Love is a storm, so is lust.

****

Maya needed some last clarifications to make a suspect list. Though Maya knew only a few people were involved, she was confident there had to be a mastermind. If that was solely the devil himself, or his earthly incarnation Lucifer too, was a mystery yet unsolved. There was a paucity of clues, and Maya often was sceptical about the confessions the people had made.

For example, she couldn't confirm from anyone else if the last words of Catherine indeed were what Nathu said, but considering the paranormal experience of the Vessels, it must have been so, as the Vessels themselves took the name of Lucifer.

Hrishav was in the temple during this time. She had her way clear- she was at his house now. At present she sat on the sofa in the hall of the babus of the village. Shashi served her some drinks. Maya chatted with the lady and made some small-talk.

"Actually, I wanted to meet Sundar Babu. Is he here?"

"Yes. He is up in his room."

Maya excused herself and went up to meet him, remembering to knock before coming in. Sundar Babu was sitting on his armchair, reading a book. "Who's it?"

"Maya; remember me?"

Sundar Babu clenched his jaw. Taking a deep breath, he got up and welcomed her. "Come in, have a seat." He extended a chair towards her.

Maya noticed that he had cleaned the room. The wardrobe was now closed properly with no clothes flooding out. He took his seat too, keeping the book on his lap and folded his hands.

"So, what job do you have with me? Well, I am not at all interested in the history of my family and the gods."

Maya chuckled. "No no, I understand you are more practical. An atheist perhaps?"

"Yes."

"Have you been like this since a young age?"

"As a child my mother did tell me stories of deities. I listened to them and they inculcated in me values, that's it. It didn't nurture a loving relationship."

"It's bold of you to be so when all the villagers are mostly of a different kind."

"Ah, not really. My father had been an atheist too. It is fine, I guess, as long as the two different factions don't clash. We can survive in harmony."

Maya noticed the book on his lap. Leaves of Grass, it read.

Her lips twitched to smile. "You seem very sophisticated at heart," she remarked with an air of owning an all-knowing perception.

Sundar Babu caressed the cover. "Walt Whitman is a favourite."

"You should write poems, Sundar Babu. You will shine in the field."

A crease appeared between his brows. His cheeks flushed pink like the glory of spring, reminding Maya of the beauty of Kashmiri maidens.

"I do, Maya. I write to ease my soul," he said with glinting eyes.

His words were a mere whisper, not masked in timidness, but behind a veil of protection. The two denied breaking their gaze, and a battle of silence ensued.

"What is the usual subject matter of your poetry?" Maya said at last.

The green veins on Sundar Babu's fair palms popped out. His larynx bobbed up and down, though he still maintained full composure

"I like to write on love and passion, though it often steers towards heartbreak

"Passion involves heartbreak," Maya said, feeling that her own life was heading towards one.

Brushing his brows, Sundar Babu's cheeks reddened even further, a displeased curve maligning his fair face. Maya didn't find him charming before, but his reactions to her questions delighted her. She felt she was poking the right places. It painted a better, more interesting portrait of the man in her mind.

"Love reminds me of roses whenever I hear the word," Maya said, biting her lips to suppress the grin of a victor. "Roses are so beautiful."

Maya expected him to get up from his chair and do something wrong and violent in haste. But he just turned silent as a dead man. He looked at her for what rolled into an eternity. At the end of that enormous wait, a swoon-worthy smile graced his lips. His eyes sparkled playfully.

"Not with what is happening in Devipuram. I try to see roses with the eyes of the lover, but with those bodies piling up I am just horrified by roses."

"Maybe we should make a new flower of love," Maya suggested.

"Perhaps hibiscus."

"Why hibiscus?"

Sundar Babu gritted his teeth. "I am not answerable to you, Maya." This time, he shot her a glare.

"Oh!" Maya raised her hands. "I didn't mean to offend you at all. Of course you aren't answerable to me." Maya pulled her chair closer to him. "But you know I am here for work."

"Then have the guts to question me without twisting your words."

"Do you have the guts to answer truthfully?"

