Tall, thin, one pale as the skin of a glass of milk, another greyish as the sludge on a stagnant pond, one pale as the chalk cliffs of Bokulpur in a full moon, still, vigilant, lurking in the shadows, staring, like a cobra seeking it's prey, another wide eyed, black as inky pools, a reflection of greed and lust... Two dark shadows under two pairs of sunken eyes, hardened features, immobile faces, gaunts, hair slicked back, casting their deep shadows under protruding cheek bones, with evil glint in the eyes, their slow movements lurking behind the thatched wall of MeenaRani's modest hut, their movements stealth as if they has no bones at all, slinking, oozing, bright false smile, suddenly laughing silently.

"Kalu, tell me what you see?"
The pale man nudged the other, eyeing the insides of the small room through a hole on the wall.

"Ram Leela, Bhulu Da, a raunchy version." The other man let out a soft sinister chuckle.

Bhulu couldn't resist, as he pushed Kalu away and placed his eye on the peep hole, his eyes shining in lust and vexation.

"Shaala, this Nawab puttur is now crossing every limits!" He spat out the words and then let Kalu peek inside, as with widened eyes he saw the beautiful widow sitting on the floor, and the handsome Zamindar showering a basket of small white Bokul flowers on her, letting her sink into their exquisite fragrance. Her arms were spread, embracing the showering flowers, her eyes were closed, her hair drawn infront, and Kalu saw and gulped at the sight of her unblemished bare back! None of what they said was audible, but from the gestures and laughter it was evident that they both were happy, living in the moment.

"The widow is drop dead gorgeous, I give her that, but an utter whore! I don't see why and how Suresh Daktar married her!"
Bhulu made a hushed comment, and Kalu sighed at the words, seeing how the widow's drape wrapped around her body wasn't doing any justice in taming the fire of her beauty.

"Suresh Daktar huh!" Kalu chuckled.
"You hardly knew that rascal."

"So do you." Bhulu pinched his cousin.
"But that doesn't mean his widow can do whatever in our village, under our nose... She is family after all, we are her relatives by law!"

"And, if anyone has any right on her, it'd be us... " Kalu licked his lips, his eyes glued inside, ogling at how the man made the widow sit on the bed, and how he sat on the floor by her feet, as if worshiping her with those white flowers of love.

"Whats'ya seeing?" Bhulu asked restlessly.

"They are talking."

"Just talking?"
Bhulu asked again, and Kalu moved his eye away from the crack.

"Ya, pretty much. They've been talking all these while..." He mentioned, a little disappointed at the lack of spice, and Bhulu rolled his eyes at him.

"And he held her face too... How dare he touches our woman! She is Suresh's widow, she's our property."

"Agree that... But what now?" Kalu asked.

"Scare the man, drive him away."

"Do you think this one can be scared easily?" Kalu pursed his mouth and placed his eye on the crack again, now chuckling softly.

"Ufff... What a sight!" He licked his lips, and without any pretence Bhulu shoved him aside to watch a the 'sight' himself.

The widow was still seated, but the man was on his knees now, moving up to the length of her seated position, as with his left hand he had held the widow's neck, his lips diving deep into hers, stealing the forbidden nectar from her like a attentive devotee. None moved much, none touched much, except for their conjoined lips.

"Chi chi chi... That Kaalmukhi whore", Bhulu spat on the ground again.
"If the fire of your youth burns this much, then come to us, we are your own... Why is outsider!"
He shook his head and looked at Kalu.

"Kalu, Bhai... Let's kill this scoundrel... Let's sink him in the Ganga... Nobody would know!"
He smirked, a sinister chuckle escaping his mouth, and Kalu pulled out a blunt club from behind and showed it proudly.

"This would do, what say?"

"Perfect." An evil spark played on Bhulu's eyes.
"This would definitely do, and more!" He chortled.

*********************

"Oh Maa... Such lovely flowers!"
Mira exclaimed in happiness as Batakrishna poured the cane basket filled with white flowers on her head, letting them fall on her lap, her arms, her hair, showering her in it's pristine whiteness.

"For you Mira." He smiled.

Batakrishna had asked Mira to wait, before leaving the room briefly after their afternoon encounter, and when he came back, he made her sit on the small cot, prepared to worship her to his hearts fill.

"Where did you get these? They... They're lovely."
Mira was smiling, and that exquisite curvature of her lips made his heart full.

"Backyard, there is a Bokul tree."

