In the bigger lane of Time, where the amalgamation of births paint godhood, there is no foe, only lessons.

****

Aryavarta had so much to celebrate on this day. History was repeating, and in a good way. The devastation that preceded the coronation of late Rajan Madhavan and all the connecting chaos had made parents wary of sending their daughters to war. The trauma was transferred through generations, rendering ambitions futile. As years passed by, girls were seen as the scholarly Saraswati, the astute Lakshmi, or a benevolent Gauri, but never the ferocious Kalika. With the advent of Indumala's victory, however, parents began dreaming of sending their daughters to the army again.

A weight was lifted off the shoulders of Ishgar. Her children smiled, basking in the light of a new dawn. A new beginning.

Swarming through the happy crowd were whispers of a reincarnation. Although the previous population, which existed before the plague, was mostly wiped out, memories travelled through souls and blood. The horror of the fire and the malodorous decay became nighttime staples engraved into stories to put babies to sleep. Sleep, otherwise the horned beast shall come, and fire will turn us to ashes– so did the tale say. The name of the princess had become unfortunate, for her association with the so-called horned beast invited the plague to Ishgar.

No one took the name of the late wife of Rudra.

No one took the name of Petra.

She was shoved below a carpet, pressed upon by the crushing sandals of patriarchy who maligned her name along with the eternal evil.

But now, as the folk sniffed a rebirth, they were guilt-stricken and humbled by how the one whom they blamed for the plague returned the rains to Ishgar, the girl whose name they spat like dirt defeated the biggest enemy of the kingdom. Not only that, but she was the ansh of Kalika. The goddess lived within her.

Some were ashamed, their conscience holding a mirror at their false accusations. The young lads who used to mock Indumala for her birthmark now no longer perceived it as ugly, but saw it as a living reminder of how the lust within a man could scar a woman for several births. The elders who had shunned her as a little kid now cried for redemption. Thus, they wrote letters of apology, full of love and sincerity, to the newly crowned Nridevi.

Amidst the resolutions and acceptance of wrongdoings, there was a sparkle of sweet mischief. The citizens had witnessed the way the Rajan's hand curled around Indumala's shoulder, his fluttering gazes and quivering smiles worshipping her like a lover. He showered immense respect on her, elevated her to the stage of a queen despite her not being one. But who were they to question? It was a gala time. Their monstrous Rajan was healing, mending his ways. And indeed, Indumala would be their queen one day. The loveliest queen Ishgar would see.

Such was the ambience of the kingdom. Inside the palace, the lovebirds sat in Rudra's room. Dinner was done and they had retired to enjoy some private moments. And now that Aryamna didn't glare at them so much like before, Rudra wished to convince Indumala to stay back for a little longer.

"I am not asking you to sleep here," he clarified. "Maybe put me to sleep and then go. I won't mind if you sneak out when I am snoring."

Indumala removed her bangles and combed her hair. Lately the changes caused her to grow warmer near him, and even shy. The girl that would hop around and say silly things to irk the Rajan suddenly took a break. That facet of hers was still there, perhaps, but at present Indumala felt older. As if she were a twenty-something old in the body of a seventeen-years old. Or, maybe older.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The golden shine of her earlier body flashed in front, diving beneath her sorrel shade. The same eyes she had even now. The heart-shaped face was carved to perfection. The bow-shaped crimson lips. The same love for the ridiculed Rudra. The same love for Ishgar.

And Gandhar. Yes, that was her birthplace when she was Petra.

The piling experiences caused her to feel wrinkled and aged. Her soul lived through everything, from the death of Maa Amba till the conclusion of the war. Maybe her body had changed, but she never did. She was the same, only travelling from one vessel to another. It was a sudden push from the clutches of death to the suffering womb of some lady who had her during the plague. Blessed be that unknown mother, who took the pain to bring her again into the world, not letting her escape the mortal realm.

Breaking her contemplation, a face breathed over the nape of her neck. The ticklish kiss made her squirm. Indumala was caged within the most secure arms possible.

"What are you thinking?" Rudra asked, nudging her. "Put me to sleep."

"So kings do behave like fools."

"Kings have hearts too." He carried her to the bed. "And mine is stolen."

Indumala pursed her lips. "You should punish the culprit," she whispered.

"Come again?"

Laughing at a gaping Rudra, Indumala repeated with a coy smile, "I said, you should punish the culprit. No one should dare to steal the Rajan's heart."

"Perhaps I should." He smirked, gently biting her earlobe. "Hmm, what do you suggest I do?"

"Make her cook for you, clean your room, wash your clothes–"

"Oh no!" He groaned. "That's too distasteful, Indu. I was thinking of a different kind of punishment. I don't want to make you work like a servant. You will be my wife, not my maid."

"So it's true that I have stolen your heart."

He smiled. "The whole world knows. They knew before I did. The second you walked in this palace, it was fated."

Pain made one a poet. Her lover wasn't fond of words before. He would polish swords, darken his eyes with kohl, scream at wrestling soldiers. Who would have thought the magic of a woman could do such wonders? She loved him. She broke him.

"I am not going to entertain you with your naughty thoughts."

Indumala smacked his chest and sprang to the other side of the bed. Her pretty toes wiggled as she hummed. Rudra lay down beside her, his fingers tracing her cascading curls.

"I have a request, Rudra."

"If you wish to torture me, you can."

"No, you dumb!" She swathed away his lingering hands. "I won't let you come close to me so easily. You had made me wait when I was Petra. I will take my revenge."

"But–"

"Anyways," she glared at him, "I have something serious to ask. I desire to go somewhere."

