MANAN FF - TILL THE END OF TIME, COMPLETED

Dr. Cabir Dhawan. International bestselling author. World renowned psychiatrist and past-life expert. Files and case papers were scattered over his desk as he pondered over his subjects, Manik Malhotra and Nandini Murthy. His point of view -

My mind was working quickly now.

Manik's and Nandini's memories of that time meshed perfectly. Physical descriptions, events, and names are the same.

I have worked with many people, usually couples, who have found themselves together in previous lives. Many have recognized their soul companions, traveling together through time to be united once again in the current lifetime. Never before had I encountered soul mates who had not yet met in the present time. In this case, soul mates who had travelled nearly two thousand years to be together again. They had come all this way. They were within inches and minutes of each other, but they had not yet connected.

Father and daughter. Childhood lovers. Husband and wife. How many more times throughout history had they shared their lives and their love?

They were together again, but they didn't know it. Both were lonely, both suffering in their way. Both were starving, and yet a feast had been set before them, a feast they could not yet smell or taste.

I was severely constrained by the "laws" of psychiatry, if not the more subtle rules of karma. The strictest of the laws is that of privacy or confidentiality. If psychiatry were a religion, breaching a patient's confidentiality would be one of its cardinal sins. At the least the breach could constitute malpractice. I could not tell Manik about Nandini, nor Nandini about Manik. Whatever the karma or spiritual consequences of intervening in another's free will, the consequences of violating psychiatry's main law were quite clear.

The spiritual consequences would not have deterred me. I could introduce them and let destiny take its course. The psychiatric consequences stopped me cold.

What if I were wrong? What if a relationship between them began, soured, and ended badly? There could be anger and bitterness. How would this reflect back on their feelings about me as their trusted therapist? Would their clinical improvement unravel? Would all their good therapeutic work be undone? There were definite risks. I also had to examine my own subconscious motives. Was my need to see my patients become happier and healthier, to find peace and love in their lives, affecting my judgment now? Were my own needs urging me to cross the boundary of psychiatric ethics?

***

DISCLAIMER:

I am not the author of this book. The story I'll be writing here is from an international bestseller. All what I'll be doing is modifying the characters and putting forward the contents in story form. Some of you may have already read this book. If you have, then please don't disclose the name out here. If it rings any bells, then you may drop a message to my inbox with the name of the book. Let me see if you know which one it is 😉 For those of you who haven't read this story, then please sit back and enjoy.

The rights to the work rests with the real author, whose name I'll be revealing at the end of this story. I don't intend to plagiarize anything. My only intention is to share this beautiful work with you all through our beloved KYY characters.

NOTE:
Unfortunately, I'm not much of a self-starter. I'll need a good amount of support and motivation. So please pour in your love for this story. The speed at which I continue depends on it 😊

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TILL THE END OF TIME

There is someone special for everyone. They come from different generations. They travel across oceans of time and the depths of heavenly dimensions to be with you again. They come from the other side, from heaven. They look different, but your heart knows them. Your heart has held them in arms like yours in the moon-filled deserts of Egypt and the ancient plains of Mongolia. You have ridden together in the armies of forgotten warrior-generals, and you have lived together in the sand-covered caves of the Ancient Ones. You are bonded together throughout eternity, and you will never be alone. TILL THE END OF TIME is a true story of reincarnation and soul mates being reunited.

Note: I found this beautiful composition by Brunuhville called as "The Wolf and the Moon". Somehow, this music blends in beautifully with the story. Please listen to it on YouTube.

[YOUTUBE]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEf_xrgmuRI[/YOUTUBE]

Elegant and attractive with long and sleek chocolate brown hair, Nandini Murthy, walked in through the doors of The Dhawan Institute of Psychiatry & Past Life Regression'.

She stopped for a moment and looked around nervously. It was a busy day and the chairs were filled up already. Though the waiting room was crowded, there was pin drop silence as patients waited for their turn.

Nandini proceeded to the reception desk.

"Good morning ma'am. How may I help you?" The receptionist greeted her with a warm smile.

"Good morning. I have an appointment with Dr. Dhawan in a while. Number twelve."

The receptionist ran her eyes through the electronic register. "Ms. Nandini Murthy?" she checked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Please be seated ma'am. Dr. Dhawan will see you in a while."

"Thank you," Nandini smiled as she proceeded to settle down on one of the chairs outside the doctor's cabin.

Nandini chose to let her eyes wander around the soothing white walls of the clinic as she waited. Her eyes were large, beautiful and melancholic. It overpowered her loose navy blue business suit.

The walls of the clinic had several photographs of a suave gentleman in his fifties. He wore thick rimmed glasses and an elegant suit as he flashed his bestselling publication called as "What Lies Beyond". He was Dr. Cabir Dhawan. A celebrated psychiatrist and past life therapist. He was the man Nandini wanted to meet.

Nandini felt compelled to see him, searching for hope after reading his work "What Lies Beyond", and identifying with Mukti, the book's heroine and his most famous patient, on many levels.

"Miss Murthy?"

Nandini looked up at the receptionist's call.

"Dr. Dhawan will see you now," she announced.

"Thank you," Nandini mumbled and got to her feet. Her legs wobbled as her nervousness hit its peak. She was very anxious to meet Dr. Dhawan. She had only heard of him on the news. Seen him on television. But it would be her first meeting of several others that will follow. She didn't know what to expect.

The door creaked when she opened it.

The first glimpse of Dr. Dhawan gave her shivers of anxiety. He sat at his table and browsed through what looked like the information sheet which she had filled out earlier last week when she had walked in to book the appointment.

He looked up at the shuffle of her feet. "Ms. Murthy?" he checked warmly.

"Yes," she replied.

"Come in please," he urged. "Please be seated."

Nandini settled down on the large, white reclining chair in his office.

