Flapping their bloodied wings, a pair of lovers soar high,

They know no god, no land or domain, their home is the whole sky.

****

Ishvara could have lost a major part of her memories. But the bland existence didn't steal from her the sharpness of mind.

Aryamna– a peculiar man of duality and conundrums.

Dusk had invited new doubts. Each clue that life presented posed another ten questions. Everything seemed dubious.

The cattle was returning back, leaving behind a veil of dust which the hooves weaved out of earth. Half naked children with sticks and dolls ran for their homes, calling out to random strangers in glee of a great morning spent playing.

Ishvara had always loved the beguiling charm of children. They were the most shrewd and sweet creation of God. "Maybe mine is somewhere too."

Or maybe not.

Thus, Ishvara was pushed in a man-made mayhem with the fact that she didn't know her truth.

"But I have a new one. I am Ishvara, wife of Senapati Aryamna."

A man who definitely hid a lot from her. She did the same, never telling him about her rare misfortune of a severe amnesia.

But what had he concealed from her?

"That he has a earring."

Too funny and suspicious.

"Can it be a replica of the one I have? But why does he not have a pair?"

Too much of a coincidence.

"Ishvara!"

The man will have a long life. She gathered herself and opened the door.
He stood with a little red box and a bunch of figs. "Come in."

It felt both safe and fearsome to know that she had possibly married a man who already knew about her. The nightmares made the discovery more frightful. Obnoxious were her secrets.

"Look, Maa forced into my hands these gifts for you. I knew it. She was inviting me not to shop for indigo but to select gifts." His smile shrouded a dreary reminder of her history. The dire dreams she had till now only narrated a parlous past. To conclude that this benevolent, kind man can be a part of it...

"Want to try some on now?" he asked.

But indeed, he has colours.

"Ishvara?"

"Huh?"

"What are you thinking?"

She sighed. "You don't take care of your clothes."

A smooth escape.

Aryamna was amused. "Ah, so that's what you discovered in my absence? Yes, I don't take care of my clothes."
He walked towards her slowly. The rigid cold wall against her back made her shiver.

Tousled hair fell in pretty waves over his forehead. A golden glint scintillating in the lapis orbs dazzled Ishvara.

And again, she was still, unmoving under his spell.

"But I take care of my wife."

Ishvara wanted to speak but her lips were sealed by an invisible wax.
Her eyes were cursed to be a statue in the moment; some trickery of Medusa that Ishvara's faint knowledge of magic could not discern.

Gently, he held her hand, enclosing her fingers in his. He put the figs in her grasp and left, pulling away the enticing hold. "Do you like figs?"

Ishvara steadied her beating heart. Basking in the silence, Aryamna's mirthful laughter pervaded the cottage, setting light to moths of wooing love. "Your silence I take as satisfaction."

"You do something," she blurted.

"What?"

Ishvara shook her head. "Nothing." She diverted the topic before he could interrogate further. "When are we going to the guild?"

"Excited?"

"My mother, whom I never met, was said to be a veshya. The late Queen of Gandhar had told me." Though I rarely believe the story to be true.

"Oh, you never met her?"

Ishvara refused matching his gaze. "No. I-I was brought up by a distant relative, a cobbler. Later I was brought into the Gandhar royal family where Queen Ambalika one day adopted me with love. Then the plague hit and I lost many people," she jabbered.

Aryamna's shoulders slumped. He nodded his head thoughtfully. Lies and lies. "It must have been great to be able to meet Queen Gandharvi?"

Thankfully she had heard some tales about the woman from Ambalika. "Yes! She didn't meet people much. But I met her a few times."

"I heard she was introverted and not social. You are so fortunate, Ishvara. You met the great woman! She was a mage."

"Really?"

"Yes! My master told me. She was, what we call, a Kalika, the most powerful and highest position a mage can ever reach, something like the zenith. Only three people till now, including her, have been able to reach that place."

"Oh... She never shared that."

"She probably didn't like to talk much. She was inclined to be quiet and suppressed."

Somewhat like you, Ishvara thought. She was glad the embellished tale was convincing.

After a brief moment of silence, Aryamna said, "We are going to the guild day after tomorrow. When we will be done there, the Rajan has invited us to the palace. By when can we get ready for the guild?"

Ishvara beamed in happiness. "I will be done by noon. It's not so far. We can set off then."

"Kanyaki will be happy to see you bejeweled. Do you wish to try on the ornaments now?"

Ishvara pondered. "I am yet to cook."

