Karnapishachini — The Spirit Who Chose a Puppet

 

Karnapishachini — The Spirit Who Chose a Puppet

Description: A bored banker joins a midnight tantric puja for free mutton, meets Karnapishachini & becomes a massage therapist. One man's bizarre, fearless spiritual journey.

I was working as a cashier at the Tata Gallery, managing the entire store’s inventory and cash flow. I had secured the job through a third-party agency called Global Innova source Pvt. Ltd. After six months in the role, I grew completely bored with life. Every day followed the same monotonous routine: wake up in the morning, take a bath, eat breakfast, go to work, handle the cash counter, return home in the evening, have dinner, and go to sleep. With no girlfriend, no friends, no parties, and no sense of purpose, my life began to feel like slavery.

In November 2010, I went to the agency and told them, “I can’t continue as a cashier. Please find me another job—I have no choice but to quit this role.” At the time, they were recruiting for positions at SBI Bank. They asked, “Would you be willing to work in a bank?” I immediately replied, “Yes.” I had always wanted to gain hands-on experience in banking. In fact, back in 2008, I had appeared for a bank exam. During the general knowledge section, my mind went completely blank. Without properly reading the questions, I randomly selected answers. I knew I wouldn’t pass, but the experience of facing that anxiety gave me a strange sense of satisfaction.

A company in Thane had a contract to train SBI sales executives. There, I received training focused on selling SBI credit cards. When it came time to assign postings, they asked, “Do you prefer a fixed outlet or rotational?” I enquired about the difference. They explained that a fixed outlet meant staying at one branch to handle sales, while rotational postings involved being sent to different branches. I thought that sticking to one branch would trap me in a single routine, while rotational postings would allow me to experience a variety of environments and “lives.” So, I chose rotational.

My first posting was at the SBI branch in Kurla. There, I sold fewer credit cards than expected and ended up spending most of my time filling out deposit and withdrawal slips for customers—many of whom asked me to complete their forms for them.

The next month, I was transferred to the Juinagar branch opposite the railway station. For the first time in my life, I experienced a sense of detachment from both colleagues and customers. I had no interest in getting to know anyone there, which is why I barely remember the time I spent at that branch. I don’t even remember how I was selling credit cards; I only remember that I achieved my sales target.

At the Juinagar branch, customers didn’t want to hear even a single word from me. The moment I started my credit card pitch, they would walk away. So, I began selling credit cards outside the branch, in the nearby areas. About one kilometer away from the branch, outside a housing society, a woman called me over. I started trying to sell her a credit card. She asked me, “Do you want numbers?”

I said, “Yes, I want numbers. I’ll call them and sell credit cards.”

She replied, “I’ll charge ₹1,000 for each number.”

It was the first time in my life that I had seen someone selling phone numbers. I was trying to sell her a credit card, and she was trying to sell me numbers. Both of us were confused.

I spoke directly and said, “Why are you selling me numbers? Are you sure those people want a credit card?”

She said, “Not for a credit card—for your enblissment.”

I asked her, “What enblissment will I get from someone’s number? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

She replied, “Do I really need to explain it to you? Don’t you understand why I’m giving you a call girl’s number?”

I said, “There has been a misunderstanding. I thought you were giving me a customer’s number who wanted a credit card. I don’t even have money to eat vada pav—what will I do with a call girl’s number?”

She said, “Idiot, you wasted my time,” and walked away from there.

The next month, I was transferred to the Kokan Bhavan branch in Belapur. Two girls sat next to me, and I often joked and chatted with them. Every day, I intended to ask about their roles, but each time I looked at them, I forgot to enquire. To this day, I still have no idea what those two actually did in the bank.

During that period, I used to write poems in Marathi. One Saturday, I showed a diary containing fourteen poems to the branch manager. On Monday, he told me, “Because of your poems, my wife got angry with me. I spent the entire Sunday reading them, understanding them, and correcting the grammar.” When I reviewed the diary, I saw corrections on almost every other word. That day, I decided that, to preserve the dignity of the Marathi language, I would stop writing poems in it altogether.

After two months at Kokan Bhavan, I was transferred to the branch in Belapur Sector 11. It was a newly opened branch with only five staff members in total. In my previous two SBI branches, selling credit cards had been effortless—it felt as though customers were naturally drawn to me, and I simply filled out their applications. Meeting sales targets was never an issue. But at this new branch, barely one customer would walk in all day. With hardly any customers at the bank, I began visiting nearby offices to sell SBI credit cards.

