Bells ringing, anklets chiming. Maa has arrived.

Nandini basks under the silvery moonbeams. The mortal world tonight is in darkness, although she is close to the crescent moon of Shyama. Yet her rest is obstructed. The seer comes running to her. Panting, sweating.

"A blunder!" he screams. Nandini's lips quiver in a grin. She wasn't a human, unlike him. Even if he can afford to make mistakes, she is beyond all mayhem.

She is the All-Seeing Mistress.

Nandini would have hated that word as a mortal, but her soul here found mistress was nothing but a youthful and untainted maiden. The closest companion of Adi Shakti.

"What blunder do you speak of?" she asks the seer.

"A catastrophe," he whispers. "Maa has made us sin!"

"Very well. If she wills, so be it."

"But what if it's not her who made us break rules?"

"Everything is your desire, you are desire personified, Tara," Nandini sings. "If she has made you all break rules, and he made you remember only at the brink of its fruition, she wants you to understand nothing is impossible to her."

Realisation dawned on the seer. His warm eyes diluted. "I see now. The eternal bride never sobs, never cuts her hair, never wears white."

Nandini smiles. "Indeed."

****

Wearing the oddly beautiful yellow saree, looking no less attractive than a bride, Maya felt equally guilty and undeserving. She was not only bedecked in robes too high for her status, but also tarnishing Maa's limelight. She wasn't supposed to be wearing yellow on a day that was special to Kalika. Yellow was after all a favourite of the Holy Goddess. Her black skin shone the best when draped in golden.

Reluctantly she came out of her room. She stood there biting nails, wondering if she should go back and change. Perhaps she could make an excuse. But Hrishav didn't seem to be someone kind. Only apparently.

"Where are you going?"

She was stopped by a commanding male voice. It belonged to Choto Babu, Tirtha. Maya bowed. "Yes?"

His gaze roved over her. Behind the blood-curdling anger was a taste of thirst. His widened eyes stared straight into her flowery soul. "Have you completely forgotten that you are inauspicious?"

For once she thought he said it because she was a servant. But then his words hit much needed sense into her mind. "Your father died and it's not even thirteen days. Why have you drawn the alpona? And I heard you also collected the flowers for the puja, as well as cook! You have maligned all preparation–"

"Forgive her, Choto Babu!" An unexpected saviour came into the scene. It was Rani. She walked with a limp, probably having hurt her knees after the day's exhaustion. "The Rajon instructed her to participate."

Maya was stunned. Not only had she forgotten that she was supposed to observe strict rules after the demise of her father, but was also unaware of this strange order of the Rajon.

"He told us all," Rani continued, pinching Maya discreetly to hint her to be quiet, "Boro Babu, Lalon and me. I thought he had informed you too."

"Wait a minute? My Baba said so?" Tirtha gaped. "Of course, he is turning old! He doesn't know what's in the scriptures. How can he be so stupid?"

"That is not how one talks about their father," Maya snapped. "And no one eats fish during a fasting period."

She flinched, having realised the slip of tongue. Tirtha glared at her, stepping closer until she was forced to hit her back against a pillar. "You whore...How dare you talk back to me?"

"I–" Maya felt his drunken breath suffocate her. "I am sorry–"

"Tirtha, where are the candles and matchsticks?"

The voice instantly reduced all of his attitude to ashes. Tirtha turned around with his head lowered. "I was going to light the lamps. I will leave."

"Hmm. All hundred-and-eight." One piercing look from the mysterious Boro Babu, and the rich brat of the Rajon hurriedly left the scene.

Maya didn't get the time to recollect herself. Standing before her was undoubtedly the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life. His myriad of black curls fell over like waves on a bronzed shore. He was dressed in red garbs, the traditional attire for a priest of Kalika. He was also wearing the janeu, the sacred thread of a Brahmin. Toned was his chest, a sleek line of hair carving a path inside his dhoti. Maya averted her gaze, having looked too further.

He understood it very well. His eyes glinted, making Maya feel worse. Who did she think she was to scrutinise a man so shamelessly? She was a woman, and they didn't have the right to judge a man's beauty. She should have scraped off her pupils.

