Remember, dear readers, the first conversation of Nandini and the seer that was shown to us?

Let me take you on journey on the memory lane...

Thus asks the seer, "O Nandini, your body is of soft flesh and fragile bones.
How will you kill the king?"

Nandini says,
"I will die at the hands of Maharaja.
I, a poor woman, of no value, shall sacrifice her life.
Alas, the Maharaja doesn't know,
That my death is my only weapon,
my biggest weapon.
It will haunt him forever."

—this, was the tale told.

The Maharaja embarks on another hunt. He knows his life is in danger, and so be it. Perhaps, the dead wife will be a little merciful? After all, kings take more than one wife, have numerous mistresses and still remain glorious.

We don't know if Nandini will be kind enough to allow the Maharaja to play with another life, but she won't let the virgin fall in trouble.

****

Amba was floating in a milky ocean. Fluffly clouds circled around, and swans swum in the waters. Sprouting from the ocean bed, a lotus bloomed. Its petals opened and revealed a woman. Elephants showered on her fragrant elixir from golden pitchers.

"Devi Kamalatmika is pleased with you." She sprinkled holy water over Amba. "You have taken a step in love, and I will take you towards contentment. You have made me so happy that I am in a bliss unexplainable in words. My sister Matangi allows me to have this experience."

Amba joined her hands in a namaskara. "What shall I do next, Maa?"

Kamalatmika coloured her in sindur. "You will be red in love. You will be abundant in love. This was the toughest decision for you, and your greatest test. Now that you have let yourself feel love, all obstacles shall crumble to dust."

Waves washed over her. Amba let herself loose, her hair swirling and a smile on her flushed face. Stirring in her sleep, she slowly returned to the mortal realm.

"You came."

She smiled. A feeling of intense peace cradled her heart. She extended an arm, trying to reach for Hrishav.

But he was not there.

"Hrishav?" She stared at the kitchen. There was no one in the house. Was it all a dream, then?

No. She was naked, memories of his kisses embedded in her skin. He couldn't abandon her. So, where did he go? Did something ominous happen?

Amba wore her saree and opened the door. To her surprise, a dozen guards—all she recognised as from the palace—and a carriage waited. Upon seeing her, the men bowed. Their leader came forward. "Boro Babu has said that you return to the palace."

She rubbed her sleepy eyes. "But I had told the Rajon I will come after two days."

"Boro Babu says we are not to come back without you." He called another of his man, who came running and handed him a bag. "He has asked you to wear this."

Amba peeked inside. A banarasi, sindur, shankha and pola, and a toe ring.

The guard blushed. "We are sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. Boro Babu says you are a very angry woman, but please know that we are just following his orders."

"He says I am an angry woman?" Amba chortled. Maybe she was. Her nails had expressed enraged poetry on his body. "Has he told everyone?"

The guard scratched his head. "He has informed that he has married a woman. The Rajon is waiting for her arrival."

Amba's head dipped to her chest. The world around went round and round. She held onto the doorframe, waiting for her senses to become steady.

"Does the Rajon know anything about when we married?"

"We don't know what personal exchange occured between the Rajon and his brother, but..." He glanced back at his men. "It is no use hiding that we often get to know things which, as servants, we shouldn't. One such detail is that Boro Babu and you were married in the tantric way."

"So basically all is known." She heaved a sigh. "You must be hungry."

"No!" He waved his hands. "We had roti. We are full."

Amba shook her head. "I didn't get to have a marriage like a normal girl. There was no celebration. There were no social rituals. Now that I must go dressed as a bride, I will like to please the men who will carry me like brothers."

"You are kind. Then maybe you can prepare some chai? But of course, after you have had something. We have some roti left. Do you want to have it?"

"Roti and hot chai. Perfect."

Together with them, Amba had her breakfast. She requested them to wait for an hour. She wore her saree, her bangles, applied a long line of sindur. The guards put her trunks in the carriage and helped her climb in. By now, a scattered crowd had gathered out of curiosity. One of them was Lalon's son, the young boy at whose tea stall Amba often stopped for snacks.

"You are dressed like a bride. Why?"

Amba never felt for this simple boy. He was younger to her, and the son of her father's ill-wisher. Yet, since she respected his feelings, a lump formed in her throat.

"I have married Boro Babu," she answered.

The boy staggered back. Then, coming again to the window, he whispered, "Has he forced you? Royals don't have a heart."

"I am grateful that you think of my wellbeing. Do not worry; Boro Babu is a gentleman. He married me because he loves me. I know it's a strange fairy tale, but I thank Kalika for bestowing me such a husband."

His eyes watered. "I am happy for you too. You will live like a Rani. God bless you, Amba."

The carriage didn't linger anymore. Amba pulled the curtains, wary of the attentive onlookers. Soon, she reached the palace. At the gates, Hrishav himself greeted her.

