can survive for long periods without material nourishment. The Island populace had rapidly achieved this benchmark and had progressed further to becoming beings that could subsist entirely on solar energy. Night time activities required small amounts of food to produce the required energy…

She was a divorcee: thirty-four, good figure, good education, one miscarriage. She wasn't looking for men, but she got invited to parties twice or thrice a week and men seemed to attach themselves to her; mostly married men who would flirt with her whilst keeping an 'eye out' for their wives. Her divorcee status, obviously, was an attraction.

A story purloined from the future - from a time when human conflict had become a thing of the past: a time when the thinking race had superseded the legacies and superstitions (karma?) inherited from an earlier time when human life on Earth was undergoing primal evolution.
'New Worlds' had been discovered: some with life that possessed superior knowledge and intelligence, others where intelligence was not clothed in a restricting bodily form (an aura that hovered over the planet); and some where life was encapasuled in an emerging from, where internal conflict indicated evolutionary throes that would progress eventually to understanding and peace - like it had happened on earth..
Disease and pollution had been overcome; vegetative growths: trees and shrubs had gradually spread to all areas, as had bird and wild animal life. Need for material things were declining rapidly. Robots at automated production outlets were manufacturing articles that were still in demand.

If this state of affairs were allowed to continue, he would give in and surrender to his aching heart. He was perforce, being inexorably sucked into a vortex, a spellbinding delicious and fragrant whirlpool of enchantment and desire… and heedless passion