Pity the sinners who redeem, sinning again by despising the self within.

****

Ishvara carefully put Aryam down, gently freeing her locks of hair from his grip.

Orange sunbeams fell on his face, brightening his sorrel skin. Glistening sparks of rainbow danced on his long eyelashes, pretty parted lips coloured in the crimson shade of blood. A tint of blush accentuated his cheeks. He moved a little in his sleep, pulling the blanket closer and ducking his head beneath.

Ishvara wrapped another blanket over him. "It's cold today."

Much like the nightmare.

She couldn't understand how the man in front of her could be the beast of her haunted dreams. Did Aryamna have a twin? Possibly not.

"But he is Aryamna, while the man from my dreams was Aryam. Aryam and Aryamna– so Aryam and someone who, isn't Aryam?"

She couldn't just assume he had a twin, yet the possibility remained and for now Ishvara put it aside. Joining two and two together, if the man from her nightmare and her husband were the same being, then Ishvara finally unearthed a big clue.

"Not just Aryam. Rajan Aryam he was! Could this Senapati be more complicated than I predicted?"

The silvery haired woman appeared to be a powerful warrior. And the woman who had earlier come dressed in her nightmare in mahogany, she called that lady mother, and quite despicable felt the thread which connected the two. Thus, this Ranavato, the name she had got to know from her previous nightmare had been her mother.

Ishvara shuddered. The people of Gandhar had said she was born of a veshya named Bhagvati.

"It was a lie."

She had to find out if any woman by the name of Ranavato lived in the palace. It didn't seem they had a sweet relationship.

She put her hand over her heart. So much was different. Indeed, Makba was right– what she was recalling drastically contrasted her present reality. If her husband really had been the Rajan then why no one recognised him?

The curse had asked her to be kept safe, away from the sudden blinding light of knowledge. Why would his identity be kept buried?

Aryamna tossed and turned in his sleep. Ishvara removed the curtains, letting the faint dawn feel welcomed in the humble cottage. "Wake up."

Aryamna stretched his arms and yawned. "Can I not sleep a little more? I always wake up early."

Ishvara's fingers reached for his face, caressing him with caution. She felt his warmth, the shine of his eyes growing more intense under her touch. He nudged her with his nose and relished the vulnerable moment, praying no interruption came and popped the fairy-like philia that circled around.

It was little but precious.

"I thought we can go for a walk together. There's a nice river."

Aryamna blushed. "For you, then."

Ishvara didn't want the moment to break. She felt more than just a companion to him now. After the events of last night, her world was more colourful.

Reluctantly she shifted. "I shall go to Mithhi."

Aryamna held her by the wrist. "I am sorry."

Ishvara blinked in confusion.

"I was being too clingy last night," he said. "I am sorry. I won't do it again."

"No, it's alright. I didn't mind."

"Uh, if you say so."

"Good. Now get fresh. I will wait for you near the river."

Aryamna was left heartbroken.

****

The sparrows cooed in her ears as Ishvara sat under a tree, waiting for her husband to come. She drew circles and stars on the mud with twigs. As she passed her time idly, Aryamna came with a basket of pomegranates. Even after sleeping deep and well, his face looked wan and tired after the early morning conversation. He wondered why Ishvara wanted him to come near the river.

This same river led to the place of horror. Where he had once lost her. Just a few more steps and they would again be together in that place of haunting past. "Fruits for you."

With doe-carved eyes she looked up at him beaming, snatching away the basket with pure joy. Like a child she began eating the fruits. "These are my favourite!"

I know. "Ah, I am glad I guessed right!"

Ishvara eyed him with amusement. "You are intelligent."

"So, why had you called me here?"

"I think we need to talk. On many things, actually, but I narrowed those down to two."

Aryanma sat beside her, leaning against the bark of the tree. "Which are?"

"Look, we didn't marry voluntarily out of love, what people call a Gandharva marriage."

Aryamna pursed his lips. "True. We didn't."

