Pre-Season: A Trilogy Of The Dark Arts

The Dark Paranormal

Kinar recounts a multi-year paranormal saga involving recurring dreams of a woman in a red sari and physical manifestations during trips to

Key takeaways

• Kinar experienced recurring dreams of a woman in a red sari starting at age 15.
• A ritual in Chanod led to terrifying hotel incidents, including mysterious red water and physical scratches.

Main topics

• Paranormal encounters
• Hindu funeral rites

Notable quotes

This is my story, my experience.

Conclusion

A profound exploration of how ancestral trauma and unresolved spiritua

Transcript preview

Speaker 1 (0:00) For many of us, going further isn't a choice. It's a feeling we can't ignore. Because ambition has a way of outgrowing where it began. Turning dreams into direction. Every journey brings us closer to the life we imagine. So, where will your journey take you? Etihad. Beyond Borders. Speaker 2 (0:55) Hello everyone and welcome to our final pre-show before the start of season 26. As you know from last week's episode, we're combining during this break some of our longest stories that have taken a few episodes to tell into one long episode. Last week we combined two episodes that constituted a finale of a season and it was one hell of an episode, literally. And this week... we give you the full extended solo episode of all three of Kinnar's trilogy, The Dark Arts. It feels like we lived through Kinnar's experiences in almost real time, as the three episodes were split across several seasons. However, today we're all going to have the chance to listen to Kinnar's narrative from the very start to the very end. So, without further ado... I give to you one of our most legendary tales, Kinnar's Submissions, a trilogy of the dark arts. Hi, Kevin. My name is Kinnar. For the past few decades, yes, it's been that long, I've been wanting to share my experience. But I felt I'd be ridiculed, laughed at, or dismissed. I now feel confident that, through this show, I can share with you and your listeners my experience. I suspect some will scoff at this and some may listen with intent. All I can say is that this is my story, my experience. And no matter how much I try to block it out, I just can't. Speaker 2 (2:46) I'm of Indian heritage and of Hindu faith. I grew up in a small town, and as a small boy, I sadly lost my father. Hindu faith dictates that the body of the deceased is cremated, and the ashes scattered in the holy river Ganges, in India. As we were not living in India, and didn't have the finances to travel there with the ashes, we sent them with someone who was traveling to India, and we asked him to perform the final rites. The scattering of the ashes in the Ganges. Being the eldest son, I perform the funeral rites. The cremation. It's not like it is today. A coffin, a curtain and a furnace. My dad's rites were performed in the old way. A body tied on the funeral pyre. Bodies are tied so they don't curl up. Otherwise, it gives the impression that the person being cremated has began to sit up. More wood is placed on the body, and after certain prayer rituals, the pyre is set alight. The next day, you go with the priest and male family members and gather the ashes. After the ashes were sent, we continued with our lives, albeit without my father. When I was 12, our family came over to the UK and we settled here. Everything was normal and peaceful, and we settled in and went about our daily lives. But around age 15, things started to happen. Things which scare me even today. Speaker 2 (4:38) I started having these recurrent dreams. A woman, dressed in a red sari, and her head and face completely covered. She would ask me to come with her, as my father was waiting to tell me something. In my dream, I would go with her, and she would take me to this large tree and say, Your father's waiting behind that tree. I would walk up to the tree and I'd look behind it, but there was never anyone there. The woman would then start laughing and screaming, and I would wake up with tears in my eyes. I would have a clock by my bedside, and the time would always be between 3.05 and 3.15am. These dreams continued, and each time I would be took to a different place. A house, a park, a seaside, a forest. Each time I would go searching for my father and each time he was not there. The woman would again laugh, scream and I would wake up crying. These dreams continued for a year or so until I found the courage to tell my mother. It wasn't a straightforward decision to tell her. I really had to think long and hard. You see, since my father's death, I've been very protective of my mother, and I didn't want to worry her. I definitely did not want my mum to think that I was having some sort of breakdown. My mother is superstitious, and her faith means a lot to her. Hinduism is steeped in stories of good and evil. It celebrates the triumph of good over evil, so there