The lights glared at her.

In the dark backdrop, they looked like stars- the ones that she could touch. She was told that those lights were warm.

Unlike the others, she could not see colours nor could she feel.

To her, sadly, the world was black and white and grey.

'What colours are those?' She asked Laksh as she pointed at the bright spots.

Laksh was handsome. He had long hair drawn into a bun, contrasted by a slight stubble on his cheeks. He wore the usual saffron kurta under the black armour. It was tight over his splendid body, highlighting all the masculine features. He looked strong and was the kind of man that would have women swooning over him.

However, to her, he was like a brother.

He smiled at her as he named the colours, 'Yellow, orange and white.'

Yellow was the colour of the late-morning/early-evening sun. Orange was the colour of the rising sun. White, she knew very well for it was one of the colours she could clearly see.

Her mind filled with wonder. 'That sounds so beautiful.'

Laksh looked at her with a brighter smile on his lips. She had grown over time. The first time, Rohini had introduced her to them, she'd been so scared and fragile. He didn't blame her. She'd met Dhurya first and he could tell from experience that Dhurya wasn't the best at first impressions.

She had no memories, he had told him. Laksh refused to believe him. From the moment he saw her, he took it up as his duty to protect her. He'd always wanted a little sister to pamper. Even when he was alive, he had wished for one.

No one spoke their true names, the ones they had been given by their Prithvilok parents.

In the Yamlok, they were named based on their attributes by someone they were close to. Dhurya, Gomeda and Laksh were named by Rohini.

Rohini was about to name her too but Laksh declared himself as her brother-in-arms and took the liberty to name her.

He'd named her Anamika, the nameless one, the mysterious one.

She loved that name. It made her sound enigmatic and powerful. When everyone started calling her Anamika- she truly felt it.

The mysterious one.

Names had power in the Yamlok.

She began to train. Despite his affections, Laksh wasn't easy on her. He would manoeuvre and attack and attack, relentlessly.

Presently, she was skilled with the bagh nakha, the katar and the talwar.

Laksh was far more talented. He knew how to use all of them effectively but he was better with bow and arrows.

He slung his bow, Indria, over his shoulder and began to retrieve the arrows that were crafted by him at the station forge. He made it a point to retrieve all of them after their mission was done. When she'd asked him why he always carried eighteen arrows, he told her that it was a sacred number. He also told her if he managed to retrieve all of them after the mission, it was considered to be a success.

'Was the mission successful?' Anamika asked him. He gave her a smug look as he showed her his quiver, 'What do you think?'

She counted the nasty arrows in his quiver. 'Perfect.'

They had just finished hunting a group of bharmanas- or as known as to the world, werewolves. Laksh had told her that there the living had a different perception of the bharmanas. It was after a certain movie. However, Anamika couldn't imagine those creatures being romantic. She eyed one of the dead bharmanas. Even dead, they were disgusting.

Hairy creatures with red beady eyes and canines which seemed to be always dripping with saliva. The thought of having a romantic relationship with these creatures made her want to vomit- which for her wasn't even possible.

'Hey! Both of you, if you're done sightseeing!'

They turned when they heard Dhurya yell. It was something that Anamika had grown used to.

He was their leader, their Rakshak Nayak.

Laksh chuckled, 'Let's go.'

Anamika looked at the view one last time.

She wished she could remember how her life was when she was alive. Unlike others, she didn't remember anything from her time on Prithvilok, the realm of the living. It was as if someone had wiped it from her memory. She'd grown to accept it, thanks to Laksh, who had told her many times that it's for the best.

She wiped her katar with the free end of the kurta she was wearing. It was a small weapon, resembling a dagger. It was a triangular blade which was approximately the size of her feet. It had a darker fuller with spirals which were the probably because of the metals that had been bent and blended to shape it. Unlike the other knives, it didn't have a hilt. From the edges of the guard, extended bars of gold plated metal. It had a handle connecting the extended bars of the metal. The space between the edge and guard was enough to fit her knuckles.

She hadn't named it yet.

That wasn't her only weapon. She owned a talwar too and she called it Nashtra, the weapon of destruction.

She looked at her reflection in the pristine surface and turned away immediately. She thrust it into her scabbard and followed Laksh who was walking toward Dhurya and Gomedha.

Gomedha was Dhurya's love. She wasn't even his one and only but it was clear to everyone, that they were in love. Anamika never understood how anyone could choose to be with someone like him. At times like these, she recollected Laksh's words. Love is blind. According to him, it was a popular saying on the Prithvilok.

Those words did not make any sense to her.

Yoshanhara was there with them too. She was different from all of them. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't one of the living either.

She was a Yamdhut, a soul collector, a child of the Yamraj.

And all of them belonged to the Land of the Dead, the Yamlok.

They came to Prithivilok whenever they were required to restore the balance between the living and the demon-kind. After a successful mission, they would go back to the Yamalok via the vara, or simply, the doorway.

It was a portal only the leader could open.

The surface rippled when Dhurya spun the vartula around his index finger. It was a golden band with intricate designs which were the mantras that caused the surface of the Prithvilok to be permeable, thus opening a doorway to the Yamlok.

All they had to do is walk through the ripples.

Rohini waited on the other side. She looked the same every day if days existed in the Yamlok.

***

It was dark. The sky was vermillion red with twinkling orbs scattered across them. One could see the reflection of the planets. Anamika often found herself sitting on one of the mighty towers of her station, staring at the sky, questioning the Gods more than herself of her roots.

She wondered if the Devlok ever looked down on them.

The tower overlooked the barren lands. The soil was blood red. A desert, Laksh called it.

'Anamika.'
A sweet feminine voice called out for her.

Yoshanhara.

