Why a woman who had sinned be whipped, and a man who sinned be worshipped?

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The men of Revat looked at Indumala as if she were a dirty monster uglier than their dead Rajan.

All eyes were on the young woman. Each gaze was alert, often diffident, a quality Indumala had not expected to find in these men of blood and gore. With each step she took, the heaviness in the air pressed down upon her. It was her own presence that invoked fear. The darkness of Revat flocked to her deadly fire, not to consume her dignity but to worship the brutality in her bones.

If moments before she were having doubts of her divinity, now they all vanished like a mirage. Wherever she cast her curious glance, the flower wilted. Venomous sneers fled behind curtains. Inside her heart triggered an ancient storm. She wondered if the men would come rushing at her if she smiled coyly, or would they still remember the lunacy that slept in her core?

She herself was recently made aware of it. Parts of the war were still hazy, but Revat presented the taste of tangy blood. Had she been drunk on the ichor of the dead Rajan Hamal? Perhaps, and it must have been delectable– the drool collecting in her mouth hinted so. She pursed her lips, surprised at the courage brimming in her veins. It threatened to blast open all the thin vessels and erupt a fountain of rage.

This wasn't the anger of a woman. This was the revenge of a goddess.

Yet, why she? Maybe the answer would knock one day.

There was something else living in her– something that was a part of her soul indeed, but was lulled to sleep in infancy. It was awakening now, rising up to the surface, screaming at the atrocities of the world. The cruelty of men fed its hunger, and crawling to the skeletons of fallen demons, the creature would rejoice in a feast. Every man that stood in the corridor deserved to be roasted alive. Indumala clenched her fist. The urge was getting too strong, her mind going blank. She was losing herself. If she didn't control the bloodlust soon, someone would be dying again. And she won't remember killing.

A hand brushed her cheeks. She looked up, the redness of her eyes retreating back.

"You seem troubled, Indu."

What should she be saying? Was this the same wrath that Rudra experienced as a werewolf, venturing to the most extreme methods of violence to slit skin and make a garland out of the pierced flesh? She was growing closer to him not just in love but in madness too. "I am feeling angry."

Rudra weighed her words, a brief pause that stretched on for an eternity. At the end of his analysis, he said, "You need to address what is going on with you. It can't be left unattended."

Maybe he knew what she was going through. Maybe he could help. "The anger doesn't simmer down. It keeps on poking me. I feel like," she scanned the guards around, "maybe, one of them..."

"O my little one," Rudra caressed her head, running his fingers through her hair. It instantly calmed her senses, a cool fountain moistening her enraged hot body. She felt sleepy and numb. "You must hold the reins. I have learnt to do it, and you shall too. Your anger must not take anyone, but only the people necessary."

With drooping eyelids she stared at him. "I see."

"I think it will be better for you to not come with me and meet Aishan. Seeing them will irk you. And I don't wish to call upon the destructive again."

His eyes glinted with pride. It made Indumala blush. "You speak as if I have done something great."

"Whatever great women do."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger. It was one of Aryamna's men. "Glory to the Rajan of Aryavarta. Senapati Aryamna seeks his daughter, the royal bodyguard. He requests you to go and meet Aishan and send Indumala to him."

"Will he be joining me later?"

"Yes. He will."

"Well, your Baba calls. Maybe he has something to tell you, maybe he realises you mustn't see those men. Either way, it's good."

The guard escorted her to Aryamna and left. The Senapati was standing in front of a huge portrait. When she came, he turned with a smile. "I wanted to show you something."

Indumala stood beside him, following up his eyes to the tattered painting. The corners were eaten up by insects and cobwebs hung from the ornate wooden frame. Scraps of paint were gone and in its place patches of black gave it an old appearance. The grandeur of the painting was nonexistent.

"Do you recognise him?" Aryamna asked.

At first glance, she frowned. But it didn't stay for long. Her features smoothened out to a sad beam. "I do."

"Do you have questions?"

Indumala touched the portrait, running her hands over the sword that the man was holding. A breeze swayed the shreds of the portrait, imparting life to the inanimate. "This sword is with me now. That person you called Uncle, from the Valley of Saints, gave it to me. But how did it reach him?"

Aryamna whispered, "No one knows."

Indumala took in the rustic smell, feeling the essence of the man lingering even now in the accursed palace. She had seen a side of him few knew, and she loved him despite knowing all his flaws. He was a friend gifted by the gods, a protective shade only she knew was harmless.

Her eyes widened. Her Baba knew the truth too. She jerked around and held him fiercely. "He is alive?"

Aryamna smiled.

"He is alive!"

"Yes." Aryamna smiled. "Let that sink in."

"But–" Indumala found no words to express the whirlwind of confusion. It was a crazy mayhem. Things were falling in place, but the more she questioned, the trickier it turned. "He is alive, and you know it. So you know that he wasn't the one?"

Aryamna nodded, a silent affirmation.

Indumala gasped. "Why did you never tell Rudra?"

"Some mountains can't be shaken."

Indumala groaned. She clutched her hair and leant against the walls. "The villain is dead, but another's name is being tarnished."

