The Chasm of Fire – Irina Tweedie

I gave him the confession.  It had been agony for days compiling it and trying to remember all my failings and mistakes since my youth, my childhood even.  It was most humiliating.  I had an awful struggle with it, dragging out the old skeletons from the dusty corners of memory, to dig out things I thought I had forgotten, of which I was ashamed. 

Felt dirty and small and very miserable. 

Written down on paper it was a crude revolting and squalid document.  L warned me not to give it to him before the Bandhara, for he was very busy and capable of forgetting it in his kurta pocket and his children could get hold of it – a chilling thought – I had seen his children reading letters from his disciples.

He took the sheet of paper.

'Hmmm rather a lot' he remarked.  I felt like shrinking into a speck of dust.  There were several foolscap sheets.

'Will you give it back to me after you have read it?' I asked.  He shook his head.  'You will not forget it in your pocket; your children could get hold of it' I ventured with a sinking heart.

'This is an impertinent remark'. His face was sombre.  I was so crushed and in my anxiety did not know what to say.