Her long braid was dark as the night and reached down her back. She wore what Yamdhuts usually wore. A plain black bottom and top with golden border. A gold belt was anchored to her slim waist which held her khanjar that she scarcely used. Anamika knew her colours because she had once asked Yoshanhara to describe the colours to her.

She returned the bright smile she got. Even in black and white, Yoshanhara looked beautiful. She opened her mouth to say something when she heard the electrifying hum of a bowstring.

Here we go again, she smirked at Yoshanhara, who looked horrified.

Anamika backflipped.

As the world rotated, she watched as an arrow cut through the air and embedded itself into the inner wall of the tower. She landed on the balls of her feet, one hand touching the stone-cold floor, the other hand on Nashtra's hilt. She roughly mapped the location of her attacker, her-brother-in-arms, Laksh.

He was somewhere over her.

She avoided the gigantic torch- that was lit only when there was a breach to warn the other stations- by skidding under it. Once on the other side, she looked up to see Laksh rolling his eyes, launching himself at her with his talwar. His bow hung across his chest. He had no other arrow in his quiver. He usually used a heavy-set weapon like the tabar. A battle-axe; not just any axe, but a double-headed axe. He called his Vegaghana.

She waited for the precise moment to draw her Nashtra. The weapon had a curved blade. When the blades collided, a loud clang reverberated in the air. She moved to a side, causing the blades to slide over one another producing a loud screech. She swapped her blade in her hands and attacked him again.

It went on. A series of clangs, swooshes, screeches rang in the air. Both of them felt their urja draining from them but none wanted to give in.

Laksh won, eventually. He stopped his talwar immediately near her neck. He smirked victoriously, 'I win, again.'

She got to her feet, dusting her clothes with her hands, 'What do you mean 'again'? I defeated you the last time, remember?'

He rolled his eyes at her comment and acknowledged Yoshanhara with a big smile.

Yoshanhara returned his gesture, 'If I didn't know you two, I'd think you were trying to kill yourselves.'

He laughed at the joke while Anamika grunted.

'That's us,' He put an arm around her. She folded her arms like a child and turned away from him but couldn't hide the small smile on her face, 'It's fun. Do you want to try, Yoshanhara?'

The Yamdhut smiled, 'I am not a fighter, Anamika.'

'But that doesn't mean that they don't know how to fight,' Laksh informed Anamika, 'They're brilliant.'

Yoshanhara's smile grew wider as she accepted his compliment and let it pass. She looked at Anamika, 'You know why we can't fight.'

Anamika nodded. Yoshanhara had told her that the Yamdhuts were forbidden to raise their weapons at any being, the daanavas being the only exception. They were more or less of the peaceful kind.

Laksh had seen a couple of them in action but Anamika had never witnessed the same. Even when they were out on hunts, Yoshanhara never found the need to draw her weapon. It was strange how the daanavas never attacked her. Apparently, she was so good that even Dhurya had to admit it and that's something that seldom happened.

'I'm leaving now,' the Yamdhut said.

Anamika pouted, 'I wish you could stay here for a little longer.'

'Duty first,' Yoshanhara smiled, sadly. She extended her arms for a hug. Anamika gladly complied, 'I'll miss you, my friend.'

'I'll miss you too, my dearest friend.'

When they parted, Laksh nodded at Yoshanhara, 'See you next time.'

'Try not to kill each other,' Yoshanhara joked.

'Now, where's the fun in that?'

The three of them laughed heartily at that before parting.

***

Keval was alone like his name suggested. He had been named by the dark and evil beings that tortured him.

It made him feel pathetic.

He had been there forever, forever tortured, forever forgotten by the rest of the world.

His shoulders were slumped. He sat on the cold floor, trying to understand why he was there. Why was he alone?

Keval, the lonely one.

Whenever they came to torture him, he would feel himself disappear. He could barely see himself whenever they tortured him with their weapons and with their tongues. They wouldn't let him perish. They would take him to the edge of his existence and then leave, reminding him of who he was.

Keval, the lonely one.

They were demons- the daanavas. They just loved abusing him.

He would regenerate. Sometimes, those frightful creatures would come while he was in the process.

He hoped things would get better.

Keval, the lonely one.

And a time came when it did.

It was when a tall man clothed in the finest clothes and jewellery came to him. He had a thick moustache. He wore a white aangavastram with black borders. His dhoti was of the same pattern.

He radiated energy more then Keval's torturers.

Keval bowed his head. His tiny being was shivering in fear.

'So you're the one they call Keval.' The man's voice was strong, the kind of voice that struck fear into beings like thunder.

The tiny being nodded slowly. He made no sound. If he didn't reply, maybe this powerful being would leave him be. He didn't need another torturer.

'Answer me!' The man's voice boomed in the tiny cell.

'Yes,' the quivering boy replied. 'I am Keval.' The lonely one.

The powerful being didn't say a word. Out of curiosity, he looked up. He found the stronger being assessing the cell. The man shook his head, 'This place is not fit for a boy like you. I offer you freedom and purpose, in exchange, I need you to do something for me.'

Keval was shocked. His hopes had finally materialized. He could not believe why a being like him would need a weak soul like his. Keval wanted freedom more than anything. Here it was, finally, being offered to him. He thanked the Gods for answering his prayers. 'Yes! I will do whatever you would have me do.'

The man smiled. He seemed happy with Keval's answer. 'Excellent. You may call me Daanavraj.'

Keval was puzzled. He wondered why the Gods had sent the King of Demons as his saviour. He wanted to ask him but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want the Daanavraj to take his offer off the table.

There was only one thing Keval was sure of. It was that he would do anything to secure his freedom.

Maybe, there will come a time when he won't be the lonely one.

***