"I don't know much about why you're here," he commented, breaking the usual impasse at the beginning of therapy. He had briefly glanced at the information sheet all new patients fill out. Name, age, referral source, chief complaints and symptoms. Nandini had listed grief, anxiety and sleep disturbance as her major maladies. As she began to talk, he mentally added "relationships" to her list.

Dr. Dhawan's POV -

"My life is such a mess," she stated. Her history began to pour out, as if it were finally safe to talk about these things. The release of pent-up pressure was palpable.

Despite the drama of her life's story and the depths of emotion lying just under the surface of her telling it, Nandini quickly minimized its importance. "My story is not nearly as dramatic as Mukti's," she said. "There won't be any book about me."

Her story, dramatic or not, flowed forth.

Nandini was a successful businesswoman with her own accounting firm in Miami.

She was born and reared in rural Minnesota. She grew up on a large farm with her parents, an older brother, and many animals. Her father was a hard-working, stoical man who had great difficulty expressing his emotions. When he did display emotion, it was usually anger and rage. He would lose his temper and lash out impulsively at his family, sometimes striking her brother. The abuse Nandini received was only verbal, but it hurt her greatly.

Deep within her heart, Nandini still carried this childhood wound. Her self-image had been damaged by her father's condemnations and criticisms. A profound pain enveloped her heart. She felt impaired and somehow defective, and she worried that others, especially men, could also perceive her shortcomings.

Fortunately her father's outbursts were infrequent, and he quickly retreated to the stern and stoical isolation that characterized his personality and behaviour.

Nandini's mother was a progressive and independent woman. She promoted Nandini's self-reliance while remaining warm and emotionally nurturing. Because of the children and the times, she chose to stay on the farm and to tolerate reluctantly her husband's harshness and emotional withdrawal.

"My mother was like an angel," Nandini went on. "Always there, always caring, always sacrificing for the sake of her children." Nandini, the baby, was her mother's favourite. She had many fond memories of childhood. The fondest of all were times of closeness to her mother, of the special love that bonded them together and that maintained itself over time.

Nandini grew up, was graduated from high school, and went away to college in Miami, where she had been offered a generous scholarship. Miami seemed like an exotic adventure to her, and she was lured away from the cold Midwest. Her mother revelled in Nandini's adventures. They were best friends, and even though they mostly communicated by phone and mail, their mother - daughter relationship stayed strong. Holidays and vacations were happy times for them, as Nandini rarely missed a chance to go back home.

During some of these visits, Nandini's mother talked about retiring to South Florida to be near Nandini. The family farm was large and increasingly difficult to run. They had saved a considerable amount of money, an amount augmented by her father's frugality. Nandini looked forward to living near her mother again. Their nearly daily contacts would no longer have to occur by telephone.

So Nandini stayed in Miami after college. She started her own accounting firm, which was slowly building. Competition was keen, and the work absorbed great chunks of her time. Relationships with men added to her stress.

Then disaster struck.

Approximately eight months prior to her first appointment with me, Nandini was devastated because of her mother's death from pancreatic cancer. Nandini felt as if her own heart had been torn apart and ripped out by the death of her beloved mother. She was having an enormously difficult time resolving her grief. She couldn't integrate it, couldn't understand why this had to happen.

Nandini painfully told me about her mother's courageous battle with the virulent cancer that ravaged her body. Her spirit and her love remained untouched. Both women felt a profound sadness. Physical separation was inevitable, quietly but persistently approaching. Nandini's father, grieving in anticipation, grew even more distant, wrapped in his solitude. Her brother, living in California with a young family and a new business, kept a physical distance. Nandini travelled to Minnesota as often as possible.

She had no one with whom to share her fears and her pain. She did not want to burden her dying mother any more than was absolutely necessary. So Nandini kept her despair inside, and each day felt increasingly heavy.

"I will miss you so much. ... I love you," her mother told her. "The most difficult part is leaving you. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid of what awaits me. I just don't want to leave you yet."

As she grew weaker and weaker, her mother's resolve to stay longer gradually diminished. Death would be a welcome relief from the debility and the pain. Her last day arrived.

Nandini's mother was in the hospital, the small room crowded with family and visitors. Her breathing became erratic. The urine tubes showed no drainage; her kidneys had ceased to function. She lapsed into and out of consciousness. At one point Nandini found herself alone with her mother. At this moment her mother's eyes widened, and she became lucid again.

"I won't leave you," her mother said in a suddenly firm voice. "I'll always love you!"

Those were the last words Nandini heard from her mother, who now lapsed into a coma. Her respirations became even more erratic, with long stops and sudden, gasping starts.

Soon she was gone. Nandini felt a deep and gaping hole in her heart and in her life. She could actually feel a physical aching in her chest. She felt she would never be completely whole again. Nandini cried for months.

Nandini missed the frequent phone calls with her mother. She tried calling her father more often, but he remained withdrawn and had very little to talk about. He would be off the phone within a minute or two. He was not capable of nurturing or comforting her. He also was grieving, and his grief isolated him even more. Her brother in California, with his wife and two young children, was also devastated by his mother's death, but he was busy with his family and career.

Her grief began to evolve into a depression with increasingly significant symptoms. Nandini was having problems sleeping at night. She had difficulty falling asleep and she would awaken much too early in the morning, unable to fall back to sleep. She lost interest in food and began losing weight. She had a noticeable lack of energy. She lost enthusiasm for relationships, and her ability to concentrate became increasingly impaired.

Before her mother's death, Nandini's anxiety consisted mainly of job stresses, such as deadlines and difficult decisions. She was also anxious at times about her relationships with men, with how she should act and what their responses would be.

Nandini's anxiety levels increased dramatically after the death of her mother. She had lost her daily confidante and adviser, her closest friend. She had lost her primary source of guidance and support. Nandini felt disoriented, alone, adrift.

She called for an appointment.