Ishvara noticed his clenched fists. Taking it as a cue, she continued, "We got married in a, strange way. I didn't know much about you. Neither did you know much about me. Yet now we are together and I see a possibility of happiness. Thus, I think we should work on knowing each other well. Opening up is a slow and risky process, but I think we must do it."

Knowing how double-edged her joyous decision could be, Aryamna decided to take lead. "Then, maybe, I will begin by showing you my world, and you can follow after me."

Because you don't remember.

The leaves rustled as Ishvara lowered her head in silence. "Very well. I agree."

"And what is your second–"

"If anything pains you, Aryamna, then speak it out. Again, if possible."

Aryamna's pupils widened. He snickered, wounding Ishvara's heart.
"What if it isn't?"

"Then make me ready for it. I may not be worthy of sharing your pain yet, but we had made promises during our marriage."

An uninvited breeze took away the veil of dried leaves from his autumn of memories. The days of the past, the cherished moments were left bare for him to stare at them in awe and guilt.
Promises– they had made promises to each other. Each had to keep their end of the deal.

"Very well. I shall, I will make you ready for it. In return, keep patience and increase your trust in me."

Ishvara calculated the risks and blurted, "Why, is the Senapati having a wonderful past like our present Rajan?"

"Maybe I did."

Ishvara choked on the seeds. Aryamna patted her back, letting her cough it out. "Don't stress over me. I am not as good as you may think, or as the world perceives it."

Ishvara felt that he knew she was trying to interpret his riddles and take a peek at his soul. The two gazed at each other with fire in their hearts. Each wanted to unearth what the other had to hide. Each wanted to know, again, who they were to one another.

"I knew it!" Ishvara balled her hands into fists. "That you didn't marry because you did something fishy. So no woman married you."

"Now, don't get riled up. Everybody does mistakes."

"I will give you a year's time. By then if you cannot tell me what you had done, I will make a scene out of it and tell the people you are bad."

Aryamna chuckled. So she now has set a deadline for me?

Very well.

"I will keep in mind your words. From this moment, I will allow you to slowly delve in me and in return," he scooted closer to her, "you will allow me to know you."

Her heart crashed against the ribcage. Her mouth felt dry. Moistening her lips, she said, "As you wish."

And as fate wished, Ishvara's life was to change sooner than she could predict.

****

Dilrobar was knitting on a piece of cotton and waiting for Rudra to come back from the Hall of Intellect. He had gone there to meet another rescued girl and converse with the women, ensuring if their needs were met. A wry smile played on her lips as she realised he did everything to keep others happy, but never himself.

Just as she thought about Rudra, he entered the room. Today he was again back to dressing in black. Earlier he didn't wear this colour so much. The change came after Petra's death. He was the living concept of a male widow, embracing the darkness that ushered in his life with the death of his wife. He mourned her through black, ditching the usual white.

Dilrobar didn't disturb him as he sat with a hand over his forehead. He took deep breaths and murmured under his breath. Sometimes he would jolt upright, suddenly remembering something, or maybe count with his fingers. He was thinking deeply, engrossed in the moment. Dilrobar didn't break the spell. Instead, she waited for the time he would be ready to listen to her.

"I have something to ask you, Dilrobar."

She kept aside the knitting work. The yellow centre of a beautiful chandramukhi was sewn on the fabric. The green leaves were still undone. "Tell me."

"I know you have more knowledge about vampires than werewolves, but what to do when your wolf acts weirdly?"

Dilrobar was immediately interested in what he had to say. Her guts said this was going to help her in the onerous mission. "In what sense?"

Rudra blew out, shrugging his shoulders rather cluelessly. "It has been acting peculiar around Indumala."

Dilrobar, beneath her veil, smirked knowingly. It is happening. Pretending to be curious, she asked, "Can you describe?"

Rudra clicked his tongue. "It's strange. You know how far I can go in anger."