"I know it's a lot to take in." Aryamna's brows were drawn in, a melancholic curve above oceanic mirrors. "And now, something is happening that I myself don't understand."

"Does that also mean, there are things which I don't know, but you do?"

Aryamna's breaths hitched. "Yes."

"And when shall I know them?"

"In due time. For now, we have a new mystery to solve. Something that even I don't have a solid clue about. And for that I called you. We must go and meet the widow of Hamal."

"Which Hamal?"

"Uh, the one whom you killed."

"Oh, I see. There's a queen too."

"She wants to meet you."

"Me?"

"Yes. I assure you, I deduce her to be a good lady by first impression. My spies have found that she was the one who provided the mogra antidote to Rudra's poisoning, when he was attacked by Hamal's dark mage. But the people from the pack instructed me to keep it a secret because the Saints had ordered so."

"That's strange. But maybe she is a woman of righteousness and is actually on our side. Alright, I will meet her."

"I am taking you to the queen's room. Try to know more about her while I am with Rudra."

****

The Queen of Revat was around Indumala's age. Alas, fate was merciless, and at this tender youth she was dressed in the mourning attire of white. There was no crown atop her head, her thick elaborate curls left open for the wind to tickle.

Her eyes reminded Indumala of Dilrobar. They had the same green ones, a very beautiful shade devoid of sharpness, as if Mother Nature herself were residing in them. Indumala imagined the queen in the middle of a forest, climbers coiled around her necks and limbs, her body mixing with the earth.

"I am Danube, the widowed queen of Rajan Hamal the Second. I am grateful that you came to meet me."

"I couldn't have disregarded your request. You are a queen."

"Do not embarrass me. I am just one in title. It's a golden cage, to be honest."

Her servants were as pale and exhausted-looking as her. Skinny with hollowed cheeks, they probably weren't fed properly. Or maybe, they were planning to fast unto death.

"These four walls– I don't know if they are loyal to me, the mistress that lives within them, or the ministers govern its ears. But I will risk it and say– thank you, Indumala."

"Why?"

"You freed me. You rescued me from a marriage that was choking me every night." Her voice quaked, tears spilling down on the bedsheets. "You aren't a killer. You saved me, Indu–" She bit her lips. "Forgive me, I-I didn't mean to take your name. It's disrespectful."

"No, you can call me Indumala."

Danube hesitated, but gave in eventually. "Indumala. Thank you."

"What will you do now?" The queen appeared scared as a lone kitten without a mother. Indumala pitied the lady. "You are safe with me."

"I don't know." Her shoulders rose and she flinched. "Aishan will become the Rajan now. Maybe he will marry me."

"Should I help you?"

Danube puckered. "I have heard your Rajan is respectful of women. He has given many a new life. May god bless him."

Indumala understood what she wanted. "I will talk to him, don't worry."

Her face lit up. "Really?"

"Yes. Do you have any other thing to say?"

"No." Danube joined her hands in a namaskara. "This is enough. I am happy."

You aren't, Indumala thought. Perhaps it was only good that Danube convinced herself everything was perfect, or at least satisfactory. Indumala didn't know if Rudra would be so big-hearted as to liberate this unfortunate queen. Indumala would personally ask him to consider.

Danube parted her lips, only to speak nothing.

"I am here," Indumala assured.

"You...you love fish, don't you?"

"Yes?"

Danube's servants quickly ran back and forth from the kitchen. It was the only time Indumala saw them genuinely smile. They brought a plate of fish balls for her. "I cooked them by myself." Danube pushed the plate in Indumala's hands, but the latter was taken aback by the gesture. Danube turned red in shame. "I forgot! I know the rules. I must taste." She took a bite. "See, it's nice!" She offered her half-eaten one to Indumala.

"I really didn't suspect it to be poisoned. I was just surprised." Indumala took the fish ball. It melted in her mouth like butter. "Delicious."

Danube radiated childish joy. Until today, she was never praised for her skills. "I won't keep you waiting."

"I think my Baba will come to take me. Till then I can stay here."

"Then let me entertain you." Danube fetched a big bag and emptied it on her bed. Out from it fell a dozen dolls, colourful marbles and paint brushes. "These are my toys. This doll I got when I was five, and this when I was six..."

And so on. Danube blabbered, and Indumala listened, often catching the servants whimpering in a corner. She felt inclined to hug the queen, to take her along. The queen's eyes shone like emeralds when she spoke of her marbles, flaunting proudly how there was not a single scratch on them. "You have taken good care," Indumala said. Scooting closer to the queen, she asked, "Do you enjoy painting?"

Danube blushed. "Maybe."

Indumala wanted to cry. It took several deep breaths to balance the overwhelming emotions. She couldn't leave this woman alone in Revat, otherwise her fate was to become worse. It was clear as the morning sky that this innocent woman was being tortured everyday. Maybe Hamal had violated her every night. If she wasn't taken out of Revat, another man would prey on her.

Rudra would have to keep this demand of Indumala. This queen was going to come with her to Ishgar no matter what. Indumala wouldn't let another suffer knowing well she had every chance to give them a better life.

Unbeknownst to her, Danube stole a glimpse of her kind eyes, lost in kind thoughts, feeling guilty of why she had been so heartless to Indumala before.

****