Nandini came into my office hoping to find a past life in which she had been together with her mother or to contact her in a mystical experience. In books and lectures I have talked about people in meditative states having such mystical encounters with loved ones. Nandini had read my first book, and she seemed aware of the possibility of these experiences.

Nandini was hoping for some type of reunion or contact with her mother. Her heartache needed some balm to ease the constant pain.

More of her history emerged during this first session. Nandini had been married for a brief period of time to a local contractor, who had two children by a previous marriage. Although she was not passionately in love with this man, he was a good person, and she thought that this relationship would bring some stability into her life. But passion in a relationship cannot be artificially created.

There can be respect, and there can be compassion, but the chemistry has to be there from the start. When Nandini discovered that her husband was having an extramarital affair with someone who could provide more excitement and passion, she reluctantly left the relationship. She was sad about the breakup and sad to leave the two children, but she did not grieve because of the divorce. The loss of her mother was much more severe.

Because of her physical beauty, Nandini found it easy to meet and date other men after the divorce. But none of these relationships had fire either. Nandini began to doubt herself, to try to find where within herself the fault lay in her inability to establish good relationships with men. "What is wrong with me?" she would ask herself. And her self-esteem would dip another notch.

The barbed arrows of her father's painful criticisms during her childhood had left wounds in her psyche. The failed relationships with men rubbed salt in these wounds.

She began a relationship with a professor at a nearby university, but he could not commit to her because of his own fears. Even though there was a strong feeling of tenderness and understanding, and even though the two communicated very well, his inability to commit to a relationship and to trust his feelings doomed that relationship to a quiet and unspectacular ending.

Some months later Nandini met and began dating a successful banker. She felt secure and protected in this relationship even though, once again, the chemistry was limited. He, however, was strongly attracted to Nandini and became angry and jealous when she did not reciprocate with the kind of energy and enthusiasm that he expected. He began to drink more, and he became physically abusive. Nandini left this relationship, too.

She had been quietly despairing of ever meeting a man with whom she could have a good and intimate relationship.

She had thrown herself into her work, enlarging her firm, hiding behind the numbers and calculations and paperwork. Her relationships primarily consisted of business contacts. And even though from time to time a man would ask her out, Nandini would do something to discourage that interest before it grew into anything serious.

Nandini was aware that her biological clock was ticking, and she still hoped to meet the perfect man someday, but she had lost a great deal of confidence.

The first therapy session, devoted to gathering historical information, formulating a diagnosis and therapeutic approach, and sowing the seeds of trust in our relationship, had ended. The ice had been broken. I decided not to use Prozac or other antidepressants at this time. We would aim for a cure, not just the covering over of her symptoms.

At the next session, one week later, we would begin the arduous journey back through time.

*****

Prior to Dr. Cabir Dhawan's experiences with his most famous patient, Mukti Vardhan, he had never even heard of past-life regression therapy. This was a subject which was neither taught in medical school nor anywhere else.

He can still vividly recollect the first time. It was several years ago. He had instructed Mukti to travel backward in time, hoping to discover childhood traumas that had been repressed or forgotten, and that he felt could be causing her symptoms of anxiety and depression.

She had already reached a deeply hypnotized state, which he had induced by gently relaxing her with his voice. Her concentration was focused on his instructions.

During her therapy session the week previously, they had used hypnosis for the first time. Mukti had remembered several childhood traumas with considerable detail and emotion. Usually in therapy, when forgotten traumas are remembered with their accompanying emotions, a process called catharsis, patients begin to improve. Mukti's symptoms remained severe, however, and he assumed that they had to uncover even more repressed childhood memories. Then she should improve.

Carefully he took Mukti back to the age of two, but she recalled no significant memories.

He instructed her firmly and clearly: "Go back to the time from which your symptoms arise." He was totally shocked by her response.

"I see white steps leading up to a building, a big white building with pillars, open in front. There are no doorways. I'm wearing a long dress ... a sack made of rough material. My hair is braided, long blonde hair."

Her name was Aronda, a young woman who lived nearly four thousand years ago. She died suddenly in a flood or tidal wave, which devastated her village.

The whole scene played before her eyes once again.

Big waves knocked down trees. There was no place to run. Nowhere to hide. It was cold. The water was freezing. She struggled to save her baby. Mukti... aka Aronda was drowning. The salty water choked her. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't swallow. The cruel flood tore her baby out of her arms.

While reliving this incident, Mukti gasped in Dr. Dhawan's office. The tragic memory suffocated her in real time. Suddenly, her body relaxed completely and her breathing became deep and even.

"I see clouds... My baby is with me. And others from my village. I see my brother."

She was resting. That lifetime had ended. Though neither Mukti nor Dr. Dhawan believed in past lives, they had both been dramatically introduced to an ancient experience.

Incredibly, her lifelong fear of gagging or choking, virtually disappeared after this one session. Dr. Dhawan knew that imagination or fantasy could not cure such deeply imbedded chronic symptoms. Cathartic memory could.

Week after week, Mukti remembered more past lives. Her symptoms disappeared. She was cured without the use of any medicines. Together, they had discovered the healing power of regression therapy.

Because of Dr. Dhawan's skepticism and rigorous scientific training, he had a tough time accepting the concept of past lives. Two factors eroded his skepticism, one rapid and highly emotional, the other gradual and intellectual.

In one session, Mukti had just remembered her death in an ancient lifetime, a death from an epidemic that had swept through the land. She was still in a deep hypnotic trance, aware of floating above her body, being drawn to a beautiful light. She began to speak.

"They tell me there are many gods, for God is in each of us."

She then began to tell Dr. Dhawan very private details about the lives and deaths of his father and his infant son. They had both died years previously, far away from Miami. Mukti who was a laboratory technician at Mount Sinai Medical Centre, knew nothing at all about them. There was no person who could have given her these details. There was no place to look up this information. She was stunningly accurate. He was shocked and chilled as she related these hidden, secret truths.

