It is a bed of flowers. A wedding night, a couple's first time.
Nandini peeks through the curtains that separate the Dead and the Living.
The woman has a face as full as the moon and as glowing as the sun, but tonight, clouds shroud her eyes. Heavy rain-clouds, ready to break any moment.
The man is beneath her, as it should be, as dictated by Chinnamasta.
The seer doesn't see them, but Nandini does– her omnipresent being is everywhere.
Perhaps the woman feels the presence of Nandini, for her eyes don't rest on the moaning face of the man, but on the dark-grey walls, where red-dyed palms leave an imprint.

****

It was the auspicious morning of the puja. Everybody was awake, except the pampered princess Shalini and the supposed rich brat Tirtha. Boro Babu Hrishav was in the temple, instructing Lalon and Ramu on the making of the yagna kund. The Rajon was busy with meeting guests and decorations, and then went out in his regal carriage.

Maya had taken a bath and wore a pink saree. She tied her hair in a bun and took a jute basket, heading for the lush green garden. The flowers were in full bloom, staring proudly at the warm sun. Their colours were more vibrant today– the red of hibiscus induced goosebumps in her soul, reminding her of a holy bloodbath. The white ones resembled the fluffy clouds of autumn, and all the rest created a serene rainbow.

Mother Nature herself made the arrangements for her oblations.

Maya plucked the flowers, remembering to utter a mantra before putting them in her basket. Her pull was soft and tender, careful to not hurt the stems. She saw her own self in those plants– her body as fragile as theirs, yet a holder of beauty. She brushed her hands over the floral bed. Walking beside the bushes, she noticed a few wilting ones. She had seen them on her first day in this mansion, when Hrishav had asked her to change the pots.

Perhaps he treated his women the same way as his flowers. Water them, embellish them, keep caretakers for the precious ones. And when his heart desired, snatch them from the comfort of motherly earth and drink their nectar.

Whether Hrishav truly loved the garden or not, Maya had the responsibility to keep it unharmed. With the basket still in her grip, she went and inquired from the guards where she could find some pots.

"Why do you need those?"

"Boro Babu had asked me to put the drooping plants in a different pot," she said. "Otherwise they won't have fruits and buds."

The guard nodded in understanding. "You will find some spare ones in the second floor. The room which has it is usually open. In case you have trouble finding, send a message."

This guard was the same one who had come to escort her to the mansion. He was pretty rude that day, and even now his tone was edgy, until she took the name of Boro Babu. Maya didn't feel like analysing his demeanor further, so turned back to leave. But her brisk walk was interrupted by his call. "Wait," he came and stood in front of her, "Boro Babu was asking if you got exactly twenty coins. Did you count?"

Maya's facial muscles contorted for a fleeting moment. She gathered her composure, straining her lips to fake a humble smile. "I did. Exactly twenty. No more, no less." And nothing else.

"If you ever get a different amount, please inform Boro Babu."

Maya giggled, a sharp inflection in her voice sending a chill down the guard's spine. "Pardon me, but why would someone do a mistake in counting coins? The rich ones aren't uneducated like us."

The guard frowned. "No, you don't understand. Boro Babu is busy and he doesn't–" He paused and pursed his lips. "It's just that last month there was a mess when distributing the salary of each employee. Perhaps it means nothing to you, but Boro Babu is a perfectionist."

"I know that. He is particular about his flowers."

The guard narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Maya's eyes glimmered. A whistling cold rage was morphing into a cacophonous scream inside her ribcage. She had caught the bird. "What? Flowers...?"

The guard cleared his throat. "Nevermind. You go and get the pots. And don't throw the old ones. You might need them later."

Maya could feel the burning gaze of the guard slicing down the skin of her back. She hurried up the stairs.

The second floor was as neglected as a middle child. Covered in dirt, brown spots marring the glamour of the golden walls, now as dull as a barren winter evening. Cobwebs hung from the ancient portraits. Lizards flicked their tongues at her, inspecting the newcomer in their den. There were broken furniture and vases all around. Some of the rooms had chairs, possibly to be used for large functions. There were scraped statues with undone noses, and unfinished canvas rolling on the floor. Maya hopped over each, and her eyes saw the desired room at the end. It was full of pots and bags of fertilizers.

A pigeon came and perched upon her shoulders. Maya covered her mouth, stiffening at the arrival of the unwelcomed guest. Its claws dug into her collarbone. The bird tilted its head and peered into her mesmerised eyes. Flapping its wing, it went and sat over a window sill. Maya dusted her arms. The bird smelled of stool and dirty water.

"No one will believe this to be a mansion if they come to this floor first." Maya huffed. "They should make somebody clean this!"

Passing by a heap of damaged objects, she saw a sole room whose door was closed. Its exterior was sufficiently clean, if not shimmering like gold. It reminded her of her own house, no no more. Feeling a pang in her chest, she shook her head. But a strange noise coming from inside the room made her halt.

It was a moan.

As much as the whole surrounding forced her mind to conjure a scene of kidnapping, her first thought was shoved away when the moans took a flavour of desire. Sweating bodies gliding against each other, opened legs inviting for a feast. A wet core wanting to be drowned. The moans were rhythmical, often ending in a hurtful shrill. Perhaps the man delighted in seeing his woman squirm in sudden pain.

Maya quietened her breath and listened. The window had hole in it, through which she could see a naked woman's back, sitting atop a man. But she couldn't discern who it was. Disgusted by the whole thing, she tiptoed to the other end, to the room where the pots were present, took the one of the perfect size, and walked back. But by this time, a conversation had sparked inside the room between the copulating couple.

