Legendary Head Shave Tales
One afternoon, while Kajal was wandering near the dense forest beside the girls’ hostel, she stumbled upon an old, worn-out book hidden beneath a pile of dry leaves. The cover was embossed with strange symbols, and the pages whispered secrets of tantric mantras and ancient dark rituals. Her heart pounded as she carefully opened it, drawn by an irresistible force. Night after night, she read the book under the flickering light of her lantern, learning incantations and chants written in a language both familiar and foreign. The promise of power called to her, a fire growing inside that no one could quench. The book spoke of summoning energies from the unseen world, of bending nature itself to one’s will.
When the full moon rose high, Kajal prepared herself for the ritual described in the final chapter. Clad in a simple blouseless pattu saree, she walked barefoot into the clearing deep within the forest. Shadows danced around her as she waited, heart racing. From the darkness emerged the tantric babas — ancient men with faces veiled in ash, eyes burning with otherworldly light. Kajal bowed her head and spoke pleading for the ritual that would grant her the power to rule over the hostel, to control and command. The babas exchanged knowing glances and nodded, their voices rising in a haunting chant that echoed beneath the silver moonlight. The night was thick with magic, and Kajal felt the first stirrings of a power unlike any she had ever known.
The ancient babas led Kajal to a sacred clearing deep within the forest.One of the elder tantric priests opened the ancient book, its pages fluttering as if alive, and began reciting mantras in a voice that felt like it came from another world. “Kajal, if you wish to control the will of others, to make their lives bend to yours, you must prove your hunger for it.” They handed her a small scroll listing the tasks. Kajal’s pulse quickened as she read it under the dim moonlight. The first task required her to gather a strip of dried snake skin, and seven strands of hair from seven unsuspecting hostel girls. That very night, Kajal sneaked back into the hostel and, like a shadow, crept into the sleeping girls’ rooms, snipping a single strand from each head. By dawn, she had everything the babas asked for.
The second task demanded her to chant powerful mantras within a circle of fire till the break of dawn. The flames crackled around her, the heat scorching, but Kajal’s voice never faltered. The words rolled off her tongue with unnatural ease, her eyes wild and unblinking as power seeped into her being. Next came the blood oath. One of the babas produced a ceremonial dagger and motioned for her hand. Without hesitation, Kajal sliced a thin line across her palm, watching her blood drip into a clay vessel mixed with the hair strands and sacred herbs. And then came the final, most sacred act. At the heart of the clearing, a stone pedestal waited. A female tantric stylist approached, her own hair shaved clean, face expressionless.
Kajal sat cross-legged upon the stone, her long hair falling neatly around her arms. The stylist parted her hair down the middle with a comb, and the babas began their chants, their voices echoing through the forest. the razor was scrapping away her pride from her scalp , the left half of Kajal’s hair fell away, exposing smooth scalp beneath. The sound of hair hitting stone mixed with the rhythmic mantras. Then, the right side followed, leaving smooth shiny skin. Water was sprayed across her head again , the droplets glinting like crystals in the moonlight. Kajal’s eyes closed, her lips moving silently as she felt the energies building around her. Kajal felt every pass of the blade, a strange pleasure mingling with power as the stubble disappeared, leaving nothing but a flawless, glistening scalp.
Once the final swipe was made, sacred ash was smeared over her head, followed by a blood-red tilak at the center of her scalp. The babas circled her, chanting louder, their voices merging with the howling wind as natural forces seemed to answer their call. Kajal’s body trembled as unseen powers surged into her. She felt her scalp tingling, alive, charged with energy. A soft hum filled her ears as the final mantra was spoken. From that moment, she was no longer an ordinary woman. The ritual was complete. The hostel, the girls, their hair — everything would now bow to her will. The cold wind howled as Kajal stepped into the silent hostel premises, her bare scalp still glistening under the faint moonlight. The atmosphere felt charged.
Clutching the ancient, rusted straight razor gifted by the tantric babas — its handle inscribed with cryptic mantras — Kajal made her way to the private bathroom attached to her quarters. Inside, she placed the razor gently on the sink, undid the knots of her blouse, letting her ritual-stained saree fall in a heap to the floor. Naked, she examined herself in the mirror. The smooth bald scalp, the crimson tilak smeared across it, the faded ritual marks along her throat — she looked like a goddess of the night, dark and untouchable. She ran her hands over her bald head, a slow, cruel smile on her lips. “Idi na samayam…” she whispered. Filling the bathtub, she poured in the vial of ritual blood mixture the babas had given her — animal blood, herbs, and dark elixirs.
Without hesitation, Kajal stepped into the tub, the warm liquid lapping at her skin. She lowered herself completely, the blood covering her from scalp to toe. Closing her eyes, she began chanting the mantras she had memorized. The clock struck 12:00 midnight. Suddenly, the air shifted. A gust of freezing wind rattled the windowpanes. Kajal rose from the tub slowly, blood cascading down her body in thick rivulets. She stepped out, her reflection in the mirror now carrying an otherworldly glow. She dried herself carefully, smearing remnants of the blood over her scalp. Pulling out a brilliant, blood-red silk saree and draped it around her sinuous frame. The blood stains on her skin peeked through the semi-translucent fabric, giving her an eerie, arresting allure.
Kajal opened her room’s door and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. The hostel was silent as death. Her anklets chimed softly with each step as she made her way towards the announcement hall. Tonight, this place would witness its first taste of her new dominion. The very moment her feet touched the platform, an invisible force swept through the entire hostel. Doors to the girls’ rooms banged open violently on their own, making the walls tremble. A chilling wind howled through the corridors, and sudden streaks of lightning illuminated the night sky outside. The power across the hostel flickered, and then — all the lights snapped on at once, flooding the building in a harsh, eerie glow. From their rooms, the terrified hostel girls felt a powerful pull, an unseen force dragging them out.
One by one, helplessly, they were pulled by that invisible energy toward the announcement hall. Some tried to hold onto bedposts, door frames, or each other, but it was useless. The energy was unstoppable. The frightened girls entered the hall like ragdolls carried by a storm, their hair whipping around them, faces etched with horror. There, on the elevated platform, stood Kajal — a vision of power and menace. The razor in her hand caught the light, flashing like a fang. Her gaze was unblinking, her voice steady as she addressed them. “Idi naa aagnya, From this moment… not a single girl with hair shall remain in my hostel.” The girls shivered, their eyes darting to one another, desperate but powerless. “This is my hostel. My rule. My hair… your scalps shall remain bare forever,” Kajal whispered,
a deafening clap of thunder split the sky outside. The power flickered — then total darkness. The girls shrieked, their terror swallowed by the eerie silence that followed. Heartbeats raced, the thick, suffocating air hung heavy, when suddenly — a single light bulb above Kajal’s head flickered back on. She stood motionless, her face twisted in an unnatural grin, eyes still glowing blood-red. Then it happened. A shadow — pitch black, shapeless yet towering — began to seep from Kajal’s body. Her frame trembled and with a bone-chilling crack, the dark entity ripped its way out of her. Kajal’s lifeless body slumped to the floor, her blood smashed body turning to ash. The entity hovered above, formless but with burning red eyes. And in a voice deep, guttural, and ancient, it whispered.
“Nenu malli vachesa… bommali.” The girls huddled together, trembling. One girl, her voice barely audible over the storm outside, whispered,
“It’s… Pashupathi.” Another, her eyes wide in horror, asked, “But… didn’t Arundati kill him?” And a third, her face pale as death, murmured,
“Then… malli jejamma ne ravali… to save us again.” The flickering light went out. And darkness claimed the hostel.
