A brother is the second father to his sister, the shade of a banyan to a little wildflower.

****

However hard he tried to calm down and forget, Rudra just couldn't. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Does the morning ever bring darkness with it? Yes, it does.

His love story remained untold, incomplete, witnesses of passion forced to keep mum by time.

He had to come to terms with the fact that Petra would never return back. It had been sixteen years since her demise. Since then, every spring felt as barren as winter and every meagre rain pricked his thick skin. The son of Shiva had given up on Shiva; his inner lover was upset that no one tried to empathise with his situation. Days and nights he used to cry in a corner of the palace, praying to Shiva that he may return her to him, or at least come with a promise of her return. At least appear before before him.

Shiva never came. Turning a blind eye to all of Rudra's pleadings, he meditated atop Kailash. Rudra moved on in life. Now, it didn't matter to him that Shiva was selective with his devotees. He understood the nature of gods– they were imperfect beings pressured into masquerading as magnanimous entities of bloated powers. They were also subjected to sins.

So, Rudra took it upon himself to avenge Petra.

"I know you are somewhere. You may have already been born. Perhaps as a little boy yearning to be a warrior, or maybe a little sparrow hopping on terraces. Maybe a little girl, just like you were, enjoying the love of your family." A lone tear trickled down his cheeks. "Wherever you are, Petra, come to me, at least once. I want to see you happy. May you get a good companion in this life, a lovely family and all the luxuries of spirituality. May Shiva love you this time. May you be God's favourite child." He raised his hand in the abhaya mudra, never realising that someone was silently watching him from behind. Fortunately, his murmurs were unheard by the intruder, who was enraptured by his saintly gesture.

"Rajan?" they called. Rudra was awoken suddenly, coming out of his delicate bubble. It was Indumala.

She came and stood beside him. As he was sitting on a chair, it was easier for her to now be at par with him. He was really tall and she was a short woman. "How are you now?"

Rudra didn't understand what she was intending to say.

Indumala lowered her voice to a soft whisper. "I am sorry for going towards the forbidden room last night. I didn't want to leave you. I knew you were troubled and sad."

Rudra's eyes landed on her cherry lips. The smell of palash wafted to his nose.

He could not deny the fact that she was beautiful. The bounce of her open locks and the glimmering pair of doe eyes painted her alike to an apsara.

Rudra held his head. It spun.

"I know you are very angry because I saw you crying, but trust me, adults do cry. I saw Baba cry too. You are no different." She gulped, and very carefully, touched his head. "Your crown is hot. Maybe you have a fever or it's the stress. Call a doctor."

It was after a long time that someone told Rudra he could cry, someone showed that they cared for him. She caressed his head gently as he closed his eyes and gave in. He didn't have to be rude and rogue all the time. He could be tender and sentimental, as he was now. "Is that a palash-infused perfume?" he asked. Petra loved to use that too, though it wasn't her most favourite.

"Yes!" Indumala beamed. "Do you like it?"

"It's a good fragrance."

"Thank you." She smiled. "Now listen to me, should I call a doctor?"

"No, I am a grown up. This fever won't be an issue."

"Don't behave like a child, Rajan."

"I am not a child–"

Child...

Rudra stopped breathing.

Colours vanished from his vision and were replaced by a murky black. Indumala called him, but she was too far, beyond his reach. He lifted his quivering hands, trying to hold onto something. He was desperately in need of a support.

Rudra had failed. Not just as a husband, but as a father.

But the child wasn't born, was it? It wasn't alive. It didn't die. Something which isn't even born cannot die. Petra died, very true, but our child didn't. It was never there. It wasn't. It wasn't. It wasn't.

Was that a boy or a girl? No, it wasn't even there. No one lived inside Petra. She died alone. She died alone. Ah, such a relief.

Can it be wrong?

"Ra-rajan? Where are you going?"

Rudra rested his head on a wall. The baby. The baby.

It burnt. It burnt with her.

No, it didn't. It wasn't alive yet. It wasn't born.

But it was growing. It was breathing. It was–

"Rajan–"

"Please stop!" He fell on the ground, covering his head with his arms and sobbing. "Sto-stop! I can't take it. I cannot!"

Indumala knelt beside him. "Rajan? Rajan what disturbs you?"