Outside one such office, a man struck up a conversation with me. His name was Deepak. I persisted in pitching him the SBI card. During our chat, he suddenly discussed hinduism and non-veg.

Deepak: “In Hinduism, is eating non-veg right or wrong?”

Kiran: “When I was a child in Pune, at the Tulja Bhavani temple, the prasad included goat mutton. In some temples, mutton is still offered as prasad.”

Deepak: “We also perform puja at home and offer mutton as prasad.”

Kiran: “Sir, if you ever have mutton prasad at home, please invite me.”

Deepak: “Five minutes ago, I didn’t even know you, and now you want to come to my house for mutton prasad? Are you this open with everyone? Aren’t you afraid of going to a stranger’s house?”

Kiran: “For mutton, I’ll go anywhere—as long as someone is willing to feed me.”

Deepak: “Have you ever participated in a tantric puja?”

Kiran: “Not yet, but I’ve put it on my career bucket list—along with spending a few months practising as a tantric and an astrologer. That might take fifteen or twenty years; there’s no hurry.”

Deepak: “Are you a Brahmin?”

Kiran: “My surname is Khot. Someone once told me I am, but I’m not sure.”

Deepak: “Then you can come to my house, After the ritual, we need to feed a Brahmin, but we never find one. You can have the prasad.”

Kiran: “I don’t know any puja-path, I don’t even know a single mantra.”

Deepak: “You just need to be present, my wife will perform it. You only have to eat the mutton prasad.”

I agreed instantly.

Deepak: “We’re holding a tantric puja at home on the upcoming Amavasya. You’re not scared of Amavasya, are you?”

Kiran: “I was born on an Amavasya at 1 a.m., I’m not afraid of Amavasya, nor of cremation grounds.”

My mother knows that I am a hopeless food enthusiast who would eat at anyone’s house. In our family, my mother and younger brother refuse to eat outside and even avoid eating at relatives’ homes. I’m the only one who happily accepts food from strangers and neighbors. Normal people like to eat fancy food in fancy restaurants; I like to eat strange food at strangers’ houses.

On the night of Amavasya, around 9 p.m., I told my mother, “I’m going to a friend’s place—there’s a non-veg party. I’ll have a great time and be back later.”

I reached their house at 9:40 p.m. Only the husband and wife were there. Kiran: “Did I arrive too early?”

Deepak: “You’ve come at the perfect time”.

I sat on the sofa in the hall. The wife was cooking mutton in the kitchen; the aroma was driving me mad. The man sat beside me, making small talk.

Kiran: “No other guests coming?”

Deepak: “You’re the only guest, this is a tantric puja—we can’t invite others. We needed just one Brahmin to accept the prasad, and you’re here. We’ll start preparations soon.”

I was secretly thrilled—no competition meant more prasad for me.

When the wife entered the hall, I greeted her warmly. She was a secret tantrik who performed tantric rituals for herself, not for others.

Tantrik: “Are you really a Brahmin?”

Kiran: “My surname is Khot—I am a Brahmin, my father passed away, so puja-path stopped at home. I don’t perform any rituals.”

Tantrik: “I need a Brahmin who can invoke the ganas and offer ahuti.”

I had never heard those terms before.

Kiran: “Madam, I don’t know any puja-path, I came only for the mutton prasad. Forgive me—if you want, I’ll leave.”

Tantrik: “Do you really know nothing?”

Kiran: “I work in a bank. My mother is Buddhist. I’ve never seen a puja in my life. This will be my first.”

She burst out laughing and thanked her husband profusely. Her laughter unnerved me—I briefly wondered if they planned to sacrifice me.

Tantrik: “If I teach you the ritual, will you perform it?”

Kiran: “Yes! I want to become a tantric. Why are you performing this puja?”

Tantrik: “I want to attain Ashtasiddhi, Karnapishachini, and preta siddhi—all the powers in a single night”.

I felt like I’d hit the jackpot. Now, I will get more tantric knowledge.

Kiran: “Madam, I’m your fan now. I’ll do whatever you say.”