"When did you?" Mira looked at him with confusion eyes, yet happiness reflected from every bit of it.

"When you were bathing!"

"So you did this instead of sleeping? Why?"
Mira murmured the question, a hint of bashfulness in her eyes, and Batuk touched her chin with two fingers to lift her face up. Mira smiled, and Batuk felt as if it had lit up the small abode suddenly with it's unearthly aura.

"Mira..." He called and she looked away in shame, humming just an yes.
"A thousand of these flowers are mundane when compared to your smile." He smiled himself, "and I can give away thousands of such sleeps to see this smile on your lips."
He moved his lips a little forward and Mira pushed him away coyly.

"Issh!"
She brought her hands up and covered her face, nodding her head slowly, bashfully.

"What issh?" Batakrishna held her wrists, but made no attempts of moving them apart.
"You have no idea how happy I am that you've finally agreed to come with me." He paused, thinking fondly.
"Day after tomorrow is Dada's birthday, and on that day I'll tell everyone how I feel about you."

Mira moved her hands away from her face and gasped.
"And then?"

"And then marriage. Batakrishna Roy Chowdhury weds Mira!"
He drew a board on the air, proudly, proclaiming how magnificent their wedding banner would look, and Mira giggled at this dramatic gesture.

"And then?" She added, and it made Batuk frown, and then smirk naughtily.

"And then our fulsojja at the terrace greenhouse! Didn't I tell you about that?"
He held her shoulders and Mira nodded gently.

"You did." She smiled, and then suddenly her smile faded away like a camphor, leaving it's dying aroma on Batuk's face.

"What happened Mira?" He asked.

"I'm scared Choto Zamindar Babu." She swallowed the words and spoke again.
"I'm scared of fulsojja." She paused again, thinking.
"I don't remember if I had one after getting married, but when I grew up, i mean i had my first..." She gulped amd looked down, and Batuk placed his hands on her joined palms and nodded.
"They had arranged a fulsojja, and the old man asked me to do unspeakable things to him... And when I refused, he thrashed me with a knotted bamboo stick, until it broke!" She closed her eyes and shuddered at her own words, and Batuk felt a tremor in his heart.
"He's dead now, but when I close my eyes at night, I still feel his grunts when he was beating me."
Mira sighed, and then found herself in the cosiness of Batakrishna's strong arms. It made her inhale his soothing musk and smile again.
No one spoke for minutes, until Batuk stirred up and loosen his grip on Mira.

"Good that the old man is dead." He cupped her face instead.

"Why?"
Mira muttered, but Batuk only saw her rosy lips part a little, inviting him to fill the gap.

"Because, had he been alive, I'd have skinned him by now, before sending him to hell to be roasted in hellfire."
He breathed loudly and Mira pressed her lips and smiled.

"So there is a hell! And hellfire too?" She asked, and her sudden question caught Batuk of guard.

"Hell is for bad people. Good people like you and meant to live a full filling life on earth." He paused, peaking a small kiss on her nose.
"You understand me Mira, you and I are meant to have a long happy fulfilling life together, before we die... And we'll die old, with our great grandchildren around, cosy in our bed, hand in hand!"

Batuk leaned forward once again to plant a kiss on Mira's forehead, and she closed her eyes instinctively.

"One more thing I'm scared of Choto Zamindar Babu." She spoke slowly, and Batuk let his eyebrows dance at her in question.
"I'm scared what if my closeness brings harm to you! What if you get hurt? What if..." Her words started to grow restless, very uncharacteristic of her behaviour, and Batuk wrapped her around in his arms and placed his chin on her shoulder.

"Nothing will happen to me."
He kissed her shoulder, and she shivered.

"But, my closeness is venomous Choto Zamindar Babu, that Sadhvi from the hills told me, Mangalik she said i believe, and I don't know what that means."
She too wrapped her arms around Batakrishna's shoulder and he sighed softly.

"Mangalik is when Mangal Graha Debota is powerful on one's birth chart. And what is the meaning of Mangal?"

"Good?" Mira narrowed her eyes and asked.

"Exactly! Mangal means good. So how can you being Mangalik be bad?" Batuk winked at her, and her mouth fell in confusion, the innocence in her expression threatening Batuk to fill every inch of her with kisses.

"But... That's not what the woman said... She said something about Graha dosh, and... I... I don't remember, but it wasn't anything good." She paused thinking.
"And she mentioned any man who would come close to me would... Would..."

