"He who is Krishna
He who is Amun
He who is Keshava
Son of Kalika,
Aryam."

****

Bringing relief to Ishgar, nectar rained before the dawn. In the arms of the retreating night, clouds gathered, showering the sweetness of elixir. The sun's glaring rays filtered to a sublime kiss, embracing the soil without the burning heat. Cuckoos chirped, eagles soaring high.

Soaking-wet after bathing in the waters of midnight, Senapati Aryamna stood basking in the light of a new morning. He wasn't carrying a spear unlike other days. Instead, his slender fingers were wrapped around a golden flute. It glimmered against his earthy sorrel skin. With a quivering grip, he brought the instrument to his lips. The whisper of lips wove a melody, waking up the sleeping fauna.

Like Rudra had given up herbs and dance following the death of Petra, the blue-eyed prince too had given up his all- his music, his throne; even his identity was snatched upon the descent of his wife to a realm of nothingness. Now, when the Four were again united, perhaps the former prince could peel off a layer of the curse.

Aryamna touched the flute to his forehead. This was his god too, like Nadira. The music it sang was to win over the princess's heart.

"Sixteen and young, hot blood." Aryamna chuckled. "Now forgotten and cursed."

But the world must remember.

The sky cleared from the greyness of night to the red of sindur. From behind the orange clouds, the sun peeked at him. Aryam stared at the ball of fire, recalling the smiling face of his father Madhavan.

"Bless me, Baba," tears rolled down his cheeks, "I must go back to the world. I must reveal myself."

It was the moment he had waited for years. Standing at the precipice of greatness, fears engulfed his divine core. Maybe someone like him was also subjected to the imperfections of a mortal body, a flickering mind.

A smile was carved on the sunny clouds, fluffy puffs symbolic of eyes. Aryamna bowed to the transcendental image of his father.

"I, Rajan Aryam, will make you proud, Baba."

****

The mages gathered to see off the Rajan and his bodyguard. Indumala embraced her friends, locking them in her cocoon of care and warmth, and promised to meet them soon. Radha was there too. She still couldn't match her gaze with Indumala. Not due to her failure in Revat, though. The shame of attempted suicide weighed on her shoulders. Yet, she mustered the courage to give Indumala a loving peck on the cheeks.

"I will be stronger," she told the victorious mage.

Time was slipping. Even though it hurt a little, Indumala knew she had to return to the palace. It was her home now. Well, wherever Rudra would go, she would follow like a loyal shadow.

Just like he never ceased to admire her. The camphor-white Rajan stole every chance to stare at his beloved. After all, she was dressed not in armours, neither in simple garbs, but bedecked in jewels like a princess. A garland of flowers rested on her head, curls coiling around the green stem. Her open hair floated like waves upon a wide shore, forehead adorned with sandalwood. Matching the subtle pink of her lips was a muslin blouse hugging her petite figure. Her navel was left bare.

Yes, Kalika looked wonderful when enraged, but Rudra couldn't deny that the allure of a maiden maddened him more.

"When shall we leave?" Indumala asked. "The people eagerly wait to behold us."

Rudra was aware of her speaking to him, but his eyes were fixated upon her skin. If only he had a chain of gold to tie around her waist. Her plump hips appeared like mountains at the top of a fertile valley, the womb of pleasure hidden amidst the valley's forest. The antariya further pronounced the beauty of her dainty legs.

"Rudra?"

He looked up at her, careful to not be bewitched by her breasts while regaining concentration. "Mhm?"

"When..." She gulped, face flushing red. "When are we leaving?"

"Where's Aryamna?"

Right. Where was he? Not unless he came could they start the journey.

"You look great, Rudra." Indumala traced the intricate veins on his wrist. "You look like a warrior- in silvery armour, kohl smeared on your eyes, the sweet colour of betel leaves on your mouth."

Rudra smiled. "Thank you."

"I don't see the Rajan. I see my Senapati."

The cursed werewolf bent down to kiss her. "And you, the Senapati's wife."

"Is it a norm to love openly?" A question was posed to the lovers. They turned to see Aryamna approaching them. "I mean, I appreciate your love, but isn't a Senapati supposed to have a more stringent aura? After all, it is the Rajan who should be the heartthrob."

"Baba? Is that you?"

Aryamna patted her head. "Yes, Indu. But I am also more than a Baba. You know that."

"Sure," she rubbed her cheek over his soft palm, "you are a Rajan."

Rudra circled Aryamna, inspecting his every part like a master assessing his creation. "I am thoroughly impressed. I guess I can give up my throne."

"Was it ever yours, Rudra?"

He laughed, smacking Aryamna playfully. "It is mine now, whether you like it or not."

"This is all so very pretty." Indumala entwined her fingers, closing her eyes to the tickle of a teasing wind. "I feel ready."

"So does the Senapati."

"And the Rajan."

The three hugged.

****

Euphoria burst through the crowd when they saw Indumala.

"Here comes the daughter of Ishgar- Indrasya Indumala!"

Hands extended, the folk desired to touch the divine goddess. Teary eyes spilled gratitude. Indumala felt a shiver run down her spine.

Although she was a dead mortal by then, the soul's memory recalled the wrath of the Ishgarian crowd upon the arrival of the plague. They had called her a whore and blamed her for it.

She didn't remember the faces. She didn't know if any of the ones praising her now belonged to the distant past. Perhaps they didn't. Most lives were wiped out. A sigh escaped her lips.

