Daughters of Kalika

২১. piya and paapi

Love is a storm, so is lust.

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Maya needed some last clarifications to make a suspect list. Though Maya knew only a few people were involved, she was confident there had to be a mastermind. If that was solely the devil himself, or his earthly incarnation Lucifer too, was a mystery yet unsolved. There was a paucity of clues, and Maya often was sceptical about the confessions the people had made.

For example, she couldn't confirm from anyone else if the last words of Catherine indeed were what Nathu said, but considering the paranormal experience of the Vessels, it must have been so, as the Vessels themselves took the name of Lucifer.

Hrishav was in the temple during this time. She had her way clear- she was at his house now. At present she sat on the sofa in the hall of the babus of the village. Shashi served her some drinks. Maya chatted with the lady and made some small-talk.

"Actually, I wanted to meet Sundar Babu. Is he here?"

"Yes. He is up in his room."

Maya excused herself and went up to meet him, remembering to knock before coming in. Sundar Babu was sitting on his armchair, reading a book. "Who's it?"

"Maya; remember me?"

Sundar Babu clenched his jaw. Taking a deep breath, he got up and welcomed her. "Come in, have a seat." He extended a chair towards her.

Maya noticed that he had cleaned the room. The wardrobe was now closed properly with no clothes flooding out. He took his seat too, keeping the book on his lap and folded his hands.

"So, what job do you have with me? Well, I am not at all interested in the history of my family and the gods."

Maya chuckled. "No no, I understand you are more practical. An atheist perhaps?"

"Yes."

"Have you been like this since a young age?"

"As a child my mother did tell me stories of deities. I listened to them and they inculcated in me values, that's it. It didn't nurture a loving relationship."

"It's bold of you to be so when all the villagers are mostly of a different kind."

"Ah, not really. My father had been an atheist too. It is fine, I guess, as long as the two different factions don't clash. We can survive in harmony."

Maya noticed the book on his lap. Leaves of Grass, it read.

Her lips twitched to smile. "You seem very sophisticated at heart," she remarked with an air of owning an all-knowing perception.

Sundar Babu caressed the cover. "Walt Whitman is a favourite."

"You should write poems, Sundar Babu. You will shine in the field."

A crease appeared between his brows. His cheeks flushed pink like the glory of spring, reminding Maya of the beauty of Kashmiri maidens.

"I do, Maya. I write to ease my soul," he said with glinting eyes.

His words were a mere whisper, not masked in timidness, but behind a veil of protection. The two denied breaking their gaze, and a battle of silence ensued.

"What is the usual subject matter of your poetry?" Maya said at last.

The green veins on Sundar Babu's fair palms popped out. His larynx bobbed up and down, though he still maintained full composure

"I like to write on love and passion, though it often steers towards heartbreak

"Passion involves heartbreak," Maya said, feeling that her own life was heading towards one.