There is hope, always.

****

The Senapati had thought everything would be fine after the war. Alas, bitter feelings resurfaced.

In the musty tent, Rudra tried to gently coax Radha to speak. What misfortune fell on the girl that she cut her beautiful hair? It used to resemble molten midnight, its mere touch a blessing of the night. But she wouldn't speak. Initially, she resisted being touched. Aryamna's head burst with piercing pain. He doubted the worst was done to her, when Raya assured him no man had touched them, although they suffered some whipping. Those were the wounds which Rudra now applied a paste over.

Aryamna caressed the girl. "Radha, won't you talk to me?" He brought out silver earrings for her. He had originally bought them from a local of Revat to gift to Ishvara, but he believed now it could be of better use. "See, you love to adorn and I bought these especially for you! Am I not the best uncle?"

Radha was a statue of stone. Even though tears glided down her eyes, she refused to acknowledge them. Aryamna wiped her face, but she heaved a sigh of discomfort.

"Are...are you upset that I didn't come to take you?" His nasal voice was laden with guilt. "I-I had to be in war. I am sorry–"

Radha shushed him. Aryamna grasped her little fingers. "I love you all. You are also my kids."

The divider of the tent rustled. Indumala came running in with a box of jewellery. It was her own, the one she was arranging just before. "Do you want some nice trinkets? I have nose pins too."

The tip of Indumala's nose was red. She fumbled with the jewels, placing a few in Radha's hand. The quiet mage flinched at the contact, shocking Indumala. The little goddess hadn't expected to be shoved away by her childhood friend. Was Radha angry on her? She had every right to be, and Indumala knew she would be able to win her back no matter what.

"The bad men are all dead," Indu whispered. "You need not be afraid."

Radha's mirthless laughter sent goosebumps down Indu's spine. She cast a pitiful glance at the bodyguard and then wobbled out of the tent. Aryamna ran after her and grabbed her by the hand. Radha laughed hysterically and yanked herself from his grip, fleeing for the darkness.

"Catch her!" Aryamna screamed. "She is going insane. She is going insane-"

"Aryamna, she needs time to come to reality," Rudra spoke. He had been observing everything in silence, choosing to give the mages a personal space. His hands were coated in crushed herbs which he put on the marks of lashes. "My guards will keep her in place. We need to keep her shut."

"You...you can't cage my friend." Tears spilled from Indu's warm doe eyes. She pulled at Rudra's coat. "Please, don't lock her," she begged. "She must have gone through something terrible."

"I-I wish I could kill that Hamal a million more times," Rudra grunted. Aryamna averted his gaze, having made a choice to not correct him. Rudra continued, "I won't hurt Radha. She is your friend and so is my family too. But we need to keep an eye on her, otherwise she may end up harming someone."

"She isn't stable." Aryamna sniffed back tears. "Rudra is right. We must appoint guards all around her. There, I see your men having caught her."

Radha wriggled and fought with the werewolves. They pleaded the Senapati to help them.

"I will see to it. After all, it's me who will have to give Shankha and Chitra an answer. I have failed my friends and this child here." Aryamna scooped up Radha in his arms and took her to Raya's tent.

Rudra murmured a prayer. "Humans are the real animals. Beings of no conscience."

He ushered Indumala to her tent. A silent agreement was reached- he would be sleeping with her tonight. He hadn't forgotten that just before this unfortunate event surrounding Radha happened, they were arguing. Well, he was arguing. Perhaps they were lengthening the banter.

Indumala had a frown pasted on her forehead. She put down her jewellery box with a clank and rushed to make a messy bed. The mattress was creased, and she made sure to make a bed only for one person. So, Rudra made one for himself beside her. She looked back, scowling, and faced the opposite side. He slept and covered themselves with a blanket.

After some time, Indumala decided she needed the whole of it, so she snatched the blanket.

"Stop being childish." He touched her arm. She shifted with a huff. "Come on, you are cross because of me hating on that Dilrobar? You can't possibly be empathising with her."

"She has changed."

"Indumala, I don't want to bring back the past, but you should remember that these words of yours have failed to prove themselves more than once."

Rudra wrapped his legs around Indumala, locking her in the fetal position. His hands rested under her bosom. "You are stubborn."

"So are you."

"You...you had made a demand."

"What? When?"

"After you killed Hamal, you asked me to prepare the bed. That's what you wanted...once we returned to Ishgar."