Unpleasant memories rushed towards Dilrobar. Yes, she had tasted his wrath firsthand. Some of the scars still beautified her body. As much as she was ready to bear pain, she prayed to Shiva she might never have to see his monstrosity.

Rudra was Rudra in all ways. He could be an animal, a wild beast of the forests that didn't think twice before tearing off the skin from the body of a maiden.

A sinful maiden.

Rudra was, after all, used to treating all his sinners in the same style, serving the same justice.

He continued, "We were having an argument, me and Indumala. It was silly I know, but then I was too frustrated and just sought after an opportunity to vent it out. I caught Indumala. So, I grabbed her arm," he touched his own in the same rough way to demonstrate, "like this. She was in pain. I wanted to punish her."

Dilrobar clenched her fist. The world would have probably mocked her because of the urge she felt now– the urge to slap Rudra for what he did. Yes, he had every right to abuse Dilrobar or any other human who once carried poison inside their throat, but Indumala was different. It didn't matter whether she was Petra reborn or not. Indumala was a righteous and lovely woman, an epitome of feminine power.

It gave her goosebumps to think that Petra had returned as a warrior. We all come back to do what we couldn't.

"And then?" she asked, encouraging him to continue.

"The wolf protested."

"It did?"

"Yes." The phantom of guilt passed his face. "I know I did wrong, but my wolf never inflicted pain upon me for hurting another. Sometimes it even hurls at the advices of Aryamna. Then who is this Indumala, for whom my wolf gave me pain?" Rudra's voice reached a feverish pitch. "I got to experience the burn and discomfort she was feeling in her arms. The wolf didn't stop unless I asked for forgiveness."

"Did any other incident happen too?"

"I can't exactly explain it. I don't have the right words." Rudra pulled his lips, tilting his head to the side. "My wolf gets excited. Horribly excited. It's a raw kind of joy, even if for the flick of a moment. The day when I was watching Indumala fight, my wolf was in the clouds. If I had released control, I am sure you would have found it running and playing around Indumala. I am damn sure. Yes, that was how the feeling was like. Yes." He clapped his hands, finally having found a near perfect way to describe his nameless sensations.

"So it has happened more than once, I presume?"

"Yes. It has happened multiple times. My wolf doesn't let me be me when I am around her."

It lets you be you, Rudra. It is freeing you from the clutches of evil. Your soul is intertwined with pride and pang, guilt and grief. It will be a burdensome process to heal you.

But it will happen.

You will find light.

"I think you should go and meet your pack. They will help you."

"I was thinking the same. I will go after Ishvara visits the palace. I will ask Aryamna to look after things here while you ensure Ishvara feels happy."

Dilrobar smiled. "I will meet her after a long time. But if you ask me, I pray she doesn't get to remember me. I will die of shame."

The skin on Rudra's forehead creased. He hardened like a rock. "I can't do anything to help you."

"I do not ask also. We need to do the preparations to welcome Ishvara."

"I will ask Devanj to do it. He is also excited to meet her."

So not me, I understand. Dilrobar inspected the needle, wondering how it would feel to prick her arms with it.

Would it hurt?

Rudra gestured her to the leave his room. Dilrobar accepted. She took her sewing work and bowed. "Sleep well, Rajan."

She couldn't always address him as Rudra, not during moments as this, when the distance between them was equivalent to the one between the sun and the moon.

People romanticised the luminaries. But Dilrobar observed one thing– the sun didn't need anybody else to burn bright. The moon, alas, needed the sun. It didn't have its own shine. Dilrobar was just like that– she was nothing on her own. She never was. All her life she clung to men, wrong ones initially and now her own former prey. They fed her and allowed her to live. If ever, at the click of their fingers, they ordered for someone to kill her, she would be beheaded.

No mercy would be shown.

She was down on her knees again. Alone in the palace corridor, she cried. No one was going to console and tell her that she would be just fine.

Dilrobar was alone, all alone in this samsara.