A dying woman doesn't forget her promise.

****

The curse, once cast by Queen Gandharvi, was annihilated.

Clouds gathered, from silvery greys to murky black, pouring down earth-bound raindrops, a blessing which the leaves held in their laps before letting it trickle down on the soil. Flurries of wind rocked branches, and stormy arrows of water moistened thresholds. People came out of their houses and into the streets, celebrating the auspicious event. Ishgar was finally on the way towards harmony.

While its lord, Rajan Rudra, hunched over a little piece of womanly embellishment, crying tears of pain. It was so uncanny that he could smell her presence in that blouse, but had she really come? Did she, like many people spread rumours, roamed the palace? Some claimed to have seen her lurking in the shadows and heard the chime of her anklets. Some saw the imprints of her red-dyed feet. Some saw her otherworldly and burnt eyes, snatching away the souls of the sinful.

They said she was no more copper-skinned, no more tanned under the sun. She was blacker, almost like the cosmos itself. The witnesses told she embodied Kalika, with scarlet eyes and a protruding tongue. Dewdrops danced on her eyelashes, fire dripping down her hair.

If she was really here, why did she not come to Rudra? Even if people were scared of the beauty of Kalika, he wasn't. He had given up on Shiva, he knew.

But he didn't ever say he disowned Kalika.

He knew he didn't have the right to disown her. And he didn't want to dream of a night when she would arrive at the foot of his bed only to declare that they were no more connected.

Kalika was where Petra had merged. Rudra was a monster himself and was ready to see Petra as one too. Yes, Kalika was a monster– with skull garlands hanging around her neck, naked as timeless truth, blood on her thighs, hair the gorgeous milky way. Ah, there was a poetic destruction running in her veins, some music in how she shrieked and called for war. Rudra would give up everything if only Petra came to him. He would leave all behind, even Aryamna and Ishvara. No one mattered more than her.

But, in his worst nightmares, she had discarded him like a rag. Yes, even beasts like him were afraid of being left alone and despised. Often it was abhorrence that they wielded to command fear among their subordinates; however behind closed doors, they too craved for some warmth.

Rudra ran his fingers over the blouse, smelling it again and again. It was the lovely brahmakamal, the rarest of divine flowers, its perfume accessible to only the richest. Who was even so lucky in the palace? Of course Petra. She was here, walking when nobody looked, running when someone tried to trap her.

"Return her to me, Kalika. I will offer you my life and flesh. Have me alive if you want, if that pleases you. I am desperate to be at her side." Rudra touched his lips to the part of the garment that would have clung to her firm breasts, imagining he really kissed her bosom. From head to toe, she was built like a goddess. He hadn't admired it before marriage, but once he tasted love, there was nothing greater than her.

Not even now. No one could rival her.

Flashes of the bodyguard came to his mind. Indumala– as little and petite as Petra, a sorrel lady with warm eyes, black hair mimicking midnight, a starry smile that could make kings bow.

"No, no!"

It was his wolf's doing. It was conquering him, again. So ungodly it made him feel sometimes, so dirty and aghast. This animal inside could cross limits of lust if Rudra didn't hold on. He could feel his phallus pulsate in passion.

No, he wouldn't give in.

Fur lined his fair arms, growing longer and thicker. The black turned to snowy white. His sclera was wiped to complete ebony, swamping sanity out. The nails on his palms, trimmed and neat, now turned into crooked claws. His face, emerging from the hairy neck, was still human, albeit his body was half a wolf.

"Petra," he growled. "I can't go like this."

Sometimes he felt like cutting himself into halves. Pain burst through his veins. Blood flowed down his nose, drop by drop clanking on the marble floor. He was bleeding love and thirst. His head erupted like a volcano, a nagging pain hitting the back of the skull like a hammer.

"I want to die."

I want to make love to Petra.

He moaned. So many years had passed without him having any skin-to-skin with a woman. He would have gone and ravaged one had not his love for Petra lived. Love sometimes could be this cunning, tempting one to sin when the perfect beloved was missing.

Rudra would not succumb. He was the Rajan. He prided himself on his control.

But it was going out of his hand.

He wanted to lick her erect buds, make her call his name, entangle his legs with hers. He wanted to feel how thrilling it was to have one's hair being grabbed by a woman at the height of bliss. He wanted to groan when her nails dug into his flesh, leaving marks of possession.

He missed it. He obsessively missed it. He missed the baby too, the one that was once, and no more.

Rudra screamed along with the thunder outside. He very well knew that one curse was being broken. But why? How? He couldn't see Petra anymore.

And again, the drunken sensations travelled down his spine, causing him to arch back in pleasure. The wolf wanted to mate. Of course, the shore of the Nile had been a parched land for sixteen years. It needed to feel the ocean of love.

Yet, this wasn't the time. Rudra would not go and sleep with anyone else. And if his wolf wanted to have Indumala, he would severe it. Cut himself so deadly that he would limp.

