I am a lunatic who sings with the wind,
floats on foamy waves,
kisses the coarse sand, spoiling my tender lips
Searching for a lover as stupid as me!

****

It was a fine morning after the stormy night. The sky was clear blue and plenty of birds, some of whose names were not even known, chirped atop branches. Ishgar was happy and the marketplace bubbled with joy. In the palace, the servants worked with greater dedication, secretly wishing for their Rajan to announce something grand.

The Rajan, however, was too sleepy and exhausted. Mataraj Pushyaar stroked Rudra's hair, his head resting on her cosy lap. She had come to him early at dawn, only to find him asleep, unlike his usual self. Rudra was never someone to sleep too many hours and as a Rajan the luxury was out of his reach. Yet after the events of the last night, he was drained out.

"Rudra, I hope you have thought about it."

He heaved a sigh. "I am thinking."

It pricked him somewhere to know that he was now considering the thought of Indumala being his mate just because she could possibly be the reincarnation of his wife Petra. But again, he would be unable to love someone else. If he was being honest, he didn't want to rebuke himself for it. He was ready to love Petra in whichever form she came. Well, that was what he thought.

"Why do you feel like loving a second time will be a sin?" Pushyaar asked.

"It's just that I perceive it as betrayal. Petra is still alive for me, in my memories and my soul. How can I then give myself to someone who isn't her?"

"You cannot romantically love your soul either. You cannot marry yourself."

Rudra blushed. "Yes, it's true. Petra is me, and I am Petra."

"Explain me this– you have sinned multiple times after her death: You have killed people, you have attempted suicide, you have a bad mouth. The latter is the worst– you don't know how many people have bled because of your words. And after all this, you think loving another woman will destroy the sanctity of your love for Petra?"

Rudra remained silent. Mataraj continued, her voice echoing around. "Loving one doesn't replace another. You can love multiple people and every love is unique, an individual emotion. No one lessens another. And, I don't want to bring this, but didn't you love Aryam?"

Rudra wheezed. "I was young back then!"

"Young or old, love is a disease all catch. Petra didn't interfere with the deep relationship you share with him, though it had morphed over the years. Love evolves gradually. Petra and your story is proof of the same."

"I-I understand." Rudra pursed his lips, languidly waving his fingers. "I will try to do what you say, but I can't promise anything."

"Just don't tell me loving is a sin. It boils my blood. I encourage you to accept Indumala, give her some precious place in your life. You have already got a sign last night."

Yes, that blouse. Rudra sighed. "I will try."

"Your wolf is a part of you. If you call its anger your own, its attraction also has some base. It isn't seperate from your heart."

"Maybe it's subconscious and I didn't get it."

"You don't want to confront it."

"Maybe."

Pushyaar smirked. "You have always been too hard on yourself and others."

"Ah, I have. I am still not completely comfortable with what I am. Perhaps, if I do give this a chance, this love, it will help me heal. But everything lies on probability. I cannot force myself to love a woman. It will automatically happen."

Or...am I already in love? His heart skipped a beat.

"I agree, Rudra. But you must remember to also not pressurise yourself to leave love. Go with the flow. Feel. Enjoy."

Rudra smiled warmly. "Then, I think it's time I ask for forgiveness from her, irrespective of what me or my wolf thinks." He immediately felt a strange charming roll in his belly, as if the wolf were dancing. "I think I will go alone."

****

Indumala was busy training after a rough patch.

The training room was double the size of the dining hall, but its walls darker than any other place of the palace. There was only one window, that too at a great height. Pillars the colour of brass, ancient in its style stood tall, carved onto its surface were inscriptions in Sanskrit, from Shiva Tandava Stotram to hymns of the Devasenapati, God Karthikeya.

There were boulders, various types of weapons including Chakram, Parashu, Bagh Nakha and Urumi, besides the usual varieties of swords and a mace. It was well known throughout the kingdom that the Senapati loved to use Bagh Nakha while the Rajan was a master wielder of Katar. Indumala was yet to decide upon her favourite weapon.

Her battle cries reverberated across the hall. She was practising the Urumi with a blindfold on. It was one of the toughest weapons and also very bizarre. Yet, she loved challenges.

Even the fact that she survived till sixteen years of her life was fascinating.

She was weak and feeble, a baby too sensitive and with a deadly birthmark that used to flare red and smoulder her skin like cinder. Rumours went around that it was a curse she had carried from her past life because she had done something horrible.

Indumala only wondered if God was so cruel. It was one of the reasons why she chose Shiva as her deity– he was a God of the fallen and misunderstood. Perhaps he would have sympathy on her.

