The king lost his kingdom, lost his love, lost his identity.

One day, he shall get those back again.

****

It was a big hall resembling the courtroom of a king. Walls were bathed in shades of deep blue, haphazard strokes of silver drawn over. The throne was vacant. A woman with thick curly locks, dressed in mahogany and shimmering silvery coins sewn into a necklace stood at the end of the steps that led to the throne.

Ishvara couldn't see the face of the woman, except her malicious eyes bagged by dark circles. Someone whispered that she was confident, and the lady smiled in return. Majestic power emanated from this gigantic room. There were people of noble origin present along with a few guards.

"He shall leave."

Ishvara wondered what those meant.

"The throne will be empty. Ranavato finally got her wish fulfilled." The haunting profile of a wrinkled warrior of purple eyes crossed her vision. She held a spear and ran towards a door.

The outlines of the figures blurred. The world around Ishvara was now a pile of mud and bricks splashed over which were colours. The ground beneath was fluid and the sky above bare.

Ishvara's head spun. She was falling down a never ending tunnel. But then, she landed with a thud, stumbling back due to the harsh descent. Now, she stood in the middle of the hall.

The women stared at her. Their faces were ghastly and pale, devoid of blood. They howled like the onset of eternal death was near.

Came a winged man, around whom rattled chains, two horns of a ram growing on his head. He had the red eyes of the devil, the twisted conscience of someone beyond the mortal realm. He clutched her by the waist, gripping her fiercely as she struggled to not be pulled. Like a doll of rags he yanked her by the arm, dragging her out against her will. Ishvara's bangles broke and she bled, but he didn't stop. They called her, she heard– the old woman, the lady with the curly hair. There was a man too. He cursed this beastly abductor, but the latter roared like a lion.

"I own her," the devil declared.

Ishvara screamed and woke up, almost tumbling down the bed under the horrifying force of the nightmare.

The bedsheets were rumpled with creases, a sign of Ishvara's fight. One end of the blanket was clutched in her fist. She looked beside. Aryamna wasn't there. "Did I scare him?"

She had had this dream for many days recently– since the time her marriage got fixed. These nightmares contributed to her fear of union, of her scepticism. Each time she had the dream the details grew. Now, she could hear distinctly the name of the lady in mahogany.

Ranavato.

A chill ran down her spine. Whether it was the name or the image of the lady, it scarred her too deep.

She wrapped arms around her body, tears trickling down the cheeks. Maybe the child she had once conceived was a product of a forceful union.

"If Aryamna ever knows that my past is this hazy and gruesome he won't accept me. They won't say I am pure. They won't love me."

But do they even?

She didn't want to judge. The day she put her feet on Ishgar, the people embraced her like their own. For a moment she even imagined she was back home. Like a circle of life. "I have to be patient. Queen Ambalika had said this is a path solely mine, a rogue warrior's lone fight."

The dream would probably return again with new answers. Till then, Ishvara decided to keep patience.
She was aware of them being memories of the olden days. But where, with whom, how– they wreaked havoc in her mind.

She got out of her bedroom and was pleasantly welcomed by the smell of fried yam and fenugreek. It led her to the kitchen, where she saw Aryamna making the morning meal with dedication.

Steam irritated his eyes. He turned his head several times towards the wall to escape the thick smoke, but the fragrance wafting to his nose made him smile. A plate of ragi roti waited to be consumed.

Soft curls, falling over his forehead effortlessly, painted him in the magic of youth. He looked considerably young for his age. "The arms which carry the sword, how can they make such tasty food?" Ishvara leaned on the doorframe.

Aryamna was confident in his stance. "Like Shakti can cook and kill, I can balance both." He got up and poured some liquid into a chalice. "Here, drink this. Yesterday I made this for us. You need to have this in empty stomach."

She sipped the sweet drink and swirled the chalice to find bits of jaggery rise to the surface.

"Grueled red rice, a secret herbal mix and jaggery for sweetness. No need to thank me, and yes I will teach you," Aryamna said.  "Do you love this?"

Shadows and sunbeams weaved a meticulous pattern under his heavy locks of hair. The tip of his nose had become pinkish. Ishvara's eyes darted to his parted lips, stopping there as she drank, inadvertently making him raise a brow.

Ishvara almost spat out the liquid. Aryamna cupped the base of the chalice. "Easy, easy."

She blushed, chugging down the drink in one go. "Done."

She handed him the chalice hastily. Her fingers brushed with his, sending an electrifying jolt down her spine.
A rush of molten snow and sparks in her veins numbed the senses for a moment.

"I shall serve the meal. Sit, be comfortable," he said.

Something in his gaze pulled her. She could neither blink nor look away. Only when he turned his back to her for pouring the curry in the bowl did Ishvara feel freed.

She swore his eyes had looked uncanny. It was so fickle and sudden that she couldn't understand its origin. Whether it was her growing relationship that gave birth to the magnetism or some real sorcery, she didn't know.

The late Queen of Gandhar had told that she too had latent magic inside her. Maybe when she would go to her husband's guild, a discovery would follow.

The two sat down for the meal. Few words were exchanged. Ishvara took the dishes and began washing them after the meal while Aryamna went to the bedroom.

After some time, there was a knock at the door.

"Aryamna, it's me, Kanyaki!"

Aryamna's face lit up. He left the work at hand and sprinted for the door.

Ishvara was bewildered by this sudden zealous expression of life. For sure, she had seen his bright smiles, but the mellifluous voice that lured him to the door troubled Ishvara. She bit on her nails. The conversation from the previous night fogged her mind.

"Wait for me." He took a spare cloth and wiped his dirty hands. The lustre of his blue eyes twinkled in jubilation.

She too went to welcome this still unknown guest.

Is this the woman whom he loves?

