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Journey Of Hell | CH:35 (Puyoda, The Ocean of Filth)

I woke up tasting bile and filth. The phantom sensation of drowning in the Vaitarna, tormented by the ghosts of those I had wronged, clung to me like a wet shroud. Every muscle in my body ached with a deep, weary sorrow. The weight of my actions as a manager, a position of power I had so carelessly abused, felt like a physical stone in my stomach.

There was no respite. When night fell, Katha appeared, her presence now a grim, expected punctuation mark in my cycle of torment. The plunge was immediate. I was Maya again.

The Yamduts dragged my soul away from the foul banks of the Vaitarna. The landscape changed. The stench of rot and decay was replaced by something even worse. It was the smell of a backed-up sewer, of sickness, of a body left to decompose in a hot, humid room.

We stood on the shore of a vast, motionless ocean. But it was not water. It was a thick, lumpy, grotesque sea of pus, urine, and excrement, marbled with thick strands of mucus and saliva. It was a stagnant ocean of bodily waste, stretching to the horizon under the same dead, twilight sky.

This was Puyoda. The Hell of Pus.

“This Naraka is for those who live like beasts,” a Yamdut’s voice ground in my mind. “For those who abandon all sense of purity, discipline, and shame. For the man who lays with a woman he should not, breaking the rules of his station. For any soul that lives without restraint, following every base impulse of the mind and body.”

The words echoed with the memory of Katha’s revelations about my affair, about Rohan’s. Our shameless acts.

Without ceremony, they shoved me forward. I fell, not into liquid, but into a thick, warm, lumpy sludge. It closed over my head. The horror was absolute. It was not just the feeling of drowning, but of drowning in the most disgusting, defiling substance imaginable. It filled my mouth, my nose, my eyes. I came up sputtering, my soul-body coated in a thick layer of warm filth.

“You lived a life of impurity,” the Yamdut rasped. “Now you shall drink it.”

They held my head and forced the vile liquid down my throat. they held me fast.

I was forced to drink the pus of a million diseases, the urine of a million bodies, the phlegm of a million sicknesses. I gagged, my soul heaving, but they held me fast.

Memory. I am Dimple, in that hotel room with Sameer. The memory of our physical intimacy, which on Earth had felt illicit and exciting, was now revealed for what it was: an act of impurity, a defilement of my marriage vows, a shameless pursuit of a fleeting physical sensation. I had acted like a beast, driven by impulse, and here I was, bathing in the consequence.

Memory. I am Maya, in the depths of my depression. I haven’t showered in days. My room is a mess of dirty clothes and old food wrappers. I have given up on myself, abandoned all sense of cleanliness and self-respect. I have chosen to live in my own filth, both inside and out.

Memory. I see Rohan, not just with Priya, but in the memory of his language. The crude jokes he told with his friends, the way he would talk about other women, the casual, thoughtless vulgarity he engaged in when he thought I wasn’t listening.

He had filled his mind with impurity, and now he was here, somewhere in this same ocean, forced to swallow it.

In Puyoda, there was no sharp pain, no tearing of flesh. The torment was one of pure, soul-deep defilement. It was the horror of being forced to consume the very impurity you cultivated in your life. It was a lesson in shame. And as I was forced to drink again and again from that disgusting ocean, I knew that even if I ever escaped this place, a part of my soul would be stained with this filth forever.

Index of: Journey Of Hell: The Unforgotten Promise

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