Kama: Liberation (Vol-I)

Chapter 28: Brahmakamal

A dying woman doesn't forget her promise.

****

The clouds gathered, from silvery greys to murky black, pouring down earth-bound raindrops, a blessing which the leaves held in their laps before letting it trickle down on the soil. Gusts of wind rocked branches and stormy arrows of water moistened thresholds. People came out of their houses and into the streets, celebrating the auspicious event. The curse was broken and Ishgar was finally on the way towards harmony.

While its lord, Rajan Rudra, hunched over a little piece of womanly embellishment, crying tears of pain. It was so uncanny that he could smell her presence in that blouse, but had she really come? Did she, like many people spread rumours, roam the palace? Some claimed to have seen her lurking in the shadows and heard the chime of her anklets. Some saw the imprints of her red-dyed feet. Some saw her otherworldly and burnt eyes, snatching away the souls of the sinful.

They said she was no more copper-skinned, no more tanned under the sun. She was blacker, almost like the cosmos itself. The witnesses told she embodied Kalika, with scarlet eyes and a protruding tongue. Dewdrops danced on her eyelashes, fire dripping down her hair.

If she was really here, why did she not come to Rudra? Even if people were scared of the beauty of Kalika, he wasn't. He had given up on Shiva, he knew.

But he didn't ever say he disowned Kalika.

He knew he didn't have the right to disown her. And he didn't want to dream of a night when she would arrive at the foot of his bed only to declare that they were no more connected.

Kalika was where Petra had merged. Rudra was a monster himself and was ready to see Petra as one too. Yes, Kalika was a monster– with skull garlands hanging around her neck, naked as timeless truth, blood on her thighs, hair the gorgeous milky way. Ah, there was a poetic destruction running in her veins, some music in how she shrieked and called for war. Rudra would give up everything if only Petra came to him. He would leave all behind, even Aryamna and Ishvara. No one mattered more than her.

But, in his worst nightmares, she had discarded him like a rag. Yes, even beasts like him were afraid of being left alone and despised. Often it was abhorrence that they wielded to command fear among their subordinates; however behind closed doors, they too craved for some warmth.

Rudra ran his fingers over the blouse, smelling it again and again. It was the lovely brahmakamal, the rarest of divine flowers, its perfume accessible to only the richest. Who was even so lucky in the palace? Of course Petra. She was here, walking when nobody looked, running when someone tried to trap her.

"Return her to me, Kalika. I will offer you my life and flesh. Have me alive if you want, if that pleases you. I am desperate to be at her side." Rudra touched his lips to the part of the garment that would have clung to her firm breasts, imagining he really kissed her bosom. From head to toe, she was built like a goddess. He hadn't admired it before marriage, but once he tasted love, there was nothing greater than her.

Not even now. No one could rival her.

Flashes of the bodyguard came to his mind. Indumala– as little and petite as Petra, a sorrel lady with warm eyes, black hair mimicking midnight, a starry smile that could make kings bow.

"No, no!"

It was his wolf's doing. It was conquering him, again. So ungodly it made him feel sometimes, so dirty and aghast. This animal inside could cross limits of lust if Rudra didn't held on. He could feel his phallus throb in passion.

No, he wouldn't give in.

Fur lined his fair arms, growing longer and thicker. The black turned to snowy white. His sclera was wiped to complete ebony, swamping the sanity out. The nails on his palms, trimmed and neat, now turned into crooked claws. His face, emerging from the hairy neck, was still human, albeit his body was half a wolf.