A mother mourns forever.

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It was a new morning, and Indumala bandaged her wounds. She had assured Rudra she was capable of it herself, asking him to visit the injured soldiers and pay respect to the fallen ones.

Nothing could be done to bring back lost arms or lost lives, but their families would be getting a compensation. And Rudra's benevolent heart enrolled the children of those families in schools for free. Whatever dakshina the guru would require, the Rajan was to provide. In most cases the good Brahmins merely asked for a basket of fruits or a pair of new sandals. The Rajan knew they couldn't be impressed with flamboyant displays of luxury. So as something extra, he would construct a good shelter for their cattle, a roof atop their head and send new papyrus for the students.

It had been three days since the return of her consciousness. They were still living in the tents near the battlefield, watching out for any new attack from the existing nobility of Revat, but as far as rumours were concerned, Indumala was told the men wouldn't dare launch another attack. They were afraid of being slaughtered like pigs at the hands of a girl half their age.

Now, she heard that the Rajan was preparing to visit Revat. He had business to finish and last warnings to give. At present, he was delivering an inspiring speech to the soldiers mourning the loss of their loved companions. It was an open secret that within the men of the army, many harboured feelings for the same sex. It was a bond watered by blood and sweat, sharing the trauma of war and distant families. In the embrace of sturdy arms another warrior found solace.

"Death isn't the end, my mates." Rudra's voice was loud as a lion's roar, to be heard by even gods like Apollo remembering their beloved Hyacinth. "In memory we shall survive, counting moments till our own demise. Do not slit your wrist in haste– it pains the one on the other side. He does not want you to die; he wants you to be a hero."

Indumala recalled the many times she caught him committing self-harm. The same man was now asking others to not follow the easy route. It was, after all, a shameful end to the life of a warrior.

But did love ever care for things such as shame and rules? It was a free bird, even scandalous. Sometimes desperate, often morbid.

Looking back at her life of eighteen and seventeen years, she knew hers were such.

Maybe Rudra was facing his own flaws. The pause in his speech wasn't deliberate but a result of his deep-rooted shortcomings. Towering above his subjects, he realised the beauty of life. "It is better to die once than everyday, and may Death find you alive. It is a blessing to depart as a happy soul. A decomposed heart only invites pity. And pity, my soldiers, is not something we live for. You are brave men. You love intensely and must live intensely. The untimely death of your mortal companionship should lit up the audacity to become a legend. Be so in the name of love. Destroy, seek revenge, put an end to injustice in the name of love. Your lovers are waiting to see you blossom."

Cheers erupted. The soldiers cried, carrying the urns of their friends. Some poor ones hid it in pouches, but the Rajan had given them gold strings to tie.

"We are going to the palace of Revat. We go as victors, the ones whose voice history shall remember, and with this comes a grave duty. Upon the conduct of one depends the fate of all. No one, I repeat, no one must lay a hand on any woman, however spoiled she may be by the air of the capital. We have answered the men in war and will again if required."

Rudra descended from the podium, going back to his tent to make final arrangements. Indumala met him there. "Am I to accompany you?"

The first thing he did was to caress her arms, meticulously checking each scar. "The herbs are working. You will be fine in no time."

Indumala smiled. "Rudra, I asked you something, did I not?"

He blushed. "Apologies. Yes, you will come with me. I am not leaving you anywhere."

"Where is Baba?"

"He has been in Revat since last night. He is going to make sure those venomous snakes aren't planning a rebellion."

"Why did he have to go there at night? Isn't it dangerous–"

"Indu, you forget that your Baba is a vampire. His magic works best at night. Think back how the people revered him more than me. He frightens them more, for he is the same flesh as their dead king."

Indu scoffed. "They aren't of the same flesh. Maybe both creatures of the night, but my Baba is way better as a man."

Rudra folded his bed, a grin dancing on his bearded lips. "He says to me he is indeed of the same flesh. According to him, it makes him special."

"Nonsense."

"Your father. Talk to him, not me." Rudra threw up his hands.

The tents were removed and all things boarded. A part of the army, headed by a young werewolf by the name of Callaghan, was to go back to Aryavarta with the good news. The rest now journeyed for Revat.

Things had changed considerably since her last visit. She found the women, although timid and withdrawn, step out of the huts and look at them marching. They had their curious little babies tucked in a sling. The older ones pulled at their mother's skirt, staring at the soldiers in awe.

