| Summoned

There was pitch black darkness and an eerie silence all around me. Someone was holding my hand and taking me somewhere—I didn't know where. I was both conscious and unconscious; I simply was I, nothing more. I was drinking this silence wrapped in the darkness, desolving myself, walking without resistance alongside my guide. We had traveled a long way without exchanging a single word. I had no idea where we were.

Far in the distance, a twinkling peral of pure light appeared—like a star—and it felt as if someone from that side was calling out to me, softly whispering my name. I had to go. The voice was faint but perfectly clear. The one who had brought me here suddenly let go of my hand and surrendered me to that light. I floated through the air and merged into it.

What kind of dream is this? A peaceful one, as though I've returned home after years of wandering.

Then, suddenly, pain shot through me and I gasped, as if I had taken my first breath. The heat was intense, like the scorching sun. My body was tightly bound, unable to move even an inch. My eyes and mouth were also restrained. I tried to move, to shake free—nothing worked. Then I sensed someone moving nearby. I panicked. Someone was chanting something, some spells perhaps, but I couldn't understand them. Where was I? What was happening?

This went on for quite some time. I heard footsteps, but no one touched me. I struggled, and slowly my consciousness started to fade. Was I dreaming within a dream? What was happening?

Drip… drip… drip. Water droplets fell on my head, landing squarely on my forehead. The area around me was damp. My head and body throbbed with pain. But now, the restraints were gone. I struggled to open my eyes, they were burning as they slowly opened. I saw a strange vessel hanging above my head, from which water dripped steadily onto my forehead. What was this? I shook my head, trying to avoid the droplets. As I sat up, my blurry vision began to adjust to the surroundings.

I was sitting on a rocky floor, wrapped in a cotton sari-like cloth. Where was I? The dimly lit space held a small oil lamp in the distance and incense smoke curling in the air. A sticky, oily substance coated my entire body. What kind of dream was this? Why did everything feel so real? This rocky ground, those droplets… I'd never had such an advanced-level dream before.

As I processed this, I suddenly sensed someone behind me. I turned and saw an old man standing there, staring at me intently but silently. I was afraid, but ready to fight—because in most of my dreams, I run, I fight, I fear. This one would be no different. When I'm exhausted, I'll wake up.

He didn't speak, didn't attack. He began circling me quietly, chanting mantras that felt like some kind of spell. Then he placed a clay bowl in front of me, filled with a red liquid, and backed away to a corner, watching silently—like someone offering milk to a stray cat and then backing off so it won't be scared.

I looked at him, confused. Was I being sacrificed in my own dream? What did he want? Then I looked closer—what was he wearing? His physique was strong, but on his head… oh God, was that a skull? Yes, it was a skull. Below, he wore a white dhoti, a black shawl draped over his shoulders, long hair tied up, a tilak on his forehead, a fierce expression, and a necklace of bones around his neck.

Now I noticed a circle drawn around me with a paste of rice flour and turmeric. This dream was extensive! 5D level visuals! After what seemed like a long time of us staring at each other, he moved toward me. I backed away in fear. But he didn't step into the circle. Instead, he knelt just outside it, bowed to me, and once again pushed the clay bowl toward me.

I refused to drink it. Even if it is a dream, I had some dignity! When I didn't move, he said something—and oddly, I could understand it. He apologized for summoning my soul there and said the liquid was compensation. When would this dream end? What kind of tribal-era dream was this? According to Sigmund Freud, what would this dream mean? Sure, I had repressed primal desires, but this? This interpretation was unbearable.

When he saw I wouldn't touch the bowl, he removed it and left. After a while, he returned with a dead deer, placing it before me like an offering. The sight of its decapitated head and the stench made me retch—but there was nothing to vomit. Because It was just a dream. He quickly removed the deer and disappeared again.

I didn't want to stay there a second longer. Could I explore this dream? Could I escape it? I struggled to get up, but the world spun around me. My legs felt lifeless. I had to sit back down, a groan escaped from my mouth.

The man returned the way he had left. Seeing me struggling, he said calmly:

"The path from death to life is difficult. It will take time. But don't worry—you'll be fully healed."

I thought—this is my dream. If this shaman can talk, so can I. I tried speaking, but no sound came out. I tried again—nothing. He watched my futile efforts silently. I, oblivious, kept trying like a fool.

Suddenly, he stepped over the circle and knelt before me. He held my face with trembling hands, tilted it upward, brushed my hair from my eyes, and looked into them deeply. I closed my eyes in fear and turned my face away. I was able to feel his breath and sweating smell.

Then, he laughed—a deep, unsettling laugh.

"Whom have I summoned? Instead of a lioness, a lamb has come… Ha Ha Ha! Fine, it's just fine. I only promised to give this body a soul, whose soul it would be, was never specified. My task is complete. I didn't force you to come here. I merely showed the way for the soul that owned this body to return from the path of death. How did you come? What entity are you? But it doesn't matter now… Let it go."

He laughed again.

"Remarkable. Truly. So, You've managed to escape. You found a way out. Unbelievable."

His mocking laugh echoed in my ears.

He stood up and left. What was that? I couldn't even move. How would I get out of here? His words pounded in my head. I pinched myself, bit myself, slapped myself—but nothing worked. Now I was really afraid, I was feeling the pain.

I began crawling in the direction he had gone. The rocky ground made it hard—my hands and feet scraped and bruised. Once I get out of this dream, I swear I'll never sleep again.

It took me hours to crawl to the edge where I'd last seen him disappear. Just as I reached there, he returned. He didn't seem angry or try to stop me. This time, someone else was with him. Suddenly, a sheet or cloth was thrown over my body, and I felt myself being lifted off the ground.

The other man had wrapped me in the cloth and picked me up in his arms. I was exhausted from crawling, but still I kicked and fought—useless. That shaman stood there, hands folded. The man who carried me tossed a large sack at the shaman's feet, then started walking toward the exit.

I scratched and hit him, flailing, but it had no effect. The cave was built high, and the path down was long and sloping. As he walked, the dark cave began to fade, and a light at the exit awaited us.

I fought with all my strength, thinking, the more I resist, the sooner this dream will end. But my eyes were closing. My fists and legs had no power left. His grip was like iron.

In my tongue, I mumbled—"When will this dream end?"