is an acceptance that evil exists in many forms. Therefore, there are many Hindu priests worldwide, like Catholic priests, I guess, who are knowledgeable in the paranormal and the occult, the performing of blessings, exorcisms and rituals. all to ward off evil. My sleepless nights became too much, and many people noticed that I'd started to become more withdrawn. I finally plucked up the courage to tell my mother, and when I did, her first response was for me to see a Hindu priest, and this was a great comfort. She didn't question me, or try to make me believe that I was imagining things. We went to the local temple, and from there, we were recommended to see a priest who specialised in things like this. Little did I know that this was the start of a journey that would take me across the globe, and give me experiences that, quite frankly, were beyond traumatic. I went to see the priest, accompanied by my mother, and I relayed the story to him. He probed and questioned me for well over an hour. Well, what does this woman look like? How tall is she? Is she carrying anything? Can you see her feet? Are her hands dark? It was like an interrogation you see on TV. He asked and I answered to the best of my knowledge. Finally, he turned to my mother and suggested something. He thought it was my father trying to connect with me, as his ashes were never scattered. Those final rites were never conducted. He said that dreams like this happen when the soul is restless. I was so confused, but relieved at the same time. Speaker 2 (8:45) Confused because I thought, well, why would my dad want to connect with me? Surely he'd connect with my mother. Why me? The priest suggested that as I was the eldest son, and I was the one having these dreams, I should go to India, to a particular place called Chanod, and perform a post-death religious ceremony that would help my father move on in the next part of his journey, to be reborn. We believe in reincarnation, and the funeral ceremonies, and there are many, need to be performed to ensure that the soul carries on its journey. There can't be any shortcuts or skipping of rituals. My mother agreed straight away. I did not. From the way the priest was explaining things, his language and his tone, it suggested that this was not going to be easy. I was only 15, and I was scared. To be fair, my mother did say that there was no expectation that I should go on my own, or that I should go as soon as possible. Speaker 2 (10:04) Even if the advice was that we had to go immediately, we simply couldn't. We weren't financially able to travel to India. So, four years on, at the age of 19, I travelled, alone, to Chanod, India. Speaker 2 (10:23) I opted to travel alone. The way I envisaged the trip, it would be one day of prayers and ceremonies, and then I could travel around, explore the country of my heritage. I was at university, so as soon as we broke up for summer, I jumped on a plane and went to India. I landed in Mumbai, and from there I took a train to the city of Varodhra. Here I was to meet a contact who would find the right priest for me, someone who specialises in post-death rituals. I contacted Suresh, not his real name, and he told me he'd found a priest, and that a car would come to my hotel the next day to pick me up and take me on to Chanod. The next day the car arrived with Suresh and we made our way. Chanod is an eerie place. It's situated on a river bank, but even in bright sunlight there is a darkness. And I was uneasy from the moment I set my eyes on the place. It is nevertheless a holy and sacred place. The rituals that are performed here, though, are all to do with death, or post-death, to be precise. We got out of the air-conditioned car and the humidity hit me. There was no breeze, just sweltering heat. We made our way down some steps and there was a priest waiting for me. He was, I would say, in his seventies. He spoke very softly and explained what the ritual would consist of and what I must and must not do. He studied his astrology chart to find an auspicious date and time. Today was not that day, so I had to return to the hotel. Two days later, at 10.17am, I sat down to perform the ritual. Hindu astrology charts are very particular about dates and times, so it was 10.17am exactly. Before sitting down, I was escorted into a tent, where I was asked to remove my clothing. I was then asked to go into the river, stark naked, and when the water reached chest height, I should immerse myself to cleanse my body. The priest told me that once I came from under the water, I must walk back to land without looking back. He was insistent that I should not look back. And I did what he said. I went in the river, submerged myself, came up and walked back, all without looking back. I was then given a cotton dhoti, which is a white sheet that you wrap from your waist down. And the ritual then started. The priest lit a fire, or haven, and