On his wobbly knees, Rudra went and searched through his drawers. There was a dagger. Yes, he found it finally. He took it out of the sheath and saw the glinted jagged edge. He placed it on his arm and made haphazard strikes. When it wasn't enough to punish his wolf, he pierced it in his neck, biting his lips to not whimper.

He needed to injure himself more. So much that the stab would make his wolf forget the need of sex and mate. Petra wasn't here, and even if she was, she wasn't ready to come. So Rudra would stop his madness with violence.

All of a sudden, he heard a knock. It distracted Rudra for a moment, but again he held the dagger near his tongue. Then the visitor banged on the door. And again, and again. It went on. Rudra wasn't in a mood to open the door. Anyone who saw him in this demonic state would faint.

"Rajan, can you hear me?" It was Dilrobar's voice. Rudra's heightened wolf senses also heard the muffled sobs of Mataraj Pushyaar. So he allowed them in. They were shocked to see him having transformed. His howls made even the hardened Pushyaar cry. She covered her mouth and shook her head. "It hurts me to see you suffering like this, Rudra. Why can't you just stop mourning?"

Dilrobar, however, craned her neck and squinted, her eyes fixated on the blouse in Rudra's grip. "Why do you have her blouse?"

Rudra stared at her in wonder. "Whose?" His voice was disembodied like a ghost's.

"Indumala. I have seen her wear this."

Rudra staggered back and fell to his knees. The blouse in his hand was no less than the blessings of Kalika."This is Indumala's?"

"I have seen her wearing it while visiting the Abode of Grace. I don't know how you have got this, but we should return it to her. She must be finding it."

Dilrobar took the blouse from him, his hands falling almost lifeless to his sides. He stared at the ground in surprise. "This is Indumala's?" he asked again.

Only now, Dilrobar understood what exactly could have happened. She gaped. The familiar fragrance wafted to her nose too. She sniffed it, filling her soul with love. "I-I see. I am not surprised, Rudra."

Mataraj understood the matter, happiness gleaming on her aged face. Rudra, however, was taken aback. Mataraj stroked his vanishing fur as he returned back to normalcy. "You felt Petra, didn't you?"

Rudra tried to speak, but he found himself choking. "I-I..." He pursed his lips, coating them with salty tears.

Pushyaar took away the dagger from his hand. "Don't hurt yourself anymore."

"Bu-but," he stammered, "why?"

That was the biggest question to him now. Why?

Pushyaar smiled. "Time reveals in her own pace. She will tell you everything when it's time. At present, no, I don't know anything, except that it's a sign you shouldn't ignore." She ran her hands over the fresh cuts on Rudra's limbs. "Indumala will be sad to see you like this."

"She already is sad. I had gone to her and tried to cheer her up," Dilrobar said. "We talked and felt good about each other." Dilrobar beamed from ear to ear. "I-I think," she was flooded with tears, "Indu likes me. She was, you know, giving me this aura of a protective little sister when I showed her my face."

Rudra was shocked for a second time. "You did?"

"Yes." Dilrobar snuggled the garment. "I want to talk to her more and more. And Rudra, I think I must tell you something."

He didn't reply, only looked at her with timid hope.

"I saw the birthmark on her back. She hides that, always. The mark." She wailed. "That treacherous thing made me both happy and sad." She kissed the blouse. This time, I promise Rudra, I will be different. I won't be a bad woman. I won't.

But you must accept her not as just  Petra, but Indumala too.

She sniffled and continued, "See, we don't know anything now. We don't have an answer. But what I can say is, please accept Indumala. Give her a place in your heart. Don't belittle her or treat her like you do other humans. She is special. Your wolf understands it. Pity that beast, it just wants a companion!" For the first time, she seemed to have a hold on Rudra and scolded him. "Don't go around trying to kill yourself. It's not time for crying and cursing. It's time to act and go with the flow. You must give Indumala a chance. Yes, go slow, see where it goes. Because, Petra would not want you to live like this. You deserve a second chance, Rudra."

Outside, the storm died down. The trees were back to swaying gently. Children hopped over wet roads and puddles, their parents dragging them back home. The celebration for the night was over.

"You should organise a feast, Rudra. The rains have returned. Such a beautiful night this is," Pushyaar said, her hands joined in a solemn prayer. "I wish for the best."

"Mataraj, let's leave him alone for now. And Rudra, don't hurt yourself. Instead, please think. You have a whole night."

"And tomorrow, you must go to Indumala and ask for forgiveness," Mataraj chided. "It is my order."

The two women left the room. Dilrobar took the blouse with her, giving it to Indumala on the way. The latter was grateful as she thought she had lost it. She thanked Dilrobar and went to bed, this time with her Maa and Baba, who were with her for the night. Dilrobar waved at them and wished them sweet dreams. Mataraj went back to her tower, reminiscing the days of the past.

Closing his eyes and drifting away to sleep, Rudra lost himself in a land of magical dreams where miracles were easily manifested.