I thanked Deepak too, but he had grown strangely quiet—nothing like the chatty man I’d met outside the office. Later, I realised that during our first meeting, his wife had been on the phone, instructing him what to say. They thought they had manipulated me into coming, but the truth was that I would have gone to anyone’s house for chicken or mutton.

 

Madam began drawing the tantric rangoli. I tried to help but kept messing it up, so she told me to sit quietly. Her husband and I waited in silence on the sofa while she prepared. She drew a strange circular design, placed a fire pot in the centre, then did her makeup to resemble a ghost. Her ghostly face was eerie, but the husband’s terrified expression nearly made me laugh. I excused myself to the bathroom to control it.

At midnight, the puja began. Madam and I sat facing each other inside the circle. She chanted mantras—some she knew, others she had written down—and I repeated after her, constantly stumbling: saying “aa” instead of “ha” and “mam” instead of “bam.”

 

I was starving. Hoping for non-veg prasad, I hadn’t eaten anything all evening—not even a vada pav. Hunger dulled my brain, and the puja began to feel endless. Finally, at 1:20 a.m., it concluded. Her husband had dozed off on the sofa. Madam woke him and told me, “Wash your hands and sit—I’ll serve the prasad.”

I washed up and eagerly ate the mutton with rice.

Tantrik: “For the first time, a Brahmin is accepting prasad from this puja. I’m so happy—today my puja has succeeded.”

Kiran: “You’re worshipping both Goddess and Satan—how?”

Tantrik: “I want the siddhis. Whether God or Satan grants them doesn’t matter—I worship both.”

Kiran: “What if I accidentally get the siddhis instead of you? How will I return them?”

She laughed heartily.

Tantrik: “You’re innocent and fearless. I like your innocence. But now, no more questions. We’ve just performed a tantric puja—we need deep silence. Accept the prasad and leave.”

Three weeks later, Deepak came to the bank and called me outside. Deepak: “Four days from now, it’s Amavasya again; you have to come.”

There was a command in his tone. Whenever someone speaks to me in the language of orders, my mind immediately starts calculating.

I did the calculation: take an auto to the railway station, travel six stations by train, walk 300 metres, sit through a two-hour puja with back pain, remain hungry until 1 a.m., walk back 300 metres, travel six stations again, take an auto from Vashi station, and finally reach home in Juhu Gaon—all this for ₹200 worth of mutton.

Kiran: “I can’t come.”

Deepak: “We’ll give money; just come.”

I kept refusing.

Deepak: “Madam is performing the sadhana of Ashtasiddhi along with the worship of Shaitan. It is necessary to conduct tantric puja on eight consecutive Amavasyas. You only have to come for eight Amavasyas.”

He kept repeating that since I had already participated once, I must attend all eight Amavasyas; otherwise, something bad might happen to me. It is never good to leave a puja incomplete.

Kiran: “I don’t want to eat mutton at 1 a.m. If you feed me prasad first and then do the puja, I might consider coming. But if mutton-rice is served only at 1 a.m. after the puja, I’d rather spend ₹300 and eat it at a hotel.”

Deepak realised I had come only for the mutton and had no interest in the puja. He told his wife everything over the phone and put her on speaker.

His wife: “Leave him; he’s useless. He’s so stupid that his stupidity will make me forget my own sadhana.”

Deepak left without saying anything.

That day, I discussed with Ganesh about Ashtasiddhi and Karna Pishachini. I came to know that during a tantrik puja, Karna Pishachini had entered my body, but as soon as I left that tantrik’s home, it also left my body. However, from that day, a strange desire started arising in my mind, and to fulfill that desire, I began getting dreams of becoming a spa therapist. I was working in the banking and finance sector and had a B.Com degree. It felt impossible for me to become a spa therapist and do massage for naked people.

In 2012, I worked for 5 months in SBI Bank, 2 months in ICICI Bank, and 5 months in Shriram Finance Company. In January 2013, I won 2 prizes in a training program, and the next day the regional head asked for resignations from everyone due to low performance. He pointed at me and asked for my resignation as well. I wrote my resignation in 2 minutes in silence and left the Shriram Finance job. As soon as I left the Shriram Finance office, within 5 minutes I searched for a spa center on Google and called them for a spa therapist job, even though I had never given a massage to anyone before.