"Would die?" Batuk completed the sentence and Mira gasped at his words.

"Batakrishna Babu, I'll die if anything happens to you." She suddenly murmured, her eager hands reaching out for his face, as with trembling fingers she cupped his chiseled jawline and looked closely.
"I swear that my god knows how much I've tried to be away from you... How much I still try... But... But, if anything happens to you, I swear to that same god that I won't live a minute to see the next."
Jets of tears bursted out from her eyelids and Batakrishna pulled her in his tight embrace.

"Shh... Shh... Mira... Nothing will happen to me... I promise... Didn't I tell you I'll cheat death for you?" He hushed the words in her ears, rubbing her back gently, and Mira whimpered and pulled him closer to her body.

Batuk smiled warmly.
"So you love me?" He asked, and in response Mira clutched his vest firmly in her grip.

"Yes." She hushed.

"So much?" He teased and she rubbed her eyes in his chest.

"More, a lot more." She murmured, and the sobbing intensified, muffling into his embrace.

"Then why are you crying?"
He asked, his hands had now moved to her head, slowly caressing he hair to comfort.

"Because I'm scared every moment!"

"Still?"

"I'm scared to be happy."

"But you aren't happy, are you?" He teased again, ruffling her hair, and Mira sniffed back a tear.

"These are happy tears."
She defended.

**************************

It was around five in the evening, when Batakrishna had finally left his beloved, unwillingly, to leave for the railway station to get her ticket. He could have gone the next morning too, but his lover heart compelled him to act fast, lest his beloved change her mind!

Funny is such young love, and foolish such lovers, but in love, who cares!

"But one garland with these many flowers?"
Mira had walked out of the room along with Batakrishna, now standing on the porch, holding a thick bamboo pole for support, and Batakrishna pulled the motor cycle and prepared to dust it's seat.

"Umm... A set of floral jewellery then!" He replied thoughtfully, as Mira continued to stare at him with wonder stuck eyes, marvelling and how he was wiping and dusting the motor.

"What's that?" She asked again, and this time Batakrishna stopped his actions and looked at her.

"You don't know?" He asked back, and Mira nodded her head in negation like a little girl.
Batakrishna laughed silently.
"Floral jewellery is fun Mira, Bondita and I use to make when we were children, and then she'd wear them and roam around Dada's study to catch his attention."

Mira smiled too.
"Did she? Catch his attention?"

Batuk shrugged, and resumed his handiwork, cleaning the old motor cycle to futile perfection.
"I'm sure she did. Else how do you think Dada fell such head over heels for her!"

"With flower jewelleries!" She gasped, and Batuk smirked at her innocence.
Mira seemed lost in thoughts, some unknown far fetched thoughts, and Batuk noticed glints of smile in her gleaming orbs.

"But I'm a widow, am i meant for all these?" She sighed, as if questioning her own self and Batuk finished his dust work and came closer to her.

"Technically speaking Bondita Bouthan was a widow too when Dada married her, see how happy they both turned out."

He winked, and Mira gasped loudly at this new knowledge.

"Widow?" She covered her mouth with her hand in awe.

"Yes." Batuk too held the bamboo pole, letting his fingers touch hers, and then he stood infront of her, his feet below the elevated porch, his face near her neck.
"We were eight I believe... Bondita got married to an old man, and the groom died at the wedding alter, or so I've heard. And then Dada remarried her on the same day."

"She never had to wear white?"
Mira gasped again, a happy gasp this time, and Batuk smiled at her happiness.

"No. Never." He added.
"So see Mira, happiness is just a state of mind, you have to seek for it, and try and keep it safe. If Bondita would have tortured herself thinking why a widow should think about love, then imagine how my brother would have been today."

He exhaled sharply and it made Mira touch his jawline again.
"I'll be happy." She murmured, and Batuk held her hand and brought it to his lips.

"We'll be happy."
He kissed her again.

**************************

"When the buds first bloomed in my garden of flowers,
Amar Mallika Bone..."

The power of love brings hope, yet at times the steps toward love cause pain and those towards a life of loneliness are comfortable in their familiarity. But humans are born to love, against all adversities, and they are born with this inherent necessary courage to walk the path of love, no matter the roughness, no matter the hardship.
Mira too had just learnt to walk the path, the path of trust, the path of hope, the past of love.