He struggled to breathe. "I cannot share. I can never. It hurts me. It kills me. I will die but not reveal." Oh well, I can't even die. "I hate this."

"You said I am your comrade. Why can't you share with me?"

"Then you aren't. No one is my friend.  I am alone."

"Rajan–"

"No." He sniffed back his tears and wiped his face. "I am fine. See, I am not crying anymore!" His mirthless laugh sprinkled an icy chill in the room. "I am good. All good. Come on, distract me. Tell me something else."

Indumala decided that maybe it was the best idea. "I liked Mataraj Pushyaar a lot."

Huh? "You did?"

"Yes. And I think she liked me too. She hugged me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"That's an achievement." Rudra drank a chalice of water. Every time he inhaled, he reminded himself to not crumble into pieces. He couldn't let himself be defeated, not before he had taken his revenge.

Indumala knew some people were too stubborn to ask for help. Maybe his pain was extremely old, buried so deep that it even physically strained him to share. "You ate anything in the morning?"

Go with the flow. Forget the past. "Yes."

"Good. Then–"

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Rudra said.

A man with braided greying hair came in. His skin was still fresh and free of wrinkles, despite the signs of ageing visible on his tresses. He had beautiful amber eyes. It was obvious that he used to be a very handsome man in his youth. "Greetings to the Rajan." He didn't notice Indumala initially. His apologetic smile was graceful when he finally saw her. "Greetings to the royal bodyguard Indumala. Pardon me, I didn't see you at first. I think this is our first time meeting each other."

There was a sultry feminine touch in his gait. Little curls were tucked behind his ears and there was a yellow rose pinned in his braid. Indumala admired the man, then bowed back. "Glad to meet you, Lord Devanj."

"What brings you here?" Rudra asked.

"There is a new rescue in the palace. She is bruised badly, in need of immediate treatment."

Rudra clicked his tongue. "Shameful. Ah, please treat her well."

"It's great that I met your respected bodyguard here. I have a request for her, if you two don't mind."

The Rajan and his bodyguard exchanged glances. "Speak." Rudra gave permission.

"The rescue says she has heard about Senapati Aryamna and Indumala's magical guild. She says she wants to go live with them."

Rudra was pleasantly surprised. Indumala was confused. "What is happening?" she asked.

"You are very famous," Rudra said. "The servant boy that day and now this girl. You may even become my rival."

Devanj grinned. "I saw her fight in the arena. She is blessed by the gods, the favourite child of Shiva. You may be named Rudra, my Rajan, but she truly embodies aggression." He drank her allure with devoted eyes. "You have charmed me, young mage, and many more inhabitants of the palace."

Somewhere, Devanj's words got stuck and Rudra contemplated whether it was a coincidence or a hint of fate. "Don't praise her so much," he complained. "She may go astray."

Indumala pouted. "I won't."

"We will see. Devanj, take Indumala with you. She may be able to provide emotional support to the lady." He smiled through his eyes. "Indumala is a very kind woman, dear to even the worst of mankind."

Indumala felt a pang in her heart. Does the Rajan think of himself so lowly? Is that his true worth in his perspective?

"Indumala, I hope I can address you by name. You can call me just Devanj. Please follow me. I shall explain to you the situation."

Little did the mage know that this pretty-looking man was going to become more than a mere acquaintance.

****

While the weather of the palace was quite grim, that day was a momentous occasion for Ishvara, when she started for the guild.

Ishvara noticed the barks changed colours to deeper shades, a transform from tannin-brown to conker-brown as the density of the canopies increased, filtering in few sunbeams to make the Southern Forest appear like a hunter's secret domain. The horses crushed twigs and dry leaves under their hooves. Aryamna's men cut through the thick climbers and snapping branches, making way for the Senapati and his wife. They were supposed to go till only a particular part of the forest after which their journey would be with the mages. The ground beneath became less grassy and more crispy and full of pebbles, signifying regular use.

"Till here," Aryamna said.

He mouted off his horse. The palanquin was gently put down. Aryamna went and removed the curtain a little and extended his hand.
"Come out. We need to walk from here." The men left for their homes, leaving the couple alone.

The melodious buzzing of the grasshopper and the very dedicated symphony of the pecking woodpecker were the only sounds that gave signs of life being present. Clumps of moss had grown on huge rocks.