"Who... who is there? Who tells you these things?" Dr. Dhawan asked her.

"The Masters," she whispered, "the Master Spirits tell me. They tell me I have lived eighty-six times in physical state."

Mukti later described the Masters as highly evolved souls not presently in body who could speak to him through her. From them he received spectacular and profound information and insights.

Mukti had no background in physics or metaphysics. The knowledge the Masters transmitted seemed far beyond her capabilities. She knew nothing about dimensional planes and vibrational levels. Yet, deep in the trance state, she described these complex phenomena. Beyond that, the beauty of her words and thoughts and the philosophical implications of her utterings far transcended her conscious abilities. She had never before talked in such a concise, poetic manner.

When he listened to her as she relayed concepts from the Masters, he could sense another, higher force struggling with her mind and vocal cords to translate these thoughts into words so that he could understand them.

During the course of her remaining therapy sessions, Mukti relayed many more messages from the Masters. Beautiful messages about life and death, about spiritual dimensions and the purpose of our lives on the earth. Dr. Dhawan's awakening had begun. His skepticism was eroding.

I remembered thinking, "Since she's correct about my father and my son, could she also be correct about past lives and reincarnation, about the immortality of the soul?"

He couldn't help but believe. The Masters also spoke about past lives.

"We choose when we will come into our physical state and when we will leave. We know when we have accomplished what we were sent down here to accomplish. We know when the time is up, and you will accept your death. For you know that you can get nothing more out of this lifetime. When you have time, when you have had the time to rest and re-energize your soul, you are allowed to choose your re-entry back into the physical state. Those people who hesitate, who are not sure of their return here, they might lose the chance that was given them, a chance to fulfil what they must when they're in physical state."

Since his experience with Mukti, he had regressed more than one thousand individual patients to their past lives. Very, very few of them could reach the level of the Masters. However, he had observed amazing clinical improvement in most of these people. He had seen patients remember a name during the recall of a recent lifetime and subsequently find old records that validate the existence of that past-life person, confirming the details of the memory. Some patients have even found the graves of their own previous physical bodies.

***

The next week, Nandini was back in Dr. Dhawan's office for her second session.

She took a deep breath and leaned back on to the large, white, reclining chair.

"So. How did it go with the tape?" asked Dr. Dhawan. He had given her a relaxation tape to play at home during the week between her appointments with him. He had recorded this tape to help his patients practice the techniques of self-hypnosis. He found that the more they practiced at home, the deeper they seemed to go in his office. The tape also helped patients to relax, and it often helped them to fall asleep.

Nandini grew uncomfortable at his question. Guilty. More like how a student would when questioned about his homework or project. "I tried listening to it," she began. "But I don't know why. I couldn't get myself to relax. It was like I had this feeling that something weird was going to happen. And maybe... what if I couldn't wake from my trance?"

Dr. Dhawan listened patiently as she narrated her concerns. It was natural for patients to get worried about the consequences of falling into a trance when alone. What if something happened? Just like Nandini, most patients worried that if something were to go wrong, there would be no one to help them.

"No problem at all," Dr. Dhawan concluded with a pleasant smile. "Just -uh- sit forward on your chair. Come on. Easy." He sat down before her and put out his hand, the palm facing up. "Keep your eyes on mine," he continued gently. "Good. Focus. Now press down on my hand with your right."

Nandini followed his instructions perfectly while he continued to talk to her softly.

Suddenly, without warning, he pulled his hand away which was underneath hers. Her body, now unsupported, lurched forward. At this precise moment, he said "Sleep!" very loudly.

Instantly, Nandini's body collapsed back onto the chair. She was already in a deep hypnotic trance.

"You can remember everything, every experience you have ever had," he told her. "Now. Go back to your last pleasant meal. Use all of your senses as you remember the meal."

She remembered the smell, the taste, the sight and the feeling of a recent dinner. Dr. Dhawan knew that she had the ability for vivid recall.

He took her back to her childhood. She smiled contentedly, just like a little girl.

"I'm in the kitchen with my mother. She looks very young. I'm young, too. I'm little. I'm about five. And we're cooking. We're making pies . . . and cookies. It's fun. My mother's happy. I can see it all, the apron, her hair up. I can smell the smells. They're wonderful."

"Walk into another room and tell me what you see," he instructed her.

She walked into the living room. She described the large dark wood furniture, the well-worn floors. And then a portrait of her mother, a photograph that was on a dark wooden table next to a big comfortable chair.

"I see my mother in the picture," Nandini went on. "She's beautiful ... so young. I see the pearls around her neck. She loves those pearls. They're for special occasions. The beautiful white dress . . . her dark hair . . . her eyes are so bright and so healthy."

"Good," he said, "I'm glad you remember her and that you can see her so clearly."

"Now we will go even further back. Don't worry what is imagination, what is fantasy, what is metaphor or symbol, actual memory or some combination of all of these," he told her. "Just let yourself experience. Try not to let your mind judge or criticize or even comment on the material you are experiencing. Just experience it. This is only for the experience. You can critique it afterward. You can analyse it later. But for now just let yourself experience.

"We're going back into the womb now, into the in-utero period, just before you were born. Whatever pops into your mind is fine. Just let yourself experience it."

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One." Dr. Dhawan counted backwards and deepened her state of hypnosis.

Nandini felt herself floating in a sea of warmth and love. It felt incredibly safe. She was in her mother's womb. A tear trickled down from the corner of each of her closed eyes.

She remembered how much her parents had wanted her, especially her mother. The tears were tears of happiness and of nostalgia.

Nandini could already feel the love that would greet her birth, and this made her feel very happy.

"Are you ready to go further back now?" asked Dr. Dhawan, hoping that Nandini had not become frightened by the intensity of her emotions.

"Yes," she answered calmly. "I'm ready."