He nudged her neck. Despite the angry curve of her brows or the frustrated pout, she melted in his embrace. She didn't protest when he pushed her quite literally towards himself, as if he were trying to conjoin their bodies. A desperate attempt.

"You remember?" he asked. When no answer came, he heaved a sigh. "I am sorry."

Even Indumala failed to understand him in this moment. If there was someone he loved the most, more than those hypocritical and unlikeable gods, and the whole nourishing world, it was her. Perhaps he was born a fighter– it was his destiny to always showcase the grit and fire in his blood, even to his lovely Indu. There was a whirlwind in his mind that he couldn't put to words. Maybe he would rather not. The weather was rather grim and tense, and his beloved was struggling.

He didn't wish to intensify the pain, but alleviate it. So, he decided to drop the topic. Dilrobar could of course be shoved away for later.

"Indumala, I know you love having fish and peanut chutney, but what do you hate eating?"

Diverting her anger towards food and effectively switching the course of conversation, he surprised Indu. She turned back, skin still flaring hot from rage. "Why do you want to know?"

"Actually," he scratched his chin, "I get random thoughts. Like I love figs, kheer, and I hate having jackfruit. So smelly!"

Indumala sketched the contour of his visage in her mind, watching the way he pinched his brows, feigning to be deep in thought, arms crossed over his chest. Her eyes lingered on his pursed lips, a smile unwittingly playing on her inert face. "I don't like litchis."

"We match." Rudra booped her nose. "I too don't like it. Bananas are far better. Apples too, and maybe certain lemons. Not too sour though. Makes my face look so old with wrinkles when I suck the juice."

"You are actually old. You are my father's Master." She gesticulated with her hands. "And the father of whole Aryavarta."

A curse word tore from the displeased lips of Rudra. Indumala cackled. "I am marrying my father's so-called sworn brother and..." She stopped. Her eyes lit up, pupils fleeting across the white canvas. "Wait. This family tree is really curvy and confusing."

"And when you know half of us are unaware of our parentage, it makes it even more interesting."

"But still, you are too old for me. I guess many soldiers will be unhappy that I chose someone like you."

Rudra clenched his jaw. "You still have time. You can choose better."

"I think I have fallen for the most hot-tempered, stupid, crybaby Rajan. Seriously, how come they call you the strongest? Hah, it's me who killed Hamal."

"Yeah. I am not stealing your glory."

"You do." Indumala jutted her chin. "You always wanted to kill him but I did it instead."

"It's the same. Either of us."

"No. It's me. Not you."

Rudra gulped. "Pride broken." He raked a hand through his hair. "Fine. You are the winner, and when we return to Ishgar, I am going to give you a grand welcome."

"Oh come on!" She spat on his face. "I would have got it anyway. I deserve it. The people of Ishgar will love me more than you."

"Want my throne?"

She caressed his bare chest. "Not so soon, darling. I will take everything slowly, little by little."

Rudra wheezed. His cheeks reddened. "Does that include me too?"

Indumala licked her lips. "I guess so?" She threw her legs around him to saddle his hips and sitting atop his body. Her hands freely roamed over his warm skin. "I will make you wait. Because last time, you made me wait."

"You remember."

"I do."

Rudra traced her thighs, but before they could slid in, Indumala pinned them above his head. He gasped at her sudden bold display of action. Her breath fanned his face, mingling with his restless moans for air. Eyes widened and lips parted, he was at a loss of words. Mind gone blank. Gaze stuck on her cherry bosom. His heart raced when she placed a peck on his lips before releasing him from her sweet prison.

"Good night, husband of a thousand births." She flicked her hair and ducked inside the blanket. Rudra was paralysed by the passionate shock of the whole event. He kept staring at her back, occluded by the beautiful black hair, listening to her rhythmic breathing. He peeked at her after some time had passed, finding her to be deep in slumber.

"My sun and moon," he smiled, "I love you so much."

Gently spooning her, he too went to sleep.

****

The first thing Raksa did after returning to the guild was to visit his best companions of the Southern Forest– the tall green grass, the forgetful squirrels and white hares, the shy deer and her family. He had assisted the werewolves of Rudra in recusing Radha and Raya. Alas, it hurt him to find them in such miserable condition, and had not a letter from Aryamna instructed him to be quiet about the matter, he would have told Radha's parents everything.

So when he came to the guild, the only thing he conveyed to the worried parents was that their daughter was safe, and would return soon with the Rajan and his retinue, and then excused himself to rest.