When I realized for the first time that I had worked 1 year in one company not for career or growth but for free food, I resigned the same day and started doing freelance massage under my own brand.

One of my friends, who was also a massage therapist, suggested to me that during freelance work, clients could sometimes make weird demands. He told me, “You are only a massage therapist—do only massage and never accept any such demands.”

But I had a big problem—I didn’t know how to say no. I couldn’t even say no when my boss asked for my resignation.

While giving a massage to my first female client, I was doing a feather touch on her back with my fingertips. She told me not to use my fingertips but to use my tongue. I couldn’t say no to her. I did what she said and started feeling something strange that I had never experienced before in my life.

After leaving that client’s home, I felt uncomfortable and didn’t want to go home in that weird mood. I parked my bike at Mini Seashore, sat there, and asked Ganesh about my mental state. I have another mind that I call Ganesh.

Kiran: For the first time, I obeyed everything a stranger woman told me and did all that she asked, even though my job was only to give a massage. A little while ago, I had become a slave to a stranger woman whose name I didn’t even know. How did this happen?

Ganesh: You were not the one doing all that—Karn Pishachini was doing it.

Kiran: Was that woman Karn Pishachini?

Ganesh: Not that woman—you had become Karn Pishachini. It had entered your body.

Kiran: Is Karn Pishachini still in my body?

Ganesh: No. As soon as you began self-reflection and started talking to me, it left your body. But it is still sitting here with you, waiting for a chance to enter your body again at any moment.

Kiran: What have I done to Karn Pishachini? Why does it want to enter my body?

Ganesh: Your nature attracted it. Someone who is ready to do anything, who can never say no—Karn Pishachini enters such a person’s body and turns them into a puppet, or makes them an ultimate sex worker.

Kiran: Karnapishachini is a female spirit, and I am male. Why did she enter my body?

Ganesh: Spirits never judge by gender. They are drawn to intensity and curiosity. You have a strong desire to do things that have never been done before. That is why she chose you, even without any worship.

Kiran: How should I protect myself from Karn Pishachini?

Ganesh: Do you really want protection? You seemed very happy when Karn Pishachini had entered your body and was making you dance.

Kiran: No, today it felt good, but tomorrow if it turns me into a puppet and makes me a traitor, then it will be a problem.

Ganesh: Karn Pishachini is smarter than you. It knows very well what kind of work to make a person do. It has chosen you—but to betray the country by pleasing people, you are a useless candidate.

Kiran: Still, if I get bored of her and want to leave her, what should I do?

Ganesh: She wanted to do 5 tasks a day, but when she realized that you wanted to do 10 different tasks a day, she would automatically leave you. Even spirits don’t want to do too many things at once. You need to practice doing a limited number of tasks each day so Karnapishachini can survive longer in your body.

Kiran: Does that mean I will have to spend my whole life pleasing strangers? Karn Pishachini will never leave me?

Ganesh: When you leave the work for which you became a massage therapist and start something else, Karn Pishachini will leave you, and some other spirit will catch you. There is a total of 108 such entities, out of which 104 can enter the human body.

Kiran: After Karn Pishachini, which entity can enter my body?

Ganesh: That I cannot tell—but that spectacle might also be interesting to watch.

That day, I understood that I could not run away from Karn Pishachini. But I could use it to make people happy and complete my research. In that very moment, all my discomfort vanished as if it had never existed. I accepted Karn Pishachini and did every strange thing that I could never have done in a normal state.

Conclusion: Parmeshwar First Ganapati has created 4 forms of Kinnar Gana on earth. The definition of the word "Kinnar" is: "species of spirits who descend into the human body and make them erotic dancers, vulgar singers, porn actors, and ultimate prostitutes are called Kinnar Gana." Karna-Rambha, Karna-Urvashi, Karna-Menaka, and Karna-Pishachini — these are the 4 forms of Kinnar Gana. The species of spirits who descend into the human body and make them the ultimate puppet prostitute are called Kinnar Karna-Pishachini.

I accepted Karnapishachini because I had to do research on Kamashastra and write a book about it. Karnapishachini chose me to make me her puppet; I accepted her to make her my puppet and use her skills. However, everyone should not accept Karnapishachini — self-reflection and a change of profession can remove Karnapishachini from the body.

"Free to learn. Free to share. If you feel it — feed the mission 🙏"