"Good," he said. "Now we're going back to see if you can remember anything from before birth, either in a mystical or spiritual state, in another dimension, or even in a past life. Whatever pops into your mind is fine. Don't critique it. Don't worry about it. Just experience. Let yourself experience."

He had her imagine herself walking into an elevator and pushing a button as he slowly counted backward from five to one. The elevator travelled back through time and through space, and the door opened when he said "one." He instructed her to step outside and join the figure, the scene, the experience on the other side of the door. But it was not what he expected.

Nandini's POV -

Pitch darkness. An eerie icy cold. A dreadful feeling of doom. The wind could be heard howling. The water around thrashed violently.

"It's so dark," said Nandini, with terror in her voice. "I've . . . I've fallen off the boat. It's so cold. It's terrible."

"If you become uncomfortable," she heard Dr. Dhawan instruct her, "just float above the scene and watch it as if you are watching a movie. But if you're not uncomfortable, stay with it. See what happens. See what you experience."

The experience was frightening to her. So she floated above.

"I'm a teenager. A boy," she stated. "It's a stormy night. And I fell off the boat. It's very dark around. I can't see a thing. I'm... I'm drowning." Suddenly, her breathing slowed noticeably and she seemed more peaceful. She had detached from the body.

"I have left that body," Nandini said, almost matter of factly.

It all happened so quickly, contrary to Dr. Dhawan's expectations. He wanted to explore that lifetime but she was already out. He wanted to review what had happened. To tell him what she could see and understand.

"What were you doing on the boat?" he asked her, trying to back up in time even though she was already out of her body.

"I was traveling with my father," she said. "And a sudden storm came up. The boat began to take on water. It was very unstable and rocking wildly. The waves were huge, and I was swept over the side."

"What happened to the other people?" asked Dr. Dhawan.

"I don't know," she said. "I was swept over the side. I don't know what happened to them."

"About how old are you when this happens?"

"I don't know," she answered. "About twelve or thirteen. A young teenager."

Nandini did not seem eager to volunteer any more details. So he awakened her.

***

The next week, Nandini seemed less depressed even though Dr. Dhawan had prescribed no antidepressant medication to treat her symptoms of grief and depression.

"I feel lighter," she said. "I feel freer, and I find I'm not as uncomfortable in the dark."

Nandini had always been somewhat uneasy in the dark, and she avoided going out alone at night. At home, she often kept all the lights on. But in the past week she had noticed improvement with this symptom. Unbeknownst to Dr. Dhawan, swimming made her feel uneasy and somewhat anxious, but in the past week she was able to spend time in the pool and Jacuzzi in her condominium complex. Although these were not her main concerns, she was pleased that these symptoms were diminishing.

But Nandini was still very sad. They had still not found her mother except in a childhood memory. The search would continue.

Meanwhile, in the same office and in the same chair, separated from Nandini by only the minuscule gulf of a few days, another drama was in progress.

Manik Malhotra was suffering. His life was burdened with sadness, unshared secrets and hidden longings.

And the most important meeting of his life was silently but rapidly approaching.

***

PRECAP: Manik meets Dr. Dhawan

Manik is an extraordinarily handsome man, fairer than Dr. Dhawan had anticipated, with dark brown hair and wonderful expressive eyes. His charm and easy wit hid the grief he was feeling at the death of his brother, who had died ten months previously in a terrible automobile accident in Mexico City.

The unusual aspect of Manik's story was the ten months that had elapsed since his brother's death. By this time, grief is generally resolving. The long time span of his grief suggested an underlying, even deeper despair.

His sadness actually extended far beyond his brother's death. They would learn in subsequent sessions that Manik had been separated from his loved ones over many lifetimes, and he was acutely sensitized to the loss of a love. The sudden death of his brother reminded him, in the deepest unconscious recesses of his mind, of losses even greater, even more tragic, over millennia.

Dr. Dhawan needed to know about Manik's life. He needed landmarks to navigate the flow of future sessions.

"Tell me about yourself," he asked. "Your childhood, your family, and whatever else you feel is important. Tell me everything you think I should know."

Manik sighed deeply and sank back into the large, soft chair. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. His body language told Dr. Dhawan that this would not be easy for him.

Manik came from a very privileged family, both financially and politically. His father owned a large business and several factories. They lived in the hills above the city, in a spectacular house within a secure, gated community.

Manik had attended the finest private schools in the city. He had studied English since the early grades, and after living in Miami for several years, his English was excellent. He was the youngest of three children. His sister was the oldest child, and even though she was four years older than he, Manik was extremely protective of her. His brother was two years older and very close to Manik.

Manik's father worked very hard and usually didn't come home until late at night. His mother and the nannies, maids, and other staff ran the house and cared for the children.

Manik studied business in college. He had several girlfriends, but no serious relationship.

"Somehow my mother was never very fond of the girls I dated," Manik added. "She always found some particular fault and never let me forget."

At this point, Manik looked around uncomfortably.

"What is it?" Dr. Dhawan inquired.

He didn't respond immediately, swallowing several times before beginning.

"I had an affair with an older woman during my last year at the university," he slowly told him. "She was older . . . and married." Manik paused.

"Okay," Dr. Dhawan responded after a few moments, mostly to fill the silence. He could feel his discomfort, and despite many years of experience, he still didn't like the feeling. "Did her husband find out?"

"No," he answered, "he didn't."

"Things could have been worse," Dr. Dhawan pointed out, stating the obvious, trying to comfort him.

"There is more," he added ominously.

Dr. Dhawan nodded, waiting for Manik to fill him in.

"She became pregnant. . . . There was an abortion. My parents don't know about this." His eyes were cast downward. He was still ashamed and feeling guilty, years after the affair and the abortion.

"I understand," Dr. Dhawan began. "Can I tell you what I have learned about abortions?" he asked.

Manik nodded his assent. He knew about Dr. Dhawan's research into hypnosis and past lives.