Maya looked into his oceanic blue eyes. There was a softness to them. Despite the coldness that he offered, she was too amused to disregard this specimen.

"Look Maya"–he got up without warning–"I am not going to associate myself with this dirt of religious murder. This is too ugly for me. I am better off alone."

Maya left the chair. There could be no doubt that she was standing in front of a very important man, and her heart could sniff which position he occupied in the puzzle.

But she needed to think over it.

"I understand, that's what everyone would say, yet we all are involved now. No escaping. And I can tell you are in a tough position."

"You won't be able to bring even a scratch on me. I don't believe in God but I believe in the fruits of labour. The one who is to be blamed shall be found soon."

"And I am going to find the culprit, I promise Sundar Babu."

"Do whatever you want. I don't care," he spat. "Just don't interfere in my business. If you do–"

A sudden knock at the door threw him off the road. He immediately sat on his armchair with his book, feigning everything was normal. Maya decided to play along as the door opened.

"I am so very happy to know you write, Sundar Babu. May I get a piece of your poetry?"

Her crafty smile made Sundar frustrated. Devika waited at the door. On hearing Maya's request, she too cheered on. "He never shows me his poems. I will be happy if at least he shows you since you are into writing too. Come on, brother!"

"Fine." He got up with a huff and went to open a drawer. He fetched a diary out of it and, tearing a page, handed it to Maya.

Maya took the paper and read the poem.

I do not pray, no faith in divinity

A stone they name me

I laugh at the stone they worship.

If they ask me, my nomadic heart,

what to look at with loving eyes and a longing ancient

I shall spell your name.

But they won't let me,

for you are forbidden.

They conspire against me.

"Do you want to see our giant library?" Devika asked Maya while trying to look over the poem. Maya quickly put the paper in her pocket.

"Nice to meet you Sundar Babu." She waved at him and left. The youngest son of the household banged his fist on the wooden table when the ladies left.

****

Maya froze at the entrance of the library, mouth agape in awe. Was it a library or something out of a fairytale?

"My grandpa and father got all these books and built this library. You will find books of every taste here! It's so amazing that they did this all despite being from a simple corner of the world."

It was huge, probably the size of three rooms. Towering shelves stored books whose names Maya had never heard in her young life. Some of them had yellowed pages and others were relatively new to the collection.

"Hrishav and Sundar read regularly. Though, after our grandpa I heard the most voracious reader is Hrishav. He spends his free time mostly in this library."

"He is a very knowledgeable man," Maya said, a clot forming in her heart.

"Even Aadi Babu comes sometimes. He too loves to read. I have never been something of a reader. I like shopping more!" She laughed heartily.

"Shopping is also an art, Devika. You must excel in it."

"Oh, I will as I age like fine wine."

Maya chuckled. "You are a wonderful company."

"I know. I am special." Devika winked.

She began showing Maya some of the books– the Persian translation of Mahabharata, books on ornithology and archeology, or simple glories of verses- the library had history, science and creativity all mixed.

"Wuthering Heights, this is a favourite of Hrishav. He has probably read this a thousand times, and Dracula just as much."

Maya noted down the choices. She felt this would tell more about his nature. "And what does Sundar like?"

"He prefers Pride and Prejudice. I sometimes feel if he should have been a woman, really. He's read it so much!"

"This is unexpected."

"Yeah! Like, he is really reading Pride and Prejudice? I sometimes feel he's so odd. Though, who am I to judge? He can read whatever he wants. You know, he has even completed Kamasutra, though he doesn't accept it. I once found him fiddling with the book."

The contemporary society was all hush about Kamasutra, the first known book of the world on sex education and the manners of love and courting. No doubt. Sundar Babu had to keep his knowledge a secret.

"Your brother Sundar is very interesting. A fashion designer, an entrepreneur, into homoeopathy and poetry. What does he not know?"

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about religion. He also avoids astrology. You can get an idea. He also finds geography difficult. Never scored well in it in school."

"And what did he score the most in?"

"Science. Always. While Hrishav was the superhero of history."