"I heard it. It bewilders me, though, how Maya forgot it all. She didn't question why she was being made to work in the puja," he said. He tilted his head, inspecting her earrings. "You should have worn another pair. These plain stone ones don't match the exquisite saree."

"Why did you even give such a costly saree to a maid servant?" she muttered under her breath.

"Did you say something?"

"No!" She gulped. "Everything slipped my mind. A lot has been happening."

"Yes, a lot." He scoffed. "I know. A lot."

Maya knew where he was poking, but she would act dumb. "I care for my father. I will not go to the puja."

"No." Stern. Unconventional. "You will do what the Rajon has wanted. Tell him that we convinced you to join, otherwise he will be upset. Falgun was a dear man to him."

"It happens, Maya," Rani said. "Your soul finds peace in the pure things. In flowers and puja arrangements. So your mind chose that path to gain relief. And if Maa has made you ignorant to it until now, I dare say she wished you to take part in her celebration."

"I agree. Maya, you need to join the puja. No one will question it." Hrishav scratched his moustache. "You must be very special. Why would Maa otherwise keep you away from eternal mourning? Destitution flees from your presence." With these words, he left.

Maya thought: Did he mock my poverty at the end? Or does it have an underlying meaning?

Rani caressed Maya. "Don't be sad." Her words were a few, but her touch was consoling. Maya sniffed back her tears. "Maa wants you there. Look, she even brought you a pretty saree! You look so much like a goddess."

Maya smiled. "Thank you. But I don't think I can appreciate the value of this fabric."

"Why can't you? Just because we are poor doesn't mean our upbringing is lesser than the nobles. The events which are happening are all a will of Kalika. She wants you to wear the saree that was once hers."

"You mean?"

"As far as I think, if my eyes aren't wrong, this saree was given to Kalika on Kaushiki amavasya last year. Although I am not sure. It's nothing extraordinary if you see. The Mukherjee often give those clothes to the needy. But this one is gorgeous. A benarasi."

There was a lot going inside Maya's head, and most of it remained buried, unspoken. She ran a hand over the saree, feeling its smooth texture. The image she had seen in the mirror came back rushing– a reflection of her wearing sindur. Married. A forehead full of scarlet.

Goosebumps pinned on her skin.

"I don't know if it will help you, but the Rajon was saying something." Rani tried hard to remember. "Something about how rules are made by gods and only the gods can break them. Like Shiva broke the rule for his beloved devotee Markandeya, making him immortal against the Laws of Time. I hope this helps you. Come along, get to the courtyard."

Maya followed the old lady. Rani was her sole guide in the current moment, for she was too busy in a world within to keep track of where she was heading.

She wasn't a goddess, and even if Maa Kali desired to break rules for her, then why? Why would she be the one? What was the significance of her staying in the puja? Was she supposed to see something?

Perhaps. And that would be known soon.

****

A yagna kund was prepared in front of the temple. The gates to the temple were open and everybody got a glimpse of the Mother Goddess. She was dressed in a rose pink kanchipuram, with gold and garlands covering every part of her onyx body. Her red tongue was protruding, and a little nose ring jingled down. Below her husband Shiva rested calmly, looking at her with an inebriated gaze of love. The eminent persons could stand near the kund, but lowly ones like Maya were a little far.

The aarti was going to begin. She had heard that the Rajon conducted the bali and his younger brother did the ritualistic dance, and indeed it was Hrishav who came forward to please the goddess with his graceful devotion. In his possession were a little asana shaped as a lotus, a lamp, a conch shell and much more.

Pushing the crowd and gently going ahead, Maya flowed through the gathering to now go be at the front. She repeated to herself that it was just curiousity that pulled her. The one who would do that meant nothing. To her eyes, only Kalika was the star. Fortunately, Maya's dress made her unrecognisable to all, making the guests assume she was somebody important.

"You are so divine to look at," a woman complimented. "What's your name?"

"Maya." She clenched her fists. She couldn't say she was a servant here. She could never. They wouldn't let her stand then. But she wanted to see the aarti up close. She had heard from her late father that it was a mesmerising experience.

