"You... You shouldn't have dra... dragged me into this room like this," Mira whispered, stammering, her voice breaking the silence that shrouded her arrival at Tulsipur. The words knit a frown on Batuk's brow, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"And why shouldn't I have?" His fingers nudged the door ajar, and with a graceful gesture, he lifted Mira into his arms. The suddenness of it nearly drew a startled cry from her.

"Shh..." Batuk's eyes held a playful glint as he gazed at Mira. Instinctively, she clung to him, her lips sealed shut, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. His smile, to her, was a mix of comfort and challenge.

"In British customs, a groom carries his bride into their bedroom like this," he shared, crossing the threshold into the room before gently placing her back on her feet. Mira retreated, absentmindedly rubbing her elbows. What he found romantic, she found a torment, a needless reenactment of some unknown tradition.

"How do you know? They... their customs?" She asked, and Batuk turned, standing before a tall mirror in his room, examining a yellowed bandage on his forehead.

"I have a few British friends," he replied, smirking at her through the mirror, then slowly facing her.

"Mira, this is your home now, your room. I'll have Koeli di fetch you new sarees and anything else you require. Tomorrow, I'll personally look into everything you need."

"Everything?" Mira interjected, placing her potli on the floor, her grip relaxing.

"Yes," Batuk said, walking to a grand wooden wardrobe, retrieving a white towel. "Whatever you need."

"My son. Ani," Mira stated promptly. "You... You promised to reunite us, did you not?"

Batuk turned to her.
"I did, Mira. And I will keep my word." A sigh escaped him as he approached her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. Mira flinched at the touch.

"When?" she asked.

"The moment we're a bit settled here. I'll urge Kaka to send someone to Kashi, or I'll go myself, plus we know Ani is safe and healthy with Meenarani Debi," Batuk reassured her, his eyes fixed on hers. "We've only just arrived. Give me some time, won't you?" he pleaded tenderly. Mira turned away in response.

"But you promised," she kept murmuring.

Time, at times, could be brutally unforgiving, a fact Batuk had known too well. In that fleeting moment of togetherness, the moment he had so often dreamt of, he stood before Mira, helplessness in his gaze, staring at her vacant, wandering eyes. With a sharp sigh, he turned to leave.

"Freshen up with a bath here. I'll use the guest bathroom downstairs. We'll dine together after, alright?" he urged, seeking her affirmation, only to be met with silence. He sighed, glancing at the shattered glass of his imported wristwatch. He didn't have the luxury of waiting for an answer; time dictated otherwise.

"Here you are, Batuk Da... It's 3pm," Nakul had found him on the staircase as they hastened towards the study.

"Stand guard," Batuk commanded, quickly dialing a private number. The operator responded at once.

"Connect me to..."

Nakul heard the conversation unfold and discreetly shut the study door, keeping watch.

A minute later, a voice responded from the other end, and Batuk's lips curled into an anxious quiver.

"The Pujo is complete. The Prasaad awaits your presence," Batuk enunciated the words with care. A silence lingered before the voice spoke again.

"Gurumaharaj is ailing, old age has taken its toll. He needs time to recover."

Batuk frowned, then asked slowly, "Then who will retrieve the offering?"

"I will," the voice replied, and just before the call ended, Batuk earnestly posed a question.

"Will he survive?"

The voice replied gravely, with what Batuk sensed was a deep sigh.
"Gods don't die."

The conversation concluded, and with a triumphant smile, Batuk exited the room, giving a satisfied glance at Nakul.

"And him?" Nakul inquired eagerly, and Batuk nodded with a smile.

"Our part is done for now, Nakul, and now it's time for the grand fireworks for the red faced monkeys."

They exchanged meaningful smiles, and Batuk proceeded towards the guest room, towel slung over his shoulder.

"You are incredible, Batuk Da... What an act!... No one could even..." Nakul saluted him, chuckling to himself silently.

However, the scene unfolding upstairs in Batuk's room was not as intended. Batuk's absence granted Mira a moment to breathe, and seizing that chance, she instinctively left the room, venturing to the east wing, towards the servants' quarters, and rapping sharply on Koeli's door.

"Mashi?" Mira called.

The door had promptly opened.
"Why here? You aren't meant to see me today Porarmukhi; I'm a widow..." Koeli was at the door, and Mira, with simplicity, enveloped her in a tight hug, resting her head on Koeli's shoulder. Koeli, too, caressed her hair, tears welling in her eyes. She had witnessed this young girl's struggle firsthand, and the notion of her potential happiness overwhelmed her.

"A widow? So am I, aren't I?" Mira murmured, without lifting her head. Koeli playfully tapped her head.

"Hush. Don't speak like that," she scolded gently. "You are Choto Babu's wife now, our young mistress, Choto Bourani." Koeli smiled tenderly at her. "Honestly, when I heard Choto Babu was in love with some wretched widow, I was so angry at that woman, but now, having met this sweet soul, I approve of you."

Koeli wiped a tear of joy from the corner of her eye and ushered Mira into the room.

"I'd like to freshen up," Mira requested, paying little attention to Koeli's emotional approval, as if nothing mattered, as if she were oblivious to her present status, and her hands played on the fresh plain white saree that lay on Koeli's cot.