Aryamna stifled a laugh. "That's my part to worry. Don't you understand that your poor husband wishes to see how stunning you look?" He brushed back the tresses falling over her eyes.
"Maybe I don't take care of myself but you should."

"Then, if I go and sit in front of the mirror, will you make kheer for me?"

"Anything that you command. You are the Rajan of this household."

Ishvara got up and dusted her skirt. "I will wait for you."

Simpering like a girl in new love she went back to their bedroom.

Aryamna admired her from the distance. "Fool. A lovable fool."

****

Indumala had been running after the Rajan all day long. Today she got a good taste of what it meant to be a royal bodyguard. He was in a very sour mood since morning. Even the palace was in out-and-out chaos. Furniture and objects were being shifted all over, taken to the room in the tower.

Yes, the tower. It was probably build to look at enemies approaching near the borders of Ishgar. But now, someone was going to live there.

Probably the Mataraj. She was returning after a pilgrimage.

"It's her order. I don't know why she wants to be there–" Rudra abruptly stopped and scowled at a skinny servant who struggled to carry a pile of clothes. "Don't you get anything to eat? I don't understand why puny men like you even come to work."

He crossed his arms and scrutinised the poor servant. The latter slipped on his feet and fell face first on the floor. That was what Rudra needed. All the frustration, tiredness coursing through his veins, the venom at the tip of his tongue, he hissed at the weak man. "Just look at you." He gritted his teeth. "Don't you feel guilty of living in the palace? You can't even carry a pile of clothes."

Indumala too was insulted many times today. She was called a brat of the streets, an uncultured good-for-nothing girl, a cocky wizard, the worthless ever woman he had ever seen.

She was strong. She could take it. It hardened her skin. After all, she had to be with this man till the last breath.

But Indumala couldn't take it when he bullied that lad. He was around her age, though very malnourished. She went and helped him stand up. "It's alright," she whispered. "He is upset due to some reason." Indumala noticed that skin of his feet were scraped. The boy had severely hurt himself. "How did this happen?"

"I-I fell down–"

"Stop with your fake humility, Indumala." Rudra grabbed her forearm and pulled her to face him, an ancient fire blazing in his eyes. "Do better than this. You are not here to pity these useless souls whose lives don't matter to even your so-called great Shiva." He was fuming like a bull. His chest heaved up and down, blood rushing to his ears.

"At least spare Shiva."

"I am no less than a god, Indumala. Maybe even more."

Indumala looked at the part where he held her. His fingers dug into her skin, leaving a mark that she wouldn't forget even if it would vanish after a day. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Leave me."

"Don't order me."

"Does it anger you when I spit on your ego?"

"Indumala!" Rudra's ebony eyes turned scarlet with wrath. The wolf inside of him was ready to pounce at her. He wanted to teach her a lesson. She was stubborn, ill-mannered and rebellious. He wanted to banish her away from the palace and tell Aryamna that he had reared a hopeless daughter who could never match his glorious deeds.

He pressed on her arms, watching her wince. She ought to be punished for the impudence.

What happened next was something he didn't expect.

The exact burning sensation, the same brutal pain gushed through his left arm. He left her hand in one go and clutched the throbbing region. He cursed under his breath. Indumala and the servant watched in utter surprise. Rudra eyed Indumala from the corner of his vision. "Di-did you use magic on me?"

She scrunched her nose. "No?"

The wolf inside him growled. No, it wasn't disappointed at the change of events. It wasn't taken aback by the helplessness of its human self. Rather, it was chagrined by the actions of Rudra, its own humanely alter ego. He was overwhelmed by this delinquency he committed.

He stared at Indumala in awe. Strange.

Indumala jerked her hand and cracked her fingers. It relaxed her numbed muscles. "It will only ruin your character further if you behave like this, especially in front of the people whom you believe to be of no cause."

A guttural noise escaped Rudra's throat. He was a fish out of water, only to be granted life if he asked for forgiveness.

But he was the Rajan. I won't bow.

"My mother is pregnant. I was sent here by Senapati Aryamna to work for a day. My family is in dire need of money," the boy said with his hands joined. "Please do not vent your anger on the royal bodyguard. She is the pride of our Ishgar."

Indumala relished the goosebumps that crawled over her skin. Her eyes flooded with unshed tears of devotion. Rudra, mouth agape, stood frozen on the spot, shook by the unfiltered expression of love the men of Ishgar had for his bodyguard Indumala.

But not him.

"You were send here by Baba?" Indumala asked.

"Yes. He said if I am in need of money, I must not beg but earn. So I came here to work for a week."

