Kama: Liberation (Vol-I)

Chapter 12: Teardrop

The king lost his kingdom, lost his love, lost his identity.

One day, he shall get those back again.

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It was a big hall resembling the courtroom of a king. Walls were bathed in shades of deep blue, haphazard strokes of silver drawn over. The throne was vacant. A woman with thick curly locks, dressed in mahogany and shimmering silvery coins sewn into a necklace stood at the end of the steps that led to the throne.

Ishvara couldn't see the face of the woman, except her malicious eyes bagged by dark circles. Someone whispered that she was confident, and the lady smiled in return. Majestic power emanated from this gigantic room. There were people of noble origin present along with a few guards.

"He shall leave."

Ishvara wondered what those meant.

"The throne will be empty. Ranavato finally got her wish fulfilled." The haunting profile of a wrinkled warrior of purple eyes crossed her vision. She held a spear and ran towards a door.

The outlines of the figures blurred. The world around Ishvara was now a pile of mud and bricks splashed over which were colours. The ground beneath was fluid and the sky above bare.

Ishvara's head spun. She was falling down a never ending tunnel. But then, she landed with a thud, stumbling back due to the harsh descent. Now, she stood in the middle of the hall.

The women stared at her. Their faces were ghastly and pale, devoid of blood. They howled like the onset of eternal death was near.

Came a winged man, around whom rattled chains, two horns of a ram growing on his head. He had the red eyes of the devil, the twisted conscience of someone beyond the mortal realm. He clutched her by the waist, gripping her fiercely as she struggled to not be pulled. Like a doll of rags he yanked her by the arm, dragging her out against her will. Ishvara's bangles broke and she bled, but he didn't stop. They called her, she heard– the old woman, the lady with the curly hair. There was a man too. He cursed this beastly abductor, but the latter roared like a lion.

"I own her," the devil declared.

Ishvara screamed and woke up, almost tumbling down the bed under the horrifying force of the nightmare.

The bedsheets were rumpled with creases, a sign of Ishvara's fight. One end of the blanket was clutched in her fist. She looked beside. Aryamna wasn't there. "Did I scare him?"

She had had this dream for many days recently– since the time her marriage got fixed. These nightmares contributed to her fear of union, of her scepticism. Each time she had the dream the details grew. Now, she could hear distinctly the name of the lady in mahogany.

Ranavato.

A chill ran down her spine. Whether it was the name or the image of the lady, it scarred her too deep.

She wrapped arms around her body, tears trickling down the cheeks.
Maybe the child she had once conceived was a product of a forceful union.

"If Aryamna ever knows that my past is this hazy and gruesome he won't accept me. They won't say I am pure. They won't love me."

But do they even?

She didn't want to judge. The day she put her feet on Ishgar, the people embraced her like their own. For a moment she even imagined she was back home. Like a circle of life. "I have to be patient. Queen Ambalika had said this is a path solely mine, a rogue warrior's lone fight."