"Ah! This is a surprise!" he exclaimed.
She opened her arms for him. He let himself be hugged and greeted by a kiss on the forehead. "Come in."

He wound an arm around her shoulder and led her to a stool. "Sit, Maa."

Ishvara didn't know how exactly she could chide herself. A butterfly fluttered inside her belly as Aryamna looked up at her with a passionate glint she had only heard in fairytales. "This is my wife, Ishvara, straightway brought from Gandhar in a palanquin."

The lady had snowy white hair tied in a bun trimmed with a garland of pink krishnachura. Her grey eyes were far from the cuddle of cruel cold hands. They reminded Ishvara of the absence of a motherly shawl.

Kanyaki observed the new bride with rapturous interest. She turned to Aryamna with a sharp look, beckoning him to lend a ear. When he lowered his head, Kanyaki pulled his ear.

"This hurts, Maa!"

"Hush." She put a short finger upon his lips. "Why is she not bedecked in jewels, huh? A new bride must always be allowed to feel pretty and queenly."

Aryamna broke into a laugh. "Does she need any?"

Ishvara's cheeks got a red tint.

"Though, you are right. Ah, just look at her, one ethereal moon princess." Kanyaki smiled fondly. "Nights of the deserted lands had made her this saintly and exotic. Pray the midnight loneliness may give way to fruitful moments."

"She shall adjust to the place soon, Maa. Or else Ishvara always has the right to complain to you and other locals."

Ishvara had almost forgotten to display a gesture of reverence. She quickly sat with her skirt spread and touched her feet. Aryamna too knelt. Kanyaki lifted up Ishvara's chin, delving into the latter's eyes. When done behelding her, she spoke, "The poor nomad got a fairy fallen from the clouds. You have got a good fate, my son."

And Ishvara was suspicious of this woman being her husband's secret love? Oh, she would gladly accept it.

"You are embarrassing her, Maa."

Ishvara giggled. "No. I am good."

"Just look at yourself in the mirror."

"Fine," Kanyaki interjected. "It's completely alright for newly weds to act awkward. Things will settle with time." She shrugged. "And then you will need to think of ways to keep the excitement alive, though in your case that wouldn't be needed. You married one ocean of mystery."

Kanyaki rightly didn't label just one as the ocean of mystery. It was a puzzle for Ishvara. For Aryamna, maybe rekindling a died out fire.

"I heard there is a new shop. It was opened two days ago and the man is selling indigo at a cheap price, no less than a miracle. Can you take me there?" She took out some coins from a pouch dangling on her waist.
Aryamna rolled his eyes. Enough of it he had witnessed. "Yes, let's go." He turned to Ishvara. "Wait for me. I shall just come and go."

"Alright. Meanwhile I will arrange some of my clothes and necessities from the two trunks."

"Yes."

"She is one lively woman. The depth of her words. . .she must have seen a lot and known a lot."

"Like I do." Aryamna undressed her doubts in one glance. "I can read minds, I had told you on our wedding night."

Ishvara squinted. "So?"

"You were thinking something else when I ran for the door. It was clear from the look on your face."

Ishvara was caught red-handed. "Forgive me."

"I am not a man who likes to juggle between women. I am loyal." He hovered above her, forcing her to look up at him on her heels. Before she fell down, he placed his hand on her back, guarding her. "I keep my promises."

He lingered near her ear, tickling her with uneven breaths. His lips brushed against a thick strand of her locks.

Aryamna left without another word.

"Who is he really?"

It frustrated her. At one point he was bubbly and cheerful. He cooked, he laughed. And again, he was looking at her with a power unfathomable, some intimidating hold that made her shiver.

"You made me see so much in such a small time."

Was this good or bad? So many edgy moments could even make a fissure in the marriage.

"I just won't think anymore." She thumped her foot and went to open one trunk. "I better get to work. My life won't wait for me to gather the pieces of past."

She had brought two trunks from Gandhar. They had all her necessities stored with care– skirts, the jewelry box the late Queen had given her, rosary beads and everything else she could call her own. She had to make some space for her clothes to be kept. While looking through her stuff, her thumb got pricked. Ishvara felt the object and took it out.

It was the priceless earring. A sole one of a pair–a golden toned chandelier earring shaped in the symbol of a drop. It was studded with little stones with an emerald in between.

Whenever Ishvara looked at it, she felt it reminiscent of a tear drop. It was the only jewel that had embellished her body during her last moments, being there until the time she had woken up from the slumber and somehow reached the palace of Gandhar. The details never mattered to her. The only thing she wondered when looking at the earring was with whom the other one was. Who had given it to her and why?

Were they even alive?

She kept the earring inside the box and shut the trunk. She had had enough for the day and any more thoughts would start a headache. Falling sick would have been a bad choice at present.

Ishvara searched through the belongings of Aryamna. He too had two trunks along with a smaller one that mostly had Indumala's attires and things. She took to opening the biggest trunk. It had a pile of clothes. As much as he liked to keep the house clean and tidy, his clothes were the victims of negligence. Like a responsible wife Ishvara decided to properly fold them.

There wasn't much variety. It reflected his tastes– natural colours of the earth, some pale shades of pink and yellow and some bright white. The man didn't care about folding the dhoti correctly. Ishvara feared that the fabric had suffered much damage due to being delicate.

She pulled it out. Dust flew across the room and she coughed. A clinking sound made her inspect the floor. Something had slipped under the trunk. She took a stick and put it under, pushing the metallic thing out. "Must be a clip."

Finally a good swing of the stick pushed the supposed clip out and it swiftly landed near Ishvara's feet.

Poor woman mildy shrieked.

No, no one else was there. It was only Ishvara. It could not be a prank.

A second tear drop eagerly waited to be touched.