Batakrishna had left for the railway station, and sitting with her legs stretched on the mud porch, Mira hummed a melodious tune, all by herself, in memory of her first uninhibited love surrender, and her eyes were glued to the string of white garland that she so carefully threaded with a needle, waiting for him to adorn her with it on his return.
Her eyes dreamy, her lips smiling.

"I had planned my offerings to you, my dear...
I had planned my offerings to you!"

She hummed, and then held the white string of flowers to her face, inhaling it's pristine fragrance, and then her face turned crimson in the hues of her newfound emotion.
Mira smiled bashfully, and then pressed the flowers tenderly to her bosom and blushed again.

"Batakrishna Babu... " She murmured to herself, biting her lips unmindfully in a sweet embarrassment.
"Batakrishna..." She paused to think, and then muttered his name again...
"Krishna... My Krishna..."
She pressed her eyes shut to beat the overwhelming sensation of pronouncing his name, and her heart started to beat faster.
"My Krishna!"
She bit her lips again and then grinned like a child, completely letting herself submerged in the feeling of being consumed by his name.  

"Mira's Krishna... Ouch! " a soft murmur escaped her love-flushed lips, as she smiled once again, lost in his thoughts.

A thick stream of scarlet viscosity oozed out from the finger where the sharp needle had pricked, soaking her white drape unknowingly in a cruel mockery.

"Mira's Krishna!"
She smiled again, oblivious to the world, just him in her heart, her mind, her lips.

**************************

Tall, thin, one pale as the skin of a albino snake, another greyish as the sludge on a dirty reptile, one pale as the chalk cliffs of Bokulpur in a scary full moon, still, vigilant, lurking in the shadows, staring, like a venomous cobra seeking it's prey, another wide eyed, black as deep inky pools, a reflection of greed and lust... Two unearthly dark shadows under two pairs of sunken poisonous eyes, hardened features, immobile deathly faces, hair slicked back, casting their deep shadows under protruding cheek bones, with evil glint in the eyes, their slow movements lurking behind the large Peepal tree where Batakrishna's motor cycle had halted abruptly, hinting towards a unforseen danger.

"Damn!" Batakrishna jumped down from the scooter and tried to kick start it again.
"Holy Hell!" He grunted, kicking the foot gear with all his might.
"Start you stupid scooter!" He huffed.

"What's the hurry Zamindar Babu?"
The shadows came out of the dark, their movements stealth as if they has no bones at all, slinking, oozing, bright false smile, suddenly laughing silently.

"Who?"
Batakrishna growled, sensing the sinister potency of the moment, and the men came closer. One grabbing his neck from behind without any prior intimation, and the other throwing a hard punch on his face.

"Aah!" Batakrishna growled again.
"Who are you son of bitches!"
His words came out with a glob of blood mixed with saliva, trailing down the corner of his lips.
Batakrishna spat on the man standing infront and he glared at him in the darkness.

"Your death, you sinner!"
Bhulu legged him hard in the abdomen, making Batakrishna writhed in pain.

Kalu had held him from behind, his gigantic tall frame binding Batuk in a death grip, and Bhulu kept punching him haphazardly on the ribs.

"You bloody cowards!" Batakrishna hissed,
"Leave my hands and fight like a man!" His throat choked in pain, as another hard blow made him almost spill his guts, his skin ripping open with a stream of blood oozing out from it.

"You rich scoundrel, how could you think we'd let you devour that beauty all by yourself?" Another sharp blow on the stomach, but this time Batakrishna felt no pain, but a sense of alertness. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaws, his fists balled up in reflex.

"That's bloody whore... I'll fuck her and rip her apart and..."

Batakrishna couldn't hear anymore.

Every good thing comes from love, fighting especially. For how can one navigate which battles to take on if aren't seeing with the light of the heart?

Sickly blows in sickly dare came the fists that could make fissures in skull beneath bruised skin. For this was combat, one sided, bloody and primitive, all the worst ways a human can endure and inflict.
Combat, again a two way exchange, and in an winning combat, the one attacking should be equipped with the art of defence as well.
Bhulu and Kalu unfortunately weren't...

A change in dynamics, a sharp shift of power, and in one weak moment, Batakrishna flipped Kalu, throwing him infront over his shoulder, his left foot pressed to his throat on the ground, and then one sharp blow on Bhulu's abdomen, a violent kick in his phallus.

"How dare you!"
Batakrishna roared back, spitting blood, and a thick stream of scarlet viscosity oozed out from his swollen lips where the sharp blow had struck, soaking his sky blue shirt unknowingly in the hue of love.

........................................................

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