the scent of the yakshi

Its November. The pala tree at the crossroads close to my home has bloomed. Bunches of little waxy yellow flowers crust the tree. Soon the ground below will be carpeted with fallen flowers. For now, the blooms perfume the whole village. Its that time of the year. The tula varsham has ended and the vrischika kaatu has not yet started to blow. The nights are cool and the air still. My house is more than 100 meters away from the crossroads, yet at nights the air around my house is heavy with the sickly sweet smell of the pala flower.

Its the smell you get when you awaken at 4 AM with a bad hangover after a night of debauchery. You see the crushed, browning, jasmine flowers on the pillow. By your side, the seductive young beauty of last night lies snoring through an open mouth, transmogrified into a terrible yakshi.