She slashed dummies made of raw animal meat and straw.  The Rajan loved to incorporate raw meat into the dummies because they gave the real thrill. Indumala's whipping sword sliced the heat in the air. It appeared as if it were the pallu of a warrior– smooth and alluring.

"He is as bizarre as this Urumi. Just too much."

But she liked the Urumi. Do I like him too, then?

Don't care.

While spending time in the palace she had gotten used to fighting without magic. She was worried in a way if it would hamper her development but then she decided to balance both. On the day of recruitment many looked down upon her because she was a mage.

"Baba once told me that long back mages were the life of the society. Alas, why did everything change?"

She never got that answer though.

"May I come in?"

Indumala kept the Urumi aside and removed her blindfold, turning back to find the Rajan. Fresh scars were visible on his arms and neck. Rudra realised where she was looking and hung his face in shame. "We need to talk."

Had this been one of her fellow friends from the guild, she would have displayed her sadness. But he was the Rajan and she didn't have any right to be upset on him.

Their blossoming friendship strummed her heartstrings. Intense dislike paved way for twinkling feelings. She was confused whether to see him as her master or a companion.

"You are my comrade, so you may scold me. I am ready for it."

Indumala's brows gathered. "Seriously?"

He flushed a deep red, awkwardly shuffling his feet. "I shouldn't have screamed at you last night. I wronged you, Indumala."

She blew a breath. "You made me cry. Do you even know how many people cry because of your temper?"

Rudra hiccuped. Slowly, his lips began to quiver and his eyes flooded. A deluge of tears flowed down his pink cheeks. "I am sorry," he moaned. "I will try to be better. I don't harm people intentionally. It's not in my upbringing." He felt like a monster again. Really, did he deserve love?

Indumala's hands were on her head. "Rajan!" Her breath got hitched and she felt a knot in her stomach. What was she going to do? This big tall man, the Rajan of Aryavarta, was crying and sniveling like a baby. "Rajan, it's alright if you cry, but don't let the breakdown defeat you. You need to get over it."

"I-I always hurt people," he slurred. "I am bad."

"You aren't bad." Indumala's heart ached. "The fact that you regret shows you aren't. The thing is, you need help."

Rudra wiped his face with the back of his palm. "From today, I will try to be a better person. I thought a lot last night and also spoke with Mataraj."

Indumala patted on his arm. "Good."

"I have something more to say. Did you notice something surprising last night?"

Her eyes glimmered. "I did! Who wouldn't? When I was a kid, Baba had told me about this curse that came on Ishgar, due to which monsoons were so very rare, just thrice a year. Now its broken!" She clapped her hands. "It rained for the fourth time. I am wondering, how did this happen? Who made this happen?"

Rudra smiled. "Maybe they don't even know themselves that they did it. Ignorance is bliss."

"Hmm, maybe." Indumala shrugged.

Rudra puffed up his chest. "I want to throw a grand feast on this sacred occasion. It is time to relish the fortune. And I need your help in that."

"How exactly?"

"Can you convince your mage friends to come here?"

"My friends from the guild?"

"Yes. I will write a formal letter to them, but I wish you be my messenger. You carry it and request them to come here and show some magical tricks. It's been a long time since mages got the respect they deserved."

Indumala felt giddy with happiness. "So you think we are good?"

"Of course! My Senapati is a mage. Isn't that enough to give a clear message?"

Indumala flung her arms open and gave him a tight hug. It was so sudden and unexpected that Rudra almost fell back at the force. Balancing himself on his woozy feet, he playfully ruffled her hair. "It's the first hug I received from you. This day will go down in history."

Even though Rudra found it cute and winsome, Indumala became self-conscious and slowly broke the hug. The spell vanished as she realised she had just, maybe, crossed a very private line. "I am sorry."

"You have this very bad habit of being sorry for no reason." Rudra smacked her head lightly. "You hugged me. You didn't strangle me. Hah, you aren't strong enough for the latter. You know I can squeeze you?" He extended his arms. Indumala waved her hands in denial. Rudra laughed. "Alright, you can continue training. I will go and make arrangements for the feast. When I have written the letter, I will give it to you."

Indumala fixed a smile on her face until Rudra left, then exhaled deeply. What was that?

"Come on, Indu, did the Rajan hug you in return and propose another tighter hug?"

It's crazy. Just like him.

Only Shiva knew why she was feeling so tense and hot, like in the middle of the desert. He smelled nice though, of milk and honey. He was a Rajan, so he had a regal bath everyday and the fragrance eventually got infused in his body. It was intoxicating and so very relaxing, easing her frayed nerves.

If only it was possible to hug him whenever she wanted, but Indumala didn't know if she had reached that stage in friendship. 

Will it come?