started chanting. Every now and then he would ask me to repeat lines and words. After about 30 minutes, he asked me to go back into the river and repeat the steps. Submerge, emerge and walk back without looking back. This happened every 20 to 30 minutes. After about three hours of praying and chanting, I was asked to go back in the river one last time, which I did. Again, the priest told me to not look back when I emerged from the water, to come straight out and go into the tent and change my dhoti. And I did as I was told. I walked into the river, and when the water was chest high, I submerged myself for the final time. But as soon as I came up... There was a crescendo of voices, like people, hundreds of people, all talking over each other in languages that I could understand and some I could not. I was terrified and I could not move. I then thought, I thought I heard my grandfather's voice amongst this cacophony. I could always make out his voice. It was loud and booming. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. I was in a daze. I still remember the utter panic. The noise, the heat, my body frozen still. This noise, these voices, all asking me to do things, questioning me, asking why I'm here, why I'm not praying for them. My head was thumping with pain, like I was being battered by a hard object. It was a strain to even open my eyes. I must have stood there for a while, because the priest's assistant came into the river and escorted me out of the water. Once I was on dry land, there was total silence. No voices, nothing. The priest sat me down and I started crying uncontrollably. To this day, I don't know why I cried so much, but I just couldn't stop. The headache was gone. My eyes were fine. But I just could not stop crying. After a short while, I composed myself. I said my final prayers, and I made my way to the top of the road to wait for the taxi to come and pick me up. There was a peace. A peace all around me. And I had this feeling of being light, stress-free. Everything I was asked to do, I did. And now, with the prayers over, I could explore the area, go shopping. My siblings had given me a list of things they wanted. As I was waiting, an old woman came up to me and asked if I was okay. She had such a kind face and a very soft voice. Touched by her concern, I said yes and thanked her for caring. She kept staring at me, but it wasn't a menacing stare. It was welcoming, and you could feel her compassion, her care. I was getting overwhelmed. She then asked if I had any protection. Well, that sort of shook me back to my senses. I was quite confused. Protection from what? I asked. Them, she said, nodding her head towards the river. I didn't know how to react. But before I could say anything, she gave me a small pouch. It was a red cotton sheet with the ends bunched up together. Inside were some things, I had no idea what, but it felt like seeds and twigs. She took my hand, placed it in the palm of my hand and told me to keep it with me wherever I go. Speaker 2 (18:08) Not questioning or suspecting anything, I accepted this protection and put it in my pocket. As is our tradition, I bowed down to her and touched her feet, and in return she gave me her blessing by touching me on the back of the head. I thanked her and she turned around and walked away. I was feeling good now, even privileged that a stranger had come up to me and given me a blessing. My taxi arrived and I left. I returned to the hotel and had my dinner. I had this feeling of achievement and was completely at peace. The evening was slightly cooler and as the hotel was in a busy part of town, I thought I'd go for a walk and see what the city had to offer. There were food stands and carts selling trinkets and toys. All the shops were open, and there was music playing out of small transistor radios. As I strolled down the street, fending off sellers persuading me to buy their wares, in the corner of my eye, I saw a woman in a red sari. It was not a blur or a passing image. It was real. I quickly turned my head, but there was no one there. Again, I didn't think too much about this and continued walking, but every now and again I would see a figure in red, never directly in front of me, but always in the corner of my eyesight. At the back of my mind, I had that, oh no, it's happening again, type of feeling. But my rational conscious mind told me it was just an after effect of everything I'd gone through that day. I must have been walking around 40 minutes when I decided it was time to head back. When I returned to my room, I noticed a puddle of water where my suitcase was. Leaking roof, I thought. But looking up, the ceiling was dry. Thinking not much about it, I used a towel to mop it up. As I walked into the bathroom to drop the wet towel in the bathtub, the bathroom door slammed shut, and it was shut with great force. It really made me jump. I looked back and the door was