"Oh! Even her name is Maya. Yogamaya." The woman joined her hands in a prayer. "How are you connected to the Mukherjee? My father is the one who gives most of the sarees to Kalika. If I am not wrong, this one too was manufactured by us. Hrishav himself had bought this."

"Uh, I..." Maya pursed her lips.

Hrishav, who was waiting for the holy gangajal to be provided, listened keenly to the conversation. At the right point, he barged in. "She is a close friend of our family. A good student of the arcane arts."

The woman's eyes shot up. She looked between the two, a knowing smile creeping up to her lips. "I see. You can be subtle with me. I am not going to gossip," she told Maya.

The girl was surprised. Why would Hrishav say something like that, and why would he smirk (which he was doing now) at the misinterpretation? No, she was in no way going to sell her body to this monster. Perhaps a fool would fall for such a blindingly serene and intricate work of flesh and bones, but she knew how to differentiate charming faces from hollow actions. This man looked like a god, but was a demon.

Finally, the aarti commenced.

A magnificent sight it was. Hrishav twirled each object in his hand and chanted the praises of Kalika. His fingers held each oblation like a painter holding a paintbrush. He drew circles in the air, decorating Kalika with his lovely words and enchanting display of affection. In between he gestured the men to change the melody of the dhaak to match his rhythm. To worship her was like singing a song.

Lost in this godly canvas, Maya admired the mastery of Hrishav. In that moment, it didn't matter if he was good or evil. She only saw his loyalty towards the slayer of Raktabeej. His face beamed from ear to ear. Slowly, his feet began to tap and glide. The woman announced the arrival of a spiritual moment with ululation. Everyone raised their hands and screamed the name of Maa.

The shouts of joy made Maya go deaf. She felt her ears would burst, and the smoke from the lamps and yagna occluded her vision. Her eyes were teary and burning. She rubbed them, but instead of returning to her normal vision, she saw sheer darkness. All around it was sprinkling black and glittering dots. Maya froze under an electrifying spell.

A deific Hrishav turned into an enigma from a mortal. Now, in this fragment of time, it was him and her. No one else existed. The cries of the people faded. What she heard were the clear mantras spilling out of Hrishav's crimson lips, and what she saw was his dance.

And did he not dance like a Gandharva? He swivelled like the disc of Vishnu and bent his body akin to a majestic swan. Each curve was an arc constructed meticulously, each spin sending Maya into a deeper trance.

Soon, red splashed around. Sindur covered Hrishav and her. Their eyes met, and although Maya desired to snatch herself away, Hrishav forced her to keep focus. He swayed towards her, a lamp flaring in his grip. They stood like two halves, separated by a thin layer of dreams. The fire in his hand morphed into a glowing hibiscus, which he touched to her forehead. Unwittingly she shut her eyes, feeling him adorn her as his companion.

When she opened her eyes again, she was back to reality. Her hands formed a namaskara, grabbing a hibiscus within. The woman beside her giggled. "You were so engrossed in it, weren't you? Hrishav is right. You must be very knowledgeable."

"Yes," chirped in another lady from behind. "The hibiscus fell over you during the aarti. This is a blessing from Maa. Keep it."

A nagging pain erupted between her brows. She squeezed the area, skin folding into wrinkles, but couldn't carry on with such an expression because of the people around. It would give a wrong impression. The discomfort was alleviated when Hrishav made everyone take the heat of the holy flame.

Again, they gazed at each other. It was a minuscule moment, but owned an unfathomable depth. She blinked and shifted back. Unlike the vision, Hrishav's face was unsmiling and unreadable.

Maya looked at Kalika. As everyone made their prayers known to the goddess, she too murmured in her heart.

Show me the way, Maa.

word count: 2414 words

I didn't go out today for pandal hopping (Durga Puja yayyy) because was studying at home HAHA. But I completed it by evening so then did some writing to feel good! Tomorrow I will go out again (yay) if it doesn't rain (lol).

Tell me what you guys think of this chapter <3

A murder will happen soon yayyyy (not yayy)