"They know change is on the horizon," Rudra told Indu. Just like last time, they were on the same horse. "I will strive to end their misery."

"It will take years, Rudra. Maybe even more than one generation to eradicate the pain till the last drop."

Oblivious to the changing sights, Indumala's eyes scanned the fluffy clouds floating in the sky. They were so beautiful, shaped as balls of cotton rolling over a sunny carpet. It helped her focus on the good things– the pretty sun, the sweet sunshine.

A raven passed under the sun, blocking the tender light. A shadow fell over her face. Long and slow, it resurrected ugly fears.

"Am I not a ruined woman?" she asked, rare tears streaming down her eyes. "I was exploited by a man twice, in two births. I am impure."

Rudra pulled the reigns. The horse neighed and came to a halt. "What?"

Indumala shivered, suddenly yanked back to reality. "Forget it. Forget I said something."

She didn't have the courage to look at his fathomless eyes. He was a Rajan, an immortal being. Once a great Senapati, always a lovely man. What was she? A prey hunted by a predator.

"I wish I could–" Rudra gritted his teeth, glaring at his beloved. "You have angered me."

"You want to hurt me?" she asked. He murmured a furious curse under his breath. Indumala sealed her lips shut.

"Has Revat planted the seed of doubt so deep inside your soul that you refuse to see the truth that hangs in plain sight?"

Indumala could see no truth. The soldiers did say things about her, but she didn't really care. What if she had killed Hamal? His soul wouldn't be dead. He could return. He could return and–

"Look around, Indumala," Rudra raised his voice above her crushing silence. "When all these men had failed, when even this immortal was as good as a corpse, you became our saviour. Return of the light."

Rudra clasped her palms, holding them with the reins. She was so quiet, as if Death herself personified. Unaware of the admiring stares of the women peeking out of windows, unaware of the divine blood running in her veins, Indumala diverged her attention to sewing hatred in her mind. Threads black as coal, bitter and burning, stuck to a needle of false stars penetrated her beautiful heart. It bled, punctured by the limiting beliefs of a society that failed to give women the love they deserved.

"If a man wrongs you, it's him who is at fault. Your body, however wounded it might be, is never wrecked by sins. Untainted you remain. Unploughed even after a womb is impaled."

A knot formed in her stomach."My-my baby, Rudra?"

The Rajan's eyes swelled. He firmly held back the dam of resistance. The flood couldn't be allowed to barge in. His lips quivered at the corners, veins popping on his neck. "Th-the soul," he stammered, "never dies."

The gentle inflection of his voice and the softness of his helpless smile made Indumala wheeze even stronger. Perhaps she could believe being the purest maiden, but had she not killed a child? She had no choice back then. "I couldn't feel its kick even once. The baby came like a blessing out of the blue, and left us in the aftermath of a storm."

"Maybe when you were on the other side, in the lap of Kalika, the baby was with you." Rudra found his voice cracking and weeping. "Do not cry, Petra. We are here, together, aren't we? I am sure one day when time is right, we will get back our baby." He sniffed back his tears and jested, "You need to grow up."

"Earlier, I was married at this age."

"I know. But I always called you my little one."

Indumala had so much to unwrap and demystify. The pain made it worse. But she had to go through it. This fire wasn't going to burn her. She had risen from the ashes.

She would wait, yes. One day, she would be a happy mother again.

"Leave the past behind, Petra. It's a new day and a happy life." The sun shone on his visage like a proud father. "The castle is being rebuilt."

"I pray everything turns out just fine. I won't be able to take any more of suffering."

"You won't have to. You are a goddess now, and the ansh of Kalika isn't here to be overpowered by demons."

They were in front of the gates of late Hamal's palace, imposing iron bars akin to cages of a dungeon. It boasted of a century-old dominance. Indumala heaved a sigh. This place had been a nightmare to her. Would it change this time?

"People don't come back to be the same." Rudra unmounted and carried her down, their noses rubbing against each other. She wiped her tear-drenched face on his chest. Tenderly he held her by the waist, his touch so feathery, as if he were swirling the waters of a crystal-clear lake. "This time will be different. And for good."

Entwining their fingers, the Rajan and his beloved stepped inside the palace which had once been the place of their deadly separation. 

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