His ears perked up. "Vacation?"

"You may call it anything. But you must obey."

"At your service, Nridevi." He bowed. "Command this servant of yours."

Indumala took a pause; may time pardon her. She was so bewitched by his efforts. Just like years before, he had grown a stubble, and let his hair grow up to his broad shoulders. It reminded her of the hermit she had turned into a householder, only to leave him alone.

Was there a fear in her heart? During moments as such, yes– she dreaded separation. When she looked at Rudra, she forgot even Shiva. Who was that idol inside the temple? The soul didn't live in that statue of mud and stone, but did in this man sitting across from her, whose palms discovered a new way to excite her each day.

Yet, it had all begun from Gandhar. She was first a daughter of that kingdom. That lovely land of starry sands and rocky cliffs, where she had fallen in love with a conqueror, whose ghastly eyes intimidated the Cosmos. The man who used to bathe in blood and had sworn to celibacy was suddenly ushered in the abode of matrimony. With her own hands she had taught him to love a woman. He flawlessly followed, even excelled her in passion. Gandhar cried upon her departure to Ishgar, but Rudra had always hold her close. He merged her with his soul. Gandhar never should have been worried.

"I want to visit my home."

Rudra nervously chuckled. "The guild? You may–"

"No," she shook her head. "My other home. Gandhar."

****

To not disrespect the comfort of the Senapati of Ishgar, Danube had arrived to the palace separately without much of a commotion. Some knew, of course, about the widowed queen, but no one really cared. Their souls were busy commemorating the victory of Indumala.

She was quietly led to her room by some maids. Rudra was spending time with his to-be queen, so she was told, and sent his apologies for the absence. The maids searched for in her face a splinter of envy, but she amicably smiled. If only they understood she wasn't here to snatch any king. She didn't even desire love, did she? The world was so cruel to her.

Tired after a long journey, she flopped on the bed. A mellow beam illuminated her room. With a finger she rubbed the ivory frame of the bed. Dust stuck to the tips. The room was cleaned in a haste. "As expected," she croaked, "this room was abandoned."

Once, she dwelled her. Her last breath was taken inside these same four walls.

Did Rudra realise something about her? Perhaps that was why he made an excuse to not meet with her. But she was no longer a bad woman. She was a good human. A kind, fragile soul. One who was forced upon each night by that lecherous Hamal who frightened her even after death.

Danube flinched. Hamal– it was a sacred name. It was she who had ruined it, making a beastly soul rob the divine name of a divine king. The Hamal that the world knew as Indumala's arch nemesis was never supposed to have such a name. His real name was different, words sewn with such complex malice that it made her lips bled when she attempted to pronounce.

It wasn't like she had the choice. Circumstances had moulded her into a villain. In her last life, she was loved by none, only pitied. She lived with the name of a person who was way beyond her comprehension. She was bestowed the title of Madhavan's queen. Alas, he never desired her. To all she was just a mere replacment for the vacant place of a dead queen. She also had no power like his chief queen Mataraj Pushyaar. She came only to fill an empty cup from which no one ever drank. The elixir she prepared with her care and devotion was looked upon with mercy and never adoration.

Did she have the path to win somebody's affections? The only man who had ever seen her as an independent woman and a sentient being was a dwarf. But she couldn't be with him, neither get Madhavan's body. Nor could she flee the kingdom to go hide in a forest. They entrusted her the duty of rearing a mad child, the product of two opposing forces.

Such was her destiny. She died at the hands of her ghoulish son.

"He wasn't wrong." A lone tear splashed on her lap. "He did right by killing me."

"No, he did not."

The familiar voice soothed her wrecked soul. She turned to see Dilrobar come into the room. The burnt princess shut the door and came sat beside her. "He commited a crime by murdering his mother."

"Mother or not, he killed a villain."

"You weren't a villain then. You merely tried to caution him. But see how he is– even now we fail to make him understand the truth."

The truth they spoke about was known to only a few. The fortunate ones to have knowledge of it were Indumala, Aryamna and the senior guild mates, and the inhabitants of the Valley of Saints. The latter was were the truth was now hidden– a flaxen-haired man, and his godly wife.

"Bull. A literal bull." Danube blew her nose. "He is as stubborn as his father."

"I hope they meet one day. It's sad that their relationship is strained. He doesn't even know how great his parents are."

"Was it my fault, Dilrobar?" Danube sobbed. "I was instructed not to share the secret with anyone. I understood why Rudra had to be kept in the dark. If only he kept aside his grudge and listened to me during my last moments. But I don't have any hatred for him; he was my son, even if not of my womb."

"I asked the servants to prepare this room for you. I want you to stay here. This will be a statement to Rudra."

"Won't he be angry?"

"He is never pleased with me. I am sure he will feel nothing the day I die. So, I don't really care." She shrugged. "Whether he likes or not, we are going to bring the truth to the surface."

"Go slow, Dilrobar," Danube said. "The curse is a harsh one. My soul had uttered it with so much of agony. And it can be cured only with love."

Dilrobar grinned. "Well, love is here."

"Yes." Danube wiped her tears. "Indumala. She is still so gorgeous. As if in every birth she is blessed by the beauty of Bhuvaneshwari."

"Isn't it obvious?" Dilrobar closed her eyes, placing the image of Indumala in her conjured portrait of Kali. "She is her. She is Kalika. She doesn't know."

Once estranged mother and daughter embraced this unlikely reunion. Now transformed into friends by a twist of Time, together they dreamt of the splendour of the Divine Mother and her holy child Indumala.

****

word count: 2321 words

Eager to hear your thoughts