"An abortion, or a miscarriage, usually involves an agreement between the mother and the soul that would enter the baby. Either the baby's body would not be healthy enough to carry out its planned tasks in the coming life, or the timing was not right for its purposes, or the outside situation had changed, such as the desertion of the father when the baby's or mother's plans required a father figure. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he nodded. But he didn't look convinced.

"I will tell you only about my own research," Dr. Dhawan explained, "not about what I have read or heard about from others. This information comes from my patients, usually when they are deeply hypnotized. Sometimes the words are theirs, and sometimes they seem to be coming from another, higher source."

Manik nodded his head again, not speaking.

"My patients tell me that the soul does not enter the body right away. Around the time of conception, a reservation is made by the soul. No other soul can have that body. The soul who has reserved that particular baby's body can then come into and out of the body, as it wishes. It is not confined. This is similar to people in comas," Dr. Dhawan added.

Manik nodded in understanding, still not speaking but listening intently.

"During pregnancy, the soul is gradually more and more attached to the baby's body," he went on, "but the attachment is not complete until around the time of birth, either shortly before, during, or just afterward."

Dr. Dhawan emphasized this concept by joining his hands at the base of his palms, forming a ninety-degree angle. Then he slowly closed his hands so that the rest of his palms and his fingers met, like the universal hand symbol for prayer, denoting the gradual attachment of the soul to the body.

"You can never harm or kill a soul," he added. "The soul is immortal and indestructible. It will find a way to return, if that is the plan."

"What do you mean?" Manik asked.

"I have had cases where the same soul, after a miscarriage or abortion, comes back to the same parents in their next baby."

"Incredible!" Manik responded. His face appeared brighter now, not so guilty or embarrassed.

"You never know," Dr. Dhawan added.

After a few moments of contemplation, Manik sighed again and crossed his legs, adjusting his pants. They had shifted back into the history-taking mode.

"What happened after that?" Dr. Dhawan asked.

"After graduation, I went back home. At first I worked in the factories, learning more about the business. Later on I came to Miami to run the business here and abroad. I've been here since," he explained.

"How is the business going?"

"Very well, but it occupies too much of my time."

"Is that a big problem?"

"It doesn't help my love life," Manik said, grinning. He was not entirely joking. Now twenty-nine years old, he felt that he was racing past the time to find love, marry, and start a family. Racing, but no prospects.

"Are you having relationships with women?"

"Yes," he answered, "but nothing special. I haven't really fallen in love. ... I hope I can," he added with some concern in his voice. "I will very soon have to return to Mexico and live there," Manik mused, "in order to take over my brother's duties. Perhaps I will meet someone there," he commented without conviction.

Dr. Dhawan wondered if Manik's mother's criticisms of his girlfriends and the experience of the affair and the abortion were psychological obstacles to a loving and intimate relationship. We'll look at those issues later, he thought.

"And how is your family in Mexico?" asked Dr. Dhawan, lightening the mood while continuing to collect information.

"They are well. My father is more than seventy now, so my brother and I-" Manik stopped abruptly. He swallowed and took a deep breath before resuming. "So I have more responsibility in the business," he concluded in a quiet voice.

"My mother is also well." He paused before amending his answer. "But they are both not coping well with the death. It has taken a great deal out of them. They have grown much older."

"And your sister?"

"She is sad also, but she has her husband and her children," Manik explained.

Dr. Dhawan nodded his head in understanding. She had more distractions to help her cope.

Manik was in excellent physical health. His only complaint was of intermittent pain in his neck and left shoulder, but this problem had been present for a very long time, and doctors had not found anything unusual.

"I've learned to live with it," Manik told him.

That was when Dr. Dhawan became aware of time. Looking at his watch, he saw that they had run twenty minutes late. Dr. Dhawan was really absorbed in the drama of Manik's story, unaware that even more absorbing dramas were only now beginning to unfold.

***

NEXT: Manik receives a message.

Manik returned one week later for his second appointment. Grief still tormented him, robbing him of simple pleasures and interfering with his sleep. He began by telling Dr. Dhawan about an unusual dream he had dreamt twice in the past week.

"I was dreaming about something else when all of a sudden an older woman appeared," Manik explained.

"Did you recognize the woman?" asked Dr. Dhawan.

"No," he answered immediately. "She appeared to be in her sixties or seventies. She wore a beautiful white dress, but she was not at peace. Her face was anguished. She reached out to me, and she kept repeating the same words."

"What did she say?"

"Hold her hand. . . . Hold her hand. You will know. Reach out to her. Hold her hand.' That is what she said."

"Hold whose hand?"

"I don't know. She just said 'Hold her hand.'"

"Was there anything more in the dream?"

"Not really. But I did notice that she was holding a white feather in one hand."

"What does that mean?" asked Dr. Dhawan.

"You're the doctor," Manik reminded him.

Yes, he thought. I'm the doctor. Symbols could mean almost anything, depending on the unique experiences of the dreamer as well as the universal archetypes described by Carl Jung or the popular symbols of Sigmund Freud. This dream, somehow, did not feel Freudian.

He responded to the "You're the doctor" comment and its implied need to be answered.

"I'm not sure," Dr. Dhawan answered truthfully. "It could mean a lot of things. The white feather could symbolize peace or a spiritual state or many other things. We will have to explore the dream," he added, relegating its interpretation to the future.

"I had the dream again last night," Manik said.

"Same woman?"

"Same woman, same words, same feather," Manik clarified. "'Hold her hand. . . . Hold her hand. Reach out to her. Hold her hand.'"

"Perhaps the answers will come during the regressions," Dr. Dhawan suggested. "Are you ready?"

He nodded, and they began... He already knew that Manik could reach a deep level of hypnosis because he had checked his eyes.

Manik's eyes had nearly disappeared into his head when Dr. Dhawan tested him. Only the tiniest part of the bottom rim of his iris, the coloured part of the eye, remained. As his eyelids fluttered closed, the iris did not descend at all. He could reach a deep trance state.

