Diary Confession: The Thulasi Mirror

You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?

I once made three magic wishes beneath the moonlight.

The first was for all dark energy hovering over me to disappear. I knew their names — Rathe, the witch of camouflage; Xandra, the shadow who follows her; and Warlord Raul, the man whose drunken whispers tried to reach me through the veil of telepathy. Raul was not evil by birth; he was merely used. Rathe controlled him through his weakness for alcohol, bending his mind to serve her desires.

Whenever she failed to get what she wanted, she vanished like a black shadow, sliding past my car’s side mirror. I saw her once — a flicker of darkness escaping into the broad daylight. She tried countless times to enter my mind, to sow confusion and silence my voice. Rathe was the witch who brought madness to her bloodline, hiding her cruelty behind a mask of normalcy.

Inside her, chaos burned. She preyed on people’s weaknesses, twisting their minds until they turned against themselves. Though she lived a life of wealth and comfort, her heart was trapped in her own hell — restless, envious, and lonely.

I remember how it began. When her mother was alive, they spread lies among relatives, turning husbands against wives, families against one another, just to maintain control. After her mother’s death, Rathe continued her work through darker means — witchcraft. The gatherings of grief became her playground, as she drew energy from the dying and the mourners alike.

My family was always the target of her hatred. She turned relatives against us with false stories. But I found my refuge in chants, sadhanas, and kriyas — spiritual shields that uncovered the web she had woven. When my father’s dementia worsened, I knew it wasn’t natural. Through silent telepathy, I felt his message — Rathe was behind it.

I wished again: that no black magic or spell would ever touch my body, nor the bodies of others she used as pawns. Many of them, blind to the truth, became her tools, believing lies she whispered into their hearts.

When Xandra and her mother failed her, Rathe sought new allies — other dark forces to continue her play. I felt her energy move during the night, especially around 2 a.m., when she slept but her mind still roamed. I would rise then, crying and laughing at once, aware that the battle was still on. Yet I continued — meditating, chanting, and performing my kriyas — determined to finish what I had begun.

Even when I sensed Warlord Raul’s drunken telepathy or heard whispers trying to distract me, I held my mudras firm and finished each practice. The more I resisted, the more they tried — but I stayed centered, letting light replace their noise.

Then came my final act — my third wish. I planted a Thulasi. I called it myself. I watered it, fed it, and buried the names of all who had cursed me within its soil. I watched the leaves closely. When the Thulasi began to wilt, I knew — part of me was dying with it.

If the plant dies, so do I, I thought. If it lives, then I am reborn.

And when it finally withered, I understood: the story must end. Rathe, Xandra, and Raul could no longer touch me, for my spirit had transcended their reach.

Even in death — of the plant, or of me — there was freedom. The evil might have seemed to win, but its victory only revealed its emptiness.

So, I ask you — if you had three wishes with the Thulasi plant, what would you ask for?