Do they know I am Petra's reincarnation?

Her fingers brushed against the bangles of the women. Goosebumps splashed on her arms upon the sight of their forehead glorified by a red tilak. They waved at her and jumped, as if age hadn't weakened their bones. It made her chortle. Men bowed to her, calling her by the thousand names of the goddess. On the way she grabbed the bouquets presented to her by the children. Barefoot and tiny, they were the pearls of tomorrow. She smelled the flowers- so wild, untamed, unruly. Plucked from the foot of the hills, from the bank of rivers, from neglected gardens. They would wilt soon, their lives being blessed to be graced by her caress before death.

Yet, they were precious.

Breaking from the shackles of the crowd, a child pushed through, running straight in front of the onyx bull Indumala was riding. The creature although beastly in appearance had a gentle disposition, and stopped to sniff the daring boy. The soldiers came to pull the child away, but Indumala climbed down, asking them to give her a moment. Kneeling down, she took the dirty hands of the child in her own. "You could have got hurt."

His face had a long scar running across his brow. The boy smiled. A tooth was missing. "You are my idol."

Indumala's eyes widened.

"My maa works in the forest on the weekends. I don't know what is the problem, but the older boys call her bad names. It infuriates me!"

It didn't take her time to understand what his mother did.

"But, I didn't lose to their bullying. I fought them. Got a scar," he pointed at the healing wound, "lost a tooth. Maa was upset. I told her about how you fought the big brutal men of Revat. I also want to be like you!"

Will you still respect your mother when you grow up? Indumala cupped the boy's face. "Remember one thing- no work is low. Your mother is earning to feed you, to give you everything the world has to offer. Always protect her. May Kalika bless you."

Parting with a goodbye kiss, the boy was ushered back by the royal guards.

The rhythmic playing of bhoo-dundhubis carried on a message of victory and fulfilment. A war was over. The good had emerged victorious. And there was the harbinger of victory- Indumala.

She joined her hands. "I will be your strongest solider, Kalika."

The Ishgarians showered on her hibiscus.

As Indumala journeyed forward, the attention was divided. Following her came the so-called Rajan of Aryavarta, Rudra. Also on a bull, a white one, he quickly caught up with his companion. They held hands, with Rudra kissing her knuckles.

"Do not cry, my doe."

"These are tears of joy."

"I can make you giggle when we reach my bedroom."

The people cheered on. Now they took not only Indumala's name, but that of Rudra too. The excited matchmakers didn't shy away from crowning Indumala with the title of 'future queen'. To which, Rudra already had a perfect reply.

"She has always been, since day one."

The spirit dampened when the couple passed through the palace gates. As expected, the people thought the march was over. But soon the observant ones noticed somebody coming, riding on a majestic elephant.

Doubts rippled across the crowd. Wasn't the Rajan supposed to ride on the exceptional animal? It was what traditions dictated. If not him, then his powerful queen. But both the eligible candidates were gone.

So who was this man?

At the grand announcement of the trumpets and the blow of a conch, a guard's booming voice rose above the agitated crowd to declare, "The blue-eyed enigma, the man who wields both the sword and the flute, whose eyes rival the sacred lotus and smile is envied by Sachi, welcome Aryamna!"

Heads craned and bodies almost toppled over the boundaries. Ropes failed to keep the brimming souls at bay. Dressed akin to a Rajan, Senapati Aryamna revealed himself to the mass.

From his breezy hair to the crescent cuticle of his feet, everything scintillated under the sunbeams. A peacock feather, equally briliant as his oceanic orbs, was attached to his red headdress. His chest gleamed golden like the amulets on his forearm. The men lost count of the jewels on his body- gold and topaz, emeralds and rubies. Draped in a scarlet dhoti, he sat relaxed like a Rajan during a gala evening of dalliance.

It wasn't apparent why the real Rajan chose to honour his Senapati in such an elevated manner. Indeed, after this day, it would be difficult to envision Aryamna as a subordinate to the Rajan and not the monarch himself.

His eyes were no less beautiful than a woman's. The feminine curve of the eyelids only accentuated his masculinity. Lucky were those women on whom fell the charming gaze of this warrior-prince. Although he was married, it would be no sin to imagine him in an immodest manner- so the onlookers secretly thought. The mind was only known to oneself and god, and the ladies requested the Divine to be merciful. Surely such a fascination couldn't be labelled as cheating!

They fell prey to the trick of Aryamna, who had like a skillful magician conjured this whole thing. It forced their hearts to recall if they saw the similarity between this man and a certain someone from tales of the old. Perhaps there was a Rajan, the one before Rudra, the handsomest man alive on earth and the most favourite youth of Aryavarta. His fame spread across the kingdoms, from Kemet to Gandhar. There wasn't a single girl who didn't desire to meet him, and maybe even a few men bit their lips at the thought of standing in close proximity to this Rajan.

The women weren't fools. Like a fated moment, a epochal turn in the history of Aryavarta, each female present felt a tingle in their core. Whispered stories seemed true, fairytales morphing into a tangible reality. Their husbands and partners would call them stupid, but they knew, they just knew this Aryamna wasn't a Senapati.

They couldn't be wrong. They could never be.

So the man who had left like a mirage returned as a hero.

****

word count: 2074 words

No wonder this chapter took time! This was tricky, yes. I am not sure I gave my best but I tried to transfer my idea onto the chapter XD

Life is now beautiful!