You reap what you sow.

****

With the sunset alleviating a humid Ishgar, a panting Aryamna entered his cottage. "I am back!"

Gone were the days of his solitude and recurring sobs. He was now beginning a new stage of life.

He shut the door and then headed towards his bedroom to flop on the bed, the papyrus in his hand he held like a trophy. "Ishvara?" he called. "Ishvara, where are you?"

And then, like a fairy of flour, his wife came all covered in white dust and messy hair.

Aryamna blinked. "Huh?"

Ishvara looked frightened. "I am sorry. I tried to–"

"What trouble comes now?" Aryamna sprang out of the bed and ran to the kitchen. The container of wheat flour that was on the topmost shelf was tumbling on the floor, the contents spread all over.

He looked back at Ishvara. Her hands were joined at the back while her eyes feigned to study a modest, simple bucket of water with utmost dedication.

Aryamna crossed his arms. "You tried climbing up or what?"

Her lips quivered. "I-I tried to. I was–"

He raised a hand. "I see. You were trying to cook."

She nodded.

"I had asked you to not overwork. You need time to adjust."

"I am sorry..." She intertwined her fingers. "I just thought to make something before you come back. It is not like I cannot do anything. I just messed it up," she said apologetically.

"But you aren't like me to have hands that can reach up there."

"Who even keeps those up there," she whispered to herself.

"What?"

"I won't repeat this again!"

Aryamna rolled his eyes. "Damn it. This isn't a discord. Don't make me feel so guilty."

"No no!" She waved her hands. "I will learn slowly. But then..."

"But then?"

She crimsoned, scratching her head. "You know how to cook. But you work a lot. And I still haven't befriended the locals much. They are very kind but I am shy."

Aryamna heaved a sigh. "I understand."

Ishvara stepped aside for Aryamna to clean the floor. What was her fault in it? She just wanted to do something for the man.

But maybe he was right. She should not have touched anything. Now the whole kitchen looked like a lost conquest.

She wanted to slap and rebuke herself. She could not be a good wife. From the very first night things began going downhill.

Dread slashed her heart. Would he leave?

He was a disciplined man and would not tolerate a woman as untidy as her.
She shivered, getting out of her trance when a hand tucked a lock behind her ear. The fingers were cool and slow on her warm skin.

"Fear not, my wife. I will make some arrangements." His fingers froze behind her ear and he quickly gathered himself. "I have some news."

He started kneading a ball of dough. Ishvara sat beside him and peeled off peas.

"The Rajan has given me five days off."

Ishvara was pleasantly surprised. "Really?"

"Yes. I will return to work after the short holiday, though he has given me permission now to return home earlier than usual."

"I get it. You are the Senapati." Ishvara stared at the sparkling fire erupting out of the charred woods. The flames danced, embracing each other for a transient moment before submerging in the heat. Her heart was in a forlorn world.

The canvas of memories melted and she smelled a blazing fire, the acrid odour of a smouldering inferno causing her eyes to redden. She dreamt of a man turned into a beastly pyromaniac. His cloaked, bloody figure passed across her vision, revealing the blurred face of a king that made her heart stop beating momentarily.

"We can spend this time together." He smiled.

His familiar voice jolted Ishvara back to reality. There was no fire surrounding her, but a lovely kitchen. She touched her belly. One day or the other Ishvara would have to confess. Alas, so much of the truth was still veiled from her due to the amnesia. The marriage had given her a blissful shower of hopes, but who knew what was in the future?

"I will teach you some basic skills in cooking and also take you to my guild. We can stay there for a whole day. The mages and mothers will be happy to meet you."

"I believe it will be a good time."

He made little balls of the dough. Whirling in his blue pupils were eddies of fervour. On his dark face were sprinkled particles of flour. "I think the princess does know something about cooking." He plastered on a teasing smile.

Ishvara's eyes darted to the dimple on his cheek. She frowned. "I don't want to be a princess. And yes I know how to cook."

Aryamna slowed down in his task. Her statement had shocked him. Keeping it cool and sweet, he asked, "You don't want to be a princess? Why?"

"I don't like boastful princesses," she said. "And I don't want to be lonely. Being on the top means being alone. It's better to be poor than to have your head in the clouds, isn't it?" She looked up at him, expecting to be supported in her observations.