indeed shut. Trying to convince myself that there wasn't anything sinister, as one would, I told myself it must be the wind. but I knew full well the windows were all closed. I walked up to the closed door and turned the handle, and it opened with ease. But right there in front of me, there was another puddle of water near my bed. I could feel fear setting in. Unsure how to react. After a few seconds, I pulled myself together and called housekeeping to come and mop it up. I left my room immediately and I went to the lobby to get a bite to eat. This hotel had a late night snack bar and I fancied some biscuits and a cup of tea. The day was over. I'd achieved what I'd set out to do. I consciously refused to think about seeing the woman in red or the voices in the river or the puddles in the bedroom. It took some convincing but eventually I rationalised everything and was finally content to let things be. I went to bed that night and I think I fell asleep pretty quickly. But around 3am, I was awoken by a sound of men whispering. And the sound was coming from somewhere in my room. As I tried to work out where it was coming from, I realised it was coming from the bathroom. I stayed absolutely still, trying to make out what they were saying, but to no avail. I finally managed to move my arm, and as I switched the light on, the whispering stopped. Speaker 2 (22:39) But the bathroom door handle started rattling as if someone was trying to open a locked door. I stared at the door and it opened lightly. And then it was shut and the handle started rattling again. I panicked and ran out of the room and made my way to the lobby. It was, as you would expect at this time of the morning, empty except for the man sat behind the desk. who had a really puzzled look about him. But, as all good hotel staff would, he showed support and asked me to sit in the lobby whilst he went to investigate. When he came back, he nodded, saying the bathroom floor is now covered in water. Red water. I was shocked. How? Red water. It just didn't register. I explained how the water had been clear moments before. And more importantly, I tried to impress how none of this was my fault or my doing. He asked me to come and have a look and escorted me to the bathroom. And indeed, the water was now a light red in colour. The bathroom wasn't flooded, but there was water. The amount I would guess would be if someone emptied a bucket on the floor. The red colour was like when vermilion, which is used in Hindu religious ceremonies, is sprinkled in a pot of water. I again protested my innocence, and furthermore I refused to sleep in that room. I was offered another room, but I needed to be somewhere in the company of other people. I was scared, and I didn't want to be alone. I was offered a large couch and a pillow, and that night I slept in the lobby. In the morning, I asked staff to pack my bag, as I wasn't willing to go back into that room. They kindly packed my bag and brought it to me in the lobby. And I rang Suresh. And I asked if he knew of any other hotels in the area. Suresh was great. And he said he'd come to the hotel and take me to another hotel. So I left that one and checked into another. This hotel was a little grander than the first one, and the best thing was there were so many people there, and right now I needed human beings around me. I did not want silence. I still had six days left in India before returning home, and this hotel was in a great location to use as a base whilst I explored the surrounding areas. Nothing happened that night. Surprisingly, I was able to sleep, and I can't recall having any scary thoughts. The next day I hired a motorbike, and I visited nearby temples and cultural places. That night I went to bed and there were no whispers or puddles of water. Everything was normal. Unfortunately, those feelings of safety were soon diminished. From what must have been a deep sleep, I woke up and sat bolt upright straight away, because there, at the foot of my bed, some seven feet away, someone was standing staring at me. It was an outline, but it was 100 % real. It moved slightly side to side, then raised an arm and pointed at the window. I switched the light on, and there was no one there. Okay, I thought. That must have been some sort of shadow from the light peeking through the curtain. All was calm and quiet, until I turned my head towards the door. A white smoke started coming under the door and a foul stench like a dead animal. The smoke swirled around my room, came right up to my face and disappeared. With that, there was no more smell, no smoke, nothing. I was terrified. And that night, I sat upright in my bed, opened my curtains, left the lights on, and watched TV until it was bright and sunny, and the room again had a nice, safe, warm glow of natural light. The next three nights were the worst. If the past experiences were terrible, these were multiplied tenfold.