Rudra wanted to cry. The men he fed, he protected, they sang the praises of others but never him. He ruined his peace and sleep for the welfare of this kingdom and these ungrateful folk extended reverence towards this unimportant wizard.

They belittled him.

He was never going to be anyone's favourite.

The servant turned to Rudra. "Forgive me, my Rajan," he quaked. "I understand you are very busy. Royals have a tough life–"

"You don't need to elaborate further and try to gain my mercy," Rudra said sharply. "Leave. If it's Aryamna who has send you, I don't have anything to say."

Indumala patted the boy on the head and left with Rudra.

How much did her father have to endure? This man could give her a headache in just one day, make her lose temper and her obedience just by a few vile words.

Very vile words.

"You should control your hot-tempered nature, Rajan," she said in a calm and soft voice. "I am your bodyguard and want your good."

"How long do you even know me to say this?" he sibilated. And again, a pain erupting in his heart, similar to what he was feeling in his arm earlier, just even more intense this time. He stopped and braced himself for the onslaught of agony that removed the ground beneath his feet.

"I am sorry," he finally apologised. The irritation of his internal wolf dampened by the confession. The pain was leaving.

Indumala smiled. "That's good."

He didn't want to ask for forgiveness. It was his wolf that made him do this. But why? The beast never condoned dominance or advice from anyone, even rejecting Aryamna many times. Who was she then to dictate his wolf?

"Let's go to the tower." They climbed up swirling stairs, each step he took making him further understand the mistake he did today.

He couldn't mistreat Indumala. Maybe he could roast his other subordinates, but she was working as his literal shadow. She was different.

She was a woman. Yes. It was with extraordinary pride that he had declared the news of her appointment to his pack. He never really let them realise that he welcomed this change with an open mind.

He scoffed. Indumala was still young. She could become overconfident if he used too many comforting words.

"I am a volcano. Truly." Rudra turned to see Indumala hopping over the stairs. "You will fall down. Don't do this," he said, too exhausted of another argument.

"Just having fun. Oh yes, you are a living, walking, talking volcano. Ruling volcano. No wonder the whole of Ishgar is scared of you."

You haven't seen my wolf yet, he thought. You will hate me if you know what I am.

And yet, this wolf bowed to you?

"Why does the Mataraj want to live here?"

"I don't know. She wrote me a letter and I am making the arrangements for her pleasure. She is sometimes incomprehensible."

"Didn't she tell the Rajan the reason?"

"She rarely shares what is in her mind. She is very secretive." He fetched out a key from his pocket and unlocked the room. "Also, she is very choosy about her friend circle. Only me, Dilrobar and to some extent your father has been able to gain her trust. The rest just come and go. I am not sure how she will welcome you. I pray she does."

"Because I am your bodyguard?"

"Clever girl, yes."

Indumala looked around the room. There was a spear and two shields. "I see. She still keeps her weapons."

"She took me as a son for a reason. We have a warrior's blood."

He looked jovial when talking about her, refulgent black eyes shining with warmth.

"But then, who is your real mother?" Indumala asked, unable to hide her curiosity. "I am sorry again if this is personal–"

Indumala paused when she looked at his face. Rudra had turned white. The veins on his neck popped out. He took three deep breaths, entwining his fingers with the folds of the curtains. A forlorn gaze came in for a minuscule moment, leaving behind a riddling darkness. "What do you mean by real mother and fake mother, Indumala?"

She felt choked by the question. "I don't know who gave birth to me."

Rudra traced the designs on the ivory stool absentmindedly. Indumala realised that he took time feeling each and every object of the room, fanatically taking in their scent and essence. "Neither do I."

Indumala gasped in shock. This was unexpected. "I didn't wish to make you feel uncomfortable or vulnerable."

Rudra laughed. Indumala shut her eyes, preparing herself for another unpredictable bombardment of disrespectful addresses. "Why vulnerable, Indumala? You, me, your father– none of us know our parentage completely. By real I mean, who gave us birth. But does it really matter?" He came and stood in front of her, lacing his fingers with her. "You tell me. Does it matter, who gave birth to you or not?"

She looked into his eyes. He had hopes in her. "No."

"Then what does?"

"If who is with you loves you or not, and if you love them enough to take care of them when they get sick or turn old."

Rudra puffed up with pride again. "Wonderful." He caressed her head and went outside the room. "Come, let's have something to eat. Let the room be open."

Indumala blushed. He was as unpredictable as the weather of monsoons. "Yes, let's go," she muttered.

"I have made you starve due to my own madness." He descended down the stairs, while a dumbfounded Indumala followed with a snail's pace.

All great people had a trail of mysteries behind them.

****