"Dada doesn't know that it's you, but when I told him that my Guru has wedded us, he agreed to give his blessings."

"I am no longer insecure about our varying heritage, but will the Rajon be elated to know that your wife is the daughter of his late employee?"

"Amba, he already has got the smell. The day you left for your previous home, he made his suspicions clear. I have told him as much as I could, implicitly, without taking your name."

Hand-in-hand, he took her to the entrance of the Mukherjee raajbari. There was a plate of milk and aalta, and a long white cloth where she would leave her footprints. Amba looked up—the Rajon and Shalini, besides the servants, stood with a stoic face.

"I wouldn't have consented to this relationship." Shalini came forward and tied a gold necklace around her neck. "This was given to me by my sister-in-law, Yamini Devi. I gift this to you."

"Thank you, Didimoni—"

"Stop." She raised her hand. "You were married by his Aghori Guru?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"If that is the truth, none of us has the right to call your marriage fraudulent. I won't be able to see you as my another sister-in-law. It is, to be honest, very nauseating."

"Please," Hrishav interrupted, "she was chosen not just by my Guru, but me too. I understand it will be difficult to accept her, but eventually you must."

"That I will." Shalini smirked. "And Amba, you need to give up your habit of calling me Didimoni. Call me just Didi. I will address you as Amba."

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Amba put her feet in the aalta. She walked slowly over the white carpet, which Shalini later rolled and kept aside. The couple took her blessings, and then went to the Rajon.

"Every woman initiated in tantra will have a Mahavidya representing her," the Rajon said. "Whose essence does she carry?"

"Mahavidya Kali," Hrishav replied.

"Now you have your Bhairavi. Your wife." He turned to Amba. "I knew you loved him. May your sindur protect my brother and be the mother to healthy sons. I really need more Mukherjee children playing in the house."

"There will be no stree achar," Shalini said. "You can retire to your room. From now on, of course, you will stay with your husband. Excuse me, I will go for my meditation."

The Rajon gestured to the servants to leave. Only Rani stayed back.

"I wish I could do something to celebrate this union, but the murders need my attention. I will have an official declaration done in the village."

With him gone, it was Hrishav, Amba and Rani. The old woman came forward to bless her son and daughter-in-law. "I want grandchildren. Soon. It's urgent."

"Uff!" Hrishav clicked his tongue. "Thambe tumi?"

"Na. Gadha toh tui, ei buro boyesh e biye korli."

"He isn't old," Amba defended him. "We will try."

"At least you understand. Today you will serve the family ghee bhat and pancha banjan. Have a bath and come down."

Hrishav and Amba went upstairs. Rani stared at the direction, watching them clinging close.

"Not every woman gets to taste love." Her eyes glinted. "My daughter is lucky. And so are you, Amba. Must say, more fortunate. You will be the Rani when Vijay dies."

She limped to the kitchen, taking a jar of pickles and heading to her room.

"But while he is alive, my daughter will be the Rani."

****

Amba cooked for her in-laws and Hrishav visited the Rajon, for he had been called for a meeting.

"Has anything been found about the murders?"

The Rajon poured himself a glass of rum. "That Montu was the son of the third woman killed. There are similar connections between the victims."

"A web." Hrishav wrung his hands. "I think—"

"I haven't called you for discussing murders. You have just announced your marriage. How long has it been?"

His larynx bobbed. "A few months."

"So the Aghori's magic blinded us all." Rajon Vijay quaked with laughter. "Don't mind, Hrishav, but was it really necessary to marry a servant? Could you not convince the Aghori to not push you towards this path? He may not be a man of civilisation, but you are a prince. A royal and responsible prince."

"I love her, Dada."

"Haha!" He smacked his thighs and chugged down a glass. "A man loves a thousand times in his life. You will soon find yourself entangled in another passionate affair. Will you marry another time?"

Hrishav kept mum.

"It is possible for you to marry more than once. Keep mistresses. Visit the baiji. Everything is allowed. You are a Brahmin prince. And from what it looks like, you will ascend the throne after my death. So whatever you do, becomes god's doing."

The Rajon swayed on his legs. Reeking of liquor and lust, he struggled to stand straight on his wobbly knees.

"I want to say, Hrishav, in case you want to enjoy life, you are free to. Tantra and all doesn't work inside the ornate walls of a palace. You shall keep one wife, two wives, three...Nothing matters."

Rajon Vijay went and flopped on his wide bed. Hrishav shut the door behind him.

If only he could realise the truth early.

****

word count: 1898 words
Total word count: 68,785 words

Chalo, aaya uth pahar k...not ekdam niche, but somewhat on the way.

Thambe tumi?: Will you stop?

Na. Gadha toh tui, ei buro boyesh e biye korli: No, you are a donkey, that's why you are marrying at an old age.