"On that note, you had told me Hrishav had gone to the city and come back?"

"Yeah." Devika pulled her lower lip. "They don't tell me why explicitly, just that he couldn't adjust. He felt overwhelmed. I guess because he has always been so simple and idealistic."

Both the brothers are so hard to understand. "I will see if I can find some books to read here. Maybe something on Charles–"

"Didimoni?"

Devika turned to the door.

"Shashi? What happened?"

The maid was sweating. "Rahul's wife has had a high fever for three days. It's not curing at all. He has come to request-"

"No need. I understand. That lady has a weak constitution." Devika sighed. "Maya, I need to go. You can spend time here as long as you want. Ask Shashi if you need any help."

"I will always be at your service, memsaheb."

Devika took her leave and Shashi went away too after ensuring Maya wasn't hungry for snacks.

Maya roamed around the library like a pilgrim. It was a wonderful place to be in- quiet, perfect for solitude and thinking.

There was a chair in one far corner of the library, towards the other end of the room. She went towards it and turned it around to sit, but didn't. She saw that there was a book kept on the seat. It was covered with a dirty cloth.

"What is this?"

Maya removed the cloth.

'রক্তবীজের পুনরুত্থান।'

"The resurrection of Raktabeej?"

The hair on Maya's neck stood. As a shock flowed through her body the book fell to the floor, baring open its pages.

Maya, fortunately being a Bengali, understood the essence of the book by the title, and that was what stopped her from reading any further.

The pages lay open, however, giving her a glimpse of the contents.

She knelt, peering into the book, but soon understood that it wasn't written in the dialect she knew. It followed a different script and had Sanskrit words. She could luckily identify certain words- রক্ত, meaning blood; কালী, meaning Goddess Kali herself, and মিলন, meaning union. Just above the sentence where she had found the last word was a rough sketch of a picture- a man having intercourse with a woman, holding a dagger in his right hand.

"Sundar, where are you?"

Maya gasped. It was Hrishav's voice.

She immediately kept the book in its place, covering it with the cloth and ran out of the library. Hrishav wasn't in sight; maybe he had walked past the library.

Maya hurried down the stairs and went to the kitchen, hoping Shashi would be there. True to her wish, she indeed was.

"Does memsaheb need–"

Maya took Shashi's hand and placed it over her racing heart.

"Upon my life, vow to not tell anyone that I had been in the library. If anybody asks, tell them that just after Devika had left the library, I went back home too." Maya didn't have time to explain anything to the puzzled Shashi. She could just pray that the lady would keep the secret. She left the house in a hurry.

She didn't stop running and didn't look back. The weather was cool and comfy, but she sweated enough to fill a pool.

Union. That one word revolved in her mind. Two clues glowed and beckoned her. She didn't know which one to grab.

But Catherine must have had caught the right one...

"Catherine. I know she had read this book. My intuition tells me so. She got to know everything."

Did she mean Raktabeej as Lucifer? No no, this isn't so simple. I can't settle for this. I cannot. My heart screams I cannot!

"Maya?"

She turned to her left.

"Manas?"

The man was carrying a bag of vegetables in his left hand and a glass in his right. From what it looked like, he was sipping some thandai or lassi.

"You look exhausted," Manas commented.

Maya's eyes widened.

Manas looked her over. He offered her his glass. "Drink some lassi. It will make you feel better."

"Why are you being good to me?"

Manas flinched. He took some steps back, looking lost and troubled. "I-I do not mean to be rude to you through my actions. But I have to do it."

"You know who is doing all this."

A watery sheen covered his eyes. The glass in his shaking hand would have fallen if Maya had not gripped it in time.

"The blood in the garbha griha–"

"No, stop!"

Manas shook his head and was going to speak, when fear took hold of him. He shut his eyes, tears spilling out in pressure. "Maya, run."

Maya's hands turned cold. She saw darkness looming over her.

"Run before they kill you."

Manas yanked away his hand and sprinted like a hunted deer. The lassi splattered on the ground. Maya trudged towards Aadi Babu's home with a heavy heart full of questions.