The beguiling charm of his elongated hooded eyes hid behind a hardened, impenetrable barrier of pain. He clenched his fists. A little forced smile conveyed annoyance. "You just put salt on my wounds."

The owl hooted atop the branch of a peepal tree. Lamps were lighted outside the scattered houses.

Ishvara began sweating. She had said something insensitive again.

But wasn't the Senapati benevolent, a man of simple life? Why would he be hurt at her harsh assessment?

The comfort and gala splendour of the humble cottage vanished in a puff of smoke. Trepidation crawled inside her mind through the twists and turns of all the heaps of suppressed truths. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Sometimes Aryamna felt the whole world was against him, the entire cosmos plotting to make his life miserable by creating little fake illusions of joy, which unfortunately, bursted like a bubble when given a loving touch.

"I thought you had people with you. You have the guild. You have a daughter." Ishvara felt guilty. "But I am no one to assume."

"Do you know the story of Geb and Nut?"

The corners of her brows raised up.
Ishvara closed her eyes. "I think I had read," she said while massaging her forehead. "I think I read it in the library of Gandhar. The place isn't amazing but has some good collection."

"Do you know the story of Geb and Nut?"

This time when he repeated the question his eyes were watery, contrasting the much contagious smile of his face. "Two worlds which could never be together," he said wistfully. "Both of them had a lot, had so much. Imagine being the earth himself or the sky herself!"

He quickly drank some water from a jug. Ruffling his hair, he exclaimed, "Bad! I got philosophical again. Pardon me, sweet woman. You will have to get used to it."

Something was sardonic about his smile. Something was too edgy about the curve of his kohl. Something was too memorable about the way he spoke of Geb and Nut.

The couple kept looking at each other. A million questions remained unasked, a million secrets pushed down an abysmal cliff.

"I don't mind philosophical thoughts. You meant that some people despite having everything, from the perspective of the society, don't have the person or entity they cherish the most."

Aryamna remained quiet. Pushing the balls of dough towards Ishvara, he said, "Now make the flatbreads, all exactly a circle. Let me see how good you are in this. Meanwhile," he got up yawning and stretching his limbs, "let me get some fresh air."

Ishvara wondered. Did he ever love a woman?

If so, am I taking her place?

Maybe that's why he has been a celibate, why he never brought up the topic of consummation.

Hopefully it was a blessing in disguise. But if worse, a phantom curse growing with time.

"Is he really happy with me?"

She didn't know. She couldn't.

Her home wasn't Ishgar. Her home wasn't Gandhar.

Her home– she knew not where. Maybe somewhere far away where there wasn't any thirst and hunger, no air and water, no love and lust.
Somewhere only the fortunate could go.

****

Dilrobar dipped the sponge in a box of finely dusted sandalwood, dabbing the powder lightly on her copper-toned neck. The dimly lit and dry room hid her face, acting well as a black shroud. Spiralling beams of the moon came and went, failing to get a proper reflection of her as the mirror stood with its back against the direction of the window.

A knock at the door forced her to put the blue glittery paste in a haste over the eyes. It was not in a good taste but could be done away with. After all, no one was to see how beautiful she was.

As a caution she put on the red veil before opening the door. A tall camphor-skinned Rajan waited to be escorted in. She welcomed him, closing the door silently.

The Rajan went and sat on a chair. Dilrobar, like she always did, poured him a chalice of wine. "Thanks," he said, without even sparing a glance at her.

She brought a chair for herself and sat across from him. Dilrobar wasn't used to initiating a conversation. Gone were the days of her spark and sizzling charm. Now she was a broken, burnt doll, cared for by the same man in whose fall she orchestrated a part.

"The spy has been killed. I am going to send his head to Hamal as a warning."

Finally, Rudra spoke. Dilrobar knew that she could create a conversation. "One day or the other, you will have to face him in war. But before you do, you must know all his weaknesses," she replied.

"You are there to tell me."

"Yes. The concealed knowledge of his palace, the most vulnerable minds whom we can use as pawns, the stronger ones... Yes, I know it all."

"I have collected some blood for Aryamna too. The Senapati shall receive it as a gift." Rudra's beady eyes narrowed down to two slits. "It was such a pleasure to see that spy cry in pain. It rejuvenated me."

Dilrobar flinched. "I-I don't want to ever witness something like that, Rudra. I have grown weaker." Tears fell on her clenched palms. "You don't need to test me any more. I-I am not what I used to be, I promise."