"I am tired."

Maya sensed the helpless appeal in the woman's voice. And who was it speaking? None other than Rituja.

There was some whispering. A creaking bed. A playful smack. A male voice. A yelp coming from Rituja. Maya peeped through the hole, but nothing was properly visible. 

"No, please," Rituja begged. "Not inside me."

The man's groans reflected off the four walls. He was a clever guy. His words spoken to Rituja were hushed, as if he were worried of being realised.

If only Maya could see who was the man, although her bitter heart concluded it was that lecherous Hrishav. She would have a secret weapon in her hand, then, if she could confirm. A black whip to use against the privileged.

But cursed be that pigeon. It decided to come and shock the pale Maya again. She bit her lips hard, preventing any noise, but her shuffling feet rubbing against the wooden tables had alerted the couple. A splinter cut through her feet and she stubbed her toe. She sprinted away and didn't look back.

"Who is it?" Rituja could be heard calling. She stood at the door with only a blanket covering her body. But Maya wasn't there– only a little hibiscus lay in a drop of blood. It had fallen from her basket.

Came out the man. He had wrapped a towel around his legs. Bending over the ruined furniture, he took the abandoned hibiscus. His eyes widened at the sight of blood. He smudged it with a finger, admiring the fresh colour of ichor.

"Perhaps someone is trying to free you," he told Rituja. "A very powerful woman."

Rituja flinched, her back hitting the wall as he pressed and groped her breasts. "I don't know anything," she murmured.

"As if I care." The man laughed. "The third didn't belong to me. I have long left the war, and it's someone else fighting it. But I don't know for what motive." He pushed Rituja inside the room. "Get dressed and leave. No one should suspect that you came here."

"Yes." Rituja touched the sensitive flesh between her legs. It pricked, as if needles had poked the canal. Her body wasn't able to take so much of heat without bleeding. Complaining was not in her rights, so she washed the blood, put on a padded underwear and got dressed. Her master had left already and now she was supposed to go back to her kitchen duties.

But it tainted her conscience. She was impure, cooking food with hands that had massaged the lustful arousal of another. Her master said this was a part of higher rituals, things so spiritual that she wouldn't understand. Maithuna, in his words, was a sacred art. A dance of creation that brought mankind from the womb of Brahmi and the seed of Manu. It was the union of Shiva and Shakti.

Rituja knew she wasn't Kalika. Neither was her master the Kapali himself. But being a servant, she accepted whatever he said. She only wished Kalika would forgive her if her bhog was maligned by her callous hands.

****

Maya made sure to go to the garden unnoticed. She covered her hands in mud and sprinkled water over herself. Luckily Rani came to inquire about Rituja. Maya said she had been in the garden for the last half an hour and didn't see the girl.

She potted the plants and got up. She would go to the temple and help around with the work there.

Although, she was stopped by Hrishav. Swift to act, Maya thought. Did he follow me?

"Hmm, so the new pots have come." He knelt and sniffed the flowers. "Some of them are wilting. Should we remove them or see if they become healthy?"

Maya gulped. He spun around with a smile. "I see. You don't know. I advice you to keep the flowers as they are. If you see the spoilt ones are–"

"Yes, Boro Babu. I will keep them as they are, for now."

Hrishav looked at the pots again. "Did you keep the old ones back in the second floor?" Blue veins popped on his wrists. He unopened and clenched his reddened hands.

Maya averted her gaze. "I haven't. Those are kept near that tree." She pointed.

Hrishav heaved a sigh. "Alright. Well, have you seen the Rajon anywhere? I was occupied with the tasks of the temple. If you meet him, pass a message. Tell him that Boro Babu is asking for the tantra book."

"I shall."

"You talk very less."

Maya's head dipped to her chest. She lowered her voice to a cowering shrill. "I am not used to being outspoken or bold. I am new here. And a servant must always–"

The looming shadow made her raise her eyes. Hrishav was towering above her.

"A servant must...what?" he asked, a curious flicker dancing in his pupils.

Maya staggered back, drawing distance between the two. "A servant must always remain a servant. I cannot cross my limits."

Hrishav cocked his head to the side. "A strange answer indeed. You bewilder me, as you should." He took a hibiscus from her basket. "For the sake of the goddess, I have been kind and approachable. My words have been indirect and measured. But you should know that I want to know something. Tell me, Maya, what was in your pouch of coins?"

"Nothing."

"Why do your fingers shake?"

"It is because Boro Babu is intimidating, and I am anxious of having displeased him. But I don't know how."

"I will forgive you, Maya. You only need to do one thing–" He jerked back. "Is that Dada returning? Must be. I heard him."

Maya bowed. "I shall take my leave."

"Wait, flower-girl." It was stern, and demanding. A one-way lane. "You need to tell me what was in that pouch other than coins."

"There..." Maya teared up. "There was nothing."

"Do you understand that you will be suffering?"

"I am unable to comprehend what you say."

"Very well. You are digging your own pit. If you want to fall and crash, I won't be the obstruction to it."

Maya fell to her knees after Hrishav stormed off. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She fell short of breath and gasped for air. Holding her quivering fingers, she let out a guttural rumble.

"I won't allow him to touch me. I am not Rituja. I am the namesake of the Devi he worships."

And I will show him that the Devi is unreachable.

****

word count: 2252 words

Well, I doubt the rich to be happy. Always something fishy going on.

Also, read between the lines.

(I know it was no update till Oct 19th but hey?)