This moment of the starry night required his immediate meeting with the animals of the forest.

Taking his drums with him, Raksa played and sang in his honeyed voice. "Missed your bard, pretty ones?" He whistled to attract the birds. "Come and greet me!"

Soon came the deer, the wild boar and rabbits. Owls perched atop branches hooted and bobbed their heads. Raksa sat under the shade of a merciful canopy, moonlight filtering through his thick curls. A smile graced his lips as one by one each precious life came and gave his palms a lovable lick. In clicks and signs he spoke to the children of earth, nodding his head to their request of a soulful melody. Striking his drums and raising his divine voice to the height of the skies, he summoned every life to join in the celebration. All exhaustion and sadness left his tense muscles, icy cold fears thawed.

If there was someone in the guild, after Aryamna, who could so skillfully communicate with the fauna, it was Raksa. And that was his power. Nature was in his blood; he had learnt to sing the music of rattling snakes and chirpy cuckoos even before uttering the word 'Maa'.

A ringing sensation numbed his ears. Maa.

His fingers missed a beat, slipping down to the side of the rubbery drum. The spectators tilted their heads, wondering what made their beloved friend pause so suddenly.

"Nothing." He shrugged, beads of perspiration rolling down his shiny forehead. He continued the song, watching the animals twirl and swirl to his tune. Oblivious to the hierarchy of prey and predator, each rejoiced in a pearl of time where every life was equal.

The faun and the doe, the mother owl and her chick. The stag brushing its horns against woody barks. Raksa noticed the complete families with a pang in his heart. Perhaps they didn't sense the quiver in his pitch, the jittery movements of his fingers. So many rhythms missed, ruined, and yet they loved his song. When the night deepened and sleep tired even the nocturnal entities, the animals bid him goodbye.

Raksa heaved a sigh, lolling back his head as a tear rolled down his eyes.

Maa. Baba.

Floating across his watery vision were the faces of Ambika and Sa'ad– he could paint the crinkles near their eyes as they laughed at his antics, presenting wooden horses to his baby self, clapping along to his clumsy dance. Rustic lullabies repeated in his mind. Raksa extended a hand, trying in vain to create the now dead humans out of thin air. A phantom touch of memories kissed him farewell.

He remembered it all. He remembered everything. A child he was when the plague ate everyone.

"And you..." He pointed at the glimmering stars. Even though he never got to see Maa Ambika and Baba Sa'ad for the last time, he knew they were happy up above. But what about him? What had happened to the so-called heartless Rajan of Revat?

The one whom history, with so much twisted devotion, had vilified? The golden-haired man who saw through his mind, body and soul?

Carving the name of Hamal on a tree, Raksa recalled Maa Ambika's words: He is like your Baba too. And the man had simply smiled and tucked him in a tight embrace.

"What happened to you?" He plucked a mound of earth, soaking the forest bed in his tears. "Where did you go?"

The older mages, the very few who knew about the truth of Petra's death, refused to tell Raksa about him. All these years he only knew one story– Hamal committed suicide, jumping off a cliff.

Perhaps that was the only truth.

"But I am a son of God. My heart won't lie."

Ekapada's blood flowed through him; the Lord of the Forest was his cosmic father, the god who had blessed his biological mother Nainamati with a magical seed, sprouting through which came his life. The mages didn't regard him as anything special, and he really didn't need to be seen as someone elevated.

But what wrong did he do in asking if the flaxen king was alive? Even now when he spelled the name Hamal, he felt a tug in his heart, as if a thread were connecting the two. Their bond was not of blood, but any day, if someone were to ask him if he considered anyone a father except Ekapada, he would take Hamal's name.

Sa'ad will understand.

With all his heart and soul, Raksa wished for the Divine to unravel the secrets and tell him the truth.

"At least tell me where I can find his last remains if he is really dead?" Raksa sobbed. "But I feel he is alive...he breathes, he calls for me."

And I call for you too, Baba.

*****

word count: 2596 words

After considering the points of my friend @Divyansh16 I have edited this chapter. The interaction between Rudra and Indumala is now lighter and less tense. Also, we got to see a glimpse of Raksa. I hope you remember him? XD the boy who was trying to flirt with Shitalaa during Aryamna's wedding.

What he is saying might seem confusing, because we haven't gone to the prequel yet. All I can say is (the part that's crystal clear) he was born of a union between the God Ekapada and Queen Nainamati of Revat, the (second? *coughs*) wife of Hamal the First.