"Just relax," Dr. Dhawan advised. "Don't worry about what comes into your mind. It doesn't matter if you experience anything today or not. This is practice," He added, trying to remove any pressure he was feeling. Dr. Dhawan knew that Manik desperately wanted to find his brother.

As he talked, Manik relaxed more and more. He began to enter a deeper level. His breathing slowed, and his muscles softened. He appeared to sink even deeper into the white leather recliner. His eyes moved slowly under his closed eyelids as he began to visualize images.

Dr. Dhawan took him slowly back in time.

"At first, just go back and remember the last pleasant meal that you have eaten. Use all of your senses. Remember completely. See who was there with you. Remember your feelings," he instructed.

Manik did this, but he remembered several meals, not just one. He was still trying to maintain control.

"Relax even deeper," Dr. Dhawan urged. "Hypnosis is only a form of focused concentration. You never give up control. You are always in charge. All hypnosis is self-hypnosis."

Manik's breathing deepened even more.

"You are always in control," Dr. Dhawan assured him. "If you ever get anxious while having a memory or experience, you can just float above it and watch from a distance, like watching a movie. Or you can leave the scene entirely and go anywhere you want, visualize the beach, or your house, or any other safe place for you. If you're very uncomfortable, you can even open your eyes and you'll be awake and alert back here, if you wish.

"This is not Star Trek," he added. "You don't get beamed anywhere. These are only memories, like any other memories, just like you remembered the pleasant meals. You are always in control."

Now, Manik let go.

Dr. Dhawan took him back to his childhood and Manik smiled broadly.

"I can see the dogs and horses on the farm," he said. His family owned a farm a few hours outside the city, and many happy weekends and vacations were spent there.

The family was together. His brother was alive, vibrant, laughing. Dr. Dhawan remained silent for a few moments, letting Manik enjoy more of this childhood memory.

"Are you ready to go even further back?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good. Let us see if you can remember anything from a past life." Dr. Dhawan counted backward from five to one as Manik visualized himself walking through a magnificent door into another time and another place, into a past lifetime.

As soon as Dr. Dhawan reached the number one, Manik's eyes fluttered wildly. He was instantly alarmed. He started to sob.

Manik's POV -

A scene from his past life played before his eyes. His village had been ransacked and the villagers and his family massacred. Dead bodies scattered the place. Everything was destroyed and burnt down in flames.

"It's terrible . . . terrible!" Manik gasped through his sobs. "They're all killed. . . . They're all dead."

The remains of bodies were strewn everywhere. Fire had destroyed the village, with its odd rounded tents. Only one tent remained intact, standing incongruously on the periphery of the carnage and destruction. Its coloured flags and large white feathers fluttered wildly in the cold sunlight.

The horses, the cattle, and the oxen were gone. It was apparent that nobody had survived this massacre. The "cowards" from the east had done this.

"No wall, no warlords will protect them from me," Manik vowed. Revenge would have to come later. He was numbed, hopeless, devastated.

Dr. Dhawan had learnt over the years that people in their first regression often gravitated to the most traumatic event in a lifetime. This occured because the emotion of the trauma was so strongly impressed upon their psyches and carried by the soul into future incarnations.

He wanted to know more. What preceded this horrific experience? What happened afterward?

"Go back in time within that lifetime," Dr. Dhawan urged. "Go back to happier times. What do you remember?"

"There are many yurts . . . tents. We are a powerful people," he answered. "I am happy here." Manik described a nomadic people who hunted and raised cattle. His parents were leaders, and he was a strong and skilled horseman and hunter.

"The horses are very swift. They are small with large tails," he said.

He married the most beautiful girl of his people, one with whom he had played as a child and whom he had loved as long as he could remember. He could have married the daughter of a neighbouring chief, but he married for love.

"What is the name of this land?" asked Dr. Dhawan.

Manik hesitated. "I think you call it Mongolia."

Dr. Dhawan knew that Mongolia probably had a very different name when Manik was there. The language was completely different. So how could Manik, speaking from that time, know the word Mongolia? Because he was remembering, his memories were being filtered through his present-day mind.

The process is similar to watching a movie. The present-day mind is very much aware, watching and commenting. The mind compares the movie's characters and themes with those of the current life. The patient is the movie's observer, its critic, and its star, all at the same time. The patient is able to use his present-day knowledge of history and geography to help date and locate places and events. Throughout the movie he can remain in the deeply hypnotized state.

Manik could vividly remember the Mongolia that existed many centuries ago, yet he could speak English and answer Dr. Dhawan's questions while remembering.

"Do you know your name?"

Again, he hesitated. "No, it does not come to me."

There was little else. He had a child, and the birth was a great happiness not only to Manik and his wife but also to his parents and the rest of the people. His wife's parents had both died several years before the marriage, so she was not only a wife to him but also a daughter to his parents.

Manik was exhausted. He did not want to return to the devastated village to once again confront the remains of his shattered life so Dr. Dhawan awakened him.

When a memory from a past life is traumatic and overflowing with emotion, it can be very useful to go back a second time, and perhaps a third. At each repetition the negative emotion is lessened and the patient remembers even more. He also learns more, as the emotional blocks and distractions are diminished. Dr. Dhawan knew that Manik had more to learn from this ancient life.

Manik was giving himself another two or three months to resolve his personal and business affairs in Miami. They still had plenty of time to explore the Mongolian lifetime in more detail. They had time to explore other lifetimes as well. They had not yet found his brother. Instead he had found another devastating series of losses: beloved wife, child, parents, community.

A nagging thought continued to prick Dr. Dhawan. Am I helping him or am I adding even more to his burden? Only time would tell.

NEXT: Nandini explores more lifetimes.