"You know, this is the only place that has seen rainfall in sixteen years. After the plague, Ishgar has missed regular monsoons," Aryamna said.

"I had heard it was about a curse." The leaves rustled. She felt goosebumps crawl on her skin. "Why, why was Ishgar cursed?"

"It was a woman's wrath unleashed upon all." Aryamna laced his fingers with her.

"Did you know the woman?"

"Maybe you don't know," he heaved a sigh, "for you were sent somewhere else when the plague happened?"

Ishvara gulped. "Yes, but–"

"Gandharvi."

Ishvara was taken aback.

"The Queen Mother of Gandhar had done it. And as we all know," he put pressure on the word, "she left the land– for death or unknown soils, nobody is aware of it."

"I really didn't know, except the fact that someone had cursed Ishgar."

How could Ishvara explain that she was the nomad in this world and not him, with no identity and heritage, roaming with a pile of dead memories and fears of seclusion?

How could she risk her all and tell him she wasn't a pious princess?

"Aryamna!"

The trance was broken at the shout of a man. To Ishvara, he looked a lot like the Rajan himself in stature, but was shorter with rare grey eyes that lurked between her and Aryamna before shutting close to a sad sigh escaping his lips. "Now you come in a pair."

"Fortunately," Aryamna whispered.

"I think you are Raksa," Ishvara said. "You were the one showering on Shitalaa flowers that day?"

Aryamna glared at him. "You did?"

"Wanted to flirt. That's it."

"You need a hot slap." Aryamna smacked his head.

Raksa laughed. He touched Ishvara's feet. "I understand it might be odd for you," he said in a heavy tone, "to bless me, but you are above me in both position and skills." He hesitated. After a brief moment of silence he looked up. Ishvara saw his eyes were watery. "Welcome to this humble home of mages and mothers, as we call the women who serve. Please, follow me."

Ishvara saw the leaves fly away from her path to present a very dark road that felt unnaturally warm beneath her feet. It was dark like coal, a faint burnt odour emanating out as the sweat gliding down her ankles mixed with the soil particles.

The bushes and trees cleared to reveal a small settlement inside the forest.
There were plenty of huts and cottages of brick, all sticking close to one another in a clutter. Far away she saw few stables and a pond.

"The place goes even bigger, spreading over acres of land. Come here some more times and you will get to know each corner!" Raksa exclaimed.

Their arrival had sparked screeching excitement amidst the girls while the older women who were busy with pots of water and churning milk kept their work at hand to come greet the couple. Ishvara noticed Kanyaki waving in the little crowd and smiled back.

"Wait a moment, the ones to welcome you are coming," Raksa said.

Ishvara felt a tug. Aryamna had pulled her a bit closer.

What were these subtle actions trying to convey?

Indeed, he was a nice man.

Ishvara suppressed a giggle.

"Ah, so the two won't look at me?"

The voice was strong yet feeble, matching perfectly with the old little dwarf. He shook with laughter, the elongated spade-shaped smokey-grey beard almost touching the ground.
Ishvara cocked her head to the side. 
"Are you Makba?"

Aryamna and the rest were shocked.

The old mage nodded. "Yes, my daughter."

Aryamna's face brightened with joy, like the sunshine of summer had filtered through his skin to make his shyama complexion glow, coaxing the birds to sing his praises.

"Make way, make way!"

This time it was a crispy, shrill voice of a female even shorter than Indu. She had a pretty bump, breasts in the shape of big apricots. Ishvara understood she was an expectant mother. The blessing of youth still shone in her wavy blue eyes. "So here we have our new bride."

Something about her made Ishvara's head ache mildly, the sensation of needles pricking her neck irking the somber mood.

Suddenly, her world turned dim. It was a haze of dusted quartz upon a canvas pitch dark. When light seeped in, silhouettes of four people came into her vision. The canvas had changed into a shade of purplish viridescence, reminiscent of a fresh forest of spring.

One of them looked at her. They had a sly smile and starry eyes.

"Ishvara?"

The visions left, making her recoil back. Aryamna's hand gripped her by the waist.

"The heat, it's tiring me. Nothing much," she mumbled.

The pregnant lady came forward with little, baby steps, holding forward a plate of hibiscus. "Let us pamper the lovely lady, Aryamna."