Rudra's breaths hitched in his throat. His tongue grew heavier under the weight of unspoken words. Guilt was a thing that both of them shared, albeit one basked in the glory of it and another died everyday at the hands of the same. "I didn't take you there with the intention of hurting you. It was just to confirm the identity of the spy."

"His name is Sogam. I had forgotten to mention."

"I see."

Tension permeated through their skins and seeped into the hearts. Discomfort was palpable. One could feel it snake around their necks in an attempt to choke.

"You hate me, don't you?" Dilrobar's question made Rudra avert his gaze to the clouds outside. She waited for his answer, but he never gave her the importance. "You can hate me," she croaked, her hands quivering uncontrollably. "But I beg of you, don't send me away. I am grateful to you for the life you have given me and the luxuries I get to enjoy–"

"And also the tarnish in my reputation, yes."

Dilrobar whimpered. "I am sorry. It's all because of my vow. Once you help me fulfill it, I will leave the palace." She heaved a sigh to push back the sadness under the rug. "I will go and seek shelter in the Valley of the Saints. Many women from here have gone there already, and I will join them."

After an agonising pause, Rudra whispered, "I didn't ever ask you to leave."

Dilrobar's eyes, hidden under the veil, enlarged in surprise.

"Both of us have been monsters, Dilrobar. At least you can be proud of yourself for redemption. Well, society will worship you as a great woman but not me," he spat the last words tartly. "Yes, it's inevitable, I will remember our past and I will have to know what all you did again and again, like a wraith that never ceases to haunt my dreams. Yes, it's inevitable that I will feel disgust for you in certain weak moments." He leaned forward, keeping his palm over hers. "But trust me, I am way beyond all these. I know what it feels like to be called a villain, to be known as unwanted. I know we can never be truly friends, but we can be allies. The past will chase us, Dilrobar, but we must work together."

Dilrobar joined her hands in a namaskara. Reverence flooded her heart. "I am always going to help you."

Rudra's woebegone smile put a stake through her soul. "For her. Yes. To help me is your only redemption."

"Yes. For the goddess that she was, I will eternally subject myself through this torture. This is my salvation. This is my fate. I accept it without any ill-will."

Rudra retreated his hand, somewhat moved by her words. He chose to remain silent about it. He knew he could never completely come out of the trauma, and maybe there was a purpose behind it all. He had to go through this affliction for the sake of his beloved; it would be this fire of vengeance and the blisters of separation that would fuel him to seek revenge and bring justice to the world.

Pulling him out of his reverie, Dilrobar asked, "The princess has returned, hasn't she?"

Rudra smiled. "Yes."

"Her name is now Ishvara."

"Yes, you heard right."

Dilrobar found it difficult to say the next words. What if Rudra got irked and thundered at her? But she couldn't pile up the doubts in her feeble head. "I understand she deserves another begining," she said ruefully, eyes brimming with a second round of tears. "The beautiful prince of Aryavarta isn't going to return ever. He has left us all in this damned future."

"There are certain things which I am incapable of telling you, Dilrobar. Or anyone for that matter. I cannot even confide in Mataraj."

Dilrobar was puzzled. "And it has to do with this marriage of Ishvara?"

"Yes."

"Bu-but..." Dilrobar was at a loss. "You don't understand... What if she remembers the past? She won't be able to love Aryamna. It's like destroying two lives."

Rudra's wise smile spoke of brilliant sacrifices and tribulations. A golden glow emanated from his fair face. In this little pearl plucked from the necklace of time, he truly embodied a saint. Duality inhabited him– at one hand he was a werewolf, a beast out of lullabies, and another night such as this, he was a man who didn't care for happiness in his own life but rebuild the broken castles of his fellow family. "She will be alright, Dilrobar. Don't fret over this. Know some things take time to digest. As wild and unfair this may sound, I am doing this for the best of all of us."

"You are mysterious, Rudra."

He chuckled. "That I am."

Dilrobar could do nothing but go with the flow. If Rudra assured everything would be fine, she had to be comfortable with the fact. After all, she wasn't even worthy of complaining. More than sixteen years ago, when she could have at least helped in changing the current of destiny, vices were what she chose to sustain her survival. Now, guilt ate away her heart. She had no right to be so good. But she had to be.