Hello dear readers, what's up? Is anyone reading this story? I see more than 260 views but hardly anyone left any comments or votes. I know it's quite different from the usual romantic MaNan stories out here. Let's be honest. Probably a little bit boring with all the psychiatry and hypnotism going on. Maybe even difficult to digest for some. But I can guarantee that the best parts are on their way. This ain't a bestseller for nothing. 😉

Nandini seemed less depressed as she entered Dr. Dhawan's office for her third appointment. Her eyes were brighter.

"I feel lighter," she told him. "I feel freer. . . ." Her brief recollection of herself as the young boy swept off the boat had begun to sweep away some of her fears. Not just the fears of water or of the dark, but also deeper and more basic fears, fears of death and extinction.

She had died as that boy, and yet here she was again, as Nandini. At a subconscious level, her grief might have been lessening because of the knowledge that she had lived before and would live again, that death was not final.

And if she could spring back again, renewed and refreshed, in a new body, then so could her loved ones.

Nandini quickly went into a deep hypnotic trance. Within a few minutes, her eyes were sweeping from side to side under her closed lids as she scanned an ancient vista.

"The sand is beautiful," she began, recalling a life as a Native American in the South, probably on the west coast of Florida. "It's so white . . . almost pink at times. . . . It's so fine, like sugar." She paused for a moment. "The sun sets over the big sea. To the east are large swamps, with many birds and animals. There are lots of small islands between the swamps and the sea. The waters are filled with good fish. We catch the fish, in the rivers and between the islands." She paused again, then continued.

"We are at peace. My life is very happy. My family is large; I seem to be related to many in the village. I know about roots, plants, and herbs. ... I can make medicines from plants. ... I know about healing."

In Native American cultures there was no penalty for using healing potions or for other holistic practices. Instead of being called witches and drowned or burned at the stake, healers were respected and often revered.

Dr. Dhawan took her forward in that lifetime, but no traumas emerged. Her life was peaceful and satisfying. She died of old age, surrounded by the entire village.

"There is very little sadness with my death," she noted after floating above her withered old body and surveying the scene below, "even though all of my village seem to be there."

She was not at all upset by the lack of grieving. There was great respect and caring for her, for her body and her soul. Only the sadness was missing.

"We do not mourn deaths because we know that the spirit is eternal. It returns in human form again if its work is not finished," she explained.

"Sometimes by carefully examining the new body, the identity of the previous body can be known." She pondered this concept for a few moments. "We look for birthmarks where scars used to be and for other signs," she elaborated.

"Similarly, we do not celebrate births so much . . . even though it may be good to see the spirit again." She paused, perhaps searching for the words to describe this concept.

"Although the earth is very beautiful and continually demonstrates the harmony and interconnectedness of all things . . . which is a great lesson . . . life is much harder here. With the greater spirit there is no disease, no pain, no separation. . . . There is no ambition, no competition, no hatred, no fear, no enemy. . . . There is only peace and harmony. So the smaller spirit, returning, cannot be happy to leave such a place. It would be wrong for us to celebrate when the spirit is saddened. It would be very selfish and unfeeling," she concluded.

"This does not mean that we do not welcome the returning spirit," she quickly added. "It is important to demonstrate our love and affection at this vulnerable time."

Having explained this fascinating concept of death without sadness and birth without celebration, she was silent, resting.

Here again was the concept of reincarnation and the reunion in physical form of past-life family, friends, and lovers. In all times and in diverse cultures throughout history, this concept has appeared seemingly independently.

The dim memory of that ancient life might have helped to pull her back again to Florida, reminding her at the deepest levels of an ancestral home.

Perhaps the feeling of sand and sea, of palms and of mangrove swamps called to her soul memory, helping to lure her back with a subconscious seduction. For that life had been most pleasant and filled with satisfactions not present in her current life.

These ancient stirrings might have led her to apply to the University of Miami, which led to her scholarship and her move to Miami. This is not coincidence. Destiny required her to be here.

"Are you tired?" asked Dr. Dhawan, returning his attention to Nandini, who was still resting peacefully on the recliner.

"No," she answered quietly.

"Do you want to explore another lifetime?"

"Yes." More quiet.

Once again they travelled back through time, and once again she emerged in an ancient land.

"This is a desolate land," Nandini observed after she had scanned the scene. "There are high mountains . . . dusty dirt roads . . . the traders pass on these roads. . . . This is a route for traders going east and west. ..."

"Do you know the country?" asked Dr. Dhawan, looking for details.

"India... I think," she answered hesitantly. "Maybe just west of that ... I don't think the borders are that clear. We live in the mountains, and there are passes the traders must go through," she added, returning to the scene.

"Do you see yourself?" he asked.

"Yes ... I'm a girl . . . about fifteen. My skin is darker, and I have black hair. My clothes are dirty. I work in the stables . . . tending to the horses and mules. . . . We are very poor. The weather is so cold; my hands are so cold working here." Her face grimacing, Nandini made fists with both hands.

This young girl was innately bright but uneducated. Life was grindingly difficult. Traders frequently abused her, sometimes leaving a little money. Her family was unable to protect her. Numbing cold and constant hunger plagued her life. There was only one bright spot in that young girl's life.

"There's a young trader who comes by often with his father and the others. He loves me, and I love him. He is funny and gentle, and we laugh a lot together. I wish he could just stay so we can be together all the time."

This was not to be. She died at the age of sixteen. Her body, already worn out because of the bitter life and elements, quickly succumbed to pneumonia. Her family was around her when she died.

As they reviewed this brief life, Nandini was not sad. She had learnt an important lesson.

"Love is the strongest force in the world," she said softly. "Love can grow and bloom even in frozen soil and in the harshest conditions. It exists everywhere, and all the time. Love is a flower for all the seasons." Her face was filled with a beautiful smile.

NEXT: Manik explores more previous lifetimes.

I'm liking it.Very good.I'm also writing my first story.But not many people comment there also..