Koeli nodded quickly, indicating the enclosed bathroom designated for the maids. Mira smiled and walked inside, a glint of happiness in her step.

"Mi... Umm... Choto bou... You... You wait here," Koeli hesitated for a bit, "I'll fetch you a new red saree."
She dashed out of the room, leaving Mira with her plantiff reflection on the large clay gamla, her fingers playing with the ripples of water, the strain of red vermilion on her forehead somewhat mocking for ruining another life towards endless misery.
Mira sighed, before shedding off her clothes slowly.

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

The encounter unfolded with an unexpected intensity, particularly for Mira, as she had taken a bath and had entered Batakrishna's room in haste, seeking her potli, which she had left behind. The small case of chandan tikal called out to her inexplicably in that moment. Her slender form was wrapped in a loose, glistening white widow's drape, carelessly revealing her alluring bare shoulder to anyone's eyes. Unseen, she moved gracefully, her wet, cascading hair resting on her right shoulder, causing a tantalizing, almost transparent effect on the fabric. Her crimson lower lip was delicately ensnared between her teeth as she searched around, her dark arched eyebrows quivering with an enigmatic allure.

As fate would have it, Batuk entered the room, softly whistling, bare-chested with water droplets accentuating his sculpted torso, exuding raw masculinity. His lower body was adorned with a loosely wrapped white dhoti, damp in places, while the white towel was carelessly draped over his shoulder. He seemed preoccupied with drying his slightly unkempt hair, but the suddenness of the situation caused him to forget everything but the moment.

Mira found herself captivated, nearly gasping in surprise, and their eyes locked in an electric connection. Batuk approached her slowly, a sense of anticipation in his every step.

"You... You're... here," Mira stammered, attempting to avert her gaze, but Batuk's grasp was swift. He inched nearer and pulled her close, their upper bodies pressing against each other, and a shiver of intense eccentricity coursed through Mira, almost against her will. Batuk's warm breath tantalizingly grazed her neck.

"This is our bedroom, is it not?" Batuk murmured softly into her ear. "Where else would I be?"
Mira didn't respond.

His hold on her tightened, and his lips met her warm, moist skin, tracing a path of delicate kisses down to the nape of her neck. Mira tilted her head back, surrendering to the sensations that overwhelmed her.

"Let me go," she whispered, but it only served to intensify Batuk's fervor. His ministrations became more impassioned.

"Why would I? My wife," Batuk huskily moaned into her ear, his tongue sensually dancing on her earlobe. Mira trembled at his touch, her hands clutching the potli she held. Sensing this barrier, Batuk deftly relieved her of it, and the potli passed from Mira's grasp to his, and then onto the floor.

"Chandan," Mira murmured, her lips quivering with a sensual anxiety. Batuk's fingers traced from the nape of her neck, threading through her wet hair.

"Shouldn't you be looking for sindoor instead?" His voice was husky and passionate, and Mira's core quivered with a mix of sensuality and fear. Batuk's lips now explored her face, his hands firmly gripping her round firm buttock, drawing her closer. Mira unwillingly succumbed to his advances, moving in closer. Her eyes sealed shut, awaiting the obvious, but instead she heard Batuk's voice.

"Why are you wearing this white saree?"

Mira opened her eyes and noticed a frown on his face.

"Did Koeli give you this?" His tone grew stern.

"No, not her."

"Then?" Batuk slightly distanced himself from her, and his watchful eyes discerned more than just Mira's beauty. He saw the simple widow's drape, the bare hairline, and the new tulsimala adorning Mira's neck. These sights kindled an inferno within him.

"What's the meaning of this, Mira?" He seized the wooden tulsimala and ripped it into a hundred beads, leaving Mira quaking.

"Why?" She shrieked, and Batuk's response was equally intense.

"Why? You ask me that?" He sneered. "I'm alive, Mira, your husband, and you ask why?"

He paced a few steps away, his hands on his head, struggling to regain his composure.

"Go and change, Mira," he commanded. When Mira hesitated, Batuk's tone grew more demanding. "I'm sending Koeli here."

"No..." Mira cried out. "Please, no."

Batuk stopped in his tracks.

"No? You don't want me to leave? Or you don't want to change?"

Tears streamed down Mira's face, and after repeated inquiries, she finally whispered her answer. "Both."

Batuk sighed in frustration and sat down in front of her, attempting to reason with her.

"Mira, you're my wife now, the youngest daughter-in-law of the Roy Choudharys. What do you think people would say if they see you dressed as a widow?" Batuk continued to coax her. "Don't you love me, Mira? Isn't red your favorite color?"

Mira remained silent, but when his rationale failed to persuade her, Batuk slowly got up and headed for the door.

"Very well, if you insist on dressing like a widow, I won't go to Kashi, and I won't bring Ani to you."

The room descended into silence, devoid of sobs or echoes. And before Batuk could react, a brass vase hurtled toward him, striking him above the ear, just inches from where he had been wounded previously. Mira's anguished cry pierced the air, and warm blood began to trickle down Batuk's temple.
Batakrishna fell to the threshold of his room.